The day has finally given way to a vast darkness someone rather stupidly, simply named night, what with the supernatural horror and general violence associated with it. Your ancestors, not five hundred years ago, warned you of the dark and yet you still go ‘out’ every night.
Because the cool kids are doing it.
The People of the Old- as we call them- were wiser, wiser than any of you regardless of those metal and plastic vehicles and those silicon planks you use in a vain attempt to make your petty lives easier.
At least, they knew of our existence ( not that they had any physical proof but still) and had a tad bit more common sense to believe in what you call ‘superstition’ and oh so bravely laugh it off (not that you’re laughing when we finally get to you. In fact, most of you ‘piss’ yourselves when you see us. Ironic, because those people you now call fools had the courage to at least try to stand up against us.).
There are many mentions of us throughout history.
Though, out of the three, witches might be the closest.
But, we don’t exactly cast spells and boil cauldrons all day (or night, in our case) long. Yes, we like cats- specially black ones because our eyes can’t adjust to the blinding white coats those hideous Persian cats seem to be sporting these days.
We can shape shift though. So maybe we’re your shape shifters. We like blood and yes, we are the vampires that you write so many horror (and one not so horror) stories about. And no, unlike what you would like to believe, none of us are men. We’re an exclusive, all women community and we’re willing to forgive you given the patriarchal society that you live in.
We don’t exactly glow in the sunlight though. That’s lethal and we do have a set of lungs on us. And viciously long nails. I don’t know why though- I mean, we make sure to cut them every single night but they keep growing back.
But that’s the least of your problems.
I could say that our nails are our natural weapon. Over the centuries we have- unlike humans- adapted to the environment. As food becomes harder to find and more wrapped up, (thanks Adam!) we needed something to be able to rip through those layers and layers of cotton, fleece, leather and all that other non-sense you like to cover yourselves up in, and slice through the skin and muscles to those delicious organs of yours.
We eat your organs.
But Nature wanted us to exist so not so sorry. We've been around for more than ten thousand years. We breed like you do and it happens just like, well, a human woman gives birth. Only we kidnap our prey to breed and if we’re particularly excited, we’ll let you live long enough to see your child- hopefully, it’ll be a girl because than we’ll have to eat you and that pathetic bastard son of yours.
I hate babies.
They have tiny organs.
Like their heart- it’s the size of an apple! Really puts me off. And the lungs- they’re not even developed. Same goes for the liver and kidneys. Don’t even get me started on a baby’s kidneys- they’re like overgrown beans!
I do, however, like the taste of a baby’s blood. It tastes divine. Sometimes we let them grow till right before they hit puberty so we can suck them dry while their blood is beautifully healthy without all those hormones and whatever nonsense that stupid- but ridiculously helpful- subject you call biology has to say, goes on in the human body.
Blood is best before humans hit puberty.
In a way, children are the best meal in terms of drinking. But eating- no, adult. A proper adult- preferably man, but we’re not sexist so we’ll take a healthy woman too, is what we desire.
So you can imagine how hard it is to find a proper meal combo- as you call them- these days.
On the contrary, we have also adapted to the issue. The thing about us is that we can go days without either blood or food.
I mean, organs- but they are our food, so it is food.
So sometimes, we’ll have blood- if we feel like and other times, flesh.
There are times when luckily, we’re able to find children right about to hit puberty but relatively well developed organs so we can have real feast but that is very rare. Unfortunately.
Ironically, humanity has yet to realize that we exist.
As mentioned previously, your ancestors did believe in us but that too wasn't solid. Like, you weren't even able to tell if we were women for Hel’s sake. How as that fair?
We know everything there is to know about the human anatomy. In fact, we’re so good at taking your organ without you realizing that we created the plague and you thought it was some disease.
Most of your pox and malaria and god knows what nonsense is actually just us feeding on your blood or extracting your organs without you realizing. Those spots you have? No, that’s the mark our nails leave. See, there’s a reason we’re called witches and it is because we are so damn good at making ointments. Our healing creams heal any sort of human bruising and cuts over the span of hours.
I know, it does not make sense, you’re probably stunned but that’s why you have always called it magic. We call it herbology and no, JK Rowling stole it from us. She probably met one of us- or maybe read an old book about us because some books actually have a worthwhile information on us not that many of you would since most of you read fiction.
Old books are good. They speak facts. Not that you’d believe them because you’re too smart, it seems.
Your ancestors, the Ancient Greeks, knew a lot about us. They called us Amazons. But even they were not able to completely understand us because one of us managed to seduce someone called Alexander the Great (not so great in bed though) and manipulated him into destroying the Greek Empire. My friend, Meridian, did it. She died last century of old age.
And speaking of old age, we do not age the way you humans do. Throughout our thousand year lives after the initial fifty years of maturing, we look the same which is why despite of the fact that I am nearing my thousandth year, and sadly death too, I still look the human equivalent of twenty one.
And that is rather handy when we’re out looking for food. We prefer to use the term looking rather than hunting because that seems barbaric and we are not barbaric at the very least.
We have a kind of- well- meticulous way of finding and then consuming food. We are, after all, skilled healers and surgeons.
As our Leader- and yes, we have a leader as do all great creatures- tells me that it is my last week on Earth. As I said before, I am nearing my thousandth year and even though it saddens me, I feel as though my time here is complete and maybe I am ready to evaporate.
Because that is how we become when we die.
Within a few minutes of our deaths, our bodies start to decompose. First goes the veil- the illusion of us as ethereal humans giving way to our real form. I believe that is what scared- still does when we finally get to you- your ancestors. We are a diverse nation and so have different skin tones, hair and eye colour but when our true persona overpowers our cloak, we all look the same. We have jet black hair, deathly pale and sickly looking skin, red and black- yes, our eyes do not have that white pigmentation yours do- eyes and long nails. The elderly among us and myself included, lose our hair in our original form so when we go feeding, and when you do not comply, have to revert back to that form in the processing scaring the living daylights- as you say- out of you.
A famous writer of yours, Roald Dahl, I think his name was, once saw one of us feeding on someone as a child. As I have previously specified, we do not exactly like children so he was not killed. We inspired to write the story, The Witches and even though most of us do not like how he simply calls us puny witches, we let him be because his story was amusing. Our Leader reads it every other weekend to the younglings. It is our sole source of amusement other than finding food.
Since it is my last week on this damned planet, I have decided to go treat myself tonight. I really don’t know when I will go and I’d rather go on a full stomach. I haven’t had a decent heart in a month.
And decent hearts, as well as lungs, kidneys and relatively good blood, is found on young adults. And young adults, rather foolishly, do not listen to anyone’s advice and like to ‘go out’.
You really should have paid attention to your elders.
It does not even make sense because most of them are under aged. And yet, I see most of them hanging around the corner of a bar or club or something along the lines, just snickering- no doubt drinking. I sneer as I walk past them.
I hate eating those who have consumed alcohol just before the encounter. Alcohol makes the blood taste funny and I tend to wine and dine tonight.
After a few hours of walking, in a decent suburban neighbourhood, I see a party taking place. As per the usual house parties, most teens- as they are so fashionably called- are loitering about the street with no care in the world.
I search for a potential meal and my eyes fall on one prospective dinner. He’s not drinking like most of his friends are. In fact, he looks… uncomfortable. And worried. I do so enjoy a good story before meal times. I wonder what ails his conscious.
And so I swap my older, more sophisticated camouflage for that of a younger girl, about his age and secretly follow him as he moves into the night.
He really should have listened to his parents.
Not that they’d have warned him most probably.
He should have listened to whoever told him to be before dark.
He has no idea what is about to befall him.
He likes dark alleys- it seems as he walks near many of those before arriving at a park and sitting at the most isolated bench he can find.
Good lord, does he have a death wish?
I hope so.
I want it to be quick so I can eat leisurely.
I walk up to him and say, “Is this place taken?”
He looks shocked at my presence, startled as though someone had awoken him up from a deep sleep.
“Err, y- yeah, sure,” he stuttered, and I see the begins of a blush forming. Poor child, he thinks I might make a move at him. Unfortunately, he does not know what kind of a move I might make.
“Are you new here?” he asks me after a moment’s silence.
I nod. “Yes, we just moved awhile ago. My dad is in…transportation so we’re travelling all the time.”
“Transportation? Is he a truck driver?” he inquires.
I don’t really know much about the transport industry so I answer positively. I know my story does not make sense but I feel like hearing this kid’s petty problems before doing away with him.
“And yours?” I ask.
His face visibly falls at that.
“I don’t know,” he admits. “I just found out that my dad isn’t really my dad.”
I could quite literally role my eyes at that moment but I don’t because, well, I want to know. Human tales of adultery never fail to amuse me.
“My parents are divorcing you see,” he starts and I quickly interject to say, “That’s sad. I'm sorry.” Because unlike most humans, we have manners. And then let him continue.
“So, today at the court, my mother told the judge that my dad- well, the man who I thought was my dad anyway- isn't my real dad so he doesn't exactly have any rights when it comes to me,” he went on, “it’s so confusing and irritating. I though going to Beth’s party would make me feel better but it didn't. I don’t know what I'm going to do- honestly, I feel like dying.”
I look heavenwards. My hopes of an interesting tale sort of just died because of how boring and more common his story is. I can feel my stomach growling- oh well, it was fun while it lasted.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you get your wish,” I tell him sincerely.
“What wish?” he frowns and then notices the subtle changes that my body is undergoing.
His eyes widen in fright and shock and amazement as he staggers back only to fall off the bench.
“Wha- what are you?” he gasps and I laugh as I feel my transformation complete.
“I’m an Anomaly,” I tell him, before ripping his chest open. “And I’m going to eat you up.”
He offers no resistance.
And what do you know- he did have a death wish after all.