The Darkness We Hide

Michelle lay quietly on her mattress too sick and weak to move as Richard approached with a bucket of warm soapy water, a fresh towel, a bottle of lotion, and a vintage wedding dress that looked like it had been made in the seventies.

“I thought you might like to clean up before the ceremony,” he said, happily dipping his fingers into the bubbles and drawing out a cloth.

“No thank you,” Michelle said weakly, followed by a series of body wracking wet coughs.

“Please Michelle,” he coaxed, a maniacal smile on his face. “Don’t you want to be pretty for me?”

“No” she breathed, her voice so low it was almost imperceptible.

Shaking his head, Richard sat down next to her and began bathing her body one limb at a time. He gently washed the crusted blood and grime from her skin, seeming to ignore her painful moans and how hot her skin was to the touch.

In her heart Michelle knew she was dying, and the thought was oddly comforting. Soon she would be beyond all of the pain and heartache she’d been put through, and peace would be her final reward.

Richard finished his ministrations after removing her shackles and cleaning the chapped and abraded skin. Walking away, Michelle thought that he was leaving, but as he neared the area where she knew the door was, he stopped and turned on more lights.

Through slotted eyes she could see the whole room now, and she’d been right, she was in a basement. Little good it did her now, but at least here, at the end, she knew.

In the center of the room was a long table covered in an elaborate velvet cloth that seemed out of place in this dank recess of hell. On the right side of the room was a sideboard covered with jars whose contents she couldn’t make out, a very large mortar and pestle, and a string of what looked like small animal bones.

“It’s time,” Richard said as he walked back to her. “We’re going to be so happy together.”

Gently, he reached down and lifted her, carrying her awkwardly to the table. There he set her down and arranged her arms and legs as one might a corpse in a funeral home.

“Richard,” Michelle gurgled, fluid trickling from her mouth as he moved her. ”Please don’t do this.”

“Michelle,” he said soothingly, tightening a leather strap across her legs. “Don’t worry. It will all be over soon, and once you’ve changed, you and I will be together forever. You will forget Gareth ever existed, it will just be you and me.”

“Richard, please,” she sobbed, the pain almost unbearable. “Please don’t do this to me. If you love me like you say you do, you won’t do this to me.”

“I am doing this because I love you, and because I love you so much I am doing it tonight. By dawn you will be mine,” he said cinching the last strap across her throat. “I promise, when this is all over you will love me too.”

“No, I won’t,” Michelle cried, pausing to cough up a marble sized clot of blood speckled phlegm. “I will never love you.”

“Yes, you will,” he said, kissing her feverish forehead and wiping the blood and spittle away. “Yes, you will.”

Leaving her, Richard moved to a nearby table and began mixing herbs, all the while humming to himself. Michelle tried to free herself from the straps, but it was no use. She was too far gone to put up much of a fight.

“Richard,” she sobbed softly. “Richard, please. This hurts.”

“It won’t hurt much longer, soon you’ll be strong like us, strong like me. And together we will leave here and find a new home together,” he purred. “Just the two of us.”

He turned to her, holding a curved knife that glinted in the overhead lights in his right hand and a bowl in his left. In one quick move, he had made a slice into her arm, catching the blood in the bowl he held. He moved to her other arm, both ankles, and both sides of her rib cage, each time making a small cut and collecting the blood. With each cut he chanted, ignoring the tears that rolled down her cheeks and whimpers of pain that escaped her lips at each flick of the knife.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said at every cut, licking each wound he inflicted. “It won’t be much longer.”

His face suddenly loomed over her, smeared with blood. He tried to kiss her, but she turned away, receiving the wet, bloody kiss on her tear streaked cheeks.

Moving back to his workbench, Richard began chanting again in a language that was half human, half animalistic growl. Using the same knife, he cut his own hand and let it drip blood into the bowl. Placing it under the window, he returned to her side.

“All we have to do now,” he said, delight shining on his face, “is wait for the moon to reach its zenith and then we can begin.”

“Richard,” Michelle mewed pitiably. “Please don’t make me do this. Don’t take away my choice. You say you love me… if you really do you won’t do this.”

Richard seemed to seriously consider this, and Michelle was just beginning to hope that she had gotten through to him when he shook his head and said, “No… no. I am going to do this because I love you, I need you.”

Looking at his watch, he said, “It’s almost time; just twenty more minutes and we will be together forever.”

Closing her eyes she began to pray for death with renewed vigor. How in the hell did all this happen? She was alone, met someone, was stalked by someone else, found out the man she loved and her stalker were werewolves, and now she was strapped to a table about to become one herself. This is not supposed to happen.

“Richard….” she whimpered, “Please…”

“Hush,” he soothed, stretching out next to her on the table top. “It will be over soon.”

Unable to resist, Michelle turned to look at him. “I am going to kill myself when this is over.”

“No,” he cooed, “no you won’t, I won’t let you.”

“You won’t be able to stop me,” she seethed summoning her last bit of defiance. “I will find a way to die. I swear I will!! You won’t be able to stop me!!”

Richard raised himself up and looked down at her. “Would you really rather die than be with me? Would you change if Gareth asked you?”

“Yes,” she sobbed. “And yes. Anyone is better than you.”

A savage grin came over Richard’s face. “You can’t be with him if I change you. He won’t want anything to do with you. You’ll have no one to turn to but me.”

With that he hopped off the table and moved back to the work bench whistling happily to himself. Looking at his watch, he retrieved the bowl with their mingled blood and moved to stand above her head. “It’s magic time,” he sang.

Holding up his right hand, Michelle saw the knife shining in the light. He began to chant in the same mixed language he had used before, moving the knife through the air over her head in a ritualistic fashion. Placing the knife next to her head, Richard anointed her forehead with the sticky concoction, then he tried to coax Michelle into drinking it. When she refused, he pried her mouth open and poured the mixture in. For good measure Richard then held her jaw shut and pinched her nose until she was forced to swallow.

Michelle started choking, but still Richard poured more down her throat. With no other choice than drowning, she finally swallowed the warm, sickening liquid. Soon, she began to feel lightheaded, as if she were floating outside of her own body.

Below her was the world of pain and anguish, but above her, just out of reach was peace and tranquility. All she had to do was choose to live as Richard’s bound progeny, or to die and finally be free.