Without A Heartbeat

Scarlett awoke screaming in agony. Memories of pain unlike anything she had ever experienced lingered in the back of her mind. Scorching fires that had burned her flesh as if she had been damned to the deepest layer of Hell.

Everything was too bright when she opened her eyes, the colours too vivid. Every shade and glow tumbled around her vision like a kaleidoscope, making her feel nauseous. Scarlett reached out with her hand and used the slick wall of the well to steady herself. It no longer felt cold to touch. It didn’t feel warm either – it just…was. The sound of the water shushing off her legs was too loud, as if each small wave was a tsunami of screams washing over her. She winced, gritting her teeth together against the invasive noise.

Scarlett had no idea what she was doing, but she did it anyway. Her body moved as if something inside were controlling her. She dug her fingernails into the slick walls and they crumbled to accommodate as if formed from old chalk. Using her hands to support her bodyweight, she drove her feet into the wall and started to scale the well. She moved with surprising ease, making strange guttural sounds as she climbed, her limbs contorting and flexing.

Scarlett’s pale fingers wrapped around the lip of the well and with incredible ease she pulled herself out. The world beyond was bathed in a golden glow as if the sun had exploded. Bright shards of light scattered between the branches of the trees, pooling in patches on the ground. She stared up at the sun, only to see that it was a disk of fresh milk, shimmering and pulsing in the sky. It was not the sun after all.

She had awoken in the dead of night.

Scarlett did not attempt to apply logic to her situation. Of that she was incapable. There was simply an instinctual understanding of her situation that spoke in a language older than conscious thought. A primal knowledge that she had become something different.

Something more.

Leaves and mud clung to Scarlett’s soaking and ripped frock, as she crawled around in the dirt trying to control her unruly senses. It was then that the scents came to her – so intense they made her nose burn and eyes water. She could smell the rich earthy aroma of the forest ground as if she were buried underneath it. She could taste the bitter decay of the autumnal leaves lying around her. And she inhaled the salty flesh of trembling animals hiding in the undergrowth.

A new sensation ignited within Scarlett. It was instant and powerful, like a lit match touching dry kindling. A hunger, dark and primal burst from the pit of her stomach. It became an inferno, raging through her body, until it burned within every inch of her. Uncontrollable.

In response a sharp pain came from a new membrane of thin tissue between the inside of her top lip and gums. Two bladed incisors the length of a shilling descended. With a hiss, Scarlett darted through the forest, switching between running upright and on all fours, her entire being focused on one thing only.

Food.

Branches snapped and trees shuddered as Scarlett rushed past – a deadly anomaly of strength and speed. She moved like the wind, relying on a combination of sight, sound and scent. In her mind’s eye she could see an iridescent vapour trail, guiding her toward the source of the aroma like the steam from a freshly cooked meal. Soon she found what she was looking for – a group of baby rabbits suckling from their mother underneath a bush. The girl moved too quickly for them to react. There was no humanistic remorse, no guilt – only action. He fingers broke bones and her new teeth tore flesh. Her ears ignored the squeaks and squeals of the defenseless creatures as she drained the blood from their twitching bodies. The blood ran down her throat, thick and carrying the tang of copper. She drank until there was nothing left, but the sustenance was hollow and unsatisfying.

Scarlett stood, her mouth stained red with her dark deed and her keen eyes darting around the darkness, scanning for more prey. The act of draining blood – something done purely through instinct – had only served to increase her hunger rather than satiate it. Sweeping through the woods, Scarlett’s movements became more graceful. Barely a twig broke underfoot, branches bowed to her weight - but never snapped - and only the very edges of leaves ruffled, as if caught by the tail end of a gentle breeze.

A sharp scent caught her nose and she snapped her head upwards. High above, a barn own was resting in the crook of a tree, its heart shaped face rotating from side to side. The bird occasionally made a sound that was more akin to a high-pitched scream than a hoot.

Scarlett climbed the trunk like a lizard, her movements slow and steady as if she were barely moving at all. All the while the hunger burned deep within her, a force that could not be denied.

As Scarlett reached the spread of branches just below the owl, it caught sight of her. Letting out a distressed series of whooping screams, it exploded into flight. But Scarlett was too fast and too powerful. She leapt off the tree, catching the creature in mid-air. Furious wings flapped and its beak stabbed at her hands, but she barely even noticed. Scarlett landed with barely a sound, and with a sharp twist of its neck the hunt was over.

Scarlett hunched over like a possessed thing, sucking everything from the owl until it was completely exsanguinated. Still the hunger remained, burning like a torch in the pit of her stomach. With a howl of frustration, Scarlett threw the mangled carcass of the owl into the forest. Then she stood and scanned the darkness, searching for more prey.

And so it went.

It was three days before the first rational thought returned to Scarlett.

Up until that moment, she had existed in the woods as an animal. A predator with no equal, who hunted throughout the night and sat as motionless as rock in the gloomy well from daybreak until dusk. She no longer slept. Sleep had become something redundant, an element of existence no longer required by her evolved body. Closing her eyes only bought back memories of burning and agony, coupled with flashing images of a time where dark creatures had stalked her and the burning had seemed non stop – a time that had irrevocably splintered itself into her mind. Scarlett had fed until her stomach could hold no more and she had vomited blood. The clawing of hunger had been suppressed enough that it had reshaped itself into a dull ache that lingered like the tail end of an illness. It would not be long before it grew strong again and Scarlett was at its mercy.

I’m alive, was her first thought. It came to her muddied, like something out the corner of her eye – noticed but not completely understood. Thoughts in the form of words had been absent from her mind for long enough that the shape of them, the way they sounded in her brain felt strange, almost alien.

The Silver-Eyed Man bit me and left me to die, but I’m still alive. This time the thought made more sense. It was muffled under the dozens of senses that were hard to control, as if she were juggling sticks coated in oil. But she felt consciousness starting to trickle through, carrying thoughts that demanded attention. That demon, he changed me into something else. I’m different now.

Scarlett tried to remember what she had done since the Silver-Eyed Man had sunk his foul teeth into her, but it was like staring into an abyss. It had not been Scarlett the sixteen-year-old girl stalking through the trees and woods, shredding her way through animals and drinking her bodyweight in blood. It had been the innate part of her – the new creature born through fire. Now her rational mind was returning, that savage beast was fusing to it, creating the hybrid persona who now crouched in the damp moss, breathing only through habit and with a heart that sat still and silent in her chest.

I want to see my family.

That was the next thought that came to Scarlett and it was the strongest one of all. It hit her deep within and made tears stab at the corners of her eyes. All she wanted to do was curl up on her mother’s lap and listen to her father’s soothing words. She wanted to watch Connor as he pronounced difficult words from the worn books in their cottage. She wanted to feel the warmth of the fire on her skin as they all clustered around the crumbling hearth.

I want to go home.

Tears streaming down her face, Scarlett threaded through the woods. She moved with a fluidity that was like water, as if the forest was bending around her.

It didn’t take her long to track her way back to her parent’s cottage. She caught a scent that she knew belonged to her family. It stood out from the innumerable others, strong, familiar, comforting. She quickened her pace, driven by the desire to be with her family again, to be held in their loving embrace and to close her eyes in the safety of her home. To pretend that Oakley Manor and everything since had been nothing more than an awful dream. What Scarlett didn’t realise was that she was being drawn to her family for another reason, one that hid itself under her emotions, like a murderous stowaway on a ship returning to port.

Hunger.

The woods opened up into the potato fields. It was the middle of harvest and countless rows of green shrubs stretched into the horizon, each strip alternating with paths of brown soil that still bore the marks of workers footprints. A broken plough stood at the edge of one section, its metal glinting in the moonlight and making it appear like some kind of medieval torture device.

Scarlett slipped like a shadow through the fields until she reached the cottages. The small buildings stood in a rough line, all within spitting distance from the fields. It had been explained that this was so that no time would be wasted should the workers be needed at a moments notice. Scarlett had always maintained a different theory – that it had been purposefully designed that way so the fields would always be in the worker’s view. Forever reminding them that what they were now was all they would ever be.

Scarlett’s cottage sat in the middle of the row. Even if she’d still been the simple girl rather than whatever she was now, she would have been able to locate it in the dark. She knew the number of strides from the fields to the door. The exact time it took to walk around the cottage, or from one end of the houses and back again. She knew all these things because this was her home.

As her gaze fell to her cottage the hunger returned, a hidden assailant pouncing from the shadows. Scarlett only had a moment to feel the horrific realisation before her fangs shot down and primal urges took over. She crouched down and stalked towards her home.

Moving in for the kill.

A new scent hit Scarlett, and her nose twitched as she breathed it in. It was one of sweat – not foul and acrid – but sweet and intoxicating. It was far more powerful than that of her family, and like a leash it pulled her in a new direction. It drew her towards the house directly next to her own. The aroma came from within the mortar walls, as powerful to her new senses as smoke to a human. Slipping through the tall grass, she bought herself close to the window. As she curled her fingers around the rough wooden frame, a searing pain flared though them. She hissed and drew backwards, staring at her blistering skin. A few seconds later, the wounds knitted themselves back together and pushed out several splinters.

Wood hurts me.

The thought was important, but did not concern her in that moment. All that mattered was the scent, so she stored the knowledge away for later and returned her attention to the cottage. Somewhere deep within, Scarlett was screaming at herself to move away, to leave this place, but the hunger simply would not allow it.

Careful to avoid the window frame, Scarlett rose up and stared through the steamed up glass. Michael and Lisa were in bed, having sex. Their sweat-covered bodies moved in unison, lips pressed against one another and fingers entwined. The crude image unlocked darker images from within Scarlett. Memories of Master Clarke filled her mind. Images of him sweating like a pig as her bore down on her, grunting and grimacing as she cried silently, imagining she was a home, safe with her family.

Something snapped inside Scarlett.

Intense rage tore through her. She crashed through the window, not even flinching as the shattered glass sliced at her skin. The Granger’s gasped and scrambled to cover themselves up.

“Scarlett, w-what the Hell-” stuttered Michael.

As with Herbert, Michael did not get to finish his sentence. With a hiss, Scarlett rushed towards him, striking out with her hand and wrenching his jaw right off his face. His eyes went wide as his blood streaked over the blankets in a thick spray. Lisa let out a piercing scream. It was cut short when Scarlett tore her throat apart. Her screams dissolved into gurgles and her head hit the pillow, eyes growing dim as the blood poured from her.

Scarlett returned to the wailing Michael. Using her teeth, she ripped his tongue from his mouth and drained the blood that poured from the wound. He died soon afterwards, but Scarlett did not stop tearing him apart. The fury she had within her was too strong, blinding in its singular focus. All she wanted was to destroy, to cause agony and death. So she wrenched and tore, smashed and ripped until there was barely anything left. Her anger began to fade, enough that the hunger took over once more as her primary driving force. She turned her attention to Lisa, holding her close like a life-sized doll and draining the blood that pumped from her jugular as her limbs twitched and eyes rolled. Moments later she joined her husband in death.

Then it was over.

Scarlett sat in the mess she had created, staring at her victims. Michael had been reduced to a pile of gore and bones – what had once been a tall, gentle man was no longer recognisable. Lisa was a lifeless, grey thing, abandoned at the foot of the bed. Thirst quenched and anger quelled, Scarlett’s senses returned to her. As if waking from a bad dream into a living nightmare, she saw and finally understood what she had done.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” she screamed as she stared at the Granger’s. She recoiled, tumbling off the bed in a tangle of sheets. Backing herself into the corner, she squeezed her eyes shut, unable to bear witness to the bloodbath in front of her that she had created.

Dear god, I’m a demon! I’m a demon!

Scarlett started clawing at her face in a frenzy as she wept hysterically. Dark blood seeped from the wounds her razor nails created in her flesh, but she didn’t stop until her face was a mess of ripped skin and exposed bone.

The Granger’s were friends of her family. They were family, part of her life for as long as she could remember. Michael and Lisa were my kin and I killed them without a second thought. She stared down at her bloodied hands.

I am a child of the Devil now. I don’t deserve to live.

Scarlett retrieved a shard of broken glass from the floor. Holding it so tightly it dug into the meat of her fingers, she climbed back out of the window. She moved towards her home, hidden under the cover of darkness.

An oil lamp was burning in the kitchen, which for Scarlett made the inside of the homestead as bright as day. She caught sight of her reflection for a moment in the window and absolute misery rolled through her. A blood-drenched, tortured creature that had no place in the natural world.

Taking a deep breath she no longer needed, she focused on her family. Her mother, father and Connor were all sitting on the cot she had once shared with her brother. He was reading from a book, mouthing out the words as he always did. Scarlett closed her eyes and concentrated, her keen ears picking out their words.

“He was a man of chol – chol-er-ic dis-dispos-ition. Choleric disposition. What does that mean, Da?”

“It means he was a man quick to anger.”

“Must ’ave been written about you,” mocked Scarlett’s mother.

All three of them laughed, and Scarlett wept.

She wanted to be with her family so desperately it hurt, but she could not return to them now. Whatever had been done to her had tainted her soul, twisting her into something dark and evil. She would rather die than risk harming her family.

And that’s exactly what I’ll do.

As Scarlett watched the only three people she had ever loved in the world, she raked the sharp end of the glass across both of her wrists, feeling the blood spill from her veins.

“I love you,” she whispered.

She dropped the bloodied shard to the grass and waited for death to claim her.