Georgina Neilson Age 13 Moonlight Lauren yawned and pulled her fleece tighter around her. Mike shifted slightly next to her, his brown floppy hair falling over his eyes. He flicked the remote and turned the volume on the TV up so it was drowning out the noise of the dishwasher in the next room. Lauren groaned softly and made a face at him. She wasn’t enjoying the movie they were watching; in her opinion guns, knives and a load of blood just didn’t cut it. ‘What? It was a choice between this or that vampire-freakish film.’ ‘Give me vampires and werewolves any day…’ Mike checked his phone, the luminous screen lighting up his face. 10.30pm exactly. He picked up the black remote and made to switch off the DVD. ‘What are you doing? I was watching that!’ Mike grinned and pushed her off the sofa, tickling her so that she squealed wildly. ‘Never happy, are you? Are you, huh?’ Lauren laughed breathlessly and pushed him away. They had been best friends since they were little kids, never more, never less and now they were inseparable. As darkness crept in upon them, a wolf upon sheep, they settled down in their sleeping bags and talked softly to each other, the movie flickering muted on the TV behind them. Mike’s parents were out for the night but they were both too tired to stay up any longer. Lauren was the first to fall asleep, but gradually Mike’s eyelids began to droop and he surrendered to the smothering wave of sleep threatening to consume him. She woke up, startled, a sharp scratching echoing through her head. A fragment of her disturbed dream escaping her memory. Scratch-scratch-scratch She stood slowly, wandered through to the kitchen. Got a glass of water, paused. Waited. Listened. Scratch-scratch-scratch Lauren choked, coughing and spluttering, icy-cold water running down her neck, mirroring the fingers running up her spine. Her dream, it was outside. It was real. * * * The bloodshot eyes stared at him as he walked – was he walking? Floating, but how? Down towards the lake. His vision was blurred strangely at the sides, offering only what was directly in front of him and even that was devoid of colour. The eyes were following him; he could feel it. Burning a hole right through the back of his shirt, piercing his flesh, through his spine and deep into his innards. His stomach churned and he tasted bile at the back of his throat. The lake water surged around his ankles, hungry for him, grey and sluggish. Wisps of thick mist drifted above the surface, the stagnant water letting out fumes, a rotting, unnatural stench. He turned and found himself caught up in the web of those eyes, those great burning orbs. Hatred and fury poured out of them, spilling onto the ground, tightening the air around him. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Black rolled around his face, over his body. Sharp pinpricks on his shoulder, sinking into the soft flesh, cracking the bone. A dull roaring filling his ears, dulling his mind. Searing, flashing pain shot through his body in red hot waves. The thick, metallic taste and smell of blood filled his mouth and nostrils. ‘No!’ he whimpered, helpless and weak. ‘No! Not again!’ His limbs were locked; he was frozen. Immobile. The teeth, claws, razor blades were around his shoulders and neck, shaking him. He opened his mouth to scream, to yell for the end and – * * * ‘Mike! Mike, wake up! Mike, please!’ He jerked forwards. Lauren was holding him by the shoulders, shaking him into the present. ‘There’s something – something in the kitchen and it’s outside and it’s trying to come in!’ She took a deep breath. ‘Oh God, just come and check!’ Wide-eyed with fear, she tugged him upright, pulling him towards the kitchen. Mike traced the bite mark on his shoulder. What if it was outside? Waiting for him? Waiting for them? She was at the outside door reaching up to tug the blind. To let in the glare of those hypnotic eyes. ‘No Lauren! Don’t!’ He stumbled forward to stop her but froze at the look of absolute terror in her eyes. She backed away slowly, jamming her back against the door, small whimpers coming from her open mouth. ‘Lauren? Lauren, what’s there?’ But his mouth, it wouldn’t open properly. He grunted and shook his head, running a hand quickly through his hair. But it wasn’t hair. He reached up again and panic-stricken felt the two pointed ears protruding from a thick mane of fur. He felt a sudden pressure on his back, a great hand pushed him to the floor. His knees gave way and he fell, his claws scrabbling against the worn stone. His claws?! He stared at his hands in horror, fear surging up his throat and his heart beating faster and faster. He raised his head to look at Lauren, to warn her, to tell her to run. All that he could manage was a dull snarl and croaking at the back of his throat. A feral, wild anger was taking over his body, his mind. He felt panic give way to hatred and fury, delighted at the sudden thought of tearing her apart, piece by piece. Lauren stared at the bloodshot, sullen eyes, tried to scream. The mouth cracked apart in a wide, malicious grin. He raised his snout and howled. The cat outside paused in its scratching. When the screaming stopped, replaced by a slow dripping, it turned tail and whiskered off under the full moon. |
