Hello and welcome to the first of my blog serials. This is an extremely different approach to writing for me, not only because I am writing in short bursts and publishing the story here for free, but because I am adopting a pantster style of writing when I am usually a plotter. I plan to post episodes of this story on a monthly basis.
To give you a little history into the origins of this particular story, it started out as a short story writing experiment with my father, with each of us writing a paragraph and sending it on for continuation. We got as far as the start of Episode 2 before Dad suggested that I take over writing the rest of it. So, without further ado, I present you with Episode 1. Enjoy…
I peered into the mirror, wondering if I looked as bad as I felt. But nothing could have prepared me for the shock of seeing nothing at all. Running through the house like a madman, I checked every other reflective surface I could find, all to no avail. If I’m not casting a reflection, does that mean… I gulped, unable to finish that thought as I checked for a pulse on my deathly pale wrist. Nothing. I placed my hand over my solid chest muscles. No heartbeat. As I collapsed to the floor, my stomach rumbled, and I felt my incisors protrude. I touched one of the enlarged teeth, drawing my finger back suddenly to see blood dripping from the small puncture. Well I’ll be damned.
Legend has it that such phenomena are associated with mythical beasts like vampires and werewolves, but I had no recollection of being bitten or attacked by anyone or anything. Was this real, or had I ventured into some bizarre dream zone where the concrete and the imagined were indistinguishable? I check the mirror once more. Nothing. I scoured the house for any bed or sofa where I might lay sleeping. Nothing. Anxiety rose in my throat like some bitter, nauseating bile. I reached for my cell phone to call my dearest, kindred spirit.
‘Hi Hayden. How’d you pull up after last night?’ There was no mistaking the hint of ridicule in Rebecca’s tone.
‘Not well. I feel lousy.’
‘With how much you drank at the club last night, I’m not surprised. I haven’t seen you drink that heavily since… well, you know.’
Rubbing my aching temples, I chided myself for being such an idiot. ‘I think I blacked out in the end. Could you fill in a few blanks for me ‘cause my memories are pretty vague?’
‘Hmm, that Seraphina skank you went home with did a real number on you, huh?’
‘Wha… Sera – who?’
‘You know, the doll with the gothic makeup and the tight-fitting silky dress. You were chatting her up fer chrisake, for the better part of an hour while you drank most of the bar’s tequila stock.’
‘Did I do that? I have no recollection whatsoever. I don’t suppose my drinks could have been spiked, do you think?’
‘With all you drank, who could tell. Are you looking for an excuse for your brilliant display of judgement?’
‘So, you’re saying I left with this Sera?’
‘To her place or mine?’
‘That’s one for you to speculate. But she did lead you out by the hand.’
After ending the call that had me more perplexed than ever, I searched my recent call log and contacts for any details that could be linked to the woman Rebecca mentioned. There were no unknown numbers, nor anyone listed as Seraphina. Dammit! Deep breathing became necessary when a surge of rage overcame me, and I felt compelled to throw my phone across the room. That was when I realised I did not even have breath flowing through my lungs. So what? I’m a walking, talking corpse now? I thundered across the room. Is it time to invest in a coffin?
© 2020 L. STARLA