Grave

2.2

He knew what it was. Allasandra would often pull itself up to the rooms above when Lorcrar was about, hunting out his scent. Lorcrar imagined the trail of blood it was leaving on the greying floorboards. He would have to wash that off again, he thought, or the paint might peel. Below him, his father, Zabros Adrastus, sat in a realm of darkness digesting his son's blood.

Lorcrar lay back on his bed, waiting for the leech to stop its journey across the wooden landscape of his door. It was like a game. If he was quiet enough, eventually the leech gave it away. What seemed like hours later, he heard a dull thud, a squelch, and then silence. He closed his eyes, and as sleep came to him Catherine's withered and kind face appeared in his mind. A tear slid down his pale cheek as he slipped into darkness.

Lorcrar woke with the old woman's face still staring at him in disbelief through his mind's eye. He disliked this feeling. He had lost control for the first time since he had been too young to know better. He would not let it happen again.

Suddenly noticing the first pale signs of dawn's light, Lorcrar made to leave his room.  He pressed his ear to the door to listen for any sign of company. No sounds from the leech or his father.

Lorcrar walked wearily to the ledge of the second floor and bent over the railing. He blinked down at the uncharacteristically silent floor below. Then he heard a scratching on the wood behind his feet, and turned to find Allasandra, inching its now thin body along the ground towards the stairs where it had wrapped itself around the banister. It made a gurgling sound that echoed loudly in the silent house, Lorcrar hastily climbed down the stairs.

Now the house was alive with noise. The railing groaned beneath Lorcrar's body despite his light weight, the stairs creaked, the wind screamed outside, the overgrown trees scratched at the exterior of the house. A crow was singing a song of mourning in the thickets outside.

Zabros stirred. The sound projected evil into every corner. Lorcrar reached the foot of the stairs and dragged his feet through the room. Zabros began to laugh, a laugh like the sound that comes from a behemoth's throat. Lorcrar tensed. His father did not laugh at jokes.  

"My pet– my... dearest son." Zabros almost always forgot he was talking to his son.

"Yes, father." 

"Come over here, dearest son." His voice was dangerously soft. The floors vibrated as Zabros moved around, Lorcrar quickly stumbled towards Zabros, not able to refuse, but not trusting enough to come very far into that dark room. He glanced upwards. The threads of morning light revealed on the rafters a hanging cover of spider's webs.

"What is that?"

Zabros inched forward best he could. Lorcrar trembled. He wanted to get away, but did not have the willpower. He was frozen, forced to stare into eyes that gleamed despite the darkness.

"You know what this is, do you?" Zabros lifted a spider limb and turned a cocoon so it was facing them. The sight made Lorcrar feel sick. There facing him, wrapped in his father's webs, was the outline of a woman. Zabros proceeded to unwrap the silver thread. Lorcrar suddenly realised that it was the old woman who had followed him. He had been careless. Carelessness was strictly forbidden. His body trembled now.

The old woman's eyes were missing and her skin was completely dry. Her mouth was agape like a fish, and her jaw wobbled as Zabros hauled her back up onto the ceiling. She had been hollowed out, and was now an empty husk.

"My son, why do you stand so far away? Come closer." Zabros reached out quickly and touched Lorcrar on the shoulder with one bristly, sharp limb. Lorcrar's convulsed. Zabros retreated, his eyes widening in confusion.

"...Do I frighten you?"

Lorcrar took a deep breath.

"No, father. It isn't that at all. I just-" He did not know what to say. Zabros did frighten him. Luckily he was interrupted.

"I was wondering when this day would come. You have brought me a gift, and I assure you it was very well received. What exactly have you been drinking, boy? Your blood is very thin. Well, never mind, no matter – I want to...congratulate you."

        

"For what, father?"

"She had been drained by you earlier, I believe. Your instincts are becoming stronger, and you have taken your first victim. Admittedly with my help."

Lorcrar did not like where this conversation was leading. He began to edge away.

"Thanks. I'm leaving now."

"However," Zabros continued, "it is a definite start. Now I will see that you nurture your desire. You hunt tonight!"

Lorcrar wondered how many rats he would have to catch to fool his father into believing he had killed a human. Then he remembered the distinct sweetness of Catherine. No, there would be no hiding it.

"And, also, do not think that I cannot see you do not want to. I can sense these things. Pull yourself together, boy, and do what your were born to do. Enjoy school now." And with that Zabros crept back into the darkness of the room, making scraping noises on the stone.

So I am finally doomed.

Lorcrar sighed as he headed out the door towards his dreary school. He could never take someone's life.