The standard two story house from the eighteen hundreds with its wide porch and white paint peeling had been in the family for three generations. Herb had never loved it. His room on the back porch had always been too cold in winter and full of flies in summer.
Now he stood facing the house again on a gray cloudy day with the lightest soaking kind of a drizzle carried on a gentle breeze. With the death of his older brother, the house was now his. He didn't want it, but he was out of work and had lost his apartment in the city. With no family, he had nowhere else to go.
He hiked his huge duffle bag back up onto his shoulder and continued his trudge up the long slightly overgrown driveway to the front steps. It was then that he noticed the fresh footprints, on the steps and porch and continuing through the open front door. The prints were wet and muddy, tinged crimson with blood. Herb scanned the scene looking for some clue as to who could have left the prints. The house was dark, and all the windows were empty.
He set his bag on the porch out of the rain and picked up the garden hoe that had been left by the steps. Carefully, clutching the hoe tightly, and cringing with each creak from the old floor boards, he crept, step by step, to the open door and peered inside.
The prints became a bloody, dirty smear across the hardwood floor of the living room, heading toward the kitchen. The room's dated furniture was dusty, but otherwise immaculate. Slowly, he continued to follow the trail. In the kitchen, it continued across the white tile. In the far corner, curled into a ball, was a young woman covered in the tattered remnants of clothing. The soles of her feet were cut and scratched as if from running through the forest without shoes.
Herb approached with caution. Then he set the hoe aside and knelt next this seemingly defenseless waif with flowing brown hair. When he reached out to brush the hair from her face, she turned to look up at him. For a moment he was captivated by her alabaster skin and beautiful blue eyes.
In a fraction of a second that all changed. Her skin turned dark as night, and her long straight brown hair became a shaggy black mane. The same shaggy hair appeared on her back, arms, and legs. Razor sharp fangs and claws replaced the innocent smile. Before he could jump back she took one quick swipe with her paw.
Herb felt the slightest sting at his neck and then the warm liquid running down his chest. He could see the pool of his own blood spreading on the floor. He started to freak out, but the euphoria brought on by the blood loss made everything seem far away and unimportant.
As he slipped toward the floor, the woman returned to her previous appearance. She knelt next to him, licking his blood from her fingertips. She looked at him tenderly and whispered, "I'm so glad you came. You taste so much better than your brother did."
Herb managed to gasp out, "Why...?"
"We're always hungry," she replied sweetly as she reached into his shirt pocket and extracted his cell phone. "Now I need to make a few calls."
