Dark Harvest (#Wattys2018)

Prologue

I was only five that first night. I had felt something deep inside me stir, calling me out of a deep sleep. The moment my eyes had opened, I saw the man in my room.  

I didn't recognize him, but instead of a wave of anxiety at a stranger in my room, I felt drawn to him, as if my very essence knew him. I watched his silhouette bring a finger to his lips as he approached my bed.

He put his hand out to me, and I took it, surprised by how cold it was against my warm skin. This was the first of many warning signs that I ignored. I pushed away my comforter, letting the gray bunny that was always at my side, tumble from my bed and hit the floor. In an almost trance, I followed him. He led me out of my dark room while my eyes tried to focus, as if he knew every nook and cranny of my house, even in the dark.

Down the hall, and down the stairs into the family room. He made no noise, avoiding the creaky boards, as we made our way to the sliding glass door. The moon was high, giving the outside an eerie glow. His hand found my back and ushered me out into the night.  Peeper frogs and crickets filled the air outside of our home, and he moved quickly through the wet grass towards the forest.

I padded after him, my bare feet wet with dew. I should of been cold, frightened, but instead I followed the man, wanting to be in his presence. And as we started down the trail that lead to a small clearing in the forest, I didn't feel the sticks and brush that bit at my skin and poked into the soles of my feet.

But the clearing — as we entered, the man's hand tightened, squeezing so hard I felt the tiny bones in my hand grind together.  As I tried to free my hand, the comforting feeling fled with uncertainty and anxiety beginning to sound alarms.  

The thing inside me yawned, curious.  

At first, his tightened grip had seemed like a parental warning, as if he had sensed a danger I couldn't quite see. His squeeze had relayed it through my body, but as he let go of my hand and stepped forward - I heard the sounds of a muffled whimper. I looked up towards the man, sleep completely fading from me. But it was his expression that seemed to break the spell that suppressed my natural instincts, the ones that should have been telling me to run. He dropped my hand, and as that connect broke, I felt the panic I should have felt the moment an unknown man entered my bedroom.

He strode forward into the clearing, and slipped off his waist length black jacket, letting it pool onto the grass as he lifted his head skyward, taking in a deep breath through his nose.  His chest expanded as he took the air in, his face glowing with the sense of satisfaction - No, that was wrong - contentment. Like a cat smelling a mouse it had been hunting, with the knowledge that it would have that mouse.  I smelt nothing different about the wet, earthy air, but my ears brought to me the sound of panic, the noises of the trapped 'mouse'.  

Curiosity spurring me, I looked to see what was in front of him, hidden by his body. Instead of a wounded animal, I saw a woman kneeling next to the tree.  As he moved closer, she shrank into the tree, as if it would swallow her up and protect her from the man. She was crying, tears pouring down her face in little streaks of black, her eyes swollen. But I knew those eyes, that kind, sweet face. I had known it since I was a baby.

Elise.

She had been my nanny for as long as I could remember, taking care of me while my father had worked long hours. Just this morning, she had made me my favorite breakfast of iced cinnamon roll. I had never seen her like this, never seen her not smiling.

Tied around her head and through her mouth was a wide piece of woven linen, stained with dirt and blood. I could see it biting into the corner of her mouth that were pulled back in terror.  Her breath was catching with each sob, muffled against the linen, blood matted-blonde curls stuck to her face  He was so fast, a blur in the night, one moment twenty feet from her, the next beside her, her chin in his grasp, cruel fingers cupping her jaw, baring her throat to him.

"Sweet little angel," he crooned, though to her or me I did not know.

She shrieked, pressing herself closer to the tree, turning her face away from him. And instead of going to her, telling him to stop, I stood, frozen, only thinking her name over and over.  

Elise. Elise. Elise.

I couldn't run away. I couldn't leave the scene.  I couldn't take my eyes off of her.

His tongue flicked out tracing her jawline, little pricks of blood appearing on her pale skin as if little needles had shot from his tongue into her skin, opening pathways for the blood to spill.  She jerked away, shrieking in pain as if his tongue was barbed with venom. He threw his head back, laughing at her futile effort to avoid his touch.

The thing in my chest, spurring me forward, as my eyes focused on the drops of red blood. 

I found myself on the ground, my feet and hands covered in the dew.  One moment, I had been standing, stricken with fear in the clearing, the next on all fours, the knees of my pajamas, stained a greenish-brown from trampling across the grass. A yearning — no, a hunger — so deep in me, gnawed at my core. The sweet scent of nickel filling the air, fueling me as I found myself crawling towards her.

She caught sight of my movement, finally seeing me. Her eyes widened with a different type of fear. The fear for another.

"Rally!"

I froze, regaining myself, as the thing in my chest screamed for me to move forward to join him, to nestle against him and feast on something warm, something that would complete me. But her voice drew me back. She was my nanny. Her shrill cry of my name...

My eyes met hers, as the storm of fear and concern burned. She only saw me now.

"Run," she howled desperately as she struggled against her bonds. Against him.

He watched, a sadistic smile forming on his face. He ignored her, his eyes on me, as he beckoned for me to move closer.  He tipped her chin away from him, jerking her head back, and exposed her pale throat to me.  I wanted it. I could see her veins through her skin, so distinct, and filled with her life essence. I could feel her fear with every deep swallow she took. Some primal instinct inside me focused on the blood moving through her, and I suddenly knew then that that was the warmth I craved.  I wanted the sticky metallic taste coating my tongue, my throat, thick and hot.  I shuttered, unable to turn away as he flicked his wrist, his fingers suddenly long and impossibly sharp. And as they tore open her throat, I screamed with her: her's shrill, full of terror, pain, and mine aching with hunger.