Gusto13's Allience for the Gothicly Ill!

Beth's Short Story

The Field
I looked up at the sky, watched trees sway in the wind, heard the crunch of straw beneath my naked feet, but I didn’t feel anything. I didn’t feel my hand touch my face, I didn’t know if I had sustained any injuries, nothing hurt, I felt nothing. Was I in shock? I’d heard before, from friends and from other sources I couldn’t recall at this very moment, that a person in shock suffered from loss of physical response, including other symptoms which eluded me now. I concluded this must be the case, I was in shock, but then it occurred to me, what would I be doing standing in a field? This was becoming increasingly perplexing. Was I dead? I raised my hands to cup my ears, an instinctive reaction I developed since childhood and of course I didn’t feel the side of my head. I must be dead. I tried to recount the events that led me to this inexplicable situation, I could remember nothing. I wished something looked familiar. I think if I could feel panic it would be laying claim to my chest right about now. Fear would be clenching my throat and making my mouth dry. I willed myself to lick my lips, nothing. Birds chirped and twittered, melodies I would normally enjoy as I basked in the earthy naturalness of it all. But now, as I plodded through dry grass and tufts of dandelions, the sounds around me only augmented my grief. My tender feet left splotches of blood on the crisp tawny grass, but I felt no pain. The field stretched for farther than I could see and I was almost grateful at that moment for the lack of sensation. My arbitrary choice of direction seemed fortunate for after only a few moments I spotted a barn. The wide-mouthed carmine sentinel comforted me somewhat because I knew a short distance away would be a house, most likely inhabited. The barn was freshly painted and bales of hay were stacked neatly behind the building. I peered through cracks in the aged wood and saw several milk cows, the most obvious clue that people were nearby. Rounding the barn to continue the search I halted in my tracks at the blood-curdling scream that assailed my ears. A young girl with terror-filled eyes the size of saucers wailed for her mother at the sight of me and my heart sunk. I could only imagine how unkempt my appearance must be, considering I had not bathed that morning. I probably startled her with my uncombed hair and unshaven face but I was at a loss as to why the child would react in such a way. Surely this youngster had set her eyes upon similar males in the early morning hours, what could have caused her distress? I feared the worst at this point. I reasoned I must have a head injury or something for this tot to screech so robustly. “Wait!?I called to the little girl. She scrambled through some hay and disappeared into a copse of trees. I followed close behind, begging for her to help me but all I could hear was sobbing. The forested area was pregnant with fear, the sound of terror in the child’s crying, the hollow echo of crackling dry branches and leaves, the desperation in my voice. A house came into view as we cleared the trees. The young girl squealed again for her mother at which point a young woman burst through a squeaky screen door. She dropped a white towel on the steps as she rushed to her daughter with outstretched arms. I heard the frantic panting of the child and saw the worry on the mother’s face. “Sarah,?the young mother called as she hoisted the child up and hugged her closely. “Momma,?the child cried, “see the monster?? Between sobs, the child tried to relay the horrible experience but stopped when the mother hushed her. “Sarah,?the mother repeated, whispering into the side of the child’s head, her lips brushing her daughter’s cheek. That single word trailed off as the mother stepped backward, clutching her daughter tightly. “Oh my God,?the mother exhaled. She almost fell on the bottom step before she gained her footing. Feeling behind her she opened and then slowly pulled the door shut. I could hear the bolt sliding into the chamber. After that I heard no more sounds and saw nothing else beyond the darkened mesh of the screen door. What I did see, however, as I approached the house, sickened and disabled me. I glanced in a window that doubled as a mirror in the light of day and what was staring back at me was incomprehensible, my mind whirled as I tried to understand what it was that I was seeing. I’d looked at my visage a thousand times before and knew my face by heart. What I saw now defied explanation; in all my readings, through all the legends of creatures untold and misunderstood, I could never have contrived such an abhorrence. Because I could not feel anything I never noticed the slavering. Streaks of saliva glistened on my chin making me appear rabid. My canines extended over my bottom lip, which was blood-red. Was this due to the transformation or was it really blood on my lips? I dared not inspect myself closer, I was near to fainting just at the sight of what I’d become. What had I become? My first question had been answered, I surely was not dead. But now I must figure out why my appearance had been so drastically transformed into this vulgar, offensive beast. My skin was ghostly white, I could see the blue veins under my temples, it sickened me to see them throb. The only thing familiar to me was my hair. The unruly, tousled thatch of raven hair I saw now, which had greeted me many previous mornings until I tamed the rampant strands with a brush, was, due to a lack of grooming this morning, a testament to my beastly production. My eyes. The final assault to the very existence of my being was my eyes. No longer the smoldering, lusty eyes of an aristocrat—one who had seduced many courtesans with a glance—they now stared back at me with bloodshot, red-tinged leering pupils. For how long I stood there inspecting my image I don’t know but it was long enough for the young mother to fetch a neighbor and quite possibly an entire hunting party. I could hear a chorus of male voices and the hysterical barking of dogs. A frightened voice in my head told me to hide, to retreat, but where? The dogs would pick up my scent and I’d be caught. I silently wished I could disappear and then something happened that was beyond belief. I looked down at my body but what would normally be a clothed corporeal entity was now smoke. I had metamorphosed into vaporous mist! Confusion was my only friend, Fear my cloak, and Memories were a long-forgotten sanctuary I could no longer call my own. I was conscious of my surroundings, I could see and hear the posse and their bloodhounds and I was ecstatic when I realized their search would be in vain. The dogs whimpered and scampered through bushes but were not able to lead the men on any trail. The tenaciously sniffing hounds could go no farther than the very spot where I stood just before vanishing into thin air. I hovered over the spectacle in millions of composite atoms; no shape, no evidence of human, er, non-human? existence. Impatient voices argued over which direction to search next but in the end the entire party disbanded. A few men seemed to doubt the veracity of the woman’s claim that a monster attacked her child and, exasperated, tried to convince her that it was merely a figment of her imagination. One kindly man gently touched her shoulder and told her not to worry, the woods can sometimes play tricks on people. What did they know... ***** After the excitement had died down on that young mother’s property I tried to assume my former shape, at least the same one I had inhabited all my life. I knew not whether I would be able to achieve a presence of my former self or would I return to that hideous mockery of a human being? Once again I wished myself changed to my previous incarnation and instantaneously I was flesh and blood or at least I presumed that was the case. Was I not human anymore? What had I become? The strange thing was the new-found ability to transmutate into shapes and substances at will. Just by merely wishing it. Could I be an animal? A bird, perhaps? Experimenting, I closed my eyes and wished to be a robin, red and beautiful, with a glorious song to chirp to the world. I opened my eyes and found myself in a tree. I expelled what I thought would be words but instead a sweet melody of staccato chirping issued forth. I was a bird. And I knew I was a bird! What miracle of nature was this that I only have to wish myself changed and it comes to pass? How did I end up in this situation? Most importantly, why? I again retreated to that abyss in my mind; that safe, warm place where only I could hide: my thoughts. I tried to recall the previous evening’s events, there must be a clue there as to what happened. My mind was blank. My memories had been purged somehow by some mysterious force, some clever thief, amnesia, perhaps? But then, if that were true, how would I even know to reason any of this? I knew what amnesia meant. I remembered my parents, where I lived, my schooling, my beautiful wife. So why couldn’t I remember how I got here and how it is that I can defy the laws of physics and change physically into any shape I desired? And what in the world happened to my face? ***** Willing myself back to the monstrosity that barely resembled human form, I sat down against the tree where I had moments before perched upon. I no longer muddied my brain with details on the how’s, I was now concentrating on the why’s. A field mouse interrupted my thoughts and I snatched it up with my clawed hand and bit deeply into the fur and greedily swallowed the warm fluid that flowed into my mouth. I dropped the corpse and immediately I began to cry. The only word that occupied my brain was what I feared the most: vampire. That’s what had happened to me. I had become one of the undead. I have become one of the undead, I corrected myself. A face entered my thoughts. A beautiful woman with dark, shiny hair; full red lips and deep fathomless eyes danced across my memories. She bit me, I rationalized, and I touched my neck hesitantly, fearing I would discover the horrible truth in two tiny puncture wounds on my jugular. I couldn’t feel anything still, a presumed side-effect from the transformation. Why did she leave me in the field? I now remembered how I ended up there. The dark mistress of my misfortune ran with me, both of us giggling, heady with anticipation, to the field, to make love. My wife and I were attending a ball and I stole away with this breathtaking creature to engage in mad, passionate love-making. All I could remember after seeing her heaving breasts in the moonlight was waking up the next morning in that same field, disoriented, suffering from a temporary amnesia. So, I solved my little mystery. I wonder what happens next?
Beth

Copywright ?2000 Beth
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