Tuesday, 5 January 2010
08:16:53 AM (GMT)
By Larissa Lycandro and Lila Close
NOTE: The following story is told from the perspective of two people, Larissa and
Lila writing from each characters perspective.
I know I should open my eyes but I cannot bring myself to do it. It is cold and the
air is stale.
A hand closed around my arm, I shivered away from it, it was wrong, it felt so wrong.
I tried to shove my arm away from the touch, but it grabbed me other arm and forced
me to face it. I whimper quietly. It chuckled once, lifted one of its hands from my
arm to my head and ran its hand down my face.
“Shh” It whispered hauntingly. When I think things could not get any worse; I
feel a sharp pain in my neck. Despite my fears, I open my eyes and I see a light. For
some reason the pain is familiar and somehow expected. I assure myself my eyes will
adjust but then, as if it was reading my mind, the light went out. I pull my face
upward and see a silhouette in front of the open doorway. So many questions are
running through my head and my instinct is sending one message to me: you should not
I sat shaking for what seemed like a lifetime, finally I hear a voice; “That’s
enough for now she looks like she’s going to pass out” a male voice said.
Now that I he has mentioned it, I feel like my energy is being drained out of me,
along with life itself, but eventually, the pain begins to stop. I try to move but
something is holding me back. I am not sure what it is, well I am not sure of very
much right now, but of this, I am certain: the creature in the room with me is not
With this thought came new fears. What did it want with me? Why me in particular? Am
I here to be tortured? What did I do to deserve this? “Where am I?” I mumble
unable to make any more noise, but it seemed to hear me.
The weight lifts from my neck and it begins to hurt even more, as it is exposed to
the cold air. “She’s conscious, she will be fine!” snaps the creature.
“Yes, but you should still let her recover. Look at her, she is hardly putting up a
fight, you have weakened her too much, step away Pyro.” The male’s voice
confirmed my theory but even knowing the truth, my fears were still there.
The next thing I know, warmth swept over me and the light returned, telling me that
Pyro and the man in the doorway had left. The pain became more intense and I could no
longer control my body. It became so horrendous I do not know what to do. I could
scream, but who would hear me? I decided that screaming would be better than to keep
feeling this pain. I let my hold of my mouth go and let out the loudest scream I can
manage, which is not very loud. It didn’t take long for them to come running back
to see what is wrong, but this time there is more of them. They look like humans,
their shape, the way they talk but there is something more to them, something
One steps forward and kneels down next to me. I can now see his face, the blood red
eyes and the blemish less skin. He leans down and touches my neck. When I flinch from
his touch, he moves back into the group again. His face looks worried and horrified.
I cannot help but wonder why he is scared, and if it is because of me. But before I
could scream again, my mouth is taped together and I’m tied down and secured. I
cannot move and even breathing is a burden. My face slams into the concrete floor. I
struggle to get out of their hold but I am unable to do anything, not even lift a
finger. Finally one speaks.
“Don’t even try to get out. This is your home now.” His voice was cold and
Something about home did not sound right. How could this be my home? I lift my head
up to see another. He is dressed finely and his eyes are soft. The grip loosened on
me as soon as he came into view. He had a sense of authority about him. The man moves
forward making the others leave. He starts to untie me.
“Sorry about this. If I had known” His voice is smooth but frustrated
“It’s fine. I’m okay,” I say before he can blame himself again. Not long
after the words had escaped my lips, I wondered why on Earth I was defending him.
When I am completely free, I sit up. I lock eyes with him for a moment unable to look
away. When he turns to look at the wall, I relax. His face looks familiar but his
eyes are a torture to look at and hold.
“Sorry” the man mumbled.
Suddenly darkness came over me again. I want to scream again but it does not come. I
know it is stupid but I want to be back in the cave with him. My breathing picks up
into gasps. I struggle to open my eyes and I eventually do. The light is blinding but
it feels more normal. After a couple of seconds, my room becomes more detailed. I sit
up against the pain worried about why it is still there. Looking around I spot my
maid standing in the doorway. She stares at me with worry before coming over.
“Are you alright Miss?”She says kindly.
“Yes thank you.” I say while testing my muscles for damage.
“Are you sure?” She manages to get out.
“Yes Mary, I’m fine. It was just a dream.” I reply politely.
September 24th 1804
I groaned and pushed my face into my pillow when the sunlight hit my face.
“Wakey Wakey eggs and bakey!” an annoying voice sung. I threw my spare pillow in
the general direction of the voice and groaned again. I peeled my eyes open with some
difficultly to see my uncle grinning at me. “Your father comes home today, boy, did
I smiled. “Of course I didn’t. I couldn’t sleep last night because I was so
nervous.” I admitted, adding a chuckle to the end of my sentence, so I did not
sound like an 8 year old who could not sleep because it was their birthday tomorrow.
I stretched out on my bed and ran my hands through my hair.
“Why? He’s only your father.” My uncle asked, leaning against my doorframe. His
gold hoop earring glinted in the early morning sun.
I raised my eyebrows. “Last time he saw me, I was 15. I didn’t have any hunting
skills, but now I do and I’m nervous about him being disappointed.” I admitted,
swinging my legs out of bed.
“Well, hurry up then, boy.” My uncle smiled at me and left my room. Now sitting
on my bed I took a couple of deep breaths to calm my nerves, my blonde hair fell over
my eyes, shielding the sunlight a little bit. I got up and went into my bathroom.
A bucket of water was placed just below the dirty mirror; my uncle probably put it
there. I wet my hands and tried to loosen the thick layer of dirt that covered my
mirror so that I could make out my reflection. I ran my fingers through my hair,
trying to untangle the bird’s nest so that I could pull it into a ponytail at the
nape of my neck. I put in my earring and stared at myself in the mirror. How much
have I changed in the last six years? I have put on some muscle, and gotten taller,
my hair has grown out and my face has become squarer. I wondered whether my father
would recognise me or not. I smiled at the mirror; does it matter if he likes the way
I look? I mean, I am his son.
I sipped my tea noisily and try to stop my hands from shaking so much. My uncle just
smiled at me. I shot him a joking glare, he just grinned wider.
“Calm down!” he insisted. “It will be fine”
I nodded, not to reassure him, but to reassure myself.
There was a knock at the door, my heart skipped a beat. My uncle got up to get the
door; I put down my tea and tried to make my face as mature as possible.
“Joseph!” my uncle greeted him at the door. “Great to see you!”
“You too Isaac, how have you been?” My father enquired as he walked down the hall
with my uncle.
“Not bad” my uncle answered.
“Where’s my son?” my father asked just as he rounded the corner to the kitchen
where I was sitting. His eyes widened at the sight of me, and then he broke into a
huge grin. I returned the smile, but my face shook as I did so. “Great to see you,
boy” he laughed and walked over to shake my hand. “How long has it been now?”
“Six years” I answered quickly, still grinning.
“Twenty-one” he mused. “Have you been training with your uncle?” He asked.
I nodded “Every day” I assured him.
“So...” he prompted. I raised an eyebrow. “Are you coming hunting with me
tonight or what?”
My mouth dropped open. “Really, are you sure?” I asked, just to make sure he was
not going to yell out ‘Just joking!’ at any moment.
“Yes, Louis, I am.” He laughed and took a seat at the table, my uncle followed
his example. “There is a really different one this time. It is a girl, she’s
“Dorian?” I ask. My father shrugs.
“I have reason to believe that she is something other than human.” He told me.
This time, it was my turn to shrug.
“Who cares?” I ask. “If it’s not human, we send it back to hell.”
My father grinned at me. “That’s my boy”
I was pushing all the right buttons with my father. Yes, I guess I was sucking up a
little bit. But what was I supposed to do? Was I supposed to act like a fifteen year
old? No, I was going to prove to my father how good I was at what we do.
We kill Dorians, and variations thereupon. We would soak a knife in dead man’s
blood and stab them to weaken them, and then we have two options. If we are feeling
particularly merciful that day, we would burn them down, and the agonising
alternative would be to starve them. They go frenetic after a few days, and then they
eventually waste away into a leathery corpse.
I, myself prefer starving them. It seems fairer than a quick death; they drain man
after man every day and have any of those monsters ever felt any remorse whatsoever?
No, they have not. And they hope for us to be merciful toward them.
I will admit to something, however. I do have a soft spot for female Dorians. They
are so much harder to kill. Nevertheless, I can usually manage without much
I am a bit frightened that I might freeze up on the spot though, hopefully I will
not, I will just go in, kill the kid and get out. I mean, it is a seventeen-year-old
girl. How hard could it be?
My dreams have started becoming more frequent, but there is something concerning
them. They seem familiar, perhaps it is just that I have them every night and I am
confusing with reality? What are they trying to tell me? I feel like I am blind, like
the answer is right in front of me. I feel like something bad is going to happen,
but then, what could be worse than my dreams?
“Lunch is served m’ lady,” Mary informed me.
“Um... thank you. I will be right down” I said with a smile.
Mary bowed her head and exited the room. She has been my only friend for most of my
seventeen years, maybe I could ask her what the dream meant, she claims to be good at
that kind of stuff.
“Mary, wait!” I call.
“Yes, m’ lady?” she responded, and walked quickly back into the room.
“Could I ask you something?” I ask as politely as I can manage.
“Of course m’ lady, anything” she replied.
“How many times do I have to tell you call me Cathy” I inject.
“Sorry” Mary giggles. “Now what do you need to ask?”
“Oh, um... yes my dreams, they’ve gotten more vivid. I know it’s strange but I
really think there trying to tell me something” I whisper.
Mary looked shocked by my question; she gulps and opens her mouth to speak.
“ Well, I can’t really say more than that dreams are dreams they don’t mean
anything I think your just trying to imagine what you want to happen” she
“I am not making this up Mary, I swear!” I yelled at her.
“I am not saying you’re lying it’s just your imagination has always been
incredibly active” Mary suggested.
“My imagination is not active anymore, when I was a child, maybe! This is real and
I know it but I don’t think it’s the future it feels like I’ve lived it
before!” Mary opened her mouth to interrupt but I beat her.
“Even the first time I had this dream it was familiar I just don’t know what’s
going to happen in them and it scares me!” I yell. I composed myself quickly once I
realised how loud I had gotten. “I am sorry Mary, I shouldn’t have asked. I
should go eat lunch. Sorry again, I don’t know what came over me.” I whisper but
Mary had already gone.
I do not feel guilty for yelling at her. Maybe she is right though, but I do not
think I am crazy, different maybe, but not crazy. The only thing I believe right now
is that I am not imagining this; I have felt that way before, somewhere.
I walk downstairs and out into the garden, the only place I can find peace now. My
whole family is worried about me, they think that I am changing, because of these
dreams, even my sister Jane will not leave me alone. I live in constant fear of
sleeping, every time I close my eyes I see it. The darkness scares me, I only feel
safe in the light, but even then, I always feel like there is something after me.
I took a step to peer around the wall, and scrunched my eyes shut when a twig broke
under my foot. I thought that that only happened in books! The torturous sound of my
slip-up echoed around the trees, my heart skipped a few beats. I wished that my pulse
could be a bit quieter, if this girl was a Dorian, she could probably hear my blood
pumping throughout my body.
I glanced around to see if my father had heard the twig, I finally spotted his face
poking around a tree. He nodded to me; I nodded back and pulled out my knife and a
bottle. I dipped the knife into the dead man’s blood and gripped it as tight as I
could. I pulled a length of rope from my belt and held onto that tightly as well.
I looked at my uncle behind me. He nodded at me; I turned to my father and nodded
twice. He got the message; we were ready.
My father moved first, he slunk around his tree and into their front yard. A gardener
was pruning a bush; my father gets his rope and wraps it around the man’s neck. He
motioned for me to come forward.
I stumble toward the panic-stricken man and my beaming father. He did not need to
explain what he wanted me to do; his wide grin said it all.
I took my clean dagger and plunged it into the man’s stomach. My father cut off his
scream with his hand, and pushed him into the exceedingly large house that belonged
to the Dorian.
My father pressed the gardener up against the intricately hand painted wall and
dragged him across, leaving a trail of blood across the wall. He nodded to me again,
I pulled out the dagger I had used beforehand and slit his throat. As his white work
uniform quickly became red, my father dragged the man’s limp body out into the
If she was a Dorian, she should be able to smell this blood; I guess that that is
what we were counting on.
It did not take long, two girls and a man emerged from their home, by the looks of
their expressions, they were human. But they were harbouring a Dorian, and so my
uncle and father were perfectly justified in grabbing hold of the two girls and
killing them. They tied the girls up while they screamed, to silence them; my father
slid his knife across one of the girl’s throat. The person who I would assume to be
their father yelled and ran toward mine; I intercepted and wrestled him to the ground
while my uncle slit the other girl’s neck.
Still struggling with the father, I turned back to the house, to see a teenager
staring at the scene unfolding around her in awe. My father took the girl’s father
from my hands and tied him down. The girl locked eyes with my father; he narrowed his
eyes and ground his teeth. That seemed to snap her out of her daze. She finally
seemed to grasp what was going on, and ran toward us.
His hands now free, he ran at her as well, when they collided, it was too easy for my
well-trained father to pin her arms behind her back. He span her arms around, forcing
her to double back, or he would have snapped her arms, and wrung his hands around her
neck. She barely struggled she only shook with fear. He got out my knife and went to
press it against her neck, but she finally came to her senses and slid out of his
She tried to make a run for it, but I stopped her. She finally knew when she was
beat, she went limp in my hands. I tied her hands behind her back and shoved her onto
the floor. I turned to face my father. He had a great big smile on his face, his glee
was contagious, I returned the smile.
He nodded to me, still smiling. I got out my dead man’s blood dipped knife and
pressed it up against her neck. I swallowed; I did not want to do this. To be
perfectly honest, what I mostly did not want was to become my uncle and father;
people who did not care whom, or what in this case, they killed. So I forced myself
to look at her face, she met my eyes. I almost dropped my knife in surprise when I
saw that her eyes were a deep brown colour, not the Dorian red.
This girl was not a Dorian, she was human.
Even as I realised that this was wrong, I could not pull my hand holding the knife
from her throat. My mind was telling me to finish it, to kill her so that I could
impress my father. I attempted to send her a message with my eyes: I am sorry. There
was only one thing coming out of her eyes: terror.
A tear slipped from her eye, as if she was trying to make this harder for me.
“Louis?” my father asked. I turned my head to look at him. He was staring at me
in confusion. He nodded encouragingly. I shook my head once to clear it and turned
back to the girl.
“Have fun in hell, monster” I growled, putting as much venom in my voice that I
could manage and slit her throat. I turned away quickly, just in time to see a real
Dorian close his teeth around my father’s throat.
“Joseph!” My uncle called and ran around the wall that we had been hiding behind.
He spans his two knives and ran toward the Dorian, six other Dorians, three women and
three men rounded the same corner and stopped my uncle. My uncle is not an idiot, he
knew when he could not win, and he ran away. The Dorians did not pursue him.
My father moaned in pain and his eyes rolled to the back of his head as the Dorian
dug its teeth in further. I could do nothing; say nothing as I watched the man that I
had thought to be the most experienced hunter in history tumble to the ground.
I backed away in small quick steps thinking that if my father could not beat these
people, I had no chance. The man who had killed my father, knelt down next to the
girl, who was miraculously still alive, looked at her wound and frowned. Inaudibly,
he spoke to the girl. I craned my neck to hear, but still could not. Who was this
person? He looked as if he knew this girl. Perhaps my father was correct, this girl
was involved with Dorians. The man with the blood covered mouth smiled. That did it,
that was what pushed me over the edge. I sprinted toward the Dorian and pulled out my
knife, the same knife that I cut the girl with, the girl screamed a warning to the
Dorian, but it was too late.
I plunged my knife into his back, pushing it as deep as I could, but it would not go
deep enough to numb the pain that I felt in my chest. Greif.
The dead man’s blood did what it was supposed to, he went limp, unconscious, the
only thing keeping him up was my hand that was holding the knife. I growled in
disgust and flung his body onto the ground, not just the ground, but unintentionally
onto a gas lamp that one of the sisters had brought out to see what was going on.
His body became engulfed in the blaze, I backed away, staring at my handiwork and
feeling the heat on my face.
“That was for killing my Dad” I mutter.
“Are you okay, Catherine?” he asked, sounding sweet after the brutality that I
had just encountered, he slowly and carefu