Did you know that the odd lady on the ground floor is actually a monster? Harry asked, nonchalantly unwrapping a chocolate bar. Matthew always marveled at his mates ability to keep munching, no matter what was happening around them. Harry devoured sweets in lessons, during breaks and after school. Once, he even crunched on a candy bar right in the middle of a maths test much to the teachers displeasure.
Matthew dropped his own chocolate bar, stared at Harry and said, What do you mean, a monster?
The real deal! Shes got snakescale hair on her head and, at night, she eats children. Have you heard the lads are disappearing around town?
Matthew had caught a news bulletin about two tenyearold boys whod been missing for weeks, but he thought Harry was spouting nonsense. Youre still in Year 6 and you believe such rubbish? he muttered. Yet the words lingered in his mind all day. When he got home to his flat on the third floor (Harry lived on the fourth), he couldnt concentrate on his homework; the strange neighbour kept popping into his thoughts.
She was indeed odd. She only left her groundfloor flat in the evenings or when it was raining, always cloaked in something dark with a hood pulled down over her face. Nobody knew her name, her age or her occupation; her windows were perpetually swathed in heavy curtains. If anyone crossed the hallway, she would slip by silently, head bowed low, never uttering a word.
Even the buildings pensioners called her the loony and the recluse. One afternoon Matthew happened to overhear their chat:
Just got back from the shop with heavy bags, and there she is, popping out of her flat. She pressed herself against the wall and gave me a sideways stare from under that hood. Not a hello, not a goodbyes!
Right, shes a proper nutcase. She avoids people like the plague. Ive seen her at eleven oclock, slipping out of the stairwell like a shadow. Where does she go at night, I wonder? She just sits at home all day.
Exactly, a recluse through and through!
The day started badly. In history, Matthew was called to the board and mumbled something about Yaroslav the Wise, trying to look clever. The teacher saw through the act and handed him a failing mark. Stings, doesnt it? You could have at least learned about a ruler who shares your best mates name, she said.
During break, the notorious bully Collins latched onto Harry, calling him Fat Harry. His sidekicks, Toby and George, joined in, snatching the croissant Harry had saved for himself and tossing it back and forth.
Give it back! Matthew shouted, already knowing he was stepping into a mess. He couldnt abandon his friend; he always defended Harry when anyone gave him a hard time, which happened far too often.
Collins turned his grin into a sneer: Oh, the Thin one defending the Thick one!
In class, they were nicknamed the Thin and the Thick. The pair sat side by side, walked to school together and back. Matthew was lanky and looked younger than his years, especially next to the plump Harry.
Trying to snatch the croissant from Collins, Matthew nearly succeeded but slipped, knocking a globe off the teachers desk. The globe shattered with a crack, and a long fissure spiderwebbed across one half. Just then, the geography teacher, MrsNatalie Clarke, walked in.
The globe survived the fall, but MrsClarke, unsurprised, said, Matthew, stay. He shuffled over to her desk, avoiding her gaze. She peered at his face and asked, What are you thinking, Matthew? Youre a sensible boy She paused dramatically, and the tension made him want to curl under his desk. He imagined being hauled to the headteacher or receiving a stern call from his mum and hed already been in trouble at home for a D a few days earlier.
Fortunately, MrsClarke softened: I wont call your parents, but youll help me after school with the textbooks.
Alright, MrsClarke, he sighed, eyeing his scuffed trainers. At least his parents werent summoned, but his mood stayed gloomy. To top it off, Harry was whisked off to the doctor right after lessons, so he couldnt stay to share Matthews unfair punishment.
After school the boys barreled for their coats, and Matthew, watching the chaos in the changing room, trudged into MrsClarkes office. She set him to carry books from the library and then tidy the classroom. Two hours later, when he finally left the empty school, a damp, lingering twilight hung over the streets.
He trudged home, shoes squelching in the drizzle, cursing how unfair life could be. Hed simply defended his mate, yet he ended up the one punished. Nobody got off the hook for Collins, even though hed started the whole mess. And the rain? It felt like the universe had decided to pour on his parade.
The next day, Matthews mind raced with thoughts of the mysterious neighbour. She never left her flat except in rain or at night, always in a dark hood. He imagined her lurking in the park, eyes glinting like a cats, waiting for a lost boy.
He found himself wandering the usual route through the park with Harry, but today Harry was nowhere in sight. Alone, he trudged along a wet pathway, trees clawing at the grey sky with naked branches, thickets looming like unsmiling sentries.
What if someone was hiding in those bushes, waiting for a victim? The thought of the firstfloor neighbour resurfaced perhaps she was out hunting lonely stray lads, her pupils flashing like snakes in the gloom. The idea sent a shiver up his spine, and his steps quickened.
A cold tremor ran through him, not from wind or rain, but from something else. He glanced back and saw a dark figure in a hood following him.
He broke into a jog and heard a voice behind: Hey, lad, wait up! The voice was male, but that made it no less unnerving. Matthew knew you werent supposed to talk to strangers, especially on a deserted park path.
His backpack, a heavy stone of textbooks, weighed him down, hammering his back. Why do schools make us carry such burdens? He could feel the footsteps gaining, the gravel crunching ominously. A heavy breath rose behind him.
Suddenly a force yanked him backward, almost sending him sprawling. Something clamped onto his bag. He turned slowly and faced a man gripping the strap, a sly grin on his face.
Whats the rush? I just wanted a chat, the stranger said, his smile wide enough to be creepy.
Matthew wanted to scream for help, but fear stole his voice. His throat went dry; his tongue seemed glued to the roof of his mouth. He also noticed the mans other hand was hidden behind his back.
Whats that? A knife? A gun? Matthew thought, eyes darting.
The park was empty, streetlights still off, rain pattering monotonously on benches and dark lamps. No one was around not even a dogwalker. He was alone with this eerie figure whose eyes glinted like predatory embers. The man tugged a fetidsmelling rag from behind his back and thrust it toward Matthews face. The stench hit him like windowcleaner on a hot day; his head spun.
Just as he felt himself faint, a catlike silhouette leapt from the bushes, tackling the stranger. He released his grip, and Matthew stumbled back, legs rooted to the ground as if the earth itself had nailed him in place. Time stretched, and he imagined growing roots, forever stuck in that rainsoaked park among bare trees and wilting shrubs.
The newcomer was smaller, leaner than his assailant, but managed to throw the larger man to the ground. They tussled, shouting, until the larger man roared in agony, his cry mixing with the relentless wind and cutting straight to Matthews bones.
Then came a sound a wet, grotesque noise, like someone sucking a date through a cracked tooth. It reminded Matthew of his grandfathers odd way of eating a persimmon.
Streetlights flickered on, bathing the alley in a ghostly yellow glow. The smaller figure leaned over the fallen man, hair spilling from under his hood. It was a woman.
Could it be? Matthew barely processed the thought before the strange sound faded. The hooded woman rose, wiped blood from her mouth with a sleeve, and turned toward Matthew. Her face, the one hed glimpsed a few times pale, gaunt, forever concealed by that dark hood was now smeared with fresh blood, two long fangs jutting from her mouth.
She dabbed the gore with the rag as if it were cream, then, with a flash of yellowlit pupils, vanished into the bushes. The man on the ground lay still, his neck a dark pool spreading slowly over the cobbles. The rag, now a lonely white flag, lay forgotten.
After a few heartstopping seconds, Matthew managed to shake off the paralysis and bolted out of the park. He ran faster than he ever had before, slamming into his flats door five minutes later, lungs heaving, grateful that his parents werent home explaining the frantic dash would have been a nightmare.
He swore never to tell anyone, not even Harry. The park incident didnt fit into any sane narrative. Was Harry right about a monster? Perhaps he got the scales wrong and the childeating part, but the neighbour did prefer adults, apparently.
Vampires, then? It seemed this creature saved Matthew from a human, not the other way round, just like the movies never do. He was convinced nobody would believe him. Parents would chalk it up to childish imagination, and Harry would doubt a vampire could be a saviour.
From that night onward Matthew spent his free time glued to the telly, fearing hed miss the evening news about the body found in the park. Oddly, the news never mentioned it. Three days later, a brief report noted two missing boys had been found dead in a mans house. No mention of how the man died or where the bodies were discovered perhaps to avoid scaring the public with the notion of a hungry vampire prowling the streets.
Realising the media would never spill the whole story, Matthew stopped watching the news. Eventually the memory faded, swamped by homework, impending Christmas holidays, and the usual school drama.
Snow finally arrived at the end of December. Matthew and Harry were returning from chess club, when the neighbour slipped out of the stairwell. Harry, engrossed in recounting his recent winning game, didnt notice her. Harry had been in good spirits lately a doctor had advised him to cut back on sweets, hed lost a few pounds, and even Collins had stopped pestering him.
Matthew watched the neighbour, a pale woman now without fangs or glowing eyes, gliding along the freshly fallen snow as if she were melting into it.
Ah, theres the reclusive lady from the ground floor! Harry finally blurted, finally looking up.
Yeah Matthew muttered, his eyes still glued to the figure as she disappeared down the whitecovered pavement.
***
Gwendolyn had risen early that morning; a thick blanket of snow covered the streets, shielding her from prying eyes and the suns glare. She could hide her fangs any time, but the unnatural pallor and those yellowlit pupils could give her away. Like rain, snow dulled the everpresent scent of human blood. Though Gwendolyn hadnt been on a strict bloodonly diet for decades, the constant presence of people remained a test.
She couldnt live far from town; only in densely populated cities could she find enough supplies. Here, predators and perverts roamed, offering a steady supply of terrified victims. She could sniff a potential target by the sour smell of fear, a scent that no weather could mask.
It was no coincidence that, as she left her flat, she caught sight of the very boy from the park. She sensed him before she even saw him. A month earlier, hed stood his ground in the park, and Gwendolyn was sure hed never tell anyone his fear was practically perfume. Who would take a childs tale of a vampire seriously? There was a secret network that quietly hid vampire victims bodies, and an ancient law that kept vampires and humans apart a centuriesold gentlemans agreement: vampires leave ordinary folk alone, and people pretend they dont exist.
Gwendolyn gave the boy a fleeting glance and hurried on, lest his innocent scent be overwhelmed by the sweet aroma of childhood. Living among humans was a constant struggle always alone, hidden in shadows, unnoticed and unwanted. Her name, meaning stranger in Greek, suited her perfectly. She chose tiny groundfloor flats so she could slip out without using lifts, but the occasional nosy neighbour still shot her a wary look, which she met with a silent, hooded retreat.
What else could a vampire do but hunt? The thought of hunger gnawed at her stomach; weeks passed without a suitable scent. Perhaps today would be better?
And so the tale drifted on, a mixture of teenage drama, schoolyard cruelty, and a lurking, oddly benevolent monster who preferred adults to children.
