Did you ever hear that the strange lady on the groundfloor landing was actually a monster? I remember Harry, who never seemed to miss a beat, munching on a chocolate bar as if nothing else mattered. Thomas was always amazed that his friend could keep chewing, no matter what was happening around them. Harry ate sweets at lessons, at breaks and even after school. Once, during a maths test, he crunched a candy so loudly that Miss Parker, the maths teacher, had a word with him straight away.
Thomas stared at Harry, forgetting his own bar, and asked, What monster are you talking about?
The very real sort, Harry whispered. Shes got snakescale on her head instead of hair, and at night she feasts on children. Have you heard the boys disappearing in town?
Thomas had caught a glimpse on the news of two tenyearolds who had been missing for weeks, but he thought Harry was being foolish. Youre only in the sixth form, and you still believe such nonsense! he thought. Yet the words clung to his mind all day. When he went down to his own flat on the seventh floor (Harry lived on the ninth), he could not focus on his homework; the odd neighbour occupied his thoughts.
She behaved in a most peculiar way: she only left her groundfloor flat at dusk or when it was raining, always cloaked in something dark with a hood pulled low over her face. No one in the block knew her name, her age, or her occupation, and her windows were forever draped with heavy curtains. If anyone crossed the hallway, she would glide past, head bowed, without a word. The older residents called her the odd one and the recluse.
One afternoon I overheard them chatting in the lift:
Going to the shop with my heavy bags, and there she is, popping out of her flat. She leans against the wall and barely glances at me from beneath that hoodno hello, no goodbye!
Right, shes a proper weirdo. She hides from people like the plague! Ive seen her at about eleven oclock, slipping out of the landing like a shadow. Where does she wander at night, I wonder? She never leaves the flat by day.
Nothing to get out of her, the recluse is the recluse indeed.
My day only got worse from there. In history class I was called to the board and mumbled something about King Charles the Wise, trying to look like I knew something. The teacher saw through my act and gave me a failing mark. It was a blow, especially since I should have known the ruler who shared my best friends name.
Then the bully, Mr. Barker, swooped in at break, calling Harry Harry the Fat. His cronies, Tommy and Jerry, joined in, snatching the croissant Harry had just bought. Give it back! I shouted, already knowing the trouble I was stepping into. I couldnt abandon a friend who was always being picked on.
Barker sneered, Look at the skinny one defending the plump one! The whole class had dubbed us the Thin and the Thick. We sat together at the same desk, walked to school together, and walked home together. Thomas was slight, looking younger than his years, especially next to the wellfed Harry.
In a sudden lunge I tried to wrest the croissant from Barker; I almost succeeded, but I slipped, knocked over the globe on the teachers desk, and it shattered in two, a long crack spidering out across the base. At that very moment the geography teacher walked in.
The globe survived the fall, but after the lesson Miss Clarke said, Thomas, stay after.
Reluctantly I went to her desk, avoiding her gaze. She looked at my face and said, Thomas, what are you doing? Youre a sensible lad
She paused dramatically, and her stare made my stomach churn as if I might be hauled off to the headmaster or have my mother called. Id already been in trouble at home for a poor report card.
Fine, I wont call your parents, but youll help me sort the textbooks after school, she finally said.
Alright, Mrs. Natalie Clarke, I sighed, eyeing my scuffed shoes. At least my parents werent summoned, but my mood was still ruined. As luck would have it, Harry was taken to the doctor straight after school, so he couldnt stay for my punishment.
After lessons the boys banged their jackets together, and I, feeling a pang of envy, shuffled to Miss Clarkes office. She made me cart books from the library and then tidy the classroom. Two hours later, when I finally stepped out of the empty school, a damp, grey twilight hung over the streets.
I trudged home, rain slicking my boots, feeling a sour pit in my stomach. Why was life so unfair? Id only defended a friend, and yet I was the one left to suffer. No one was punished for Barkers cruelty, even though hed started it all. The rain seemed to mock me, while a distant cousin wrote about snowfall covering the town like a storybook scene. Here, the streets stayed forever soggy, the wind cutting through to the bone.
Lost in these thoughts, I didnt notice that Id taken the usual route through the park with Harry. Now I was alone, wandering the same familiar path in daylight, but it felt as empty as a broken globe in a deserted classroom.
The trees clawed at a colourless sky with their bare branches, and dark hedges loomed on either side. I imagined something lurking in the brush, waiting for its next victim.
Then the memory of the groundfloor neighbour crept back. What if she had stepped out to hunt, eyes gleaming like a cats in the night? The idea sent a shiver up my spine, and I quickened my pace.
An icy tremor ran through me, not from the wind or rain, but from a feeling that something was chasing me. I turned and saw a dark figure in a hood following.
I broke into a run, hearing behind me a male voice shout, Hey, lad, stop! It was a mans voice, but that didnt help. I knew strangers were dangerous, especially in a deserted alley.
My satchel, heavy as a stone, pulled me down, the weight of my schoolbooks crushing my back. Why must pupils lug such burdens each day?
Footsteps drew nearer. The stranger kept pace, the gravel crunching under his boots. I heard his heavy breathing right behind me.
Suddenly something yanked at my bag, almost sending me sprawling. I tried to run on, but a grip tightened on my strap.
I turned slowly and faced a man holding my satchel by the handle. He smirked, Whats the hurry? I just wanted a word.
Fear choked my throat; my mouth went dry, my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I noticed his other hand was hidden behind his back.
What was he holding? A knife? A pistol?
I glanced aroundno one else in the park, the streetlights still dark, the rain pattering dull and relentless on the benches. Not a soul in sight. I wished a dogwalker would pass by, but none did.
The mans eyes flashed like a predators. From behind his back he produced a foulsmelling rag, the stench of windowcleaner hitting my nose, making my head spin. I nearly lost consciousness when, from the bushes, a smaller figure in a hood sprang at the attacker. The man released his grip, and I stumbled back, frozen as if my legs had rooted into the mud.
Time stretched. The two shadows stood locked, the smaller one pushing the larger to the ground. Their struggle was a blur of limbs until the larger one let out a howl, raw and desperate, a sound that seemed to pierce the cold wind and chill my very bones.
Then came a strange, guttural noise, far worse than his screama sound I remembered from childhood, like the squeak of a driedup fruit being chewed. The streetlamps flickered on, casting a ghostly yellow glow over the alley. The smaller figure leaned over the fallen man, hair spilling from beneath the hood. It was a woman.
Could it be? I barely had time to think. The weird noise faded, and the woman rose, her face pale, eyes glowing an eerie amber. It was the neighbour from the ground floor. I had seen her only a handful of times: thin, gaunt, always hidden beneath that dark hood.
Now her face was smeared with blood, two long fangs protruding from her mouth. She wiped the crimson away with a sleeve as if it were nothing more than cream. She seemed about to pounce on me, but I recoiled instinctively.
Her catlike eyes flashed, and in an instant she vanished into the hedges. The man lay lifeless on the rainslick cobbles, his throat a dark pool spreading slowly. The rag, still reeking, lay abandoned beside him, as useless as a forgotten toy.
After a few heartstopping seconds I managed to shake off the paralysis and fled the park, running faster than I ever had before. Five minutes later I burst through my front door, slamming it shut, gasping for breath. Fortunately my parents werent home; explaining why Id fled like a frightened animal would have been impossible.
I swore to tell no onenot Harry, not anyone. What had happened in the park defied belief. Was Harry right about the monster? Perhaps the scales on the head were a myth, but the neighbour did prefer adults to children. Did vampires really exist? If so, this creature had saved me from a man, not the other way around as the movies suggest.
I was certain no one would believe me. My parents would dismiss it as childish imagination (though I was no longer a child), and Harry would doubt that a vampire had rescued rather than devoured me. I never understood why the vampiric neighbour let me live.
From that night on I spent my free hours glued to the television, fearing I might miss a news bulletin about the body found in the park. Yet nothing was ever reported. Three days later, an evening news segment briefly mentioned that two missing boys had been discovered dead in a mans house. The man lived in a suburban culdesac, keeping the boys in his cellar. No word was given about how he died or where his body was found. Perhaps they didnt want to shock the public; the notion of a hungry vampire prowling the streets would have caused far more panic than a couple of missing children.
I realised the press would never speak of it, so I stopped watching the news altogether. Soon the memory faded, becoming as fleeting as snowflakes melting in the spring, overtaken by schoolwork, the promise of Christmas holidays, and the bustle of everyday life.
Winter finally arrived in late December. Harry and I were returning from the chess club, when the neighbour slipped out of the entrance just as we reached the landing.
Harry, engrossed in recounting his triumphant game, didnt even notice her. Hed been in better spirits lately: a doctors advice had made him curb his sweets, hed lost a few pounds, and Barker had stopped his relentless teasing.
I listened halfheartedly, my eyes fixed on the pale figure. As we passed, she shot a fleeting glance from beneath her hood at me, then continued on. My mind replayed her bloodstained face and fangs, sending a shiver down my spine. Yet now she seemed just an old woman, no longer a creature of nightno glowing amber eyes, no sharp teeth. Her lips were a thin, colourless line, a faint smile curled at the corners.
Ah, theres the odd one from the ground floor! Harry finally exclaimed, snapping out of his reverie.
Indeed, I murmured, turning to enter the stairwell. I paused and gave one last look at the dark silhouette disappearing into the snowblanketed pavement, the white flakes catching the streetlight like tiny lanterns.
***
Mrs. Agnes had risen early that morning; the snow fell in thick curtains, shielding the world from prying eyes. She could hide her fangs whenever she liked, but the pallid skin and the sickly yellow glint in her eyes would betray her to anyone paying attention.
Shed spent decades surviving on the blood of the citys most wickedthieves, rapists, and pervertsyet she could never truly live away from the bustle. Only in crowded towns could she find enough meat. Here, in the shadows of alleys and under the cover of rain or snow, she tracked the scent of fear, the metallic tang of terror that no weather could mask.
A month earlier shed crossed paths with a boy in the parkthe very one who now stood before her, trembling with the memory of that night. Shed sensed his fear before she even saw him. He hadnt run then, and shed been certain hed keep the secret. The scent of his panic lingered like perfume.
Who would ever believe a childs tale of a vampire? Moreover, there existed a secret network in every city, a centuriesold pact that hid the bodies of vampire victims from the public, a law that dictated vampires avoid ordinary folk, and humans, in turn, turn a blind eye. Vampires didnt bother normal people; humans left vampires be.
Just as the month before, Agnes glanced at the boy and slipped away, lest the sweet smell of innocence drown out her hunger. Living among people was a constant struggle for someone like herforever solitary, forever hidden, forever deemed other. Her name, given by distant ancestors, meant stranger in an old tongue, and it suited her perfectly.
She chose tiny groundfloor flats, avoiding lifts, emerging only when the world was thick with fog or snow. Occasionally, other residents would glance her way, their eyes sharp with suspicion. She would simply tuck her face deeper into her hood and move on, never speaking.
What else could a lone vampire do? She hunted, she survived, and she kept her secret. The citys monstersthose who preyed on the weakwere often far more terrifying than any creature of night. Yet being misunderstood, unwanted, and forever an outsider had become her second nature, as ingrained as her nightly hunts.
A hollow, gnawing hunger settled in her belly. The scent of suitable prey had eluded her for weeks. She wondered if today might finally bring a fresh offering.
