Looking for critique for this story...
 

I've been attempting to write more lately, but I keep finding that there seems to be something wrong with every story I begin, yet I can't quite put my finger on what exactly it is.

I'm not certain whether I'm just horrible with dialogue, or whether I spend too much time on unnecessary descriptions, so I thought I'd post the beginning of a story I wrote yesterday and see what anyone who wants to take the time to read it thinks.

This is essentially a prologue, keep in mind; the plot and the speaker's abilities and past experiences he speaks of aren't meant to make complete sense to the reader at this point, but they will later on in the story. It's not whether or not it makes sense that worries me, but the quality of the writing itself.



I hadn’t expected her to show up here. Not now, when I was finally beginning to grasp onto some semblance of an average life in this unremarkable city, and certainly not in such an unbelievably mundane way.
I suppose I had been foolish, to assume that she wouldn’t catch up with me eventually. She always did. I wondered how many more of us had settled down in this same inconspicuous region, led here by what we believed were our own choices, but were always, in the end, the same fatal attraction that was cast on us by her spells and enchantments.
It was never until she showed up once again that the delirium was broken, and, snapping to attention, I realized the absurdity of it all. Why, after all, would I have, of my own conscious desire, chosen to relocate my entire life to this wet, dreary corner of Maine, when everything had been going so well back in Michigan? Of course it had been her, all along, and the frustration enveloped me once again that I had been completely unable to recognize this until it was much too late.
Why she still wanted me, I had never managed to discover. I suppose it was simply out of some sadistic desire to keep us all nearby, her eternal “children.” Despite the fact that I had defeated her schemes so very long ago, twisted the curse she had inflicted upon me around and forced it to answer to my own bidding, she had never let me go, throughout all of these centuries.
At least I had the good fortune to catch sight of her before she noticed me. This was due, I realized with a start, to the fact that her attention was riveted on the small bundle she carried in her arms, the pale blue of the blanket standing out in stark contrast to the fabric of her tight-fitting black dress. If I had been paying attention to the crowd surging by, I suppose I would have spotted her sooner; she still insisted on wearing the same extravagant clothing she had adored since I first met her so long ago, despite the fact that it made her all the more conspicuous in the middle of the crowd of modestly-clad businessmen and giggling college students hurrying to and fro down the city sidewalks. As always, she still wore her hair so long, the deep auburn locks curling around her shoulders and bouncing as she hurried on her way, adjusting her pace to that of the mass of pedestrians surrounding her.
But it hadn’t been the hair, or even the dress, that had led to my instant recognition of the woman who had cursed me: It was her eyes, the wicked gleam in them as she stared down, almost hungrily, at the bundle in her arms. My stomach lurched as I realized what, exactly, that bundle was; fortunately, I had the sense to duck into an alley rather than jump into the middle of the sidewalk and wrench the child away from her. But the image had burnt itself into my mind regardless; that animalistic delight that had glimmered in emerald irises more catlike than human.
And the child. Where she had acquired it, I didn’t know. However, finding an unwanted infant is not so very difficult in any reasonably populous city; in the less well-off neighborhoods, someone is always desperate to get rid of one, an unwanted product of an inconsequential idyll.
But whether she had stolen the child when a parent’s head was turned the other way, or had it handed over to her by a mother who wanted nothing to do with the helpless creature, its fate would be the same, and most certainly an infinitely more unpleasant one than whatever difficult course its life would have taken otherwise.
Hoping I had judged my timing correctly, I stuck my head quickly out of the alley, careful to remain in the shadows as well as I could. I quickly located the deep red shock of hair in the center of the crowd, her back now turned to me. Receiving a few curious glances as I stepped out of the dingy alleyway, I took off in the same direction, weaving in and out of the crowd in order to keep her in my line of sight, careful not to follow behind too closely.

I followed her all the way to the older district of town, where row upon row of dilapidated old mansions stood, in their state of constant decay. I had only visited this part of the city once before and had found it depressing, seeing all of those great historical structures that had once been so beautiful now fallen into such disarray. Perhaps I had identified somewhat with those old buildings.
Now I slowed my pace, letting the distance grow between us. I had no crowd to disguise me here; if she turned around, it was certain that I would be discovered. Fortunately, her gaze was still riveted to the child she carried in her arms. I shuddered, well aware of what plans she had in mind for that bundle of blankets she held so reverently.
Finally she paused, in front of a mansion that had surely, at one point, been the most grand of all. Now its state was ironically fitting for the sort of ceremonies I knew would soon take place inside: Dark paint peeled from the side of the structure, the wood of the porch rotting slowly away. The yard was overgrown and filled with weeds, and the entire building stood at an odd angle, curving just slightly away from its neighbor. The windows on the second and third stories had all been broken out, and I realized that, more likely than not, she had simply moved into the house one day, hiding herself within this mansion that was too dangerous and unfit for residence.
And no one would ever take notice of her presence here. She would make sure of that.
Shifting the bundle in her arms, she slowly raised one hand to gently touch a symbol engraved on the iron gate at the end of the lane leading up to the mansion. Slowly, the gate creaked open of its own accord to allow her entrance. If this should have surprised or impressed me, it didn’t. I was well accustomed to these frivolous displays of power she still delighted in.
I crept slowly forward, careful to keep my distance until she had made it up the winding path and entered through the front door of the decrepit building. As I stepped through those gates, covered with dead brown vines, a familiar chill settled over me, and I felt something begin to stir within. Instinctively, I raised a hand to my chest, silently asking the creature inside to be still.
I paused at the front door. If I entered, I knew I had no hope of remaining hidden; she would find me within moments once I was inside the mansion. However, I had known all along that I couldn't hope to remain invisible to her forever, not if I intended to do something to thwart her plans for the child. Regardless, I cursed myself for my lack of foresight.
Already set on my course, I reached out and gently turned the doorknob, only to find it locked. Sighing, I stepped back. If I tried to force the door, I would only alert her to my presence much sooner than I had intended.
I stepped down from the porch, nearly tripping over a hole broken out of the wood from the rotting boards. Perhaps there was another entrance on the other side, or a broken window that I could slip through.
As I peered in one of the intact windows, trying to catch a glimpse of her position inside the house, something brushed against my leg, and I jumped back in fright. But it was only an emaciated cat, staring up at me with unblinking green eyes, seemingly inquiring as to what I was doing on property that had previously been its own solitary hunting ground. When I stepped backward, it let out a wail.
"Quiet," I whispered, and patted it on the head gently, hoping to appease it.
But to no avail. The cat followed me, continuing to whine. In exasperation, I placed my hand on its forehead, releasing a burst of energy that coursed from my fingertips and into the animal's skull. A second later, it lay unconscious in a tuft of weeds, its chest rising and falling steadily.
I turned back to the house to continue with my inspection - and came to an immediate halt. Not ten feet away from me, she stepped out a back door, and I spun around and pressed myself as closely as possible to the side of the mansion. I had gotten lucky once again; she was carrying the infant down a cobblestone path and toward a small shed I hadn't noticed before.
Once she entered, I made my way forward, struck by a sense of nausea. I glanced to the watch on my wrist, and my suspicions were confirmed.
The date was October 31st. How could I have made it all the way here without realizing? She intended to perform the ceremony tonight. I had only moments to save the child.
When I stepped inside that half-collapsed shed, I knew at once that I was too late. She stood before an altar, on which lay a small blade, its edge glinting in the light, stained with blood she had never bothered to wipe off from any of the previous times she had performed this ritual. And on that same altar lay the naked infant, staring wide-eyed at the woman smiling wickedly down at him, a mixture of confusion and sudden fear crossing his features.
As soon as I raised my hands, she sensed the power gathering behind her and spun. "How dare you -" Her gaze softened, and she laughed. "Why, Alexius. What a pleasant surprise. Just in time to witness the ceremony."
"Leta. You're the same heartless abomination as always, I see."
She only laughed once again in response. "And you're ever the ungrateful child. Tell me, will you ever realize that you owe everything to me? Why, if not for me, you would be dead and forgotten by now."
"Too bad I never asked for immortality," I spat back. "And you seem to be forgetting the absolute hell I went through for something I never desired in the first place."
Leta sighed in disgust. "Much as I would love to, I don't have time to debate whether your state is a gift or a curse tonight, Alexius. As you can see, I'm a bit preoccupied."
"If you think I'm going to let you-"
"Why, yes, I do, Alexius."
Suddenly, I was thrown back from the area surrounding the altar by something invisible. I crashed into a wall, and, recovering within a matter of seconds, found that she had erected some sort of force field surrounding the larger portion of the building. I pounded at it, using both my fists and


And that's where I stopped, midsentence. I don't know why, but something about the dialogue just frustrates me; I feel as though the entire story went downhill around when Alexius confronted Leta. Does the conversation sound too fake? On the one hand, I worry that I wrote it in a way that NO ONE would ever actually speak in the real world, while on the other, these characters are both several centuries old and were born in a totally different time period, so I'm uncertain of whether or not it's really something to be concerned with.

Also, is the plot becoming horribly cliche at this point? I don't want to write something that reads like a badly written horror movie plot, which is what I worry that it's turning into. I'm a bit hesitant to give away the entire plot online, but I suppose it will help if you know more of the story, so here goes: Leta isn't actually going to kill the baby or sacrifice it or anything of the sort. Rather, centuries ago, she made a contract with a powerful demonic spirit that enabled her to gain immortality. In return, whenever possible on October 31st (Halloween/Samhain), she must find an infant and perform a ritual in which the spirit will tie another demonic spirit to the child's soul. As a result, the child and the demon will inhabit the same body, but the demon will manifest and take complete control in some situations, such as whenever the child becomes sufficiently angry, and every year on the anniversary of the date he or she was bound to the demon. Alexius was one of the children that Leta bound to a demon many centuries ago in Ancient Rome, but he was one of the very few that actually discovered a way to conquer the demon and gain control over all of its powers and abilities to use for his own benefit. (This is the reason why he is able to direct waves of energy, such as when he attacked Leta and put the cat to sleep.)

The rest of the story will actually be centered around the child that Leta had bound to a demon, and everything that happens to him as he gradually grows up, escapes the mansion (which Leta had essentially held him captive within until he turned eighteen, at which point the building itself allowed him to escape), and struggles to combat the demon that will eventually completely devour his soul. At some point, he meets a woman with some sort of spiritual powers who can converse with her own guardian angels and has basically gone around fighting evil spirits up to this point. She nearly kills him at first, but at this point Leta shows up to reclaim the young man and, catching sight of the woman, almost kills her to protect him. Unaware of the situation, he attacks Leta, saves the woman, and the two of the end up as runaways together, on a quest to save him from the demon. Somewhere along the way, they meet Alexius, of course, who will finally reveal to them at some point how the demon can be controlled. I'm sure much more will happen along the way, but that's the basic plot so far.

Anyway, any critique and/or advice is much appreciated, regarding either the story or the writing (but most especially the writing, as it has been driving me absolutely insane for the last day or so).

attoliasthief: I've put the story within your post into quote tags so that you don't earn gold for NorthEastFire's words. You should have only lost a little bit of gold since your post was so nice and big to begin with, so just keep it in mind for next time. Any time you're copy-pasting someone else's post (even if you've added or changed some words here and there), you'll want to use quotes. :)

attoliasthief: Thanks for taking the time to read it and reply! I'm sorry if this is a bit late; I actually forgot that I posted this on here. o.o

I've actually been trying to write another story in a somewhat simpler style for the past few days, and I've definitely been getting farther along with it than with this one. I could post a little of it on here, if you would like. ^_^

Okay, here it is! This is just a few chapters of it though; I'm kind of afraid to post too much of any of my stories on here because I'm somewhat paranoid about random people getting on and stealing them. >.>


The first time she saw him, Erika was only four years old.
It happened on a humid summer evening. The sun had just disappeared beneath the horizon, and the sky was beginning to darken, the first few stars of the evening just becoming visible. Erika was playing outside on the sidewalk in front of the house, drawing spirals on the concrete with a thick piece of pink chalk.
Suddenly, the sound of her father's raised voice startled her, causing her to drop the chalk, which snapped in two on the sidewalk. She scrambled to her feet and peered in the screen door of the house, where she could see her parents standing.
Her father was brandishing a piece of paper and shouting, as was so often the case these days. Erika didn't understand what he was always so angry about, except that somehow the letters that came in the mail had something to do with money he was supposed to pay for something. Whenever one of these letters came, and sometimes on other occasions as well, her parents would spend the remainder of the evening arguing with one another.
Erika tried to avoid them when they were so angry. In the past, she had tried to get them to stop fighting, but they never listened to her. They always told her to go to her room and play or watch cartoons on TV, even though it never helped. She could still hear them no matter where she went in the house.
Tonight her father had promised her that he would take her to the
playground across the street after dinner, but he never had. He had gotten preoccupied with something he had remembered he had to do for work, and now he had obviously been too distracted by the argument. Erika sighed. She had spent the evening waiting patiently for him, and now he had apparently forgotten all about her.
Erika was a quiet, obedient child. Normally she would go inside and start getting ready for bed at this point. But suddenly, she was seized with an idea the likes of which had never crossed her mind before.
If her father wouldn't take her to the playground, she could always walk over by herself.
It wasn't far at all. She could see all the equipment clearly from her house, and it should be fine, as long as she remembered to look both ways before she crossed the street. She wouldn't stay long, since it was beginning to get dark, and her parents probably wouldn't even notice she was gone. Besides, this way she wouldn't have to hear them argue; surely their voices wouldn't carry all the way across the street.
So she set off, and her little escape began to feel like an adventure.
When she arrived at the park, she was slightly dismayed to find it apparently deserted. Normally, there were at least a few other children about the same age whose parents had brought them over to play as well. Although she rarely saw the same playmates more than a few times, she always had a good time with them while their brief friendships lasted. Tonight, though, she supposed it was nearing most of their bedtimes, and their parents had probably taken them home before it could get much darker.
Well, Erika was accustomed to having to entertain herself. Her parents were often busy and couldn't play with her as often as she would've liked, and she was an only child, after all. So she traipsed over to the swingset... and that was when she saw him.
The young man was leaning back against the bench beside the swings, half hidden in the shadows cast by a large tree. He stared down at the ground sullenly, digging long grooves in the gravel with his tennis shoes. Erika paused, suddenly uncertain of this stranger.
But he had already heard her footsteps, and he looked up. When his eyes met hers from under his disheveled black hair, she was surprised to discover that they appeared to glow with a silvery-green sheen.
He's not human, she realized. He's something... different.
This realization somehow didn't frighten her, and she offered him a smile and waved.
The boy's mouth twisted into what might have been a smile but came across as more of a grimace, and he didn't respond. Erika sat down on the swing nearest to him, peering curiously at his eyes, which seemed to have gone back to normal.
He finally sighed as though exasperated. “A kid your age shouldn't be out this late at night.”
“I live right across the street,” Erika protested, rather weakly. “Besides, I come here all the time with my dad. Well, when he's not in a bad mood, anyway.”
“You should go back then. He's probably looking for you, you know.”
“Oh, I doubt it. Besides, I'm not alone. I've got you here now.”
The boy laughed softly at this. “How do you know I'm not going to hurt you?”
Erika paused and scrutinized his expression. “I don't know. I guess you just don't... seem like you would. You just look sad to me, actually.”
He scoffed. “You don't have any idea.”
“I'm not stupid, just 'cause I'm still a kid.”
“I never said you were.”
“Yeah, well, you grown-ups always act like you know everything so much better than us kids. It's not true, you know. How old are you, anyway? Eight? You look a lot bigger than me.”
He laughed at this. “Much older. Trust me. What're you doing out here so late, anyway?”
“Daddy was supposed to bring me over to play earlier. But he got in a fight with Mommy, and I get so sick of listening to them when they fight. So for once I was... I was... impressive!”
He laughed again. “I think you mean impulsive.”
“Yeah, that! Were you impulsive, too?”
“I don't have to be anymore, kid. I don't have anyone to tell me what I can and can't do these days, or where I can go.”
“Wow, lucky!”
His expression darkened. “Not really. Oftentimes, when you finally get
that sort of freedom, you find that you don't really want it after all.”
Erika didn't respond to this, but looked at him inquisitively.
The boy sighed again and changed the subject. “What's this place like in the daytime, anyway?”
“Oh, it's a lot different. There are always bunches of kids my age around here, and we all run around playing and have a great time. Sometimes we play tag, or hide-and-seek, and... it's a lot different. I've never been here at night before actually. It's... quiet. But, you know, I think I kind of like this, too. Everything feels... just different, I guess. Like you don't know what all's out there, you know? In the daytime, it's not like that.”
“I know what you mean... Say, you're a pretty smart kid. I've known plenty of adults who could look at both the day and the night and see nothing in either of them. I bet you're going to be a writer someday,” he mused.
“A writer?” Erika crinkled up her nose. “I don't know about that. Mommy's been teaching me to read, though, just a little. But all the letters and stuff, they just get so confusing sometimes. I'm going to kindergarten next year though. I think they'll teach it better there. I hope so, anyway. Have you been to kindergarten yet?”
“A very, very long time ago,” he replied, and she thought she sensed some sort of longing cross his features. “I don't remember it that well these days, I'm afraid.”
“Do you want to go back, or something?”
He seemed startled by her question. “Well... sometimes, yes. I think I'd like very much to go back to kindergarten. Look, I don't think you'll understand yet, but... just cherish it while you have it.”
“Huh? Cherish what?”
He paused. “Childhood, I suppose. Innocence. At your age, you still look at the world and see wonder in it all. Hold onto it, kid. Plenty of things in life are going to try to take that away from you. And you have to be aware of them, or you'll let them without even noticing that anything's being stolen.”
He looked down at Erika, and, seeing her puzzled expression, continued. “Look, never mind. I guess you won't understand until you're older.”
Erika shook her head. “No, I think I get it. Sometimes I try to get
Mommy or Daddy to look at a pretty flower, or the stars at night, and they do, but... I don't think they really care. And... I think I feel sorry for them, sometimes. Money must be something really bad, 'cause it seems to make them angry a lot. I don't really get why, though. I never think about money, and I'm perfectly okay. Do you ever think about money, mister?”
“...I guess I haven't for a while. Money's not too important to me, either, anymore.”
“See, I was right. I do know something after all, even though I'm a kid.”
“I never said you didn't.”
“Yeah, but you... Hey, what's that? Is that a bird?” Erika suddenly pointed, distracted, at something in the sky.
The boy glanced up at it and smiled. “No, that's a bat. They kind of look like birds from a distance, don't they? But they only come out at night.”
“I've seen bats before, on TV! Sometimes they turn into these... creatures that drink people's blood. I don't remember what they're called, though.”
“Vampires,” the boy said softly.
“Oh, yeah, that's it! Do you think that bat's a vampire? Should we run away?”
“No, I don't think so. We should be perfectly fine.”
“Daddy told me vampires weren't real, when I asked him once. I don't believe him, though, 'cause they always show them on TV and stuff. How can you show anything on TV if it's not real? That would be lying. You don't seem like a liar, mister. Do you think vampires are real?”
The boy paused at this. “I think there are a lot of things that are real that most people choose not to believe in.”
“Yeah, me, too. Like vampires. See, this night seems perfect for vampires... except I don't think they'd really go around living in castles and wearing capes and all that stuff. I think TV made that up, like my friend Alissa says; sometimes you can change things a little and make them more interesting and that's not really lying. But I think that would be stupid of them anyway, 'cause then everyone would know they were vampires. I think they try to act just like us and blend in and stuff, and if you met them, you wouldn't think they were vampires at all.”
“That does seem logical,” the boy agreed. “You're an even more
intelligent little girl than I realized.”
“Thanks, mister. My preschool teacher said the same thing once. I think I just get bored a lot, though, so I think about stuff a lot. My daddy says ghosts aren't real, either. What about ghosts, do you think they're real?”
“I suppose they could be. I've never seen one myself.”
“Me neither. I think maybe I'd like to someday, though.”
“It would certainly be an interesting experience.”
“So far you're the most interesting thing to happen to me.”
The boy seemed to be caught off guard by this, but Erika didn't know why. “Really? Well, I'm sure you'll see a lot of things more interesting than me someday.”
“I think I'd like to see the ocean sometime,” Erika mused, and noticed that he appeared relieved when she changed the subject.
“Yes, that would be nice,” he agreed.
“Haven't you seen the ocean? I thought everyone older than me saw the ocean.”
“I haven't gotten a chance to travel that much.”
“Well, maybe you could come with me someday. That would be fun, don't you think?”
“It would. I'm afraid I can't, though.”
“Aw.” Erika sighed. “You know, you're really interesting, mister. I like talking to you. You're more interesting than anyone else I know.”
Suddenly, the boy stood up. “Hey, there's someone coming our way. Do you know him?”
Erika stood up, too. “That's my daddy! Oh, wow, I guess I stayed later than I thought. I think he's looking for me.”
As her father reached the perimeter of the blacktop, Erika came bounding across the gravel to meet him. When she reached him, she wrapped her arms around his leg. “Hi, Daddy! I didn't think you'd come over, I-”
“Your mother and I were terrified, Erika! Why did you come over here without us?”
Erika unwound herself from his leg. “I... well, you said you would take me, but then...” She glanced up at his stern expression and felt tears welling up in the corners of her eyes.
Her father sighed. “Just don't do it again, Erika. We were very worried
about you. It's not safe to come here alone this late at night.”
Suddenly, she remembered the boy. “Hey, Daddy, wait! There's someone I want you to meet! I think I made a new friend here today; he's right over there by the swings! Come and meet him, Daddy!”
A look of concern crossed her father's face, but he allowed her to pull him along to the swingset as she began explaining everything she had talked about with this mysterious new friend.
But when they reached the swings, no one was there.
“Well, that's weird! He was here just a minute ago...”
Her father was grinning now. “That's very nice, Erika.”
Erika began to cry, this time out of frustration. “He was really here, Daddy! He wasn't imaginary, I know he wasn't! He was right here!”
“Come on, Erika, it's getting late. You can tell me all about your friend tomorrow.”
“But Daddy...”
Erika's protests died as she surveyed the playground one more time. The boy really was gone, although she didn't understand where he had disappeared to so quickly, or why he had left her in the first place. Ignoring her hurt at his denial of her new friend's existence, she took her father's hand and allowed him to lead her back home.
Erika didn't speak of the boy she had met in the playground to her parents after that, once she realized that neither of them was likely to ever believe she hadn't invented him out of boredom. But she never forgot the evening she had spent with him under the stars... and that evening was not to be the last time she encountered the mysterious people with the shining silver eyes.



At sixteen, Erika Carson had discovered, summer vacation was not what it used to be.
It was certainly better than school, she conceded, but after only a week off, she was finding herself already trapped in a constant state of boredom. The only upside was that she had a lot more time to focus on her writing now that she wasn't preoccupied with essays and geometry assignments, as was evident in the already half-filled notebook lying open in front of her.
But it was evenings like this one, when she stared at the blank pages before her for what felt like hours, that made her wish for something more to do with her summer. Maybe I should've signed up for piano lessons after all, she mused. She had briefly entertained the idea for about a week, until she learned the price. After that, she didn't want to ask her mother; she knew how little extra money they had these days for such things.
Still, summer never used to be like this. She used to manage to find something new to do nearly every afternoon. As a child, there had always been something going on in the neighborhood, it had seemed. Maybe this was just an ordinary part of getting older, losing some of that enchantment she used to perceive in sticky summer evenings spent at the playground with her friends.
She found that somehow this possibility troubled her more than the actual boredom. This time of day, when the sun had just set and the cicadas were chirping outside, had always been meaningful to her, in some way she
could never quite describe. It made her feel as though maybe the boundaries between the real world and the universes she described in her stories were a little less solid for a few hours, and perhaps some of the things out there weren't quite what they seemed in either the daylight or the nighttime.
Suddenly, the sound of the garage door going up jolted Erika out of her introspection. She jumped to her feet and, closing her notebook, hurried to the dining room, where she began quickly tidying up the askew placements and chairs. Finding a novel lying on the table, she took it back to her room and, after surveying the living room, proceeded to the kitchen to greet her mother.
Mrs. Carson strode into the kitchen in the next moment, carrying a box of Chinese takeout under her arm. “Hi, Erika. How was your day?” she inquired as she filled two glasses of water and set them on the table.
“It was okay, I guess.” Erika shrugged.
“That's nice,” her mother mumbled absentmindedly, opening the container and beginning to remove the various containers.
Erika glanced downward. This had been the extent of her interaction with her mother for the past week or so. She knew that working two jobs often left her mother drained of energy when she finally made it home in the evenings, but Erika had anticipated their relationship growing at least a little closer over the summer. Unfortunately, this didn't appear likely – She was realizing now that the two of them were practically strangers, when it came down to it.
“I wrote a lot,” she offered weakly, trying to keep the conversation going. Well, I did earlier, anyway, she added to herself. I also spent a good hour staring out the window... She didn't feel any need to mention her case of writer's block to her mother, who never had much of an interest in writing in the first place and probably wouldn't understand.
“That's nice,” her mother repeated. “I haven't heard much about Alissa lately. Do you two still hang out?”
“Not really.” Erika sighed. “Alissa and I... don't really have that much in common anymore.”
“Really? You used to be so close.”
“Eh. I don't really know what happened.” What happened is, Alissa made so many new friends at high school that she doesn't need me anymore.
Erika refrained from mentioning this as well; it would just make the conversation more awkward than it already was because her mother would feel obligated to offer some piece of advice, which had never been her strong suit.
“I saw a new family finally moved in that house down the street,” her mother offered. “There were some kids that looked to be about your age.”
“I hadn't noticed,” Erika responded. “I'm sure they're nowhere near as interesting as Edna was, though.”
Her mother grinned at this, for the first time in the evening. “You know Edna couldn't help it, Erika. She was so old...”
“Still, I highly doubt the new people are going to call to warn us about ectoplasmic residue leaking up the drains out of the sewers. Or mow the yard in bathrobes and fuzzy slippers.”
“Edna certainly could be... entertaining.”
“I wonder if those poor, unsuspecting new people are going to be harassed too much by her ghost.” Rumor had it that Edna still haunted her old house, and that was the reason why the previous tenants had moved out after owning the house for only two months. This image had always been mildly hilarious to Erika; while Edna had always been extremely eccentric, she had a hard time picturing her as a vengeful spirit.
“You should go talk to the kids. They'd probably like a friend their age before they have to start school.”
Erika felt her spirits dampen. “I'm not sure that's such a good idea.”
“Oh, Erika. You're never going to make friends with an attitude like that.”
“I know, but most teenagers are just... I don't know.” Erika sighed. “They don't tend to like me.”
“You never know. These kids are probably a little different; they're not from around here.”
Erika shrugged her shoulders, letting the conversation dwindle away as she chewed on a mouthful of noodles. She knew her mother was probably right, but her past experiences with “friends” had made her into somewhat of a loner this past year or so. It seemed like all anyone – including the girls Erika used to consider her best friends – cared about anymore was dating and partying, while Erika just didn't. All of her attempts to connect with anyone
new at Albright High had failed miserably, and she had gradually replaced her friends with her writing, finding the characters she created more sympathetic than any of her classmates.
“Erika, do you think you could pick up some things for me at the gas station on the corner tonight, if you get time?” her mother finally spoke up.
“Sure,” Erika responded, just thankful for something to do.
“Here, I'll make you a list. It's not a lot, just a few things. I'll go to the grocery later in the week.”
“It's fine, Mom. I don't mind.”


It was getting quite dark as Erika made her way down the street, and she discovered that only a few people were inside the gas station. She peered at the list her mother had handed her, trying to decipher the hastily scrawled handwriting. After a few moments' contemplation, she realized that “nilf” was actually “milk.”
Her mother had sent her on several of these excursions so far this summer, and Erika found that she actually enjoyed them quite a lot. Although she was more typically asked to pick up a few things at this gas station, once she had driven herself to the supermarket to pick up the week's groceries, with the driver's license she had just obtained last month. She enjoyed the sense of responsibility, and she had always liked going places around town a bit late in the evenings. She always caught sight of a few rather strange and interesting-looking people, which often gave her inspiration for characters (more often villains, admittedly) for her stories.
Suddenly, the windchimes above the door rang and a group of teenagers entered – Alissa in the lead. Without fully knowing why, Erika instinctively ducked behind a display for potato chips and pretended to be comparing brands of cheese puffs.
They saw her a moment later anyway. “Hey, Erika!” Alissa was waving excitedly.
“Hi, Alissa,” Erika replied, pasting a smile on her face. “I haven't seen you for a while.”
“Yeah, it's been ages!” As always, Alissa was employing her strategy of
acting as though the two of them were still best friends. “What's up?”
“Nothing really. Just picking up some groceries.”
“Oh. Ick.” Alissa crinkled her nose. “Hey, there's this party next Friday night, over at Cody's house. You should come.”
Erika froze. “Oh. Uh... I don't know. I might have something else going on that night. I'll have to check.”
“Alissa! Get over here!” a tall girl with an orangish tan and too much of something on her eyes called.
Alissa ignored her and turned back to Erika. “Well, my invitation still stands. If you want to, anyway.”
“I'll think about it,” Erika tried to sound sincere as Alissa turned to rejoin her friends, who were all purchasing Slushies at the counter.
Erika sighed in relief and watched them exit. As the door clanged shut behind them, she heard one of the girls ask, “What did you invite her for?”
Erika wondered the same thing. That was what made it so difficult, with Alissa – At school she more or less ignored Erika, but whenever she saw her anywhere else, she was her same friendly self as she had been back in middle school. But Erika knew that if she attended the party, it would be the same as the one she had naively agreed to go to last summer, the one where Alissa had talked with her for all of five minutes and then left her standing terrified in a corner to get drunk with everyone else. Erika never wanted to go to another party again. But at the same time, a part of her really wished she still had her friendship with Alissa and the other girls who used to be a part of their little group. She just wanted to go back to when that meant having sleepovers every weekend and going skating together.
Resolving not to let herself think about it too much, Erika quickly found the rest of the items on her list and paid for them. As she began making her way back toward her house, at first she didn't pay much attention to the man walking ahead of her on the sidewalk.
Then he glanced behind him, and moonlight reflected off his silvery-green eyes.
Erika gasped and began running toward him. “Hey! Wait up! You're -!”
A look of anger momentarily crossed the young man's features. He began running, without a word, in the opposite direction, a lumpy plastic bag that appeared to be full of something wrapped in newspaper swinging from
his hand. Erika followed, desperately calling after him. “No! Stop! I know you, remember? I was the little girl; you talked to me in -”
Before she could finish, he ducked into a nearby alley. When Erika caught up, nearly out of breath, she wasn't surprised at all when she looked down the alley and found it deserted.


Back at home, Erika placed the groceries in the cabinets and refrigerator and went to her room feeling very disappointed, and still stunned. It had been twelve years now, but she had recognized him at once. She had never forgotten the way those eyes shone in the dark, and she had seen the same effect since then play across the pupils of several other individuals she had passed by at night. But this was the first time she had seen him again, and she was certain that she had not been mistaken.
Without realizing what she was doing, she had dug an old drawing out of the bottom drawer of her desk. The paper had faded to a dingy shade of yellow, but the colors themselves were still vibrant; it was a scribbly rendering of the boy from so long ago, sitting on the bench with the tree and the moon in the background. “My New Freind” was scrawled at the bottom in shaky handwriting. This was one of the many drawings she had done of him after that night, ones she had never shown even her parents. The odd encounter had touched her so deeply, in fact, that she still frequently found inspiration in it for much of her writing.
It was funny; she didn't even remember now what exactly they had talked about that night at the playground, the mysterious, inhuman teenage boy and her four-year-old self. Maybe everything and nothing at all, both at once, she supposed. She had convinced her father to take her over to the playground the next evening, but the stranger had never shown up, and she had never seen him there ever again throughout the years. Eventually she had given up actively seeking him out, but he had always remained somewhere at the back of her mind. And now, when she had been least expecting it, she had finally received confirmation that he was still around, somewhere out there, nearby.
Perhaps this wasn't going to be such a boring summer after all.



Seth dug his keys hastily out of his pocket, nearly dropping them before he could unlock the front door. He paused and took a deep breath, adjusting the awkward bundle he carried under his arm. He hadn't been this clumsy in years, but his encounter with that girl had apparently unnerved him more than he had realized.
He just couldn't believe they had crossed paths again, after all these years... or that she even remembered him in the first place. He had certainly never been chased after by a human before.
Normally, they're not the ones doing the chasing. He grinned darkly.
All the lights were off in the house when he entered. He sighed. She had apparently decided to stay in bed and wait for him after all.
“Mother! I'm back!” he called upstairs. No response. “I'll be up in a minute!”
He headed toward the kitchen, already beginning to unwrap the bundle of plastic bags and old newspapers in his arms.

When Seth entered the bedroom, the thin woman lying underneath the disheveled lavender sheets pulled herself weakly up to a sitting position, brushing a hand halfheartedly through her wavy black hair. She managed a small smile. “Welcome home, Seth.”
“I brought you something.” Seth presented a glass of deep red liquid with a flourish. “It's fresh.”
The woman sniffed the glass disdainfully. “What is it?”
“Cat.” Seth winced sympathetically. “I know. But it was either that or start searching the sewers for rats. I didn't figure it would be wise to climb over the fence the neighbor just installed and catch another one of his dogs. Better to let him conveniently believe he finally outwitted the coyotes he thinks got the first two.”
Seth's mother took the glass and quickly set it down on the nightstand. “Thank you, Seth.”
Seth sat down next to her. “It won't do much good if you don't drink it, Mother.”
She sighed and picked it back up. “I know. It just becomes more and more sickening to me each time, though.”
It wouldn't if you would actually hunt. Seth bit his lip. “It's the best I can do right now, Mother. Unless...”
She shook her head before he could finish the thought. “No, Seth. You know by now I can't.”
“I know. But look, I brought you something else.” Seth rummaged around in his jacket and pulled out three paperback books, which he laid in her lap. “They were having a sale on them down at that bookstore tonight. I thought you might like some new ones.”
She surveyed the titles spread before her appreciatively. “Thank you, Seth. I'd been meaning to read this one...” she mused, flipping through one of the paperbacks.
“No problem.” Seth smiled. Sometimes he believed the books were the only thing that enabled her to maintain her desire to live. He, on the other hand, was never certain what sorts to purchase, so he had to choose carefully. Romance could easily either lift her spirits or just make her even more wistful for the daytime world, while he always worried that giving her any horror – particularly that involving vampires – might prove to be in very bad taste. He found that mysteries and historical works were probably his safest bets.
Much to his relief, she began to sip the cat's blood from the glass, albeit very daintily. She glanced up at Seth, who had turned to stare out the
window. “Seth? What's wrong?”
“Oh, nothing.” Seth frowned. “There was a girl... She thought I was someone she knew.”
“Well, were you?”
He paused. “No, I guess not. Not really, anyway.”


When dawn was approaching, Seth returned to his mother's room to close the blinds before the sunlight could begin to illuminate the room. He glanced down at her bed. She was already sleeping, one of the novels he had given her still clutched in her hand. He removed it gently, folding down the corner of the page her finger had been resting on to mark her place. As he set the book on the nightstand, he found the glass, still containing about half of the blood.
He cast a troubled glance at his mother's motionless body. She looked even paler than usual, and he touched her hand gently. It was ice-cold.
“Oh, Mother,” he whispered. “You can't go on much longer like this.”