The Undead

By MJ Innes

I sat on the waiting bench for my turn to go inside the room, the sun beating down through the shattered window. The man next to me is sweating, and I can see the beads of sweat roll down his baldhead. The woman who had gone into the room before me wandered out in a daze. On her neck are two neat little puncture wounds from teeth. I gulp, as the assistant calls out my name in her clipped voice. I get up slowly, my sneakers squeaking on the plastic floor, and follow her into the darkened room.

The man in front of me bares his fangs, which are dripping with blood. The blood drips down onto his lace collar and stains the pure whiteness, contrasting to the scarlet velvet of his clothing. He pounces on me, and I feel his fangs pierce my neck, ending my fear and pain. He begins to feed on me, making my blood his own, allowing me in return to feed on his newly made wound in the soft velvet. His blood gives me new life, and I know that as soon as I stop I will no longer be myself. He releases his grip on me, and I tumble onto the cold floor gasping for breath. I slowly get up, feeling the transformation inside of me, he points to the door and I walk out of it still in a daze.

I start running down the long waiting room corridor, passing frightened people waiting to die. All the windows are shattered and I need to get out before the transformation is complete. I skid out the door and make a mad dash for my house. My sneakers crunch on the road as my muscles begin to scream in pain of the sun. I reach my house just in time.

I enter the dark house and soon notice the continued blaze of sunlight from the windows and skylights. In desperation I crawl into the basement to hide, finding the continual darkness a blessing. As I wandered around in the darkness, I notice the dress is the corner. Pinned to the sleeve is a note from the man who started this whole mess. I rip off the note and skim read it before scrunching it up and throwing it over my shoulder. The dress, made of green velvet, appeals to my gothic tastes. I shed my old and tattered jeans, t-shirt and jumper, and pull the dress over my head. The material fits to my body perfectly, and the long skirt covers my bare feet. I lick my lips and begin to feel drowsy, yawning I wander towards the coffin that has appeared in the other corner. I lay down in the box and fall into a blissful slumber, as the lid closes.

This dress completes your transformation, you will be forever the undead should you put it on

Forever until always

Vladimir Gregoriavis

That was what the note read, and I had ignored the forever to be undead part. But I had paid the price…