Their mention of its own accord could conjure up an infinite number of ideas

Mystery, bloodlust, the darkly appealing nature of their world draws us to them

Foolish moths to an unearthly flame

Like the moon they appear at night, slinking their way into our sky

But we never know them; we see only a reflection, a shadow, a whisper

The live in our world, along with other creatures that go bump in the night.

The things your mother told you weren’t real

The things you told yourself you couldn’t have seen

They live not in the recesses of our minds…but in the recesses of our society

And there they lurk, until the time comes for them to play

Monsters

Both Sides of the Girl

Prologue

She was no doll. Her rouged lips formed a straight and somber line. Evergreen eyes formed a stark contrast to the unhealthy pallor of her skin. Long and dramatic eyelashes brushed her cheeks and obscured her view. Her hair was neither black nor brown but it hung down to her calves in split ends.

The clothing she wore seemed too frail to shield her lanky frame from the elements. The black, pleated school-skirt was hemmed at her knees with a hint of petticoat peeking out. A long sleeved middy blouse, the white of it broken only by the black of the fabric that wrapped around the shoulders, ended in a bow on her chest.

Looking closer one could see that the translucent layer of polish on her nails was chipped; her hair interrupted occasionally by an unchecked strand, the lace of her petticoat had light smudges of dirt. No. She would never be mistaken for a doll.

But she was doll-like on the flat roof of the building that night. Her hands were clasped in her lap and her ankles crossed neatly over the edge of the building. Her body remained in this position, every muscle perfectly tensed, for what seemed to be hours. Maybe it was.

Eventually her nostrils flared and she closed her eyes at the scent of fear. Instinctively her hands reached up to the quartz crystal dangling around her neck. It comforted her against the smell which had become all too familiar lately. Her neck arched to allow her a look down at the street 30 stories below her. With a feminine sigh she jumped down, the wind of her fall somehow causing the hem of her skirt to flare only a little. Landing, she straightened her clothes and let her eyes scan the area around her.

The black-suede loafers let her walk quickly along the dark streets. This was surely no place for a girl of her apparent age but she showed no apprehension. As the scent of fear got stronger her pace became quicker.

The streets had a vast array of scents, yet she tuned them all out to focus in on the bitter and hot scent of fear. Although it was late-Sunday night a few stray vagabond littered the street. Some were in costume, some out. She made sure to keep her head bowed, avoiding the eyes of the hardened teenagers that leaned and posed threateningly against the dark walls.

A scream rang out and she glanced around the corner into an alley to see some hapless cosplayer backed into a corner by them. There were three, to be precise.

Monsters