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Yay! New story! I know I have another one to work on...dang...but I got into the mood, so I started writing this one. Yay me!
Okay...ground rules:
o.O -page break
italics-the dream
Morgan-16-human
the man (you don't learn his name til the second chapter)- looks 21, but is over 500 years old- vampire
Isabella- looks 21 but is over 300 years old- vampire
He heard voices coming from downstairs and rolled his eyes; his father was still up. He stepped lightly, careful not to make a sound. If his father knew he was up…Morgan shuddered at the thought.
The raven-haired sixteen-year-old opened the door to his parents’ room. He peeked inside, his eyes darting to the neon green colors on the digital clock. 1:32. It was 1:32 in the morning. He turned to leave, but stopped at the sound of his mother’s faint voice.
“Sweetie? What are you doing up?” There was small movement, and the bedside lamp was turned on. His mother felt around the table for her glasses and put them on. She stared at him. “Sweetie, you don’t look so good. Come here.” She held out her arms and he went to stand by her.
She took his face in her hands. “Have you been getting enough sleep? You look awfully tired.” Her hands went to his shoulders. “Go get some rest.” She kissed his cheek before removing her glasses and turning out the lights. “Night, baby.”
He exited the room, running into his father. The man glared at him. “You know that you ain’t supposed to be up.” He shoved Morgan against the wall, his fingers at his son’s throat. “Now you get back to your room. And I’d better not see your face tomorrow, you got that?”
Morgan nodded. His father released him and he scurried down the hall into his bedroom, closing the door behind him. He slid to the floor, sighing, and ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes closed, and his breathing evened out.
He was startled awake by a loud knock on the front door. He remained where he was. The knocking continued; no one was answering it. Well, he wasn’t going to answer the door. He wasn’t allowed to. In fact, as far as his father was concerned, he wasn’t supposed to exist in the first place.
The knocking continued.
Morgan stood up and left his room. He headed quietly down the stairway and turned the living room lights on. He opened the front door to see…
Nothing. There was no one there. He stared at the empty darkness. He looked around. Nothing. There was only a still silence, like the world was holding its breath. Not even a car drove by on the usually crowded street.
The living room lights flickered. Morgan closed the front door and locked it. He turned around, freezing at the sight of his father with a gleaming kitchen knife in his hand. His father’s eyes narrowed. “Up in your room. Now.”
Morgan ran up the stairs and into his room. He closed his door quickly. He shut his eyes and buried his face in his hands.
There was another knock on the front door. Morgan looked up. The knocks got louder and louder. The poor raven-haired boy covered his ear, but the sound slipped through his fingers. His eyes were shut tight.
The knocking stopped suddenly. Morgan uncovered his ears slowly, looking around the room. It was just like he’d left it of course. But the clock wasn’t flashing anymore, and the time read two in the morning. That was odd. He could have sworn that he hadn’t touched the thing. He shook his head. Maybe he was just delusional.
He stared at the clock, his mind slowly registering what time it really was. When it finally clicked he jumped up muttering curses under his breath as he opened his window. It was still raining, but that didn’t bother him. He looked at the ground. Maybe he could jump…
He mentally slapped himself. What was he doing here just thinking? He did this every night! How could he not remember how he got down? He hit his head repeatedly with the palm of his hand. Stupid, stupid, stupid!
He looked down and sucked in a deep breath. It wasn’t all that far down. Really. He sat on the window sill, sighing rather loudly. He closed his eyes. And jumped.
o.O
A man stepped out of the shadows in Morgan’s room. He walked over to the window and stared out, his long black hair ruffling in the cool night breeze. He watched the sixteen-year-old disappear around the corner.
The man sniffed once, twice, and sighed in contentment. “He has such a strong scent.” The man grinned, revealing fangs. “Like vanilla.”
A woman stepped out of Morgan’s closet. “It’s not nice to spy on people you know,” she said, her voice light and fluttery.
“Look who’s speaking,” the man hissed darkly, turning to face her. “What are you doing here Isabella?”
The woman smiled. “Just checking in on you.” She went to stand by her friend. “That boy is taking up a lot of your nights these days. It’s a shame to see you reduced to this. All you do is watch him day and night. Day and night! Come play with us and the pretty little humans! We miss you terribly.”
The man smiled. “I think it was only you that missed me, Is. The others could care less.” He glanced out of the window once more before sitting on the hard mattress. He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly.
Isabella rolled her eyes. “You’re really obsessed with this human boy, aren’t you?” She walked over to the desk in the corner and leafed through the papers there. She studied a few closely. “He’s quite the artist. His work is breath-taking.”
The man looked up and then back down at the book in his hands. “Yes, he’s quite the artist. His mother encourages him of course. Sweet lady.” He flipped through the pages. “She’s a psychiatrist you know.”
Isabella set the papers back down on the desk and took the book from the man’s hands. “The road to Happiness.” She laughed and threw the book onto the bed. “I find that funny.” Her expression got dark. “There’s no such thing as real happiness. It’s all fake.” She growled low ion her throat.
“Now, now, Is. Let the humans have their silly beliefs. They don’t know any better. They don’t live as long as we do. Their lives are a game of telephone. They can start out with, ‘Science is art.’” And end up with, ‘Horses fart.’ And then the whole world suddenly thinks that horses farting is harming the economy. They’re just stupid little creatures. They haven’t seen what we have.”
Isabella raised an eyebrow. “I knew this human boy was impacting you. How long has it been since you last ate?” The man held up four fingers. “Four days?!” Isabella shrieked. “Four days! What is wrong with you?” She grabbed his arm. “We’re going hunting, and you’re going to like it. Come on.” She tugged on his sleeve. “Now,” she growled.
The man stood up. “Fine,” he grumbled. The two stepped into the shadows of the room and vanished.
o.O
Morgan slipped through his window into his bedroom. He shut the window softly and opened his closet door. He pulled out a towel and dried himself off. He hung the towel over the chair and crawled into bed. He pulled the covers up over his head and buried his face in his pillow. He closed his eyes and slowly drifted off to sleep, the soft patter of the rain in the background.
o.O
It was dark, and he couldn’t find a light switch in the room, not that he’d tried. No, he was still on the bed waiting for his eyes to adjust. It was a slow process.
Something moved in the dark.
He froze. Slowly he crawled to the edge of the bed. The neon glow of the numbers on the clock hardly illuminated anything. The numbers began to flicker. He watched them disappear. His eyes widened.
The thing in the dark moved again, sending chills down his spine. Papers were knocked off his desk. His head snapped in that direction. A single paper landed on the bed. He picked it up slowly. It was a drawing of an angel. And across the angel it had the words, ‘Angels don’t exist’ in big red letters.
He dropped the sheet and it fluttered to the floor. Something rapped on the window. He peered at it slowly to find that it was only the rain. He glanced around the room and took a step off the bed. The wooden floor was hard and cold and it hurt his feet.
He ran to the window only to find that there was no way for him to open it. The latches had completely disappeared. He pushed on it as hard as he could, but it didn’t budge. Tears began to make their way down his face.
There was a crash from behind him and he whipped around. The light on his desk flickered on. He walked towards it and looked down at all his drawings. Words were written on them all. He ran his fingers over the words, his lips moving, but no sound coming out.
Something brushed by him, tearing off part of his sleeve and slicing open his arm. He gasped in pain and looked down, then back up as he heard feet thudding on the floor. He reached out to get nothing. “Come play Morgan. Come play!” His bedroom door burst open and light flooded into the room. “Come on Morgan. You’re running out of time.” Childish laughter came from the hallway. He stepped out of his room. His bedroom door slammed shut behind him and the lights went out.
He clung to one side of the hall, inching his way down it. Little giggles surrounded him and tickled his ear. Cold fingers brushed against his skin. He reached out, and strands of hair slipped through his fingers. He reached out farther, but only grasped thin air and darkness.
He stumbled forward in the inky blackness. Something grabbed his ankle and he fell. He laid his head on the ground. All he wanted was to be left alone at the moment.
“No, no, Morgan. You’re supposed to play with me. Play with me!” Something dripped onto his face and he wiped it off, staring at the smeared red substance. He looked up into the eyes, no, there were no eyes on the face of the little girl. Just empty sockets that blood leaked out of.
He gulped. The girl leaned down and whispered, “Come play Morgan.”
o.O
The man watched Morgan squirm and whimper in his sleep. He stroked the boy’s cheek softly. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “It’s okay.” He sat down on the bed. He ran his fingers through the boy’s hair. “It’s just a dream. Just a dream, Morgan. You’re not really in danger.” The man leaned down, his breath ghosting over Morgan’s neck.
o.O
He ran, his bare feet thudding against the pavement. He could hear her calling behind him. “Morgan…Morgan…come back and play. Play with me!” He continued to run. His feet were starting to get sore from pounding on the concrete. His lungs ached.
He collapsed on the ground, panting. His eyes closed. He didn’t care if that girl found him. He didn’t care if she took him and tortured him. He was tired. And he just wanted to sleep. Sleep and never wake up…
o.O
Morgan sighed and opened his eyes. He sat up in bed. The clock read 6:54. Four hours. He’d slept four hours. It was progress.
He stepped out of bed, opening his drawers and pulling out a shirt. He pulled it on and sat down at his desk. He looked at his drawings, running his fingers over each one. He noticed that one of his pictures was missing. He searched frantically for it, but it was nowhere to be found.
Morgan growled and sat down on the bed. There was a knock and the door opened. His father stood there. “Your mother wants you to come down and eat breakfast. So come on.” He grabbed Morgan’s arm and nearly dragged the boy down the stairs.
The sixteen-year-old sat down next to his mother. He picked at the plate of food in front of him. His mother watched him carefully. He ate slowly, taking tiny bites. By now both of his parents were staring at him intensely. He looked up and met their gaze. He set his fork down and stared back.
His mother broke her stare to glance at the clock. She jumped up, grabbing all of her things. “I have to go! I’ll see you two boys later. Play nice now!” She headed outside. “Bye loves!” she called over her shoulder as she got in the car and drove off.
Morgan’s father looked over at him. “Your room. Now.” His eyes narrowed. Morgan headed into his room. He sat back down at his desk. Something caught his eye and he picked it up. It was the missing picture. He ran his fingers over it and caught the words at the bottom of the page. ‘Angels don’t exist.’
He gasped and dropped the page. It fell to the floor and slid under the bed. Morgan shut his eyes tightly. This couldn’t be happening. Not to him. Not now. The dream was bad enough. And it had been just a dream, hadn’t it?
A knock on his door startled him. He opened it slowly. Upon seeing his father he opened it all the way. His father glared at him. “What took you so long to open the door?”
Morgan remained silent.
His father entered the room and looked around. “Well, it seems okay.” He turned to leave but stopped. He reached down, picked up a clean, long-sleeved jacket from off the floor and held it up. “Where did you get this? I don’t remember you having a jacket like this.”
Morgan stared his father in the eye. If he looked away…his father would know the jacket wasn’t his. His father approached him. He stepped back, nearly tripping on a shoe.
“You stole it, didn’t you, you filthy rat!” his father roared. “You took it! You thief! You dirty little thief!” His father threw the jacket to the ground. He slammed Morgan into the wall. “I know I taught you better than that. I know I did.” He hit his son and the boy fell to the floor from the blow. “Be thankful I’m a merciful man.” He picked up the jacket and left the room.
Morgan pulled his knees to his chest and cried.
Okay, so please please please review! I have a good feeling about this story.