title: Strawberries in Winter author: Caitlin Cooper genre: H words: 1050

There were strawberries in winter. They glistened like rubies in the market stalls and ripened in the fields west of the Land of Three Rivers. The weather that was unusually warm for the death of the year, even for the Three Rivers, and strawberries were offered at mid-winter parties, alongside the eggnog and hot chocolate.

All peoples that I have known or heard of have a mid-winter feast. In Three Rivers, they call it Christmas. I forget what my people called it, so long has it been since I left my own land.
I usually inhabit the great city some twelve leagues to the south of Three Rivers, on the other side of the great silver grey lake. There are some others of my kind there and it is easier to feed but I was bored and had been living alone for a long time. Cities can be very isolating and I had been in this one for a very long time.

This was my situation the evening when the weather turned with a great violence of crashing electricity and pounding rain. I sat under the awning of a coffee shop and pretended to drink a cup of the hot beverage, which I bought for a seat at the café and for its scent, which was as rich and dark as the brew itself.

I was watched a vagrant hiding in the shadows just inside the awning, inches away from the waterfall of water that cascaded from its edge, but he soon wandered off into the downpour muttering to himself. I was not too disappointed as one of my age does not need frequent meals.

My coffee went cold and lost its scent so I went in to get another. I frequented this particular cafe and was familiar with the young man behind the counter. In fact, we had spoken at length several times. Still, I was surprised when he asked me if I wanted to go to a party in the woods north of the lake. The fete was at an appropriately late hour and, bored as I was, I was loathe to decline an invitation to a party, even one so far away. I accepted and, when the skies cleared and revealed a full moon, I found my way home as the north wind chased the last of the clouds away.

The next evening was the evening of the mid-winter party in the country and the storm had scrubbed the sky so clean that moon and stars sparkled like broken glass. I drove on the bridge across the moonlit lake and through villages, then under dark tunnels of pine trees. When I finally drove up a gravel drive to a converted barn, the party had already begun. The wind had died down and the air was becoming cold but light and noise emanated from the building.

A guitar, banjo and washboard were playing in the great room and making a merry noise. It was warm in the building, both from the pine logs burning in the fireplace and the multitude of guests eating, drinking, and dancing. I took note of the men and women around me but no one interested me until I saw her by a bowl of strawberries.

She had glossy hair the color of cedar and green eyes but it was the delicacy of her pale skin and the elegant lines of her face that mesmerized me. Her lips were red with strawberry juice and she smelled of strawberries and something warmer and sweeter.
How could I resist?

We danced for awhile before going into a less noisy room to talk. She seemed impressed by my knowledge of history and literature and had an old-fashioned air about her that kept the attention her looks had attracted. She had a soft voice and manners which most of the gauche, brazen girls of this age lacked. Neither of us desired any other company.

The band was playing “Good Night Irene” when we decided we had had enough of the noise. As some other couples had done, we walked out to wander the path through the pines to a field where we could see the moon and stars. The air was fresh and it was one of those crystalline winter nights that made me love the season.

I tried to keep my distance but was drawn by the strawberries-
and-cream scent of her and the low music of her voice. The other couples slowly drifted away and were alone on the edge of the woods. She was cold and, in a moment of foolishness, I wrapped my coat around her and felt her warmth against the cold marble of my skin.

When she leaned against me and kissed me, I could no longer control myself and my fangs sought her neck. I thought I could end it as I am old enough I only need a little sip but I could not pull away and soon drained her. The temptation had been too great.

It had been many long years since the horror of what I am was so apparent to me. With the beauty who had died to feed my appetite cooling in my arms, I could not deny it.

I could not leave her body there so I slipped her into my car,
easy to do without incident when most guests had left, and said I was taking her home because she had too much to drink. With a chill plan in my mind, I drove north to a remote spot and carried her through the pines to the bank of the small, sandy bottomed river.

I held her and stroked her hair for a time before becoming very still. By the time the sky began to lighten with the onset of dawn, crystals of frost covered us. The crystals of ice on her face, serene and beautiful in death, sparkled in the rosy light of dawn. I held that vision in my mind as the sun rose over the treetops. It had been so long since I had last seen the Sun.

Later that day only the birds and squirrels were there to witness a large pile of ash blowing away in the stiff winter breeze.