Page 12 of Nightshades

“Seriously. It’s getting dark, and it gets creepy in the woods at night.”

Greg pushes his friend, causing him to stumble. “Scared, Ronald?”

Ronald trips over a fallen log and lands right on his ass, the rifle misfiring, and a loud crack fills the air.

Mmmmm.

With delicious smoke.

I inhale again, taking in as much of it as I can. The gun smoke wraps around my lungs, and now I crave more.

“Fuck you, Greg. Yes, I’m scared, okay? You guys can’t tell me you don’t feel it. This hunting trip, something has been off. It’s like”—poor little Ronald stands, wiping the soggy leaves from the back of his pants—“It’s like someone is following us. I’ve felt this heavy weight on me, and I’ve been more scared than usual. Twigs breaking, the sound of footsteps?—”

Greg cuts him off. “—Do you hear yourself? We. Are. In. The. Woods. Of course, you’re going to hear twigs snapping and footsteps. There are animals all around us. You’re being ridiculous.”

“Fuck you. I’m listening to myself and my instincts and getting the fuck out of here.”

“La-lala-la-la-laaaa.”

Greta stands and throws the saw on the ground. “Enough! Which one of you is making that sound? Stop it. It’s creeping me out.” Emotion catches in her throat. “It isn’t funny. Ronald is right. It’s getting creepy out here. We should leave.”

I’m afraid I can’t allow that to happen.

Using my vampiric speed, I bring my head down and ram my rhino horn through Greg’s chest. His death is so quick, so sudden, the only sound coming from him is the squelching of his body pouring blood down my face.

I fling my neck to the left, his body flying from my horn. Greg’s useless husk slams against a nearby tree, the chilling snap of his bones breaking is music to my ears.

“Greg!” Greta releases a bloodcurdling scream. “What happened to Greg, Ronald? What just happened?”

She’s panicking. Every breath I hear from the expanse of her lungs becomes quicker.

I don’t really care for the men who are with her. I only need them out of the way so I can do what I was created to do. They didn’t saw the antlers off. They didn’t shoot their guns or order their dogs to attack deer.

Unfortunately, they are guilty by association.

The dogs that she has trained to attack whimper when they sense me, fleeing their owner to save themselves. They are smart.

Unlike their mother.

Pawing at the ground, I roll my head over my shoulders, slinging a piece of flesh from my horn as I charge at Ronald. Ramming my sharp spear of keratin through the middle of his throat, wet gurgles rejoice the bitterness living in the valves of my heart.

His blood touches my tongue. Immediately, I smell the worthlessness of Ronald. Weakness is embedded in his blood that I would never want to drink. His weakness might infect me.

I’m worthy of so much more.

“Oh. My. God!” Greta screams when her flashlight lands on me, towering over her with her friend, who hangs on my horn by his throat. It must be such a gruesome sight to see.

“La-lala-la-la-laaa,” I sing to her in a deep, slow tone.

The flashlight shining in my face shakes from Greta’s hands quaking. Her tears shine against her cheeks like the sun’s reflection casting off a glacier.

Just. Beautiful.

Grabbing her friend by the roots of his hair, I pull his body from me without breaking eye contact with her. Roots slitherdown my body, twisting and traveling across the ground to climb up her body.

“No! No, please! I’ll do anything,” she begs and sobs, pathetic attempts to save her life.

The roots wrap around her, and the nightshade flowers appear, blooming to release their poison.