Urge

But all too soon the urges come back, take over you and your original self is once again possessed, screaming for your body to stop. But you never stop. Vampires are evil demons, put on this world for no apparent reason but to cause havoc and unimaginable anguish wherever they go. They express no remorse, feel no love and relish in the pain of others. I should know, because I am one of them.

Issy lives with her family in a remote town in the English countryside. It was just like any other small town: boring and uneventful. Every day was the same: the same people, same routines, same surroundings. That is, of course, until the Vampires invaded, and everything turned upside down.


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9. Struggling

It has been exactly two weeks since I was Turned. My urges started out alright, just a little obsessing over people's necks - nothing too bad. But I knew that they would get worse and worse over time, and with each day more of the monster inside me would take over, and there'd be less of the human left. Even just over the first week I noticed it getting worse, and it was becoming harder for me to ignore the sound of blood pumping around people's bodies. It's also getting harder for me to eat 'human' food; the other day I threw up in the toilets at school because I tried to eat the canteen food. I've managed to avoid breakfast ever since I was Turned, telling mum I'd get it at school. I've told more lies than I'm proud of to get me out of dinner. Telling my family I've already eaten, or saying I'm meeting friends for dinner when all I really do is go out for a walk to clear my head.

I was sitting cross-legged on my bed, home alone, thinking about everything that's changed. There has to be some way I can handle things better, if not I'll have to leave. And I can't leave, they'll go after me, kill me, and God knows what that'll do to my family.

I was stroking Pickles, our cat. Well, really he's Alice's cat - I usually hate him. But today we were actually getting along.

Pickles chose that exact moment to decide he'd had enough of being stroked and leaped up, scratching all down my right arm. I winced and jumped up, turning to face him.

"What was that for!?" I yelled at him.

He hissed at me, and I... growled? Oh my God, is that normal? He leaped at me and I felt a sharp pain in my lower lip. Before I knew what I was doing there was warm blood flowing down my throat. A pleasure so intense overwhelmed me, and I shivered. The metallic taste took over my senses, and everything else faded away to the background. The sound of the cat's screams, the pain in my lip...

Stop! I kept sucking, feeling exhilarated. STOP! I suddenly threw the cat across the room, where it landed in a heap on my bed. Wh-what have I just done!? I covered my mouth with my hands in shock, and I felt my fangs and the warm liquid coating my chin. I wasn't so exhilarated anymore - I felt sick.

I rushed over to the body on my bed and lifted it up; it was limp and covered in blood. There was clearly no life left in his little body. I cradled him to my chest as the tears started streaming down my face, and I ran out of my room, down the stairs and flew out the door. It was about 7:30 in the evening, so it was pitch black. Mum, Dad and Alice had gone out to dinner, but I stayed behind, saying I needed to study. Another lie, but I really didn't want to force down human food.

I ran across the road and down the street. It was eerily silent as everyone was either out or tucked up in their homes for the evening. The sound of my footsteps slamming on the pavement was agonisingly loud, and I thought my heart was going to beat out of my chest. I kept running until suddenly I realised I was in the woods. I dropped to my knees, letting the sobs come out in strangled noises. I stroked the dead cat uselessly.

"I'm sorry." I said between the sobs. "I'm so sorry." I laid him down gently on the leaves and used my hands to dig a hole in the dirt. After about 10 minutes of frantic scraping it was big enough. I picked Pickles up and gently placed him in his little grave. I covered him up with the dirt, patted it in place and stood up.

"I'm sorry." I said uselessly.

I slowly walked out of the woods, down the winding streets and to my house. They still weren't home.

I left the door open in my rush, and closed it behind me as I walked in, locking it. I got blood and dirt all over the handle. I stared at the drops of blood leading from where I was stood and up the stairs. I followed them to my room where I saw my sheets were stained with blood. I walked out and into the bathroom next door. I took a shower with the water agonisingly hot, giving my pale skin a red undertone. I dressed in my pyjamas and took the sheets off of my bed, washing them in the bathroom sink. I took them downstairs and put them in the tumble dryer to dry.

I walked into the kitchen and found a spray to clean carpets from the cupboard under the kitchen sink. I went slowly along the hall, up the stairs and into my bedroom, cleaning each drop of blood from the carpet. I wetted a cloth and cleaned the blood and dirt from the front door handle.

I sank down the wooden door till I hit the floor. What have I done?

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