by Sarah M. Awa
It took Melanie three hours to edit a dozen short articles. By the time she finished wrestling with them and herself, she’d developed a raging headache, and she longed for a nap.
She left the office and headed back down the empty hallway toward the exit. As she reached for the push bar, her ears caught the sound of soft footsteps behind her. She stiffened. I thought I was alone. Is it Dawn?
Before she could turn to look, an arm wrapped around her waist like an iron band, clamping her arms to her sides.
Lightning shot down Mel’s spine. What the—? She balked and kicked, her fight instinct tempered by disbelief. Was this some kind of joke?
“Let me go!” she screamed. It wasn’t Dawn, for sure. Had to be a guy. Too tall and strong to be Timmy. Luis would never do such a thing to her—this was no hug.
The arm pulled her closer against a hard body. Warm breath rushed over her neck. Damp, pungent cloth pressed over her nose and mouth.
“Mmmph!” Mel protested. The hand held the cloth firmly in place. Its astringent smell made her nauseous. Her lungs fought to suck in air.
She thrashed and wriggled, kicking backward at her assailant’s shins. He jerked when she landed a blow, but lifted that leg and clamped it around both of hers. With his body coiled around her like a caduceus snake, she could barely move.
Who are you!? she wanted to yell. What the hell—!
But the world began to spin and turn black. She realized, as her consciousness faded, that the cloth had been soaked in a soporific drug.
Her body went limp in his arms.
Melanie woke in a dark, cramped space. She couldn’t see anything, but walls pressed in all around her. Everywhere she touched, she felt coarse fabric. She lay on it, and it was just above her and to the sides.
A deep, throaty humming noise filled the air, accompanied by a higher-pitched whizzing sound. The floor was vibrating. Abruptly, it lurched and bumped. Wait a minute, she thought. This must be . . .
The trunk of a car.
I’ve been abducted!
7
Changes
October 15–16, Full Moon (first night)
She could barely breathe. Something pressed tightly against her mouth and grazed her nostrils. Eyes wide, panic surging, she clawed at her face.
A strip of plastic-like material across softer fabric: He’d taped the drugged cloth in place. The astringent smell was gone, the sedative evaporated.
Ripping off the tape stung. Melanie threw the gag away in disgust, then massaged her sore cheeks. Gulping deep lungfuls, she tried to calm her rapid heartbeat.
How long had she been here? How far away from campus was she?
The crunch of gravel was not a good sign. She didn’t know of anywhere in the Wellsboro area that had gravel. Not this much.
It made no sense. Who would kidnap her? She didn’t have any enemies—any real ones. Certainly no dangerous ones. Timmy came closest to what Mel would consider an enemy, but she’d already determined it couldn’t be him. Not the one who’d grabbed her, anyway.
Is some other classmate pulling a sick prank on me?
It didn’t feel like a prank.
Melanie tried to push away thoughts of serial killers and rapists and of being some pervert’s “type”—petite brunette—but the possibilities were many and terrifying. She tucked her knees to her chest, wrapped her arms around them, and sobbed.
As her tears subsided, she looked around. The trunk was empty apart from her. No tool of any kind to help her escape. Her purse was gone, her phone with it. She lifted the carpet from the floor to check for a tire iron underneath, a spare, or even a jack, but the space where they should have been was empty. He’s removed every last thing?
She shuddered. He was smart and well prepared.
She couldn’t focus on that now. She needed to think. Strategize.
Her clothes were still on, thank goodness. She didn’t feel injured. He hadn’t even tied her up! Probably expected her to stay unconscious. She was a bit queasy, and her stomach growled; it had been hours since she’d eaten. But generally, she was fit to fight.
The urge to kick and scream and pound on all the surfaces around her washed over Melanie, but she resisted. She would only hurt herself and wear herself out. Don’t make noise. Don’t attract his attention. He’ll stop somewhere secluded and come back here and . . .
Make sure she didn’t make any more noise.
So she curled up in a ball again, waiting. Trying to think helpful thoughts, tactical thoughts, not ones that would increase her fear.
The car decelerated, then came to a stop. The engine’s purr cut off, jolting her into a still, ominous silence. Melanie froze. She heard a door opening, felt the car shifting as the driver climbed out. The door slammed shut. Footsteps crunched, slowly coming her way.
I won’t let him kill me without putting up a fight! She shifted into a better position to leap out at him, her hands poised to use as weapons. But they trembled.
Keys jingled, and one slid into the lock. With a pop, the trunk door lifted. Mellow light and fresh, cool air rushed in.
Then he came into view—jeans, t-shirt, neck, chin, face . . .
Rage replaced Melanie’s fear.
“You!? What the hell!”
Gavin held up his empty hands in a gesture of peace, but a determined look was on his face. “I’m sorry, Melanie,” he said. “I didn’t want to do things this way, but I had to. You wouldn’t listen to me.”
“I’ll get you thrown in jail for kidnapping!” she yelled. “You should be locked away in a mental hospital!” Her fingers twitched with the desire to claw his eyes out, but caution kept her from attacking. He was strong and could be dangerous.
“I’m protecting you. Saving you,” he said, his voice and his gaze calm and level.
“Ha!” Melanie scrambled out of the trunk, still glaring at him, and then looked around. They were deep within a forest, as she’d suspected. Trees—mostly evergreens—stretched as far as she could see. A large, nice-looking log cabin stood a few yards away. The daylight was fading.
“Where are we? Take me back to Wellsboro right now,” she demanded. “Or else—”
“Can’t do that yet.” Gavin reached back to pull something out of his jeans pocket. Melanie tensed, expecting the knife again; but instead, he brought out a small mirror and held it in front of her face.
She almost screamed when she saw her eyes.
“No. No!” Her protest turned into a moan as she slapped her hands over her face, hiding her eyes. “Enough stupid tricks! Think you’re some kind of magician? First pretending to cut me with that knife, and now this?”
“It happens when your emotions are especially strong during the days before, during, and after a full moon,” he said.
This can’t be real. This can’t be happening. But she remembered the nightmare she’d had about her eyes glowing yellow. Her heart pounded in her chest, and nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She sucked in deep breaths of pine-scented air.
Gavin glanced at the sky, which was streaked with ribbons of gold and pearl. “We need to get inside,” he said. “The moon rises in twenty minutes. There are safe rooms in the cabin.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Mel managed to squeak, but her legs were trembling. She felt them growing weaker, the world rocking like a raft. The edges of her vision were darkening.
He caught her as she fell. She tried to talk, to hit or kick him, but her limbs and voice wouldn’t cooperate.
When she came to, she was lying on a hardwood floor in a dimly lit room. The only source of illumination was a skylight high above her that showed a patch of deepening blue. There was nothing but empty space surrounded by dark wood on all six sides—no furniture, no decoration, and no possibility of escape except a single closed door.
Locked? Melanie wondered. Probably, but she had to check. She stood up shakily, tiny pricks of light dancing before her eyes, and leaned against a wall. When the dizziness passed, she
walked to the door. Now that she was closer, she could see that there was no keyhole, only solid, smooth brass. The knob was cool to the touch and wouldn’t turn. Wrapping both hands around it, she threw her weight backward and forward, but the door was solid and didn’t budge. What the heck? . . . Must be locks on the outside frame. What kind of crazy house is this?
It was the trunk all over again. No tools, no release levers or cables to pull—
She roared and banged on the door. “Let me out! Gavin! I know you’re there, dammit! Please!” No, don’t cry!
Pressing her ear against the door, she quieted down, waited, and listened. Footsteps padded toward her. They stopped right outside. There was a pause.
“I would advise you to undress,” came Gavin’s voice. “Otherwise, the changes will tear your clothes to shreds.”
Melanie jerked in fear. Remove her clothes? Did he have a camera in here somewhere? Was that his game? Feeling naked at the thought, she scanned the corners of the ceiling but saw no lenses watching her. It was dark, though. A knothole in the wood could easily disguise a camera lens.
I won’t give him that satisfaction. She crossed her arms and backed away from the door. He said nothing more, and after a moment, his footsteps retreated.
Melanie paced the room. What should she do? If only she had a flashlight. Her eyes had adjusted pretty well to the gloom, but soon it would be full-fledged night.
She searched the walls with her fingers, feeling for cracks or weak spots. She knocked on the wood paneling to check for hollow areas. No such luck. The floor seemed solid and impenetrable as well, and free of trap doors. The high, angled ceiling was far out of reach.
At last she flopped down in a corner, tired and frustrated. Her anger was rising, her fear waxing, and her hope waning. She curled her legs up to her chest, shoved her hands into her hair, and shook as her thoughts raced in miserable, terrified circles.
And then the pain began.
It started with a jolt, surging through her belly and up her spine. She gasped. Had that been an electric shock? How? There were no wires, no power in here.
A sharp tingling rushed over her but then pulled back. A whimper escaped her lips, and tears welled up in her eyes. She tried to stand, to move somewhere else, to get into a more comfortable position—but her arms and legs were suddenly weak. She struggled to lift herself from the floor.
Another wave of pain hit her, sending her back onto her rump. This time, the discomfort didn’t subside completely. The tension it left behind in her muscles, and the ache remaining in her bones, foreshadowed another round of agony.
It came within moments. Her muscles clenched and then felt as if they were going to rip apart. Her bones creaked like twigs about to snap. Melanie screamed, and she kept screaming as dark auburn fur sprouted on her hands and arms and shot, needlelike, from her legs. Bones shifted and ground together. Her spine elongated, and her knee joints crunched into reverse. Her skin stretched as tightly as an overfilled water balloon. A painful, squishy feeling deep within her suggested organs moving around and reshaping.
Her lungs were on fire, and when she tried to clutch her chest, claws broke through her fingernails and tore her skin. Thick black padding blossomed on her palms. Her skin split apart, and her thumb ground down through bone and twisted, sharpening into a dew claw.
Her body was tearing itself apart and reforming into something new and strange. Completely without anesthetization.
When nothing human remained, darkness spread like a blanket.
Jocelyn’s phone chimed five times in quick succession. That’d be Pam, then; she didn’t know anyone else with the habit of sending a series of short text messages rather than one long one. Sure enough, the messages were from Pam, and they read:
“Is Mel there with you?
“She’s not answering her phone.
“Haven’t seen her since breakfast.
“Left her several voicemails and texts.
“This isn’t like her. :/”
But it’s just like you, Jos thought with a wry grin. She shifted positions on her bed and stuck a bookmark in Candide. The house was empty and silent—Shari out partying and Pam presumably at the music building. A whiff of sandalwood incense drifted pleasantly under Jos’s nose as she responded: “No, she’s not here. I haven’t seen her all day either. Are you sure she didn’t have a hot date?”
“With who?
“Luis?”
“No, I saw him heading to the gym on my way back from dinner.”
“Is there another guy interested in her?
“Do you know something I don’t?”
Jos frowned, thinking back to yesterday.
“Well, not really. There was this guy at the volleyball game, but she swears it’s not like that. They just talked for a little while.”
Instead of chiming with another text, Jocelyn’s phone played “Lacrymosa” by Evanescence. Pam’s voice came over the line, higher than usual, strung with tension. “Tell me everything,” she demanded.
After Jos related what she knew, Pam sighed. “That’s anticlimactic. Mel never mentioned Gavin to me, so she must not be into him. Which brings us back to—where the heck is she?”
Mother hen, Jos wanted to say, they all eventually leave the nest. “I’m sure she’s fine, Pam. There’s not much trouble you can get into around here, and Mel’s a good girl; she’s smart and sensible. She’ll probably be back any time now. I’ll let you know the minute she is—unless you get back first, of course.”
Pam gave a dissatisfied grunt but said, “Okay, I guess you’re right.”
Hours later, as midnight approached, Melanie’s continued absence and lack of communication began to worry Jos, too. She and Pam lounged on the couch downstairs, waiting and listening for Mel’s car to pull up. Their other housemates trickled in one by one, except for Shari, who frequently spent weekends at her boyfriend’s apartment. Mel sleeps here every single night and would’ve told us if she were doing otherwise.
Eventually, Pam’s eyelids drooped and she drifted off, still clutching her phone. Jocelyn, a night owl, tried to distract herself by reading. But her imagination took her dark places.
Mel’s car broken down, stranding her in the middle of nowhere, her phone battery dead. A stranger driving up, offering help—and abducting her.
Or the same scenario with her car broken down, but Mel deciding to hike through woods at night and getting mauled by a bear. (Did bears live around here?)
Enough, Jos ordered herself. She dialed Melanie’s number again.
The call went straight to voicemail. Jos didn’t bother to leave another one.
It was cold.
Everything hurt.
She couldn’t move.
She dreaded opening her eyes.
Was she awake or dreaming?
She was scarcely conscious of her surroundings, except for the feeling of a hard, flat surface underneath her. It was smooth and chilly against her bare skin. She became aware that she was shivering.
Even that small movement was painful. Every inch of her body was so sore that it felt like she’d run a marathon in the desert and had fallen onto a cactus every few feet.
Hesitantly, blearily, Melanie opened her eyes. She blinked until the room came into focus.
Oh. Crap.
Sprawled belly-down, head angled to one side, she could see mostly floor but also partway up a wall. Early morning sunbeams filtering in through the skylight illuminated scores of deep gouges, many of them smeared with dark red stains. Her nose caught the coppery tang of blood.
What . . . ?
And then her stomach lurched as she realized how those bloody scratches had gotten there—and why blood covered her hands.
A hoarse groan sandpapered her parched throat. She shut her eyes. Tears streamed down her face. She dry heaved a couple of times.
After sobbing for long minutes, she quieted enough to hear footsteps approaching her door. She tensed up, her sore muscles protesting. Was
Gavin going to come in here? Her clothes were across the room, shredded to ribbons, and she felt too weak to get up and retrieve them anyway.
But a gentle knock sounded, and a woman spoke. “Melanie? Are you awake, dear?” Five clicks followed, deadbolts unlocking, but the door remained shut. “I’ve brought you some clothes. I’ll leave them right outside your door—unless you want me to bring them in?”
Melanie was so confused, she didn’t know what to think or how to respond. Finally, she rasped, “I’ll get them myself.”
“All right,” replied the woman. Her voice was kind and had a trace of an accent Mel couldn’t place. “You’ll be more comfortable in a guest bedroom, if you want to sleep for a while. There’s one two doors to your right. . . . Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Cara Doyle. Gavin’s mom.”
His mom is here? That took a moment to process.
His mom. Weird thing for a serial killer to—
Except he wasn’t a serial killer, was he? He’d been telling the truth. Mel was a—a—
Although she couldn’t figure out how Gavin knew about her being bitten, she realized she owed him a huge debt. Not that that made her want to see him again.
Maybe he knew that, too, which was why he’d sent his mother to the door.
Cara Doyle’s footsteps had retreated, and the coast was probably clear to grab those clothes. But Melanie felt reluctant—and not just because she was exhausted and sore.
If she got up, opened that door, got dressed, accepted the offered bed and hospitality, it would mean acceptance of her new situation. Her new life.
A miserable, cursed existence.
Gavin’s voice in her mind: “You’ll rip everyone around you to pieces. And then you’ll eat them.”
No. No, this couldn’t be real. Whatever had happened—
She couldn’t remember what had happened. Only the pain. The twisting, wrenching, popping, screeching pain.
And then another mind, devouring hers. And then—
Not oblivion. Something worse.
Go back to sleep, a voice told her. When you wake up, you’ll be in your room with Pam. This is all a bad dream.