Dark Diary

by Anastasia,P.

  Someone knocked on my bedroom door. Each thump made my head pulse.

  “Kathera? Is that you? What the hell’s going on in there?” Aldréa asked, her voice muffled and distorted by the closed door.

  I gasped again and stumbled out of the bathroom. My hands shaky, the knob was difficult to turn, but I managed it after a moment of trying.

  “So you’re back already?” Aldréa crossed her arms and sneered. “What’s wrong with you and why are you covered in… blood?”

  I bent over and held my stomach while another wave of needles pierced my insides. My ankles weakened and I toppled over onto Aldréa’s feet.

  “Get off me!” She yanked her shoes out from under me and backed away.

  Was I dying?

  “I need help,” I uttered, the words barely coming out. My eyes began to water and violent chills rippled through my body.

  “Deal with it,” Aldréa huffed, turning away from me.

  “Come back!” I reached out toward her. The sight of her back made me anxious and a rush of adrenaline pushed my pain aside.

  “Damn you,” I seethed, coming to my feet.

  “What?” She turned to face me again. “Don’t you talk to me like that, you little bitch.”

  I held myself and stumbled closer to her, dragging my feet as the stinging slowly subsided. The pain went away for a moment and then returned. It came and went in sharp bursts. The anger brewing inside made my heartbeat spike and I was intimately in tune with each new wave of pain.

  I approached her and the bright hallway lights made me squint. I blinked several times. Every cell in my body pulsed with strength and pain simultaneously, but with each flutter of ache came a new sensation—fearlessness. I hurt everywhere, but I feared nothing. “Don’t call me that,” I hissed.

  “I warned you about talking back to me, Kathera,” Aldréa snapped. Her hands curled angrily into fists.

  I bolted at her.

  She choked as I caught the base of her throat within my grasp, squeezing until her eyes grew black with fear. She squirmed and wriggled in vain, her hands feebly pawing at my own in a sorry attempt to pry my fingers away.

  I coiled all of my weight together and tossed Aldréa down on the floor of the hallway. She slid several feet across the hardwood and then bashed against the banister at the top of the staircase.

  Her high-pitched yelp made me smile. I took slow, deliberate steps, one foot in front of the other, staring, glaring—mocking her in return for all the times she had crossed me. The scent of her fear tickled my nostrils and made my grin grow wider.

  I could taste it. Absolute terror rushed through her veins and I relished it.

  Aldréa scrambled to get back onto her feet, but I rushed toward her again and hurled myself at her like a bullet. The pounding of her heart thumped through me as I held her down beneath my weight.

  I wanted revenge.

  The world would not stop me from taking it.

  I hungered for it.

  I hungered for more than just that.

  She cried out. My nails sunk deeper and deeper into her flesh and the blood was warm against my skin.

  “Kathera, no!”

  “Beg all you want.” Her words annoyed me. I leaned down and breathed a whisper into her ear. “How does it feel to be afraid?”

  She gasped, and then my teeth clamped down onto the side of her throat; the taste of hot iron rushed over my tongue.

  Then the house became wonderfully silent again.

  I awoke on the floor of my room, my face damp with sweat and my heart beating a million miles an hour.

  What the hell kind of dream was that?

  There was a pounding in my head and a strong metallic taste in my mouth. I swallowed the acid creeping up my throat and felt like I was about to throw up. I rushed into the bathroom, turned on the faucet, and tossed cold water onto my face. Then I retched. Dry heaved, but so close to the real thing.

  I lowered my head and my eyes grazed over a thick brownish-red trail by my feet. I stepped back in fear and slammed into the bathroom sink. “No!” I brought a hand back to rub the sharp ache at my hip. I poked my head out of the bathroom to see that the stain extended all the way into the hall.

  I heaved again, this time coughing up red. My gaze shot up to the mirror.

  Blood! Everywhere!

  My mouth tingled and I dragged my forearm across my crimson lips. My stomach tightened at the sight of the damp red smudges that appeared and I gagged and choked again, only spitting up even more red into the sink.

  I rushed to the window and looked out. Aldréa’s car was still in the driveway.

  “Aldréa!” I called for her, but I didn’t know why.

  It was just a dream. Right?

  But the bloodstains were unmistakably real.

  What had I done?

  “Aldréa!” I called out again, for once praying for a reply.

  I wanted to know that she was there.

  She wasn’t.

  My clothes were soaked—stiff with dried blood. I returned to the bathroom sink and twisted on the hot water faucet. I scrubbed my arms and neck with a damp washcloth until the sink was full of brown water. I couldn’t stop shaking as I squeezed each handful of color from the rag into the sink.

  What was I going to do? What was I going to tell Dad? Where the hell was Aldréa? Or… her body?

  Should I call the police?

  I crept out of my room again and looked around. The blood trail stopped at the top of the staircase, so I went down to the first floor and flipped on the hallway light.

  Matthaya?

  “Come,” he said, firmly.

  I had sensed him a split-second before I had even heard his voice. Immediately, I turned and saw him standing in front of the open sliding patio doors. His hand was outstretched toward me and his eyes were darker and more demanding than I’d ever seen them. A sparkle of green light flashed through his irises.

  “Matthaya! You have to help me,” I cried, running to him.

  “I know,” he replied, taking my hand. “You must come with me. Now.”

  “Where is Aldréa?”

  “Her body is not far from here,” he answered with a scowl. “I caught the scent of it as I approached, but I am certain you will not want to see it in the condition it is likely in.”

  The condition…?

  His grip on my hand tightened and he pulled me out the door with him.

  It’s over for me, isn’t it?

  Derek was dead.

  I had apparently murdered my stepmother.

  Police sirens echoed in the night from all angles. I’d heard them countless times before, but tonight, it was terribly different.

  Tonight, some of them were probably searching for me…

  A CHILL RUFFLED ME AND I wrapped my arms around myself as I stepped inside the house.

  “It’s very cold in here,” I said, rubbing my hands together briskly. My fingers were always the first part of my body to get cold.

  “I’ll put on a fire.” Matthaya motioned for me to walk into the room up ahead and then he shut and locked the door behind us.

  As thrilled as I should have been to actually be in his home, there weren’t many interesting things inside the place. The walls were old and the wallpaper was fraying in many areas. Cobwebs blurred some of the archways beyond the staircase beside the entrance and it felt empty and unwelcoming. The new sights were distracting, though, and helped ease my stomach a little. The nausea had settled a bit and I didn’t feel quite as threatened by the urge to vomit anymore.

  As I scuttled my way into the living room, I continued to investigate my surroundings. All of the furniture was covered with plain white sheets and looked untouched.

  “For some reason, I never imagined your home would be this large,” I commented.

  His eyebrows furrowed. “It’s not my home.” The pitch of his voice rose slightly with his reply. “It’s
only the place where I reside for the time being.” He tossed a few chunks of wood into the large stone fireplace and pulled a box of matches off the mantle.

  I felt stupid. A house. A home. I guess they are very different things to some people.

  Matthaya crouched over and lit a bundle of paper in the fireplace. A large flame grew quickly from them, dancing over the logs as they blackened the crumpled sheets.

  There, above the mantle, sat a painting of a young, red-haired girl with the fairest porcelain skin. “Did that painting come with the house?” I asked, studying the girl’s faint, secretive expression. I shifted my gaze to meet hers and was unsettled by a striking familiarity in the color and shape of her blue eyes. It sent a wave of goose bumps up my arms. I’d looked in the mirror enough times to recognize my own eyes anywhere.

  Matthaya paused for a second and then stood up from the fireplace. He turned to the side and acknowledged neither me nor the painting.

  “There’s something I need to tell you,” he said lightly, his gaze focused on nothing. “It may take a while. We should sit.”

  He pulled a large white sheet from the couch behind us and tossed it into the corner. Dust flew into the air. I coughed and covered my mouth and nose with my forearm.

  “I’m sorry.” He tipped his head in apology and then walked out of the room. Moments later, he returned with a thick bundle in his arms. “Sit down, Kathera.” He waited for me to get comfortable on the rather old and springy couch and then unfolded the blanket he had brought over me, pulling it up to my shoulders. I shivered again and rubbed my arms.

  My fingers stroked the soft curls of the fleece. I felt warmer already and the fire was growing quickly, the comforting red-orange light adding a welcoming glow to my surroundings.

  He sat down beside me and finally allowed himself a glimpse of the mysterious girl on his mantle. I could see a deep pain resonating from within him as his jaw tightened.

  “Before I can go through with any of this,” he started, his voice cracking, “there’s something you must understand. That painting is invaluable to me.” He cleared his throat. “It is one of my few possessions and it took me many years to find.”

  The painting wasn’t very large, maybe 16” by 20” or something to that effect. Surprisingly, for such a valuable piece, it was unframed and displayed simply in its original condition as a stretched canvas. The style reminded me of the Renaissance. There was no doubt it was from many centuries ago; still, overall it appeared to have been well-kept, although some paint was faded and scuffed around the edges. The expression on the girl’s face made me wonder what secrets she was hiding.

  “Why is it so important to you?” I asked thoughtfully, still intrigued by the familiarity of the girl.

  “You see it, too, don’t you?” he replied. “The look on her face? How she hides something from us?”

  I nodded and looked back at him, only to witness his eyes grow heavy and pained.

  “No matter how hard she tried, she could not hide it from the world.”

  “Hide what?” I moved closer to him.

  “Her lover.”

  Maybe it was a crazy thing to ask, but after everything else I had seen recently, the question wasn’t too far fetched.

  “Did you know her?” I shifted my weight and pulled my legs up onto the couch cushions.

  He nodded.

  “I… loved her.”

  Matthaya had clearly seen many things in his life, but I had not pegged him for the Romeo of a romantic tragedy. It saddened me and made me realize why he was so cold and distant.

  “I’d like to know more about her. Please.” I poked a hand out from beneath my blanket to press it over his cold fingers. He looked me in the eye as if it had surprised him. “Please, Matthaya?” I smiled. Another wave of nausea washed over me and I grimaced. He covered my hand with his.

  “Of course,” he said, smiling though it was bittersweet.

  He proceeded to tell me the story of his lost love. Of the struggle they had endured and the sad irony of their separation; how he had had to watch her perish because the curse of vampirism had left him without the sense to do anything more. He explained to me how Ve’tani had bitten him in his wounded state and forced him to become her companion for the years that followed. How she had filled his head with the lies and brutalities he’d require to keep himself alive in the world of mortals.

  His face twisted and changed many times as he struggled to hide his feelings. It hurt him so much to remember, yet he felt some deep desire to share his story with me regardless of how many wounds it reopened. I watched as his face came to the brink of tears, but none fell. Nothing glistened in his eyes or ran down his pale gray cheeks. Still, I imagined how his face might have shimmered with them if his body had allowed.

  He regretted his past, even hated it, with a passion far greater than his devotion to her. Centuries of knowledge had filled no voids within his broken heart.

  My chest ached as tears filled my own eyes and I cried into my hands. Midway through his story, my stomach became sickened and weak again. Images flashed through my mind like faded memories of a nightmare I had barely woken from. It was as though I could see every face and relive every scene of the life I had never lived.

  Matthaya noticed the fire getting smaller and quickly tossed more logs into the flames. Meanwhile, I continued to cry uncontrollably to myself on the couch. My tears saturated the curled end of the blanket I was using to wipe my face and I felt absolutely helpless to restrain my emotions.

  He returned, and this time sat close by my side. He drew a small scarf from his pocket and dabbed the corners of my eyes with it. The gentleness felt nice against my skin.

  He never even questioned my outburst.

  “Why didn’t you return for her sooner?” I asked, still caught up in the thought of him leaving Kathryn to her tragic death.

  “I tried… but by the time I returned—”

  “She was too far gone,” I interrupted, murmuring beneath my tears. I sniffed hard and wiped my cheek again.

  “I was too far gone,” he added solemnly.

  My chest tightened and my heart burned with insatiable pain as the visions in my nightmares mirrored what he was telling me. The green eyes looking back at me. The water swallowing me up. My lungs hurt and I kept taking in breaths, but it felt like I was getting in no air at all.

  “Why do I feel as if I know exactly what happened to Kathryn?” I whispered. My breath quivered. “Why do I feel as if I remember… what happened?” I choked.

  He pulled my trembling hands out from beneath my blanket and wrapped his own around them.

  “Kathera, the reason why you could never bring yourself to love Derek, was because you have always been in love with me.”

  His grip tightened.

  “I didn’t understand at first,” he continued, “but then things changed and the coincidences weren’t simply coincidences anymore. I believe you somehow possess a spirit that has transcended many centuries. Somehow, you’ve come back to me.”

  He released my hands and undid the top button of his shirt.

  “This necklace,” he gestured to his golden cross, “was Kathryn’s—yours, and I once swore to return it to you.”

  He unclasped the chain from around his neck.

  “We were bound to each other in that world. Despite how violently life tried to tear us apart, I believe our souls have found a way to reconnect.”

  He offered the necklace to me with an open hand.

  So the dreams weren’t nightmares, they were glimpses of my past. And that explained why I never really felt threatened by him. It wasn’t curiosity I had felt before; it was fate.

  “Would you, please?” I asked.

  He placed the necklace around my neck and the tiny gold cross fell just past my collarbone.

  “So, if I’m Kathryn, can you help me, Matthaya?” I said, my eyes piercing his.

  “I didn’t thin
k I could,” he replied quietly. “We can’t simply make others like us.”

  “Then why did you bring me here?” I swallowed, tasting blood again. “I’m dying, Matthaya. I can feel it. Derek is dead and I’ve done something unspeakable to Aldréa. You have to help me.”

  “I will not let you suffer my fate. I won’t allow this curse to take you, too.”

  My body felt empowered as the intensity of Kathryn’s love filled me. I wrapped my fingers around the cross at my neck and stared intently into Matthaya’s eyes. “The world may be a different place, and time may have changed you, but if you have a choice this time, Matthaya, don’t let me die alone.”

  “I never meant to let Kathryn die alone!” His eyes grew bright and fierce with guilt. “I never meant to leave you. Do you think I wanted to change? That I wanted Ve’tani to take me and turn me into this-this thing?”

  Matthaya’s voice rumbled with regret and his fangs flashed angrily as he spoke. “I watched you kill yourself because I didn’t have the sense to try to stop you. It wasn’t as if I wouldn’t have given my life trying to save yours. I would have, but this… hell Ve’tani put me in had left me indifferent to the world and helpless to see anything beyond the blood I craved.”

  The green of his eyes radiated with the eerie luminescence that I had only seen a few times before.

  I looked away and sighed. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “Kathryn…”

  I grinned faintly, but he corrected himself quickly.

  “Kathera, God knows,” he paused and rolled his eyes skeptically, “if there were a God, that I would have done anything to save you that night. I’ve hated myself for centuries for letting you slip away from me, but then I realized something. If I had attempted to pull you from that watery grave, it would have been only to feed on what remained of your life. I wouldn’t have had the will or the conscience to have done otherwise.”

  “But now you do,” I said, placing my fingers onto his troubled face.