This final poem, part of a gothic poem collection, is under copyright protection by the author.
Dancing Near the Fire: Part Four
Anais walked in, bringing the cold winds behind her.
She picked the wrong night to visit the Ratt.
I was feeling human.
I was lulled by the presence of men, enchanted by Juliet’s sea green eyes,
black coffee, her soft warm hand, and the faint sound of many heartbeats.
Not that Anais didn’t have a heartbeat, who knew what magic animated beautiful Anais,
she just didn’t have a heart.
She was dressed in ceremonial robes. Murex purple, her favorite color.
She was hunting.
“Armand.” she greeted me sweetly, my name rolling lightly on her tongue.
“Anais.” I said coldly.
“Sweetie, I was looking for you.” She purred. “I thought I’d find you in this…dump. Why you keep company with this crowd, I’ll never know.” Anais’ head tilted. “I don’t believe I’ve met your little friend.” She smiled sweetly in Juliet’s direction.
Next to Anais’ tall frame, Juliet was little.
I kept silent.
“I’m Juliet Wallace.” Juliet said with a wide smile.
“Juliet, such a romantic name, it fits you well. You may call me Anais.”
“Anais. Nice to meet you. You have a beautiful name too. Are you named after Anais Nin?” Juliet asked.
“No, she is named after me.” Anais laughed, tossing back her black curls.
Anais invited herself to our table. She sat next to Juliet. Her scarlet fingernails scrapped across the table top. She smelled like Daphne blossoms.
“So, tell me, how do you know Armand?” Anais asked.
Juliet blushed. “We meet earlier in the woods.”
“Really.” Anais’ eyebrows shot up.
Anais glanced at me, a question in her eyes.
“Do little girls like you often play alone in the woods?”
“I’m not a little girl” Juliet said firmly, “In fact, I think we’re the same age. You can’t be more than twenty-five.”
“Close.” Anais lied. “So were you alone?”
“Anais” I said softly, giving fair warning.
“You have to admit, this is a strange tale.” She replied.
“This night has been more than strange.” Juliet said, “But oddly enough, it feels…right.”
“Sweet.” A small smile played on Anais’ face.
“How do you know Armand?” Juliet asked Anais.
“Armand is like my brother. We are a lot alike.”
“We’re also very different.” I said, remembering Anais’ little cruelties.
“We are more alike than you think.” She said softly. “ I met Armand in the university. In those days, he had an interest in Science…”
I sat back, wary but relaxing. I half-listened.
Anais’ tale was half-true.
My life could have been different, had I not met her.
While Anais talked, a song came on the jukebox.
A country song.
A remake of a song forty years old.
Different singer, same tune.
It was a song about a girl’s first love.
It was the song that played when I killed for the first time.
I still remember the hunger. The pain in my stomach felt like being stabbed by broken glass. It was a pain I will never forget.
I was sick. I was nauseated and weak
I hadn’t eaten in two weeks.
Not that I didn’t try to eat. I wanted food, but was repulsed by it’s rancid smell. My body rejected everything I ate anyway, except water, I could keep water down.
I thought I was going to starve.
I wasn’t ready to die.
I was mad with fear. I must have looked mad. I looked in the bathroom mirror expecting to see my emaciated face, see dark circles under my eyes, but instead I couldn’t see myself.
The empty air wore my clothes.
I thought I was disappearing, I thought I was a dream, that my life was a dream, but I felt real, and I smelled real, like vomit and sweat.
The blisters on my skin were real, deep sores that appeared in the sunlight.
I was hungry, I was weak, and I was afraid to leave my apartment.
I think I would have died alone. But one night, as I rambled to myself in a rage, I accidentally bit the inside of my cheek, tasting my own blood.
It was sweet and salty, full of beauty and life.
It filled me with joy, my darkest fear had come true.
Two days later I was creeping in the trailer park.
I felt like a hungry ghost, disappearing, but still hungry.
I wanted to live, not waste away to dust.
I needed to know, was I a monster?
Did I need blood?
The trailer park laid on the edge of town.
There was a full moon that night, not that I needed the moon’s light.
My eye-sight had sharpened.
I could see shapes in the shadows.
I chose the trailer closest to the woods.
I planned on breaking the door’s lock, but when I got to the trailer, I was afraid.
All I could do was look through the open blinds.
A light was left on above the stove in the kitchen.
I made out a woman asleep on a sagging brown sofa.
A half-finished bottle of beer sat near her on the table.
I heard music through the trailer’s thin walls.
She had left the radio on.
A soprano sang about falling in love for the first time.
I stood outside, a statue.
I could hear every note, every beat, I listened to every word.
When the song ended, I walked to the door.
I turned the knob, it was open.
Inside smelled like rotting trash and beer.
I was hungry, yet I was also afraid.
There was no turning back.
I stood over the sleeping woman.
She had silver in her hair.
Her face was lightly covered in freckles.
She had crow’s feet around her closed eyes.
To me, she was beautiful.
For a second, I heard the song replayed in my head, then it was gone, replaced by the pains in my stomach.
In a flash, I gripped her head, burying my teeth deep into her neck.
I think I hit her Jugular vein. I felt warm blood trickle down my mouth.
I drank. She struggled.
I drank until she stopped struggling.
I could have stayed there, my mouth pressed to her neck, but something strong in me pulled me away.
Blood covered everything.
I ran from the trailer, losing myself deep in the woods.
I think I killed her.
That act of violence was more sickening to me, than my two weeks of vomiting.
As I ran, I felt my strength return.
I felt euphoric. I had energy, and my mind became sharp and clear.
I ran like a tiger, leaping over rocks and broken branches.
Inside, I felt savage, like an animal.
I had killed.
When I stopped running, I was no longer afraid.
I could face myself.
Was I a monster? Or was I acting like one?
In the moonlight, I saw dried blood under my fingernails.
Under that full moon, I made a vow: I would never kill another human being. Not for their blood.
I would not be a taker in this world.
Somehow, I would be a giver.
The song had ended.
Juliet and Anais were staring at me.
The conversation had stopped.
“More coffee ladies? I asked, looking suddenly attentive.
“Yeah, one for the road. Can I get mine to go?” Juliet said.
“Yeah, I have to get going as well. Can you give me a ride?” Anais asked
“Sure, no problem.” I said.
I signaled to the waitress, and took out my wallet.
I left a crumpled five dollar bill on the table.
I always tip.
I left the Ratt with two beauties following me into the fading night.
