I suspect it had something to do with the way she smelled. I know I have a good sense of smell – I had spent a great deal of time trying not to acknowledge the rank of my old crypt. Large crowds were to be avoided. I never gave the feeling a definite term. Hunger or thirst were not really adequate. I only needed it once a night. Large groups of humans tempted me when I would otherwise not feel it.

She smelled like that too.

My new place never really smelled like much. Plaster, the synthetic material that made the couch and covered the chairs. Plastic and metal. The old crypt smell faded after a few days. If I had any smell of my own, I could not detect it.

Sometimes I would move objects just to disturb dust and make it look like someone lived here. Sometimes the dust-smell was overpowering. I would clean every few days. It seems even undeath has not solved the issue of where dust comes from. The only place that was not consistently dusty was the couch and the TV.

I was not expecting a visit. She guided me partially in getting this place. I should have known she would want to see where I had wound up. She always seemed to be able to find me. She did that once when I was hunting. I had pounced with the blood still in my mouth and she had started screaming, which gave me an odd feeling. Not lust in the human sense of it. I could still taste the blood of my former meal not even five minuets old, but I wanted hers.

It wasn’t the first time. I hadn’t indulged then. She wouldn’t be visiting otherwise.

I invited her in. She didn’t have a problem coming in. She commented that I must like the ‘dimly lit’ look. I asked if she would like it if I turned the lights on brighter. She did. She asked if I would mind if she sat. I didn’t and told her so.

She asked me about a lot of things. About the decor. The TV. She made sure I was taking care that my meals didn’t come back. I didn’t pay much attention to my answers. I probably said more than I would have otherwise.

I could smell her. She over-rode the dust and the plastic and the metal and the synthetic materials with that living human scent I usually only paid attention to, that I only had access to, when I fed. It was that blood-living-mortal-human smell, combined with other things. Smog, oil, dirt, death and that alien smell of some other creature who was her companion. How could someone who looked so clean smell so dirty?

I hadn’t said anything in a while. She commented that it was hard for her to have a conversation by herself. She asked if she were bothering me. I told her no. I probably shouldn’t have said that it was nice to have the smell of blood around. She didn’t seem to mind. She even asked if she could stop by from time to time. I smiled. I told her she could. I did not exactly bring my food home after all.

Why did I say that?

She said that it would be awfully messy if I had brought food home. What with the blood getting everywhere, having to dispose of the body, and “that visceral smell never really goes away.” She said she’d stop by every now and then to act like a scented candle. She’d bring a movie so I’d have something to watch other than late-night TV.

I told her I didn’t mind it. I thought the old vampire movies were funny. She didn’t see why. She said the misconceptions, while amusing in their own way, made her cringe. I guessed the old zombie movies must really piss off her zombie friend. She said she didn’t have a zombie friend. I described him to her – tall, blonde, handsome. He seemed to have trouble with wearing shirts.

Had he not smelled dead I would have gone after him.

It took a few more questions from her for her to figure out who I was talking about. He was no friend of hers. She hated him as I have never seen her hate. She hadn’t seen him in a while and hoped that he had fallen into a pit somewhere and couldn’t get out. She said he wasn’t dead, but certainly didn’t deserve life either. I disagreed – he smelled dead to me.

It was reassuring somehow. I couldn’t help but smile. No porcelain saint after all. Saints smelled clean didn’t they? She was warm and sticky, and small with big eyes that looked so guileless though I knew better. Didn’t I?

She’d have to go soon. I told her I’d visit her. She said to call her first, since she was not always home in the evenings. She wondered how she’d handle explaining me to her mother. I’d forgotten she still lived with her mother. I could handle her mother though. She told me to not to hurt her mother. Something was wrong in the woman’s head. She sputtered and looked indignant when I said I’d keep the damage small. She found no harm at all to be preferable. I said I’d try, she said “good.”

She said that she had to go for the night, and that I was probably getting hungry anyway. I was. I had been smelling her the entire time and it wasn’t helping. I asked her to stay. She wouldn’t. She didn’t feel like being my next meal.

But I’d already made up my mind. I wanted her. Now. I went cat-wise. She got off my couch and glared at me. She had little black lightning bolts dancing around her that made her hair flare. I didn’t read it as the warning it was, and tried to subdue her mind like I usually would had I been hunting. She swayed and stumbled. She was stronger-willed than my usual meals, but I was confidant that I could knock her out first. As I moved forward to try again, she snarled something under her breath.

I found myself staring down Jenny Fry. David was there as well. Numerous other humans whose names I had never known were here. Their screams pounded at my ears. “Murderer! Killer! Monster!” They rushed forward with their hands outreached to grab me. I howled and ran, and they followed. They kept me running the entire night.

I was needing badly when I returned home to escape the sun. I could still smell her there. It wasn’t until after I had managed to feed double the next night that I found her note.

‘You are NOT to visit me at home. Ever. – Shiva’

Authors Note:
This short story is based on a scene played out in the game Eyes in the Dark (“I2D”), and as such, I did not wholly orchestrate it. As noted at the top of the page, I actually play Shiva Amana, not Michael, whose POV this is. Michael is an NPC played by dur GM, whom I offer mad props to. The link to the I2D main site is below, feel free to check it out. The original scene(s) that this was based off of can be found under logs, 2005, January 28 scene 1. and February 04 scene 1.