#fanged features

“Come out, come out, wherever you are.”

I cower from my position on the couch, peeking out from behind the blanket as tension rises on the television. Akin to nails on a chalkboard, chilling music plays on-screen. Jack Torrance ascends the stairs of the hotel room. The images display Wendy avidly trying to push herself outside through the bathroom window. Then, yelling down to Danny to run, before retreating with a knife into a corner. She’s trapped, and from right outside the door, her husband taunts her, arms rising as he wields an axe. He aims straight for the door—

I shriek, colliding with the floor as I’m involuntarily startled from the couch. A loud crash has erupted from right outside the garage, where the trash can should be standing. An animal must have knocked it over. But which kind?

For a moment, I debate heading outside. Curiosity is killing me. What was the noise? What creature caused the noise? I take timid steps towards the door; I need to know.

I pause. What was big enough to knock my trash can over?

Plenty of smaller mammals live in the forest near my house. That’s likely what it was. Raccoons, or something similar. It’s where the predators also roam, hunting. Humans surely weren't off the menu for all of them. If their prey is out, they are too. The mystery can wait until morning.

I turn away, deciding to cut movie night short as I turn down the volume of the television. It shows that Jack has just succeeded in tearing down part of the door, his hand reaching to unlock the knob. He’s going to gain full entry. I’ve had enough horror for one night.

I’m devoured in darkness as I push the remote button, the TV turning off completely. In the quiet, I can faintly hear the agitated calls of a cat outside. Certainly a domesticated breed. Not a bear, a cougar, or a mountain lion. A house cat, likely a stray abandoned by negligent people who wouldn’t care for it responsibly. Instead, choosing to drop it off in a country area, alone to struggle and die in a harsh habitat it wasn’t meant for.

‘That has to be what knocked the trash over, a cat. Poor thing’s probably cold, hurt, and hungry.’

It’s not something I want to imagine, being afraid. Unable to fill my stomach, struggling for warmth. I regard the blankets disarrayed on the sofa. The covers in my bed keep me cozy, my stomach heavy and full after dinner. Safe and satisfied. Why didn’t a cat deserve the same treatment? Of course, it has to be brought inside and treated to a good life.

I slip on my shoes, carrying a jacket and flashlight. The front door creaks as I open it, the cool air outside chilling my skin as I step over the door’s threshold. It’s nearly pitch black out, a moonless night concealing creatures that could be lurking. My eyes cut across the area, light shining on the fallen garbage can as I tread towards the void trees. Watching, listening for the noise. I can hear it still, the cat's calls not faltering as I near it. I'm getting closer.

Near the opening of the woods, grass grows taller around my ankles. I’m careful to avoid the jagged branches and thorned vines that fray towards me. My flashlight illuminates the woods, accentuating the shadows that threaten. Still, I’m zoning in on the sound.

“Here, kitty, kitty, kitty. Come here. Skskksksks.”

I call for it, careful to sound gentle and kind. Draw it out from hiding. Just before the light finds it, there’s a high-pitched shriek, the mewling of a cat. I cry out, too, alarmed. The sudden fear makes me jump, dropping the flashlight on the ground. It hits the hard root of a tree trunk, thudding at the contact; immediately, the emitted light halts, the flashlight breaking and stranding me in the dark.

The meowing doesn’t stop, continuing. It’s more distressed now. I fear that it’s hurt, that I’ve scared it.

‘I’m already out here. Might as well get what I came for. I can’t just give up on it.’

I stay completely still for a moment, allowing my eyes to make any possible adjustments. The difference is shallow, but I can see a little better. Scanning towards the noise, I can make out a pair of what I assume are feline eyes. Yellow in color. It’s crouched behind what I believe is a log, looking back at me.

The relief of finally finding it is short-lived. Its eyes, even from this distance, seem too big. Unnatural. Possessing human likeness, but it’s off. I’m realizing there’s something completely wrong here. It’s not a species of any animal related to the feline classification; instead, something mimicking one perfectly, deliberately, to draw me out. 

Its calling, like mine, has stopped. We’ve found each other. This cat-and-mouse game is over. And I’ve fallen right into the predator’s trap. Alternating its position lying down, it steadily stands formidable. From here, I can tell its height hovers over mine.

The outline is tough to make out. I can barely pick out the contours of curls on his head, the shape of an odd jacket, and boots on his feet. His amber eyes, contrasting with the night, seek my attention most. They’re hungry, animalistic as the creature focuses. Centered on me, it’s prey.

Not a cat. Not an animal. Not a man, either. A monster.

His voice is menacing as he speaks, condescending and cruel. Still, I hear the amusement, humor even, directed towards me. “Don’t you know? Curiosity killed the cat. You’re the cat.”

End.

A threatening growl beside you interrupts your peaceful slumber. Eyes shut in exhaustion, you only nudge your beloved dog, Rover, attempting to calm him down. Raised hackles along his back barely relax as your hand runs through his stiff fur. The little red dachshund tends to overreact to the little things; a critter strolling by the open curtains of your window is no danger.

When you feel his paw pad softly against the blue comforter of your bed and growls turn to aggravating barks, you prepare to scold the dog for the disruption. “Rover! Hey! Hush. Go to sleep. It’s probably just a-“

Knocking. Just a few feet away, in the direction of Rover’s barks. It didn’t sound like an animal, far too…humane. You shoot up, eyes wide and frantic, turning your neck towards the sound. The sight frightens you, screeching as the apparent “critter” stares at you, smirking while he taps the window. It was that creep again, Paul. The one your cousins and their friends warned you about in their stories about creatures, vampires that stalk the night.

You’d done everything to keep your interactions with Paul few and far between, but he always seemed to find you. Tracking you down at the boardwalk, following you on the beach. If you were somewhere out at night, you’d see him. It hadn’t crossed your mind that he’d appear at your house. You knew he couldn’t get in without an invitation, and you weren’t set on giving him one.

Shaking, you instinctively pull the covers above your head. A shield against him, something to keep him from watching you. A fear response. “Let me in! Please, can I please come in?” his muffled voice filters through, hands still hitting against your window. Like hell, he can. Between sweet talk and begging, he’s repeating your name. It’s like a child vying for the attention of a busy parent.

“You’re not invited, Paul! Go away!”

It’s becoming overstimulating, Rovers barks, and Paul’s chatter. Your own emotions and fears are running rampant, leaving you breathing heavily, curled up in a ball with your eyes squeezed shut. You can’t bear to look at the monster outside. Please, can’t he go far away and leave you alone?

“Blanket’s not doing a damn thing, babe. If you’re looking for a way to stay warm, I can help you. Just gotta let me in,” his voice is smooth, flirtatious. It’s lost on you.

Deep down, you know he’s right. The blankets aren’t doing a damn thing. Paul’s not going anywhere, and as long as he’s around and you’ve got a dog to look after, neither are you. But some pals of yours might be willing to make a quick trip to your home if you can only get to your phone.

“Don’t wanna let me in? Fine, I’ll drag you out if I have to.”

His comments are becoming more threatening, his tone losing its usual charm. Silently preparing and pushing fear aside, you drop the blankets. Jumping up, you snatch Rover from the bed’s edge, leaping out the door of your room without ever looking at Paul. Gripping your precious pooch tight, you take brisk steps to pass the rooms along your hallway until your living room is within reach.

The environment here is calmer. Closed curtains around the area cover Paul from your view. Even Rover seems at ease, barking now put to a halt. Sitting abruptly in your recliner, you free your hands from holding Rover to hastily dial the number connecting your line to the Frog Brothers. Just as your finger hovers over the call button, you pause.

Rover’s growling again, like he did before he started barking earlier. You mimic his line of sight, listening. Just outside the back door, something stirs. As always, the door remains locked and bolted. Although the pet door on the bottom usually stays locked from the inside at night, you failed to follow the routine when Rover refused to go outside earlier. You didn’t want him to have any accidents. It wasn’t big enough for a man to crawl through, so you left it unlocked for just one night.

Ever so slowly, a scraping resounds right against the small door. Almost hesitantly, it lifts as a tree branch pokes through from outside. The opening reveals Paul’s face, his teeth on full display as he smiles uncannily at you. It’s menacing, lacking the friendliness he’d carried before. Then his face shifts, lips rearranging until a high-pitched whistle pierces your ears.

Before you can react, Rover bolts across the room. Passing the threshold of the small door, he disappears as it slams shut behind him. Alarmed barks halt immediately as you try to follow after him. Flying towards the door, you unlatch its lock, twisting the knob to step out into the night without a rational thought. The cool air’s breeze and the night’s dark emptiness greet you, running yards away from the safety of your house. Calling Rover’s name, you pause, listening, waiting for any sign.

“I knew I could get you to come out,”

Paul’s voice is calm, haunting. Turning to see, he’s placed himself at a perfect distance between you and your open back door. There’s no getting past him. At the moment, however, Rover’s still at the forefront of your mind. Fear and relief collide strangely for you as he struggles in Paul’s grip. He’s not hurt, no, just scared.

For a moment, Paul stares. Carefully, he bends, setting Rover on the ground. He watches as the dog approaches you. He’s waiting, preparing for you to make a move. Knowing now your dog is safe, and that he’s not Paul’s target anyway, you turn. Facing the woods, momentum can’t quite catch before strong arms surround your waist. They trap you in, Paul holding you, picking you up and swinging you in his arms. Rover’s alarmed barks remain unacknowledged. You’re only aware of Paul’s face hovering over yours, snickering.

“Gotcha, girl.”

End.

He’d pull off an excellent Crow costume. He favors Eric the most out of the boys, with his physique and dark features.

He could do a great job of representing The Crow while still making it his own. He would drop his usual accessories for a completely black leather and silver chains look, but incorporate his personal style into his costume by having his abs on full display as usual.

I’m confident Dwayne would have the patience to do a pretty great makeup job of his own, but if not, I’m sure he could enlist Marko for that flawless black-and-white look. The Crow’s makeup would do absolute numbers on his already gorgeous eyes and face.

Just picture him coasting through Santa Carla on his motorcycle in his full Crow look. Leisurely chatting with his brothers and causing trouble on the boardwalk. His vampiric features with the makeup, facial structure contorted, teeth glistening, and eyes bright as ever. By the time the moon sets, his painted face would begin to wear, accompanied by blood stains spanning from around his mouth to his chest.

If he really wanted to spruce up his costume, he might even be able to convince Marko to dye one of his pigeons and let him borrow it for the night. Or who knows, maybe Marko would be willing to capture and train a real crow? Kidding.

I visualize his look for Halloween as very similar to the picture from Pinterest below. Add the iconic black and white makeup, and it would be perfect. Totally killer (in more ways than one teehee).

https://pin.it/7EcVq72gT

I’m sure Santa Carla is brimming with tourists and locals alike to celebrate; the boardwalk probably even has its own fireworks show, so there’s no lack of available victims.

I doubt the boys would even have to use most of their vampiric powers to hunt, even when far away from the boardwalk. They could simply watch the sky for any fireworks and locate the source, targeting groups too distracted by the show to notice their friends even getting snatched. Picking off members of a gang one by one slowly until those few remaining eventually realize their group has suddenly been diminished for no apparent reason, before figuring it out when they find themselves being drained. Then, I’m sure the boys take full advantage to light off the rest of the fireworks for themselves.

I bet they even terrorize civilians on the boardwalk in public. Tossing bang snaps in the air, chasing people with sparklers, aiming lit firecrackers into a crowd, even launching fireworks off their motorcycles. Imagine one of those boys discreetly lighting a fountain in a busy area before rejoining the rest of the crew, where they have a perfect view to watch and laugh as the scene unfolds. Maybe they even go as far as to compete with each other every year to see who can sneak in and set off the most dangerous fireworks while on amusement rides. I can easily picture them setting off a rocket while at the top of the Ferris wheel or even the Giant Dipper and disappearing before they get caught. It’s definitely a game to them, and the possibilities are endless.

Paul and Marko probably enjoy being the ones causing the chaos the most. They probably take joy in attracting attention to themselves before running off. I picture Dwayne being a lot more secretive in his actions; no one would ever know he was the one causing problems. And David… he probably doesn’t care just as long as he can find some way to aggravate Greg’s gang, garner the security guard’s attention, and of course get himself and the boys kicked off the boardwalk. As long as he causes some kind of public conflict and ticks a few people off, he’s probably happy, but of course he’d enjoy the mischief just as much as the other boys.

Anyways, I could go on and on about this topic, but it’s probably one of the boys’ favorite times of year just for these reasons.

And I just know the boys have blown up an entire fireworks stand at least once. Max was probably furious.