The Prey.

What foolish whim brought me to take the path through the park tonight? I should have taken the longer route home, safe in the bright lights and crowded streets. Instead I was lured by the promise of fresh air, breezes gently caressing my face swirling my long chestnut-coloured hair around my face in a merry dance of freedom. The October night is full of sounds, drumming on my sensitive ears like rain pounding against the windows I can never hope to see. I hoist my gym bag over my shoulder, taking comfort in the contents, knowing I have done all I can to protect myself from harm.

In this twilight world my senses are sharpened to a preternatural height, I hear the stirring of leaves gently drifting from the trees, the sounds of small animals rustling through the grass, the hoot of an owl as it senses it prey. My nostrils flare with the smell of rich loamy soil and the tang of autumn's decay assaults me in ways I cannot describe. In my closeted world this is the nearest I can get to nature, but tonight my sixth sense warns of danger lurking nearby.

I hear the tapping of my cane as I feel my way forwards, covering the sound of my soft-soled shoes. Faintly, far behind, I hear the sound of footfalls, not brisk and certain, but sly and as loathsome as a snake. I hear each snapped twig, each bruised blade of grass as the owner of the shoes follows behind me. Maybe it's a lone walker like me, but something tells me I am being stalked and a fission of fear runs down my spine. Calling on my special resources is all I can do, to panic is to betray myself and maybe I could be wrong, but the wild beating of my heart tells me otherwise. My instincts are invariably right but I stop for a moment and the footfalls pause as well. Now I know I must stay calm, although I want to run and hide like a trapped animal I cannot give in or I will be forever doomed to walk in perpetual fear.

My cane strikes against the now silent fountain, I now know where I am about halfway through the park should I dare to make a run for it now? I could so easily trip and fall and then I would lose control when I need so desperately to keep my wits about me.
The footsteps are louder and heavier now, it's a man that's following me, of that I have no doubt, I can distinguish between men and women, big or small their every move, each laboured breathe gives them away. My traitorous heart beats faster, louder, if only I knew what mother dressed me in today, I need to concentrate but it's hard when panic washes over me. My skirt swishes around my ankles; I feel the leggings underneath warming me in the chill night air. My pursuer has the advantage, if I'm wearing something bright I could stand out like a sore thumb.
Tiny rivulets of sweat bead my brow and trickle down my face, with my one free hand I reach down and touch the fabric, my heart pounds and leaps, by touch I know it's the blue skirt, 'oh god now he'll see me for sure.' My hands tremble as I imagine the worst thing that can happen but I'm not giving in now.

Pictures flash like lightning behind my sightless eyes, a dark hidden clearing, a flash of white flesh, the raw crimson spill of blood, and the man, that leering twisted face hideous in a gash of red mouth against a moon white face.
I shake my head hard to lose the images but now the footsteps are even nearer, soon I will feel the hot clammy breath and the putrid stink of the man against my flesh. It will envelope and disarm me like a rabbit in a snare, if only I can hold out for a while longer, just a few more yards to where I am sure there is some bushes I can scramble through.
"Mother, I mouth soundlessly, "please help, give me courage and speed.

My limbs quiver, my heart is pounding so hard it must surely soon stop. Every hair on my head is standing on edge, each nerve spasms and stretches. Now I hear the hot panting of a man short and overweight, even in my panic my mind is still analysing every particle of data I can absorb.
If that meaty hand touches me I will scream myself hoarse with nobody to hear. Already I can imagine those hands around my neck, squeezing the life from my body and then the final silence will descend.

For a brief moment in time the world draws in it's breath, the final act hangs poised and ready to strike, one lonely bird trills a few notes and a dog barks in answer. I leap through the gap in the bushes landing lightly and rolling in one swift moment to regain my feet.
Mother already holds the man at bay, I sense she is puffed up to twice her normal size looming over the prostrate figure that sought to attack and try to rape me. I hear the saliva dropping sizzling from her jaws and know there is no time to lose before she cannot contol her instincts. With one swift thrust from my hidden blade I sense and smell the main artery that guides me to the spot, the job is done and the man lies soundlessly drowning in his own blood.

Mother must now be appeased, I throw her the raw steak I buy every night and she is lured away from her rightful prey. We are too close to home and cannot afford another mistake. It takes a matter of moments to remove the wig and skirt, to turn the jacket inside out to reveal a normal boys jacket. I wipe the blade clean with a cloth I carry for this purpose and return it into my white cane, ready for the next kill.

I take no pleasure from the act, it was my duty to watch over my little sister and keep her from harm. She hid amongst the bushes when I was dreaming of my imminent change, the brute raped and killed her, I tried to fight him off but he was too quick and too clever for a mere boy. Before I killed him with my bare hands, his knife took away my sight and denied me my birthright forever, no maimed changeling can ever shape-shift.

In penance I pay the price and will stay poised at just before my sixteenth birthday until I either weary of this world or I make a vital mistake. In the meantime it is my sworn duty to rid the world of those that prey on young flesh, male or female. When the blood lust changes mother I need all the skill my special senses have still retained. We are normally peaceful folk, taking our food from the animals in the wild. My sister's death turned mother into little more than the animals she once killed, now she longs for man-flesh so I need to control her as she controls me when she's still herself.

I call to mother and together we leave the park. I've hardly walked a block away when a passing policeman lightly touches my shoulder, "Son; he says "It's not safe to walk around here at night, even with your guide-dog. There's a vicious killer in this neighbourhood and you would be easy prey for him. I hear the concern in his voice and for a moment I'm aware of the stench of fear lingering around me. Somehow my dark glasses have slipped slightly to reveal my hideous scar, but I feel the warmth of his hand as he gently replaces them. I thank him and wish him "goodnight, mother always brought me up to be polite.

Lisa Fuller. June 2005.