M. Y. DOUGLAS - THE TEMPTATION OF EVE

M. Y. Douglas is a writer of short-flash fiction stories, science fiction, suspense, horror, and psychological thrillers, with the odd poetry here and there.​
Born in the mid-sixties in an industrial town just outside of London, he started writing at an early age getting paid five UK pounds for a “funny but that’s life” article in the now defunct News of the World tabloid in the early 1980s.
It has been several decades any of his work had been in print. But in 2018 an online magazine published his article, ‘The Colourlessness of clarity‘ which received very positive reviews.
Today M. Y Douglas spends most of his time in Singapore and the Philippines, where he continues to write short fiction stories. 

​THE
TEMPTATION OF EVE 

“Eve, do you know where you are?” Asks Garden Hill police detective, Susan Tyler.  “Eve, can you hear me?”
Looking up at bright lights in the ceiling, her scrawny wrist handcuffed to the rails of a hospital bed.  An intravenous drip attached to her arm feeding vital fluids into her thin pale body.
“I’m in a bed, in a hospital, talking to you. This is a hospital? Am I right?” Her eyes transfixed on the bright lights.
 “Yes Eve, this is Garden Hill’s maximum security insane asylum. Eve, I want to ask you some questions.”
“Please, ask me anything you want detective.” Turning her head slowly to face Susan Tyler before locking her gaze back to the lights in the ceiling.
“Okay, Eve, why did you kill the young man at the mall?”
“Oh, is he dead?” Closing her eyes, burrowing her head deep into the surgical white hospital pillows. “I didn’t mean to kill him, it never occurred to me he would die.”
“Why did you kill him?”
“Have you ever seen a caterpillar detective? It spends its life only knowing it’s a caterpillar. Wobbling from leaf to leaf unaware of its true identity. Then one day for no reason it can think of it entombs itself in a cocoon, sleeping for months. Then waking, terrified, it fights its way out of its tomb. Eventually bursting free. When that butterfly spread its wings that very first time, do you think it remembers it was just a caterpillar, wobbling along from leaf to branch to leaf?”
“Eve, I don’t understand. What has that got to do with the innocent life you took at the mall?”
“It has everything to do with it. That caterpillar is me, but I’m not turning into a beautiful, exotic creature like a butterfly.”
“There has to be more to this than some silly tale of a caterpillar, Eve.”
“Detective, I am not who or what you think I am, it is that simple. Its probably less uncomplicated than that poor caterpillar. What I will tell you now will erase everything you thought you knew about life and this world. Careful detective. The truth may be more than you can handle.”
“Okay Eve, tell me your story.”
 
Sitting on a chair in my kitchen of our apartment, staring out the window. Waiting for the sun to rise over the horizon. The first rays of sunlight peeked through the window, gradually getting brighter as the sun rose higher in the morning sky.
My eyes closed tight and fist clenched, I waited for the inevitable pain to follow. Big and radiant in the sky, I feel its warm glow on my face. Any second now, foreseeing painful self-combustion that usually comes when a vampire is exposed to sunlight.
“Okay, maybe I’m not a vampire,” I whispered, walking into the bathroom. Somewhat disappointed that I had not burst into some hellish flame. Which is what I already knew? Those vampire stories, and old black and white B-movies we watched when we were young, innocent children were far from believable. I was something that didn’t come from your imagination or the screens of Hollywood. What I was, or to be more precise, what I have turned into, is better described as something from the pits of hell. And to be fair, I suppose there are worse things a person could turn into.
Looking at my reflection in a mirror, a reddish bruise with deep teeth marks on the side of my neck where someone had bitten me days earlier. Prodding it gently with my fingertips, pus-like substance oozed from the reddish sore with a smell of rotten eggs.
 
My transformation started five days ago. Valentine’s day. Sharon and I carried out the same routine day after day. Waking up at 6 am, shower, breakfast, then walking to the bottom of our road, then down another road to wait patiently with other mundane passengers for a bus. By 8.30 am, seated at our ordinary looking desk, in
an unremarkable office. Making phone calls to customers to busy to listen to some script-reading, call centre agent. 5.30 pm we’d be sitting on the same bus we travelled on that morning. Once inside our home, we take a warm shower together, order a pizza which we will eat while drinking a bottle of cheap Australian Shiraz. Afterwards, we’ll sit in front of the television, wrapped tightly in each other’s arms. Watching the same mundane soaps we watched every night, but on this day, Valentine’s day, Sharon decided we should do something different.
“Today I want to celebrate!” Announced Sharon, waving a bright-coloured pamphlet in front of my face. “We should go out for dinner, or have a few drinks at
this new wine bar!”
“That will be nice, Happy valentines Sharon,” I said, wrapping my arms
around her waist, kissing her on the lips before taking the colourful paper out of her hands. “Where did you get this?” Reading the unusual name printed in Gothic fonts and coloured blood red. TANSA WINE BAR, A NIGHT THAT WILL CHANGE YOU FOREVER!
“If you must know it was on your desk when we came in this morning. And look, tonight’s the opening night.”
Giving me sad puppy eyes, her expression pleading with me to say yes.
“It’s near here. It’ll be good for us Eve, to go out as normal couples do!”
As normal couples do, was Sharon way of saying, I need to let go of my fears and live. We only have one life, so enjoy it, blah-blah-blah. All I want to do is to be
normal, but the sad truth is I was unsure of what is normal in today’s world. If I dyed my hair every colour of the rainbow, would that get me admitted into the Normal -  life -club of normality? I needn’t of wasted my time worrying about such triviality, as the club of life I’d be soon enrolling into is strictly exclusive with one criteria; Normality is for wimps.
 “Okay, okay we should go, after all, it’s valentines day” I agreed reluctantly, not wanting to ruin the day of romance.
Later that evening, strolling down the narrow lanes of Garden Hill’s nightlife of bars and clubs, we both agreed that the wine bar would be the perfect valentines venue. And being its opening night, we expected a vibrant party scene. Pulling the tinted glass door open of a discretely, located wine bar. Standing on its plush red carpet, red satin material draped and flowed across the ceiling. Chairs and bar finished in the same blood-red colour.
“Wow! Just look at this place!”  I whispered, making our way to the bar.
“Not as crowded as I thought it would be,”  remarked Sharon, taking a seat
on a red-cushioned bar stool.
“What can I get you?” Inquired an olive complexion, young male bartender.
“It’s valentines day, so we’re thinking of celebrating our love with something that brings out the romance,” I replied, smiling bashfully at the bartender.
 “Yes, Tonight is the night of love. It is in the air!” He said in a moody, Latino accent. Winking his eye at Sharon. Whom winked an eye back with a dreamy, carry me to bed look on her face. Which was a little weird for the simple reason Sharon is a lesbian? She was a lesbian when I met her five years ago, a lesbian when we moved in together four years ago. And definitely, a lesbian when we woke up at three am this morning.
“I have something very special, just for lover’s.” He continued, with a buttery smile. Informing us this special liquor was a consumed by Queens and princess’s back when the world was not as it is now. This special nectar is a mix of red berries from the furthest-flung continents on earth. Some of these berries come from the darkest jungles, unseen by modern man. A rare rum, centuries-old. Fermenting in barrels made from wood that no longer has a name, from a country not on any map.
“Wow,” I said. Somewhat purloined by his tale.
Watching him shake a cocktail flask up and down vigorously before pouring its contents into two long glasses. Staring at the red, liquor concoction in front of me.
“What you think Sharon?”
Holding the cocktail glass in my hand, eyeing its’ red contents suspiciously before raising the glass to my nose, cautiously sniffing the red berry and alcohol mixture.
“I think you worry too much.” She uttered, before gulping back the thick, sweet, red fluid.
“That’s amazing!” She said after a few seconds of licking her lips.
Staring at the red drink in front of me, I sipped it delicately for taste.
“Hmm, this is nice,” taking a more courageous and bigger sip of the cocktail.
Some hours later and six or maybe eight cocktails between us, we were still sitting at the bar feeling slightly inebriated.
“Do you mind if I join you?”
Surprised by the seductive voice of an elegant lady with high legs, shoulder-length wavy brown hair, sea-blue eyes. And a curved body squeezed into a tight crimson dress standing next to me.
“Yes, yes you can,” Stuttered Sharon drawn to the mystery woman’s beauty.
I cannot remember anything we talked about. I cannot remember how many red berry cocktails we ordered. Only thing I’m sure of we walked across that plush, red carpet. The mystery woman held my hand, a watch adorned her wrist with an antiquate elegance hard to ignore. It’s ruby-coloured face and ivory hands caressing a gold eleven.
 
Opening my eyes to daylight gleaming through a window, suddenly bolting upright in bed.
“Where am I?”
Looking around a small, stale smelling, grubby bedroom.
“Where the hell am I? Sharon! Wake up!” 
Leaping out of bed staring down at my naked body. On the other side of the room a small wooden chair with my clothes folded neatly on top. Hurriedly getting dressed, throwing Sharon’s clothes across the bed.
“What happened last night? And where are we?” Groaned Sharon, sitting up in bed looking through a small bedroom window, trying to recollect the night’s events.
“Don’t you remember Sharon?! the beautiful, tall, brown-haired lady dressed in red, you couldn’t take ya eyes off her!”
“What beautiful lady?”
“The one we met at the bar! try to remember!”
“What ya on about Eve? There was only you and me! It’s Obvious, we got blind drunk, ended up making out in some cheap hotel room!”
“No Sharon! That’s not what happened!”
“So tell me what you think happened, Eve?”
“The wine bar, the cocktails, the lady, I can’t remember!”
“You can’t remember, but somehow you remember a mysterious woman!?Eve, there was no one else! No mysterious female!”
Giving Sharon a squinty eyed look thinking how is it possible she doesn’t remember the beautiful seductive enchantress.
“Okay! Do you remember how we got here?” Hastily putting on my shoes, opening the bedroom door. Peering up and down the corridor.
“Do you remember leaving the wine bar. Paying for this room?!” Closing the door quietly. “What do you remember? Apart from drinking some weird, mind-bending
hallucinogenic cocktails!”
Looking at me with a blank expression smothered over her face, then down at her clothes strewn across the bed, picking up her bra with one hand and her knickers
with the other hand.
“We had sex! I remember that!” She laughed, getting out of bed putting on her knickers.
“Yeah, Sharon! We had sex, not necessarily together! But sex I believe was involved in last night's activities.”
“Seriously, Eve! You doing that weirdo – crazy thing again! All I want to do is get out of here, where ever here is!”
“But Sharon!”
“Eve! No more! There was no one else but you, me and this very unhygienic bed! And probably some very voyeur bedbugs!”
 
Finally, back at home, warm water rained refreshingly on my head. I was glad for the hot shower. Scrubbing away the grubby hotel and mystery woman off my body. Turning to face a nickel plated round mirror, hanging on the bathroom wall. Two scarlet coloured lesions on the side f my neck. Definitely teeth marks, I thought. Turning my neck towards the mirror. 
“What the hell! Sharon did you bite me!?”
“No! And why?” 
 Poking the scarlet coloured puncture wounds with my fingers. Time stood quiet, as I stared at myself. If Sharon didn't bite me that means there had been someone else. The sultry-voiced sexy, female. But what happened in that hotel room was quickly becoming the least of my worries.
Staggering my way into the bedroom, my world spinning around my head.
I collapsed on the bed. Wakening the next day, my body shaking from a fever.
“Oh God, I feel like death warmed up, Sharon...Sharon.” Turning towards her pillow, a note lying on top of it; Gone to work call me if you need me, love Sharon. 
“I need to make an appointment with my doctor.”  Tumbling out of the bed, wobbling uneasily on my feet to the bathroom. What did that woman do to me? And why bite me? and what was in those cocktails? Remembering the weird berry concoction I had so willingly consumed.
“Oh, my God! This is terrible.!” Shocked by a sickly, pale woman staring back at me from the mirror. Crawling back to my bedroom, collapsing on the bed. Mimicking an angel without snow, stretching out my arms, feeling blindly for the telephone on a bedside table.
“Hello, Can I speak to doctor Smith.”
“Is Doctor Smith your Doctor?” Inquired a female receptionist.
“Yes, he is.”
“Is it an emergency?”
“Yes it is, can I speak to Doctor. Smith, please? ”
“Would you like to make an appointment?”
“No! I want to speak to Doctor Smith. Put me through to my doctor, now!”
I yelled at the difficult receptionist.
“Miss! I do not tolerate that behaviour! I have put you in the appointment book for 3.30 pm today! Goodbye!”
How am I going to get to the doctors? I can just about walk, I thought, slamming
the phone down.
 
Wrapped in a big overcoat with a wool hat pulled over my head, covering my ears and a scarf draped around my neck. I made my way to the doctors.
 “Well, everything looks fine, apart from your unusual colouring and a slight increase in your temperature, which is probably because of lack of vitamins.”
Picking up a pad of prescriptions, jotting down some coded language that only a doctor and a pharmaceutical employee can understand.
“I’ve prescribed a dose of antibiotics and some cream for that unhealthy-looking icky on your neck.”
Handing me the prescription, I stared hard at him before yelling.
“Are you mad! Of course, I’m sick! I’m very, very, sick! I’m not well! I’m dizzy, weak! I can’t eat. And my skin is some colour I can’t even describe! That  sounds very sick to me Doctor!”
“No, you’re not, and I’m confident your blood test will come back with negative results.” Placing his arm around my shoulders, tactfully escorting me to the door.
“I will notify you of your blood test results. Go home and get some rest, okay Eve.”  Ushering me into the passageway and closing the door behind me.
 
 
I’m very sick!  How could that no good quack not see that? I should have devoured him where he stood.!  I thought. Quickly dismissing any idea of eating Doctor. Smith. Getting up off the sofa, walking like a zombie into the kitchen. Opening the door of my refrigerator, staring at its almost bare shelves. Two pots of strawberry yoghurt, one unopened carton of milk, a half-block of cheese and a raw T bone steak. Fascinated by the raw slab of meat, sitting on a shelf entrancing me, beguiling me to eat it. Snatching it out of the refrigerator, tearing away its plastic wrapping. I’m positive I heard it sing, eat – me – now – eat – me – now – succulent and juicy-eat – me – now!
“Yes, yes, I’m gonna eat you now!” I declared. Viciously biting into the meat, chewing wildly. Its blood-red juice intoxicating my mind. My world void, spinning at super-speed. High, low then high again, resembling an out-of-control amusement park ride. 
Minutes later, my mouth smeared red. Blood dripping from my lips and running down my chin. I dropped to my knees, hurling the raw meat from my stomach.
“What the hell just happened? What’s happening to me?”
Looking at a half-eaten raw, slab of meat lying in a pool of its blood. Creeping on my hands and knees like a wounded animal away from the refrigerator.
Washing away a sickly odorous red tinge from my hands and face. Slumping wearily on to a chair trying to make sense of what just occurred. Was I mad? Sharon often said I was crazy, had she been right?  Having a fetish to eat your doctor, hearing your food sing. And a sudden ravenous appetite for raw meat is probably evidence I’m losing my mind.
Laying my head down on the kitchen table, wondering what a psychiatric hospital looks like.  I soon fell asleep. Opening my eyes hours later to see Sharon sitting opposite me.
“How long have you been sitting there?” I asked, stretching my arms high into the air, letting out a wide sleepy-headed yawn.
“Not long.”
“Oh, I must have fallen asleep?”
“Yep, you definitely fell asleep. You were growling like an animal, all sort of weird noises coming out of you...”
“Really,?” Sitting upright in my chair. Clearing my throat. “And what were these weird growling noises saying?”
“I dunno? Sounded like, KILL EVERYBODY, EVERYBODY SHALL DIE. SATAN LIVES!... Or something along those lines I guess.”
Folding her arms across her chest, staring at me. The air mute apart from the Tick-Tock of a clock hanging on our kitchen wall.
 “You’ve been playing that Black Sabbath CD?!” she said abruptly. Uncrossing her arms, “I’ve told you a hundred times that music will drive you mad.”
“Yeah....you’re right, Crazy me and my Black Sabbath...” I said, whilst thinking if she only knew what I had done hours earlier.
“Tomorrow I’ll buy George Michael CD or even better Boy George!” Getting up off her chair, gyrating her hips, dancing her way up the stairs while singing “Do You Want to Hurt me-Do You Want To Make Me Cry...” Her out of tune voice trailing away into the bathroom.
Something stirred deep inside me. I’m certain it was not my crazy imagination, but I heard it speak. Talking to me, inside of me.
“I’M GONNA HURT YOU-AND MAKE YOU CRY!”
“Who said that!?” Spinning around, my eyes probing for who spoke, “What do you want!?”
What or who remained silent, for now.
 
Later that night, sneaking out of bed, standing in front of the refrigerator, slowly opening its door. The steak was gone, It was not my delusional mind. I had eaten the meat raw, and with only a vague memory of doing so. And at some point, eaten what remained. Running into the living room, turning on my laptop, putting a list of words into a search bar.
The Internet is a great research tool. I spent my days at university with a group of friends, that most of us would call geeks. But this group of so-called geeks could shut down your computer in seconds, hack your Facebook, delete your emails, and manipulate your Instagram. It was this motley group of friends that introduced me to another dimension of the Worldwide Web. The Dark Web. This lightless area of the internet is where you’ll find everything. And I use the word, everything in the broadest widest term possible; Every-Thing! I needed to know what was happening to me, had this happened to someone else or was I a unique case?
“Okay, what’s this? flesh eaters, bloodsuckers, demons of the netherworld. Definitely none of them.” I whispered, so the dark web wouldn’t hear me. Continuing to scroll through the pages, something caught my eye. A 19th century painting of a beautiful woman. Wavy brown hair, long legs. And Eyes the colour of a deep blue sea. On her wrist a watch that’s impossible to ignore. By the time I finished reading, sunrise had started to turn night into day. Stumbling from my chair, backing away from the computer, running into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror at the bite on my neck, now more red and septic than the previous day. Whatever happened to me on valentines night, had now become clear; I was a victim of an evil woman. So evil Lucifer himself is her lover. And that bite on my neck is the bite of the Succubus.
Distraught and scared, sitting on the edge of the bed looking at Sharon.
Who through all the commotion lay fast asleep. How do I tell her our night-out changed me forever and our mystery woman gave me something worse than STD. That I’ve unwillingly became a life long member to the infernal world.  Kissing her lightly on the lips before snuggling myself next to her. Closing my eyes not opening them again until early morning.
“Morning babes,...” Poking her through the thick quilt. She didn’t move.
“Hey, Sharon. Wake up.” She didn’t speak. Slowly I pulled back the bedding.
“No-no-no! Oh Sharon! I’m so sorry.”
Time drifted by as I curled up on the bed, holding Sharon’s almost ice-cold hands. Over the years we have had our days and some terrible days. On a scale of 1 to 10, this was every obscenity in the Oxford dictionary kind of day.
Deep bites mutilated Sharon’s neck and face. Her body grey and withered drained of blood. There could be no doubt I killed her, with no memory of doing so.
Only chewy strands of human flesh stuck in between my teeth. With a sickening
smell of fresh blood lingering on my breath, suggests I was unquestionably the reason for Sharon's untimely and very gruesome departure.
“Sharon, I’m sorry,” Kissing her on what I left of her lips.
Pulling her bloody body off the bed, dragging her down the stairs. Through the living room into the kitchen. Propping her up against the front of the refrigerator.
 
 
Sitting on a sofa, my head buried deep into my hands, while Black Sabbath blared throughout the house. I was uncertain of what I would do and how I would do it. But I was certain I had killed Sharon, and probably drank her blood. There could be no other explanation for why I was feeling better than I did twenty-four hours earlier. The beast inside of me was growing and demanding to be fed. My thoughts and actions were no longer completely my own; I need to eat; we needed to eat.
I needed more fresh blood. And the only place to get a constant supply of this sweet red delicacy is from another human. But how do you get a person to give up what is vital for their continuance?
Waiting for the darkness of midnight, walking eight miles to the nearest mall.
That eight-mile walk didn’t conjure up a solution or enlighten me with some devil trickery on how to accomplish a task impossible for a woman my size. I’m just five feet and five inches tall and probably weigh just about fifty-five kilos. Discretely I searched for the right one, not knowing what the right one would look like or what I would do once I found the right one. Some minutes later. Few feet ahead of me I see my perfect victim, a small physique male. Speeding up my pace without being apparent. Looking around me before dragging the unsuspecting young man into a shop doorway. My mouth opened. I lunged at his neck. Don’t know why it surprised me he screamed. Trying to run, he collapsed to the ground with blood spurting from where my teeth gnawed his flesh. Warm, fresh blood-tingling inside my mouth craved me to take more. Leaning over him, our eyes locked, I could see the fear on his fragile face. Whatever human still lurked inside me beckoned me to stop.
“I’m sorry. Forgive me.” I mumbled before running out of the mall. Bursting through my front door, slamming it shut. Pressing my back against it as if attempting to keep out an unwanted guest.
“What have I done, I didn’t mean to hurt him, just wanted to taste his blood. That sweet warm blood.”
My moral sense divided from pitying that poor young man to an opportunity missed. Walking dejectedly to the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror. My reflection ash grey apart from a dark, purplish-red smudged across my mouth.
“What a mess I’ve made of everything,”
Staring at my reflection. Catching a handful of water, repeatedly splashing it over my face. Washing away the ruby discolouration down the sink. The taste of his blood, even as I washed it away made me groan with ecstasy. I could hear my soul begging and my body singing for this food.
“Food – Glorious food – Food – Glorious food.” Its rhythmical rhyme taunting my senses. I needed answers for what I’m supposed to do, how to feed the desire of this hellish creature brooding inside of me.
Searching for the pamphlet that led me to the wine bar and my crimson dressed succubus, with no luck. Searching the internet for the wine bar, there was no address, no telephone number, no listing. The dark web gave the same results. It made no sense; it didn’t exist. But I’m certain I was there, and the woman responsible for this unholy situation was there.
I desperately wanted none of this to be real,  just a terrible dream I would wake up from. The smell of Sharon decomposing in the kitchen confirmed this was no sleep accompanied dream.
The following morning the pain had become unbearable, my body ached for food.  scrolling through various websites, some with suggestions more macabre than imagination allows. After hours of searching, I found what seems to be an alternative that even I could handle. Placing a white box carefully on to my kitchen table, opening the lid just high enough for me to peer inside. Like a box full of white candy-covered doughnuts, licking my lips, I put my hand inside the box. Grabbing hold of a wriggling, white mouse. Looking into its tiny red eyes, feeling the warmth of its body with its tiny heart beating against my palm. I felt almost sorry for what I was going to do next, wondering if the little rodent knew its gruesome fate. 
Holding the mice firmly in my hand, opening my mouth wide, I crunched down on to its neck, biting through its flesh and bones. With a swift tug of my head, the little white mouse wriggled violently in my hand before becoming still. Spitting out its head, holding the headless mouse to my lips, squeezing it tightly, forcing blood from its tiny body. Tilting my head back allowing the warm blood to run down the back of my throat. Fifteen minutes later and twelve headless white mice scattered across a blood-speckled kitchen floor.
“God, I feel sick.” Fainting to the floor. Regaining consciousness a few hours later by a relentless chime of my doorbell. Struggling to my feet, making my way clumsily to the front door.
“God, Eve!  You look awful!” said a middle-aged, slightly tubby man in a blue pinstripe two-piece suit. 
Shocked to see Mr Johnson, my manager standing at my front door and now remembering my meal I had earlier in the day. Blood smeared my mouth and hands, with polka-dots of blood staining my clothes.
“I’ve not been well. I’m sick, very sick, Mr Johnson.” Hiding my hands behind my back.
“Everyone at work is very concerned about you.” Pushing past me into the hallway. Inviting himself inside.
“And when Sharon didn’t show up for work…?!” Staring at me with his hard brown eyes, examining me from head to toe.
“And what’s that ungodly smell!?” Raising his nose upwards sniffing the stale air.
“What smell?” I replied. Sounding like an innocent child caught with their hands in a cookie jar.
“What’s going on here, Eve?” Grasping his nostrils between his thumb and forefinger, forcing his way past me into the kitchen.
He stood motionless for a few seconds, staring at Sharon. Her skin peeling away from its skeletal frame where maggots had banqueted cordially. 
“Oh my God! There’s a dead body! A rotting, dead body!”
Running out of the kitchen, standing in front of me, waving his hands frantically in my face.
“Dead body and headless rodents! Everywhere!”
It was at this point I heard that voice again. That voice lurking deep within me.
“Food – food – food,! Food! - food – food!” 
I could feel its presence moving through my body, twitching my muscles, flowing through my veins and deforming my bones.
“I’m calling the Police, you’re mad, crazy!” Shrieked Mr Johnson. Still waving his hands above his head, resembling an inflatable tube that often decorates the parking lots of a used car showroom.
“What’s all that red stuff over your face, down the front of your clothes?” Now noticing clumps of white fur blended with dry blood at the corner of my mouth and my bloodied hands.
“You’re crazy! stay away from me! Help! Help!”
“Please don’t do that, please,” I begged him, repeatedly. Until it was no longer my decision if he lived or die. I don’t know how but I leaped off my feet with the agility of a feline, and the strength of someone ten times my size.
Sinking my teeth into his neck, tearing into his jugular, sucking on his fast-flowing warm blood. His chest rising and falling rapidly, slowly decreasing as air stopped moving through his lungs.
“Now look what you’ve made me do Mr Johnson.”
Licking his blood from my lips and fingers, making sure not a drop went to waste.
Grabbing hold of his ankles pulling him into the kitchen, propping him up next to my girlfriend, Sharon. Staring at the two corpses, wondering what solution the Worldwide Web would suggest for my new problem.
 
“You see detective, I didn’t choose this fate, it chose me. Remember the caterpillar didn’t choose to become a butterfly that was its destiny.”
“Tell me why you killed Mr Johnson? Or was that just his fate too?”
“I was so hungry it just made perfect sense to feed off someone I didn’t care too much for. I suppose hunger is like that.” Giving Susan Tyler an unappeasable look.
“Hunger is like what, Eve?”
Eve’s big, round eyes sunken into her haggard structured face, her voice soft, but unapologetic.
“Hunger. It will make you eat what you don’t fancy eating.”
“So Sharon, your only true love. You murdered because you were hungry?”
“Please detective Tyler, don’t be so flippant. I love Sharon. Her leaving this world when she did was a blessing, not a curse. For What is coming is the real curse for all, including you, Detective ?”
“Eve, what you have done is not a normal human behaviour. What you are saying is not how normal people behave.”
Fixing her eyes on Susan Tyler standing at her bedside. “You said not normal human behaviour is that not proof that I’m something else. Just like the butterfly no more a caterpillar. Is that not proof I am what I say I am?” 
Walking away from her bedside, towards a big grey metal door. “Eve, You want me to believe that you’re a demented soul, a night-walker, a demon from the netherworld. Now I will tell you vampires do not exist. Demons and gateways to hell do not exist! Lovers of the devil do not exist!”
Pulling the big door open standing in the doorway, giving Eve a hard stare.
“What exists, are killers and this is the best place for them...And for you!”
Giving Eve one last look before leaving the room. Closing the big grey metal door, a security guard slides a heavy bolt across it before locking it with a big key.


Twisting and turning violently on her bed, her face contorted with pain. Breaking free the handcuffs that bound her wrist, pulling the IV tube from her arm. Feeling the coldness of the black and white tiled floor beneath her feet, Eve stands up. Straightens out her thin body with hands against her side. Clenching her teeth, her head rolls from side to side. Opening her mouth, releasing a high pitch scream. Pulling back the big bolt, the guard unlocks the door. Pushing the door open he is mesmerised by what’s in front of him. His mouth open, but no words escape. Grabbing hold of the guard, raising him above her head before snapping his body in half. Leaning her head back, allowing his bodily fluids to run down her throat. Down a hallway, sitting in a coffee room, sipping a hot cup of white coffee,
Susan Tyler thumbs through her notes. Turning her head toward an unspeakable sound. Standing up, she rushes to the door of the little room just in time to see Eve standing in the corridor.
Huge leathery wings spread wide from behind her back. Slowly pulling her upwards towards a glass-domed ceiling.
The hideous monster points a scrawny grey finger in Susan Tyler’s direction.
“Look, detective. The caterpillar has transformed!” Simpered the winged creature, “Do you see! Do you see what I am?...I’m beautiful, I'm a beautiful butterfly! Ha-ha-ha!” 
Its huge wings move back and forth, taking Eve higher and higher finally breaking through the hospital’s glass dome roof.
“What am I, detective Tyler!?”
“You’re, you’re a demon...from hell,” whispers Susan Tyler, fear-frozen over her face.
With a satisfying smile at the detective, Eve sticks up her middle finger before flying into the darkness of night, laughing hysterically.

 
The End.