Chapter 5: The Transformation
Background: Myka was convinced to stay by her friend Sean who became curious about her werewolf nature. She explains the phenomenon, her first transformation, and how she first met her vampire master, Hector.
"So, what exactly happens when you... you know... change?" Sean looked at her intently.
"Well..." Myka turned away debating whether or not she should continue. "It's probably a bit gruesome. Are you sure you really want to know?"
"If it's alright for you to share."
She looked up at him. "It starts inside. It feels like adrenalin, a burning in my chest. It radiates throughout my entire body until I feel like I'm on fire. My teeth begin to push through my gums and grow longer, and my nails become claws protruding from my fingertips. My muscles feel a bit like growing pains, but what feels like the growth of a year is only a few seconds. A stretching and pulling sensation. It aches like nothing you've ever felt. Joints pop, bones crack, grow, separate, and realign. Then it's like needles are piercing my skin from the inside out all over. It's hard to say which part is the most agonizing, and it feels like it takes hours, but it happens so quickly. Too quickly sometimes for me to stop it."
"So..." Sean fidgeted with his sleeve. "H-have you...killed anyone?"
Myka turned away and was silent.
"Oh, my gosh." Sean whispered aside to himself. "She has!" But despite these surprised thoughts, it was like he already knew. It was her eyes. The burden she carried seemed to be written in them. He had never met someone who had murdered another person, at least he thought he hadn't. But he thought a killer would have cold, empty eyes. Her eyes were deep and almost sorrowful, even sometimes when she smiled. Those were the eyes that were filled with the pain of the victim, anxious and despairing.
Myka turned back, but her face was turned down toward her chest. "I was just a little girl." She paused. "A boy started picking on me. We got in a fight. That's when I found out I was a werewolf. By then it was too late. I tore his carotid. His blood got all over the sidewalk, all over me." Myka cleared her throat. "No one saw me change. I was scared to tell anyone. They found me after, drenched in blood, licking my shaking hands. They immediately called an ambulance. He was dead. They checked me out thinking that some of the blood was mine, but I was barely hurt. Just a few scratches. I think then they fully realized the situation. They were going to have to tell a mother that her young son had been killed." Myka's face became distorted with a sickened expression.
"They didn't really know what to do with me. I was too young to be tried as an adult, and the crime was too horrid to be a simple accident as I insisted it was. Some doctors thought maybe I was crazy, I think. So, instead of going to a juvenile detention centre, they sent me to a mental institution. I stayed there alone in a cold room. People would watch me, ask me all kinds of weird questions, scratching on their clipboards. 'Do you drink your own blood?' That was one of the questions. I didn't like this one because I think every child has at some point. They get a cut, it bleeds, and they suck on it to try and make it stop. Or they pick a scab and make the blood gush out because blood shouldn't come out. It's disgusting and fascinating the way the red bubbles from the sore and drips to one side because of gravity. Some like it more than others. I guess I never saw it as a problem. It always surprised me that some people didn't like the taste of blood when they bit their lip or how some even got sick at the sight of blood. They asked me if I killed any other people or animals. The only things I've probably killed were the bugs that stung or bit me, and everyone does that. I cried a lot because I felt so alone and confused.
"I think I confused them too. I heard one muttering outside about 'clinical vampirism' and the other murmuring about there not being 'enough evidence.' That was the first time I heard 'vampirism." Even the word gave me goosebumps. It sounded so sinister. Another word got brought up, but no one could really take it seriously. Most of them just laughed when it was mentioned. 'Lycanthropy.' I looked that word up. The ability of a person to change into a wolf. As I read it, all my muscles tensed. I was a werewolf. They didn't know, but I think it was because they didn't believe in such things. They couldn't explain the animal-like scratches and bite marks, even the formation of the attack itself was that of a wolf. Even in stories you don't hear about young girls turning into wolves. I wouldn't fit the profile for even a fictional creature." Myka sighed and swallowed hard. "Now I was even more afraid. What if they found out? What would they do to me?
"They finally said that it was just a temporary psychotic reaction to the fight, that I was just defending myself and got carried away. They couldn't keep me at the institution anymore since I wasn't showing any signs of being insane or a danger to anyone. Actually, I probably spent more time there than I should have. They sent me back to the orphanage. It felt like everybody looked at me differently and that no one would come within six feet of me. I felt so alone, such an outcast. No one understood.
"Then one night when I was lying awake in bed, I heard something at the window. Everyone else was asleep, so I crept over and looked out. There was a man standing outside. He was dressed nicely and had short, dark hair. What was he doing standing outside tapping at the window? He looked right at me and smiled. His smile made me sort of nervous, but I was more curious than anything else. And I was a werewolf. I figured this meant I didn't have to be scared of anyone." That was a stupid idea, she thought to herself. There are some people that even werewolves should be afraid of. Myka continued. "He waved to me to come out. I pushed the window open and whispered to him.
'Who are you, and what are you doing here?' I inquired.
'My name's Hector, but I think the more important thing is, I know who you are, or rather what you are.'
I turned around for a second to make sure I wasn't disturbing anyone. 'I don't know what you're talking about.'
'Of course you do. You're different than others. You change.'
I didn't say anything.
'They, they could never understand. I'm different too, you know. I understand.' His eyes seemed to soften. 'Don't you feel sad being among normal people? They treat you like a freak, don't they, even though they don't know exactly what's the matter with you.'
Finally I spoke up. 'Why are you here?'
'I came to take you somewhere you can be with people like you, a place where you'll be understood. You don't really want to stay in the orphanage your whole life do you?'
I shook my head.
'Well?'
I looked back into the dark room. I saw all the peaceful sleeping faces of the other children. They looked so angelic. But not me. I was cursed. No one would ever take me home. And this place would never be home either. I have no family or friends here. I looked back out at him standing there with his hand outstretched. I swallowed. Then I opened the window further. I crawled through and grabbed the man's hand. It was so cold. He helped me out, and I stood on the grass and stared at him. He smiled. (Such a strange smile!) He turned his head and looked around.
'We should probably go now.'
I nodded, and we left. I didn't look back."
Log in to comment