Desperately, she wanted to be on her own - to be independent, to be an adult, to have her own place to call home, and finally, after months of slaving away at work, she had saved enough to get a nice apartment. In fact, it was a little too nice considering the price but no matter how thoroughly she examined every inch of the apartment during the tour, she couldnāt find anything wrong. Fortunately, the landlord didnāt complain about the investigation, wrote it off as reasonable, after all, the home was renovated just last year, spacious enough of a family, pet friendly, the location was excellent as well as providing a wonderful view of the city and the distant ocean, and even fully furnished. But for all itās good qualities and itās upgrades to become more appealing to buyers, no tenant had stayed more than a month, tops, in the last eight years.
No less, she was eager to take the place and determined to stay.
So when things she knew she put one place was suddenly in another, she shook her head at her forgetfulness, when furniture she rearranged to suit her tastes was suddenly moved back to where it was before - or worse yet, somehow stacked - she opted to just move everything back and ignore it. When perfectly good light bulbs flickered or shut off entirely, sheād check the box and ignore the fact there was never a problem with the switches. When a black, tar like something leaked from walls, windows, and mirrors, or a suspicious looking red liquid came out of her faucets, she had simply decided it was rust or an issue with the pipes.
Yes, whenever she felt eyes watching her, hands hovering over her as though ready to pounce, a sudden chill of fear down her spine; a particular area of the apartment seemed to become frightening, a threatening message found written in that rusty liquid; the most demonic of voices hissed just in her ear and heaving breath fell on her neck, or a glance of a terrifying figure lurked in the corner of her eye; she pushed it all to the back of her mind and labelled it paranoia.
Then, the third month in, something changed. Though eyes still seemed to follow and ghost hands hovered, chills still racked her body, a voice still spoke in her ear, and always was she catching glances of this figure, the messages were less threatening, bloody showers were less common, lights worked as they should, her stuff and furniture mostly stayed put. That malicious, homicidal intent dwindled and by the fourth month, she was positive that whatever it was she was experiencing, which she wrote off as anxiety from living alone for the first time, was over.
And suddenly there was a dead, mutilated raccoon in her fridge with itās heart and eyes centered, ālookingā right at her, and everything went to hell again. Messages came back full throttle, though threats became compliments that leaned more towards disturbing, hands once ready to strike now wandered her sides and back, closer and closer to intimate places, eyes that once glared now burning with something that produced even more discomfort. Objects were moved more comfortably; whenever she cooked a chair would move and those eyes would be on her again, she could swear there was somebody seated as close as a lover by her side when she sat on the couch or recliner, that there was a warmth that left her every morning when she awoke that indicated someone had lay with her. Other times, sheād find outfits spread out for her, ones she certainly didnāt lay out for herself, she certainly didnāt wear her finest underwear everyday like the spread of clothes seemed to imply, sheād find her few physical photos laying on her bed when she got back from work, or even candles lit and in new places. Light bulbs no longer flickered or ceased working, but dimmed, and the figure continued to appear just outside her vision and hide just as quickly, and a voice still mumbled, unintelligibly, in her ear. The scent of death began to override the pleasant smell of any candles she lit though, the mangled corpses of city animals increasing in number everyday with hearts and eyes always front and centered. An increase of sparkly rocks, old newspaper, broken pencils, pennies, and what she certainly though might have been cheap, stolen jewelry, had also begun to show up.
Still, she pushed through and though she was sleep deprived and on the brink of losing her sanity because god be damned if whatever it was she was putting up with wasnāt a demon, she still felt satisfaction when she realized she had managed to stay for an entire year.
To celebrate, she gave herself a small party, consisting entirely of a sole balloon she thought was cute, a tiny, single person cake, and a ridiculous amount of alcohol because although it wasnāt like her to drink excessively, there was no way that creature was going to ruin this. And if that meant she had to get blackout drunk to blind herself to the thing, then so be it. She drank until tipsy before putting on one of her favorite movies and digging into the cake, thus beginning the celebration of her self proclaimed success.
Regret beat at her head once morning came, sunshine peering through the curtain and seeming to burn through her eyelids. She tossed to her other side and after a moment opened her heavy eyes, she was warmly tucked in her blanket, in her bedroom where she was certain she did not fall asleep. Sitting up and hating herself for it as her body groaned and her head screamed, she stretched and tumbled out of bed to get to the bathroom, fortunate to find herself able to walk at all given the numbness of her lower body. As she passed the living room though, she froze. It was clean, when she knew, no matter how persistent her hangover was at keeping the full details of last night from her, that it definitely was not when she went to sleep.
āMorning!ā She whirled at the exclamation of that oh so familiar voice, eyes meeting those of the lurking creature who slunk out of her bathroom. A questionable thing it was, with the ever so creepy eyes of goat, a wolfās snout and frightfully long fangs pressed against both lips, plenty of protruding horns on itās head with the most prominent set curling like a rams; thick, shaggy fur covered most of itās body, save the upper arms stained black and boney hands that led to a foul pair of claws, itās legs reminded her of faunās but itās actually feet like a wolfās, and itās tail that split in two seemed more rat than goat. They stared at one another for a second that felt like forever, until she fainted.
The creature sunk onto all fours and crept towards her, touching her face then dragging a claw down her neck, between her breast and over the indent of her waist before settling momentarily on her hip. It watched her for some minutes before hauling her up over his shoulder as it stood. It thought, after everything that happened last night, that itās mate had forgiven it for those first few months but she didnāt embrace the creature happily like all the other human females he saw had done to their mates. It had no problem admitting that their relationship started off rocky, but once they started dating, as the humans call it, it thought everything would get better quickly. It gave her gifts, affection, compliments, did itās best to take care of her, and yet she still seemed displeased with the creature. She still didnāt talk to the beastly thing, but at least she didnāt ignore it this time.
No matter, it would make up to itās mate someday. Perhaps, the head of that bothersome man that constantly eyed and attempted to woo itās mate at work would make her happy, it was sure that fellow made her uncomfortable, she always looked so nervous around him.
No idea what happened with Urarakaās hair, it fluffed right up. I do hope @incorrectbnhaquotes does not mind me using one of their posts, please let me know if you want me to take it down!
I didnāt tag him in my original post containing him, since he was a little doodle to the side. So I snipped it and am posting it again. My scribble coloring is better than my actual coloring, turns out that was the problem all along.
I swear to God, I can draw. Not that anyone here is ever going to know, huh?
Anyway, I figured Buster, like any childĀ (not that he looks particularly childlike in this picture), pretended to have his dream job. So, he would spend days planning his own little one person play and when his father finally had enough time off, they would flip the table to its side, get makeshift curtains, backdrops, and costumes, and he would put on a show.
He sat exactly where he always would, next to my desk, vibrating in excitement as he waited for me to join him there. It was strange when he came around, I wasn't expecting him, he just showed up one day, whooping and hollering as he jumped around my room, brandishing a hairbrush like a dagger. I don't know how or why he showed up, and he wouldn't leave, either. The police officers believed I needed "medical" attention. So I had gotten saddled with a two year old in an adult's body.
It took a long while but I got used to him. His energy was limitless, I swear it, with the way he hops around my home chattering about all sorts of colorful adventures and declaring his desire to have such adventures with at least a thousand more friends while I go about my life. A few days into our cohabitation he took to sitting next to my desk throughout the night, and it took me longer to get used to him skimming through papers and asking me questions while I tried to sleep. I can't say I mind too much, his interest in my story is somewhat reassuring. Even better, he loves it whenever I read him what I have or as I write, and he begins acting them out to the best of his abilities while I speak. He's always eager to see what's next, even if it wasn't the best turn out, and his constant, rambling thoughts gave plenty of inspiration.
In fact, it became hard to imagine a life without him, even if he was a little obnoxious at times and would occasionally wake me with his enthusiasm. He was an unrelenting positive force, insisting and pushing both my dream and story towards me with over exaggerated praise. He would offer his help, he would remind me of his own dreams, throw out foolish plot twists he'd never see coming, toss about ideas and hope for one to strike me in the head. Obnoxious, no other word for him, and regardless of the indirect stroke of his own ego and selfish intentions behind his approval, he was always patient and understanding. A useful motivator. But like everything there is, has been, and will been, it will come to an end.
With the final two words done and a proud feeling bubbling up, I search for him at my desk's side, then behind me, where he likes to read over my shoulder, only to find his absence. I look around the room and find him nowhere to be seen or heard. That's probably for the best though, it means my story is just as it should be and he's ready to go have those adventures he yearned for. With, hopefully, at least a thousand more friends.
Quick, barely done doodle, poor anatomy, and shoddy coloring. Not the best picture to put up as a first but Iāve wanted to post a picture for a while and if I work too hard on it, Iāll hate it. She looks cute enough, all things considered.
The buzzing was insufferable, but it would all be worth it when he found the good ones, and killing the little nuisances with a satisfying smack was pleasant enough. There were many that gave him unfavorable outcomes, the price of being picky, he only had two choices so far. His record was five one night and he had been trying since then to break it. He carefully read the number on one of the thousands back, delicately scrawled onto the tiny insect he held gently in his hands and turned to look at the province map. Mosquito number 12,892 had been placed in the lone cul-de-sac off Catherwood Street. He clapped his hands together, squashing the bug and licking the mess up. Five people had been bitten by this particular mosquito, one of which was a match. He placed a red pin in the center of the cul-de-sac and moved onto the next bug. Mosquito number 347,802, placed at the marsh by Value Village.
Three hundred ninty-eight thousand, six hundred twenty-three mosquitos and he only found four people. He may not have broken the record, but compared to the nights where he found none it was no less excellent.
Now, he wandered up to the street of the cul-de-sac, clutching a worn dog leash and collar, an umbrella held between his shoulder and head as he looked around worriedly. It wasn't a large street, so it wasn't hard to already spot children playing in the empty road, but it was a street of apmartment buildings only. He made his way over to a group of three kids, remaining an appropriate distance away from them as he waved.
"Excuse me!" He called, looking around. "Have you kids seen a dog around here?" He faltered for a moment, looking to see if he could find any dogs. "Or, uh, at least...any strange dogs?"
"What does he look like?" A young boy had stepped closer, caught from getting to close by one the older boys. He supposed they were brothers, since they looked rather alike.
"She, is a black teacup poodle."
"A...teacup poodle?" The older boy had released his grip on the younger one as he snorted and bent over, laughing. He laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Heh, yeah it's...it's a really funny sight."
"I haven't see any dogs, but if she's a teacup poodle she must be really small." The third boy spoke up. "Easy to miss." He frowned a little, dejected and nodded with a sigh.
"No then?" The three boys all shook their heads.
"If we see here we'll tell you!" The younger boy spoke up. He perked up, smiling.
"Thank you very much. Uh, she answers to Lovely." The boys snorted and chortled again while he frowned. "I'm going to keep searching around but...here." He pulled out a business card, stepping up to the children. "If you find her, please have you parents call." They nodded, the older boy taking the card. He began walking to the next group of children, shaking his head a little. None of them were right, though that third boy was a little more tempting.
He talked to all of the kids out and about and even some of the adults in the area, but none of them matched the mosquito. It could be that the mosquito had bitten a visitor, not an occupant. That apartment had a birthday balloon off to the side, it could have been from a guest. He walked around the end of the cul-de-sac, turning to make his way back out and looking to the sky. Evening was settling and his umbrella was now held in his hand with the leash. It was quite a pain, wasting so much time out here while he slowly starved. Well, there were plenty of okay options, if he really needed it, but since placing that little red pin in the map he had been looking forward to the, in his opinion, most delicious blood.
His own blood, however, was disgusting. He had tasted it the day he had become, still grasping to human morals, and found himself displaying signs of food poisoning of all things. A truly retched taste, he was already feeling sick and it was just a shallow bite to he lip. He sat up and looked at the vehicle that had hit him down as it was backing out of the driveway, parked now while the driver frantically tore out of the car to rush to his aid.
"Oh my God, are you alright?" Pain wasn't something he found himself feeling much anymore, unless it was a grievous injury.
"I'm fine, just a little bump." He stood up and dusted off, frowning.
"A little bump?!" She cried, shooting up after him. "I dropped my bag and it fell on the gas, it wasn't a little bump! You should go to the hospital, I'll drive you!" He gave her a reassuring smile and waved off her concern.
"I'm fine." He went to continue on his way but stumbled on the first step. The girl caught him before he was forced to get possibly another taste of his blood and he was suddenly and acutely aware of the smell he had been a tad too dazed to notice before.
"Your leg!" She screeched. "Is it broken?!"
"A sprain, probably." He dismissed. "It'll heal, though...I am feeling a little lightheaded." She looked between her apartment building and him for a moment, warily before swallowing her concerns and began leading to the door. "Hm? What are you doing?"
"You should sit down for a while, I'll make you some coffee while you do that." He tried halfheartedly to pull away from her.
"There's no need to do that!" She huffed and tugged him lightly along. "You shouldn't let a stran-"
"I know that! But you're hurt, you can barely walk, I'm sure!" She countered. "It's my fault and I want to make sure you're alright." Silence had settled in as he allowed himself to be lead. They made it all the way to her apartment door before he stiffened and spoke up again.
"You really don't have to let me in, I could've just sat out on the curb for a while." It was her turn to wave him off.
"Nonsense, come on." He smiled.
"Thank you." She looked at him for moment as they entered her apartment, taken aback by the sincerity of his voice.
"I hit you with my car, it's nothing." She claimed as she helped him to the couch before buzzing off to the kitchen. She prattled on from there, making plenty of small talk with occasional apologies thrown in, all the while he responded aimably, standing up and making his way around the room, staring at pictures as he made his way towards the kitchen. He peeked in and found her back to him. She wasn't the largest of meals but she'd last a good few days before she would die. He snuck towards her.
"So how do you take your coffee?" She called out. Silence met her ears and just as she was about to turn around and go check on him, a weight was placed against her back and one of his hands quickly snatched both of her hers, pinning them to the counter while his other clamped over her mouth.
"I'm not the biggest fan of coffee." He admitted, fangs enlongating as his mouth brushed against her neck. He wasted not a moment when they found her pulsing vein, sinking in deep and sucking, the more he took the more dazed she became. When he had his fill, he hauled her over his shoulder and went back to the living room, straight for the doors across from the kitchen and, thankfully, to the bedroom on his first try. He tossed her carelessly towards the bed, chuckling at the sight of her upper half hanging off the bed.
"Be sure to let me back in tomorrow." He ordered as he left the bedroom, closing the door loudly to snap her out of her daze. He made his way out of the building with a spring in his step and breathed in the outside as he stretched. He felt energized, more than ready to carry on with his night when his phone rang. He stopped, barely a meter from the building and answered his phone.
"Hello, sir." The woman sounded a little unsure. "I'm calling because my son and his friends found your dog?" She must be the mother of that third boy. Blood type O if he remembered correctly.
"Ah, really?" He asked excitedly. "Is there any place we could meet up, I'm still in the area..."
āCongratulations. Youāve won the lottery.ā Said the man in my room, his gun to my head. He opened a case of neatly packed, colorful syringes. āChoose one of our fabulous prizes.ā
Everything had been going well, a great sort of average, but in comparison to this moment, prefectly wonderful. She had woke up, gone about her morning routine, went to work, standard, but it was a good day! Luck had been on her side the whole day. Sure, she lost her first coffee but the handsome fellow who had bumped her bought her a new one and a quick breakfast, which if not for him she would have skipped. Her horrid coworker had been out sick today, the computers had been fixed last night and hers was running better than it had when she first got the job, none of her clients had been aggressive in the slightest, and she was even given a raise. She may have missed the bus but it was a beautiful day and given the way it was going, it was no wonder she had a skip in her step and a tune dancing on her lips the whole way home. It was such a good day she stopped to treat herself fast food and an ice cream, something she normally tried to leave to birthdays and excellent 'job well done's.
She fully intended to indulge herself, planning to get dressed comfortably in her pajamas, eat her dinner to her favorite show, take a luxurious bath, and then curl up in her bed with snacks galore to watch movies until she passed out. If she learned anything in her young life it was that a good day often meant life was going to screw her over soon, so she'd enjoy the day to the fullest before the fall. Unfortunately, she did not expect the screw over to happen so soon. The moment she closed her apartment door and locked it, she found herself blacking out and a stinging sensation at the back of her head.
When she came to she found herself nearly blind, no matter how hard she tried to blink away her blurry vision. She struggled to recall what happened and began to focus on the restraints of her arms and legs, obviously to a chair, and a chilling pressure on the back on her skull. The pressure pushed a little more as the wielder realized she was waking up. She straightened, suddenly aware of exactly what this pressure might be, a course of panic flooding through her.
"Don't move so much." Her vision finally cleared and she tried to look behind her, though the pressure growing prevented her from trying too long, settling to look before her. Her full length mirror, normally in her closet, was placed before her, and in her living room, something that offered her a small comfort. The reflection in the mirror though, not so much. She saw herself, bound to the chair and bandaged while a rather tall, fit man stood behind her with his gun to her head, his face covered by a ski mask. Two piercing eyes met hers in the mirror.
"What do you want?" She tried asking calmly and cursed herself for the tremble of her lips and shying eyes. "How did you get in here?" She never left without locking everything, the only time anything was unlocked was when she was home and they were all locked again before bed. She shuddered slightly, far more comfortable with the thought that there was a broken window somewhere than him having snuck in while she was home.
"Through the door." He answered curtly, pressing the gun harder. "As for what I want...we'll get to that. For now, I have to congratulate you." Stunned, she met his eyes through the glass.
"Con...gratulate me?" Oh God. He reached behind him to grab something off the chair.
"Yeah, congratulations. You've won the lottery." He opened a case of neatly packed, colorful syringes. āChoose one of our fabulous prizes.ā She cringed, pushing herself as far away from him as she could. She warily eyed the contents, frowning deeply. There were twenty in total and of those twenty only one looked normal, a sole syringe with a clear liquid, three others were shades while the rest were an array of colors. And she doubted any of them were safe.
"T-thank you very much." She said, trying to sound as sincere as she could in her situation. "But I think you have the wrong person. I haven't entered any lotteries in a year."
"No." His stare only seemed to become more intense. "I got the right person. Same face, same picture, same address, same name, same birthday, I can go on." He held the case closer to her so she could see it from the corner of her eye. "Choose."
"Ah, may-maybe I did enter a lottery! But I can't accept the, wonderful prize. I must not have read the ticket very well for you see I, have a fear of needles." She stuttered through it but she was hoping perhaps he'd take her fumbling as a sign of fear. "So sorry for the inconvenice." He sighed.
"A fear of needles, huh? That's a shame." He brought the case back to himself and looked at the contents. "That means your gonna be difficult." He showed her the case through the mirror again. "You pick or I pick. Five..." Her mind began racing, staring at the syringes. "Four..." The clear one looked the most normal but that was probably done on purpose, so it was probably the most dangerous. "Three..." The white one looked like milk or the cold medicine her niece had to take. "Two..." She definitally wasn't taking any of the more questionable colors. "One. Alright, my pick." He turned the case back to look at them.
"No! I know which one I want!" He didn't even look up at her.
"Too late." He turned so his arm that held the gun was bent and carefully rested the briefcase on his arm, plucking out the lime green syringe. "No one ever picks this one so we don't know what it does yet." He commented, holding the syringe between two fingers so he could put the case back down on the chair. "Guess we'll find out."
"No! Help! Help! Someone help me! Ms. Manning!"
"Shut up!" He hit her on the back of the head with his gun again, watching her slump as she blacked out for the second time. Huffing, he lowered the gun and took her arm, forcing her sleeve up to tightly bunch around her bicep. "Difficult little brat." He found the vein and punctured it, pushing the limey liquid into her system. "This better be worth it." He marched over to his duffle bag and slung it over his shoulder. He cleaned up, putting the briefcase away and the mirror back where he found it, he untied the unconscious young woman and tossed her carelessly onto the couch, treating her so the rope wounds wouldn't be so visible, put the chair back, and placed her stuff on the coffee table. He looked around the room, nodding as he munched on a few fries he stole and left the apartment, using a spare key to lock the door behind him.
So much for a lucky day.
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