There was something off about his house. Something just touching the line of the consciously jarring, an accumulation of things subtly wrong that gave him a dread bigger than the sum of its parts. And the noises! They weren't strange, they were just a bit too purposeful, a bit too meaningful. Houses weren't supposed to try and talk with you. Specially not houses like his, looking as insane as any house could possibly look, the sort of insane that sat next to you in a park bench for five minutes before cutting your throat for no reason you would want to understand.
His house looked just like that. It was telling him that he didn't belong, that he was too slow, too clumsy, too organic for its taste.
Either that, or the long years trapped in it had made him insane. But in any case it was morning, so the vampire hid his head inside his shroud and tried not to think about the reproachful way in which the walls looked at him.
.finis.
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1 comment:
DU-U-DEE! You're writing vampires now? that's too freaking awesome! (though you reminded me of a character you've never read, but that fandom much adores)
You need to start working on a series of ficlets. About, say, a vampire. And the humans that love him. Or something.
I think I need sleep.
Anyways, you back yet? Will you ba back Sunday? I'm gonna invite myself over Mels, so...
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