Dying to Meet You

“Hey, how are you?”

Megan stared at the message on her phone and sighed. It wasn’t the most unique greeting she had ever received, but at least it was better than half the pickup lines that were used on her almost daily.

Megan moved her fingers and clicked on the thumbnail image of the sender, bringing up his profile on the dating application she had been signed on to for almost a year now. The sender – Mike, 28 – had all the usual signs of a serial dater. She scrolled through his photos with quick succession and took in the photos that were common amongst other users on the application.

Everything about Mike screamed typical. But Megan knew her profile was typical as well – she had designed it that way.

Megan moved back to the messaging part of the application and started texting, her fingers moving furiously over the digital keyboard of her phone.

“I’m good thanks, how are you?” she typed before hitting send. It was generic, but it was better to play it safe rather than intimidating. Mike, 28, wrote back pretty quickly after her response and they started chatting.

Back and forth Megan and Mike continued to message well into the night. He had broken through her defences and their banter was easy so she decided to be bold.

“Would you like to come round for dinner tomorrow night?” Megan texted, holding her breath while the three dots of the messaging application danced across her screen, indicating that Mike was texting a reply.

“I’d love to,” Mike finally answered. “What time?”

Megan let out the breath she was holding and smiled. She quickly texted a time and her address before he excitedly accepted and bid her goodnight.

The next day, Megan busied herself in preparations for meeting Mike, 28. She found herself excited at the idea of meeting him and let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding when the doorbell rang. She plastered a big smile on her face to hide the nerves she usually had before a date and opened the door wide.

Mike, 28, was pretty cute outside of his profile picture. He had a nice smile, shaggy brown hair and kind brown eyes. He wore slightly baggy jeans, a checked shirt and a thick black cargo jacket. He ran his hands nervously through the light curls on his head as he took her in.

“Megan, right?” he asked, “You’re even more beautiful than your profile.” Megan looked down and smiled in what she hoped was a humble blush.

“Thank you so much. You’re pretty handsome yourself!” she smiled, “Won’t you come in?”

Mike walked through the door and took in her small townhouse. It was neat and well situated in a very quiet part of the neighbourhood.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Mike said as he pulled off his jacket.

“Thanks, I redecorated it when I moved in,” Megan said. She brandished her arm toward the dining table just off from the lounge room they were standing. “Dinner is just about ready, can I get you a drink?”

“Absolutely,” Mike answered and Megan went into the kitchen and popped the lid off a bottle of Merlot, letting it aerate while she pulled two identical wine glasses from her cupboard. She poured the rich, plum coloured beverage into the glasses with deft fingers and cross the kitchen threshold to give Mike the glass. He looked into her eyes and smiled with thanks, causing her to blush again.

Megan and Mike carried the easy conversation they had had the night previously while Megan busied herself in serving the food she had prepared. It was surprising how well they were getting on. Mike, 28, was turning out to be a lot more than she had bargained for – she was actually starting to like this guy.

Mike stiffly sat down at the head of the table, settling his wine glass in front of him while Megan picked up her own glass of Merlot from the kitchen and settled both her plate and glass opposite Mike.

“Hmm, this smells delicious!” Mike exclaimed as Megan grabbed a small boat of gravy from the kitchen bench that she had prepared and placed it in the middle of the set table in front of them.

Just as Megan sat down though, the lights in the house suddenly went out, plunging their dinner into darkness if not for the candles in the middle of the table. Megan sighed loudly.

“Ever since I did the renovations my lights have been faulty; I need to get an electrician in,” Megan explained. “Would you mind terribly turning the lights on at the circuit breaker?”

Mike took her in over the candlelit dinner, and nodded. “Where is the circuit breaker? Outside?” he asked and he rose from his seat at the dining table.

“It’s actually in the basement,” Megan replied. “Here, I’ll show you.” Megan rose from her seat and moved down the corridor of her home towards the bedrooms, with Mike trailing behind. Megan stopped just down the corridor and opened a door.

“It’s just down the stairs there and straight ahead – you can’t miss it. Thank you so much for this.” Megan told him with a smile. Carefully Mike descended into the darkness.

As Mike walked down the small flight of stairs his eyes adjusted to the dark and he could only make out a workbench in the middle of the basement. He came to recognise a particular smell that filled the room - It was a strong, sweet odour that seemed to suffocate the air of the basement and draw out his breath.

Gingerly walking forward Mike had reached the circuit breaker and pulled open the box’s door. He looked at the switches and saw a timer mounted on one of the switches that was in the down position. He shone the torchlight on the timer and saw it had been rigged to go off at seven thirty.

Mike looked at the watch he wore on his wrist and saw that it read seven thirty-four. Alarm bells started ringing in Mike’s head. Why would Megan time it so that lights in her house would switch off at seven thirty? He had to find out quickly and in one swift motion flipped the switch.

A harsh fluorescent light hummed into life above him the basement, and flickered several times above Mike’s head. Mike turned around and took in the sight of the basement, realising in horror that his initial assessment of plain Megan’s hobbies was very wrong.

The smell that filled the basement wasn’t pickles, it was incense; and the jars on the workbench were labelled with strange ingredients such as bay leaves, pickled newts eyes, and black powders. A large leather-bound book was opened on the workbench next to a giant bubbling cauldron in which several unidentified items were floating in it. The bench was stained with dark, rusty colours that had congealed and underneath where he stood was a large red pentagram painted onto the concrete floor. There were strange markings painted on the walls around him as well.

Mike heard a creak in the stairs behind him and turned to face the noise, his fangs dropping out from his top lip.

Megan stood in front of him, wearing a black velvet cloak over her jeans and white t-shirt. She had pulled her hair into a ponytail off of her face and the light of the basement threw sharp lines across her face, hinting at her true age. Mike had known that Megan was a witch long before he matched with her on the dating app. He had in fact been watching her for some time, waiting to make his move on the magical being who was five hundred years old. Her current maiden disguise was certainly his type, but there was no mistaking the powerful witch that his family had spent their entire life hunting.

“Now where on earth did you get those?” Megan asked, not at all surprised by his sudden growing of fangs. Mike guessed she had also known he was a vampire when they had started talking.

“Let’s say that I always come prepared when facing down a witch,” Mike answered smugly, letting her know that her jig was up.

“You knew? How?” Megan asked, surprised.

“I’ve been hunting you for a while. You killed my nest,” Mike told her. The words he said were angry, but Mike’s emotions didn’t catch up with them. He felt a strong connection to Megan, and he honestly wasn’t sure if it was genuine attraction or a spell that she had cast.

“I only hunt vampires who have killed my own kind,” Megan told him, crossing her hands over her chest. “They get what is coming to them and nothing more,” She had known that Mike was a vampire when she had asked him to come over, prepared the devil’s trap in her basement to catch him. But as she took in his scent she realised that it was fresh and not like the others.

“You… you’re different though,” she said as she continued to sniff. “You haven’t killed anyone have you? Not yet?”

Mike shuffled nervously inside the devils trap.

“You’d be my first,” he told her, dropping the predatory act somewhat. He felt very drawn to Megan in these close quarters, which he had felt when he had been invited inside. She was beautiful; how could she have been a killer of his whole family’s nest? It just didn’t seem right.

“So you haven’t killed any witches? You’re the last one left of the nest that did?” she asked. Mike nodded, his axe still in his hand. He was quite young for a vampire – only a year old turned. He hadn’t trusted his strength and so he had brought his own weapon.

Megan could see just how young Mike was. The crimes of his nest were not his own, and despite Megan being a vampire killing witch she saw no reason that Mike had to suffer too. Perhaps they could work together and start a new world order where magical beings could actually help each other for once?

“Do we really have to battle?” she asked. Mike was thrown off balance a little but the sudden shift in the conversation, but he was genuinely intrigued. “Look, before this we were actually getting along quite well. You haven’t killed any witches and I am willing to let you free,”

Mike considered this proposal for a minute. He took in Megan, standing there at the foot of the stairs. He was free from the strict confines of his nest that had turned him unwillingly, and if Megan was willing to truce he was interested in hearing her out.

“Ok, let’s talk true,” Mike warned her.

“Trust issues are naturally present at the beginning of any relationship,” Megan answered, and in response she walked forward and scuffed her shoe over the red paint on the floor, breaking the devils trap. He followed her out of the basement and up the stairs.

Witch or vampire, perhaps there was someone out there for everyone after all?