Green Thumb

Green Thumb

By Charlie Jolliffe

The house sat in the end lot in the deepest cul-de-sac in a long, winding subdivision. It was bordered by an impossibly thick forest that had somehow survived all attempts the surrounding city had made to steal away its land. It was a quaint cottage style home, not enough to impress the country club types, but with the right landscaping it would certainly impress the ladies at the Garden Club. That is all Sharon cared about anyway.

Selmon, on the other hand, liked the serenity of being away from the other houses in the subdivision. Sitting on the porch he could see his closest neighbor’s mailbox peeking out into the street beyond some shrubbery, but that was it, no other signs of life. He had told Sharon they should just buy the surrounding lots, so no one ever moved in nearby. Sharon had two problems with that, she wanted to spend every bit of their lifesavings impressing the Garden Club with her amazing yard, and she wanted neighbors to live close enough to be jealous of it.

The day was gray, with the sun looking like the white unseeing eye of a blind man as it rode the sky behind a powdery blanket of clouds. Selmon sat on the front porch of his new home, sipping coffee that was more cream and Irish whiskey than coffee. He felt at peace, which wasn’t easy with Sharon around, but in this moment, there was peace. The tranquility of the day was enveloping him. They had been in the house for a little over a month now and Sharon had been mostly in a great mood, but he knew, that was subject to change.

Selmon heard the door open behind him. Sharon made a sound he recognized well. He imagined it was spelled U.u.b.u.h.g.h, and firmly believed if she ever made the sound to a herd of elephants it would likely mean something vile and unspeakable in their language. It usually was followed by something unpleasant.

“This is the brownest yard I have ever seen, isn’t it Selmon?” Sharon started in, “Literally everything is hideous and dead.”

“Except those vines,” Selmon responded quietly, looking at the vines lining the edge of the forest where it encroached onto their land.

“Except those vines over there,” Sharon said as if she didn’t hear him, pointing with her bony finger like the Grim Reaper casting her desire for death at the forest. “If I could grow anything as well as those hideous vines, I would be a renowned horticulturist.”

“Hideous...” Selmon said, even quieter than before, “Whore till cultured, yes, “

“What?”, said Sharon, who only heard a mumble.

“You could be one, yes.” He said in a confident tone.

“Yes, I know I could, that is what I said, keep up stupid. Well, I hate those vines, and I have repeatedly told you to destroy them. I swear they watch me and laugh.”, Sharon said, becoming visibly annoyed.

“I have tried, they are stubborn”, responded Selmon with a grin he tried to mask by raising his mug to his lips.

“I know your idea of trying, and it’s not trying anything but my nerves.” Sharon’s tone was becoming increasingly aggressive,” Tomorrow, you will end those vines once and for all. We have been in this place for weeks Selmon, weeks! Tomorrow, the vines, I want them gone! Okay?!”

“Okay. Vines gone tomorrow. Last green thing in the world perhaps, for all we know”, Selmon said as he drank in the final half of his Irish coffee, grimacing slightly, but not from the whiskey.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Tomorrow we rid ourselves of those vines, and then maybe we can grow something proper like Boug-gain-ville-a-uh,” Sharon said, botching the pronunciation horribly, her poor Southern childhood she worked so hard to hide showing for a moment.

“Bougainvillea,” Selmon repeated back with the correct pronunciation, “aren’t those also vines?”

“Well if they are, then they are at least attractive, not like those!”, Sharon said sharply.

“I rather like those,” Selmon said pointing his empty mug in a casual shrug at the tangles of vines along the edge of the yard.

Sharon responded with a guttural “Uubuhgh,” (Immediately Selmon pictured a herd of elephants frowning at her).” Just destroy them! Tomorrow! I will give you hell if you don’t!”

“You will give me hell if I do”, Selmon mumbled.

“What?”, Sharon glared at him.

“Horticulturist, you will be one,” Selmon cheered lightly, raising his mug as if in a toast.

“Let’s just start with the vines, smartass”, Sharon said sarcastically as she turned and flitted into the house.

Selmon slouched back into his chair, which he had believed he was already doing, Sharon had a way of making him sit up straight into flight mode at a subconscious level and he hated that. He looked back at the Sun, now not just a blind man’s eye, but with a yellow tinge of sunset it looked like the blind man had severe liver problems. “Why put off today what I’ll just put off tomorrow?” Selmon muttered to himself, realizing Sharon was preoccupied at the moment, which was the best time to do anything so that he can avoid her “help”.

He went into the shed and picked up a machete, its dented blade evidence of the last attempt he had made on the vines, and realized he needed more firepower, so he grabbed the chainsaw. He had read the owner’s manual for the chainsaw thoroughly while wasting 45 minutes on the toilet one day and so he was fully aware this was probably a bad idea, but sometimes, he thought, you have to screw the pooch if you want puppies.

Selmon approached the largest of the tangles of vines he could find. Start big, he thought. He fired up the chainsaw and aimed it at the exact center of the vines, which were varying thicknesses but some as much as 2 inches in diameter. He couldn’t help but be impressed at how healthy they looked while the yard in front of them looked dead and drained. Immediately, the chainsaw started spitting out sawdust and spewing streams of green and brown mulch back at him, covering his clothes and splattering his safety goggles. He imagined himself as Doctor Octopus churning away at every spider web Spiderman was tossing at him and began an awkward attack of plunging the chainsaw recklessly back and forth through the tangles while laughing maniacally. This produced more green and brown splatter and he almost couldn’t see through his goggles anymore. He let go of the trigger and pulled back the saw, its engine gurgling loudly and steam rising from the engine covered in vine guts.

He took his finger and wiped the goo off his right goggle lens. He looked up at his progress and began wiping the left one when he saw eyes, deep in the vines, dark black and rimless, they stared at him blankly, through him. He felt his hand tense and the chainsaw surge. The blade grabbed his jeans and he jumped slightly while pulling it away. He looked back into the vines, but the eyes were gone. The leaves were moving in a swirling motion, but there was no wind. A voice cut through the now near darkness of the twilight. It started in low and guttural, barely distinguishable from the wind and rustling of the leaves and began to build into a deep throbbing bass that filled his ears with overwhelming dread, then suddenly it stopped.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Sharon exploded from behind him.

Selmon just turned to look at her, then looked down at the saw that was churning at full speed inches from his leg. A small patch of blood was forming on his jeans next to a one-inch tear in the fabric. He couldn’t form words to answer her. She wouldn’t believe him anyway and it would turn into “a thing”. He just stared in silence.

“Are you crazy Selmon?!” She yelled, “Turn that damn thing off before you kill yourself!”

Selmon turned off the chainsaw and stood silently, he could hear Sharon ranting beside him, but his ears were turned to the forest, listening intently for any sound, any sign of movement. Not hearing anything for what seemed like several minute, he snapped back into reality. Sharon faded into focus both visually and audibly.

“…maybe we should pay someone to do this, I don’t know why I ask you to do anything you’re just going to do a half-ass job and…”

“We aren’t paying anyone. I’ll do it,” he said as he looked into the vines.

“I wish I could believe that but…”

“I said I would fucking do it, and that’s what’s going to happen,” Selmon looked Sharon directly in the eyes.

As he walked by her, Sharon made that sound she makes, “Uubuhgh”, and the vines shook violently for a fraction of a second, but Sharon didn’t notice. Selmon turned and looked back at the vines. It was dark out, almost completely night, but it was even darker in the vines. He saw a glint of light, unnatural, dark and unsettling, and then it was gone again, but the feeling of dread remained.

Sharon was still standing in silence, unsure of what she had just witnessed, as Selmon breezed by her towards the shed. “Come inside and let me clean up your leg,” she said in a tone he hadn’t heard in 10 years, since before every conversation had become a pissing contest between two stubborn camels.

“Be right there,” he responded as he placed the chainsaw on the floor of shed, barely inside the doorway, on the fringe of the shadow line created by the yard light and walked quickly away. He made his way inside, locked the door, and found Sharon sitting in the bathroom with the shower running for him and a first aid kit in her hands.

Selmon showered and then Sharon cleaned and dressed his wound, which turned out to be just a large scratch. He poured himself a full glass of whiskey and made Sharon a Cosmopolitan. When they finished their drinks, he grabbed her, and began stripping her of her clothes. She was initially surprised but said nothing and instead she angled her body so that they slid off most easily. He then cradled her naked body like a werewolf cradles his victim right before he howls into the bright moonlit night. He ravaged her as if it was their first-time knowing lust, and they both howled like beasts, unaware of what was even going on around them. When they were finished, they both collapsed to their own sides of the bed, and turned away from each other, looking into the lamplight and wondering what energy had brought this on. They fell asleep at the same time and dreamt about nothing at all.

Selmon woke up abruptly, suddenly remembering the vines, and the eyes, and the darkness that they brought with them. He looked up and saw Sharon holding coffee and breakfast, it was scrambled eggs and sausages, his favorite. She didn’t speak, she just placed the food on his nightstand and handed him the coffee mug as he sat up enough to take it without spilling it. He took a sip and tasted whiskey and cream, a surprise since he didn’t even realize Sharon knew he drank it this way and always assumed she would lecture him if she did.

Selmon finished his breakfast, dressed himself in his heaviest work clothes, thinking he needed as much protection as possible from the vines and the thorns he was sure to find, as well as any other unexpected thing. He put on his work boots and made his way to the shed to arm himself for the day. On his way out he paused and looked at the gun safe for a moment before finally opening it and taking out his Glock and an extra magazine and placing them in a backpack he only used in case of emergencies. It had a water pouch and some snack bars along with a hunting knife and some survival tools. Loaded up like he was ready for a Safari he moved quickly out the back door before Sharon could see him and end both thier good moods with a bunch of questions.

In the shed, Selmon grabbed the chainsaw again, and the dented machete. He ran the machete over a grinding wheel and was able to make it sharp again despite its rippled appearance. He saw some orange tape he had used for marking boundaries and stuffed it in his bag too, instantly questioning the insanity of what he was doing. He took the orange tape back out of his bag and said to himself, “if I actually need this, I’m dead anyway” and put it back on the table, deciding to use the space for a small pair of pruning shears instead.

Selmon stepped out of the shed into the bright light of day. The clouds had moved on and the long shadows of the trees were stretching across their brown lawn. He took a deep breath and moved forward to meet the vines, starting the chainsaw as he walked, feeling much like a character in a Tarantino movie as he felt his reluctant legs march him steadily towards whatever hell had stared him in the face the night before. For a split second he wondered why he felt the need to do this. Where had he suddenly gathered all of this otherworldly motivation to battle the evil at the fringes of reality? But all of that was cancelled by the testosterone jolt he received by spending one evening actually feeling alive and virile. He had been living like a zombie for years, and now he was going to kill one, or whatever was hiding in the thick, lush forest.

The chainsaw rumbling loudly, Selmon tore into the vines with a feverish grin. He watched again as the chainsaw sliced, mulched and chewed through vines he had cut the night before, but were somehow healed. He made it through the first layer, all the time watching for the eyes, looking at every dark space, lunging at every innocent insect that leapt out of his way.

As he kept advancing forward, he noticed a light through the vines, deep blue in places, purple in others, with nothing real or sane about any of it. He crashed through the final layer of vines and fell forward, chainsaw still churning loudly, and tossed the chainsaw forward to keep from sawing off his face.

As Selmon lay there, collecting his strength and feeling an array of thorns pressing against the thick fabric of his work clothes, he heard the chainsaw sound begin to move away, and, before he was able to see why, he heard it fly into the distance and smash against a tree where it landed and went quiet and still. Selmon looked around in a panic but saw nothing. He told himself he would not retreat, again wondering where he had summoned this incredible sense of will. He turned around to see that the entrance he had carved through the vines was already healing itself, and that if he didn’t run through immediately, he had chosen his destiny to stay on this side of the wall of green. Without hesitation he stood and watched as the light from his yard was extinguished, replaced by the bluish-purple rays that filtered through a canopy of trees that completely obscured the sky. Forward it was, at least the vines were behind him.

Sharon had not noticed that Selmon was missing. She had a meeting at the Garden Club today and was preoccupied with looking like a horticulturist, yet not having any idea what a real horticulturist would look like at all, or even what they did all day. She arrived early at the Garden Club and saw Parker, Jessica and Sarah drinking Starbucks and having a good time pretending not to notice her. That would all change soon enough, she thought, when they saw her absolute disaster of a yard be transformed into a magical old-world garden in one summer, they would come groveling to her. She was sure she would win most improved gardener this year, on her way to becoming a staple of the Gardens of North Florida Magazine Parade of Homes from here on out.

Sharon smirked internally, approached the ladies confidently, and invited them to her house for afternoon tea so they could see the landscaping plans that she had just put the final touches on this morning. They agreed and smiled and nodded and waved and secretly hated each other. This was the nature of the Garden Club ladies in this town, and it was a life well loved by everyone who lived it. Sharon was fairly convinced Selmon would have made enough progress by this afternoon for her to say something clever like, “pardon our dust, but we are a work in progress” and they would all enjoy a light laugh. It was going to be a great day she thought, and maybe Selmon could come at her like an animal again tonight and make this weekend one for the books. Sharon could not have been having a better day.

Selmon stepped forward into the woods and felt the ground beneath him give like a soft sponge. It was a wonderful, light feeling, like bouncing across the surface of a planet with slightly less gravity than Earth. Looking down he realized two things, he forgot to pack a flashlight, and he was walking on what appeared to be a six inch layer of fine, tightly wound roots that led from the floor into every tree and brought life to an array of foliage and flowers that peered down at him from the lowest branches all the way up to the heights of the canopy. He wondered at the fact that so many plants could thrive in this ethereal darkness. He was hopeless to resist its charms and walked forward to explore and take in every new sight, springing along like a child and forgetting why he was in the forest at all. It was just so beautiful.

As he walked, he sometimes saw something move in amongst the trees, but he was not afraid, surely animals must live here. He kept moving forward, seeing things move, seeing shadows stretch and retract, seeing the canopy appear to give way to sky in the not too distant path only to find it just as dense and enveloping as the canopy before it. He grabbed his pack and searched for the orange tape, realizing he should mark his way, but he could not find it, and it was then he vaguely remembered putting it back. He was suddenly aware that he had traveled quite a distance, and turning to look back was of no use, for everything everywhere looked exactly the same.

Selmon began to sweat, and he could feel the sense of dread that tried to ward him off from the forest yesterday starting to creep back in. He took out the machete and stood still, wondering what he may have to use it against. The shadows continued to stretch and retreat, stretch and retreat as he stood helpless, his eyes unable to see what made them do this. The canopy seemed to get increasingly thicker and denser, although it wouldn’t have seemed possible to be any thicker and denser than it had been in the beginning, and then the wind began to whisper, in a language that sounded old and mystic and free from rules that bound language to decency and normalcy. A hum so deep and loud emerged from the trees that Selmon thought the trees may burst and split into a spray of sawdust and chlorophyll, and suddenly it stopped.

Selmon removed his hands from covering his ears and looked at them, unaware he had even done this. From his left he saw a figure, at first dark like a shadow, but not hidden in darkness, a shadow existing plain as day in the blue and purple light, and as it stood it transformed its dark skin, which could not be seen before, into a pale blue and beautiful flesh. He was unable to tell if the blue was the color of its flesh or just a reflection of the forest. The figure continued to descend out of the shadows it had itself either created or been, and as it was revealed Selmon was astounded to see it was in fact a woman, with a voluptuous body and a soft round and stunning face. She was clothed only in what leaves were nearest her, and the trees and shrubs appeared to work with her as she moved to clothe her just enough for him to not see every piece. The whole time as she moved her gaze never left Selmon, and her eyes sparkled like amethysts even in the darkness. He could not help but be aroused, and she seemed to know it, continuing to progress towards him, peeling away the leaves from her body to reveal new and more enticing parts as she went. He felt himself take one step towards her, immediately understanding that she had never actually moved, but that he had been moving towards her all along, and with this final step she held him, and he took it in just like a child, comfortable and happy in the arms of everything he ever wanted or needed. He fell asleep and dreamed a thousand dreams, each one more fantastic than the last.

Sharon steeped the tea and placed the crumpets and scones she had purchased at the local bakery on a fine china serving tray. She had placed the pastries on a baking sheet hours ago and disposed of the box from the bakery, in order to transfer them onto the serving tray as the ladies watched. They ate the pastries and drank tea and commented on her skills as a baker, all of them impressed except Jessica who was keenly aware of what Sharon had done since she was prone to doing it herself and recognized the scones straight away. Then the conversation turned to Sharon’s plans for the landscaping and she invited them to the yard so that they may visualize it much better and also so they could witness the empty and horrid canvas of a yard she would one day transform. Fully expecting to see Selmon outside she was surprised that he was entirely missing, but also that there was no evidence he had done anything at all. She led the ladies to the spot where the vines were thickest and sparked up a conversation about her plans to exterminate them and replace them with Boug-gain-ville-e-uh, all the while glancing around for any signs Selmon would pop up acting crazy like he did yesterday, but she saw nothing, and so nervously entertained her guests with names of plants she barely knew.

Selmon woke slowly, dreamily and with a smile. As he cleared his mind, he noticed he was in a room, the forest was gone, the voluptuous blue woman was gone, the feeling of unending ecstasy was gone, it was now replaced with that unnerving dread again. He rose from the bed, if it could be called that, as it was more of an interwoven stack of branches that resembled a bird’s nest of the finest quality, but with all of its parts still living.

He began to walk when a voice surrounded him, but not entirely, because this time it had a source and direction, and a figure was standing in the spot that the voice originated. The figure was lithe and nimble seeming, dressed in a cloak that extended from head to toe and made entirely of the darkest green material one could safely call green instead of black. The material appeared to be much like the floor of the forest, dense, soft, and comforting, yet old, and alive, and with a memory of things gone by. Selmon, having now processed this new and equally challenging being, finally realized what the figure had said.

“I am Ren, and what is yours?”, said the figure

“My what?”, stumbled Selmon, “My name? Oh yes my name is Selmon.”

“Selmon. My Ganna has brought you to me and told me your secrets, she is very knowing,” Ren’s voice thundered around the room in a gentle rolling fashion, his demeanor and lips virtually unchanged, and yet producing a tremendous power.

“Your ganna, what is a ganna?”, as he said this a shadow came out of the wall, which was also a tangle of roots, and transformed into the beautiful fair blue woman he had fallen for in the woods. She smiled at him, circled him while touching him with her warm and comforting hand before going back to the wall of roots and becoming a shadow once again, but a shadow that lived and moved now that Selmon could see it for what it was.

“Ganna is my heaven, she is my paradise, and I know you see why, but she is also a devil to someone like you,” Ren smiled and Selmon wished he had not seen it.

Ren’s teeth were whiter than could be imagined in the darkness of this place, as if they had a natural glow, and he had two long fangs that protruded from the top row, exactly like a vampire in a movie, or a saber-toothed cat. They were not the teeth of a man, that much he knew, they were the teeth of something he did not want to know. Selmon began to shake uncontrollably.

“There is no need for fear Selmon, everything that happens will happen, fear or not, if you cannot escape that which you fear then why fear it at all,” Ren’s voice boomed around the room.

Selmon shot him a glance, “I believe you intend to murder me, you and that thing you call Ganna, how am I not supposed to fear that?”

“Oh Selmon, you should not fear death, for it is certain. You, my friend, will die, there is nothing you can do to escape it. I, on the other hand, fear death immensely, and have that right,” Ren smiled again, almost laughing.

“So, you fear death, then know that I will do everything to make your fears come true!” Selmon screamed this, gaining some undeserved confidence.

Ren waved his hand and Ganna appeared again from the shadows, she transformed into the seductress she had shown and moved Selmon back onto the bed. He was unable to resist and began to cry but sucked back the tears, if he was to die, he would not die crying this way. Ren approached the bed, holding Selmon’s survival bag in his pale, long hands. “I want to show you something,” Ren said solemnly. He reached into the bag and pulled out the pruning shears. “When you hold this, does it give you power?”

“Power, what kind of power? N.n.no, it doesn’t give me power? What kind of stupid question is that?” Selmon realized he was no longer under Ganna’s spell, but not by his choosing, he was being restrained by the branches and roots of the bed, and by Ren’s presence.

“I believe I have seen the power it gives you,” said Ren, calmly examining the tool. “It gives you the power to enslave that which you do not own. It gives you the power to get rid of that which you do not want. Without lying, does it not give you that power?” Ren’s eyes became large, dark, rimless circles and immediately Selmon recognized the eyes that he had seen in the vines, and immediately he knew that Ren recognized him as well.

“Hand them to me and I’ll demonstrate,” Selmon said bitterly.

“Hand them to you, yes, if that is your wish then I will show you their power.” Ren said this as he moved swiftly and smoothly, too fast for Selmon to react, and used the shears to slice cleanly through Selmon’s right thumb. Selmon heard the crisp cracking of bones and the snap of tendons as the blades of the shears passed through his thumb. He felt the chill of a stream of blood across his leg as the spray from his thumb saturated his pants.

Selmon screamed until he had no air remaining. Ren was staring at the blood shooting like a fountain from his hand and said, “such a waste of life it is to enslave others.” He took Selmon’s hand and placed it in his mouth, his face changing again and his eyes becoming even darker still as he sucked the blood from Selmon’s body. Selmon felt a calm come over him and the pain from his wound subside. He relaxed and stared up at Ren, who released Selmon’s hand from his mouth.

“I could end your life now Selmon, if I choose to, but I have a task for you.” Ren was now holding Selmon’s amputated thumb in his hand and waving it as he spoke. “There are many people who have found me, and many have seen my forest and my castle, which you unfortunately have not seen from the outside, but it is a castle made of the love of the Earth, and the plants that inhabit it. These people have seen this and have always called me one name, before they really knew me, and it has always been Green Thumb, which I have come to accept. You, my friend, no longer have a thumb, green or otherwise, and I assure you that you are not the first. I know that your kind will attempt to take my land piece by piece and tree by tree, so I am asking you a question. Do you wish to live, and be a slave to my desires, as you have chosen to do to those I love, or do you wish to die and be another corpse I feed entirely to my friends?”

Selmon stared emptily back at Ren, and heard himself mutter with a tearful slobbery tone, “I wish to live, I have always been a slave myself anyway.”

Ren again moved faster than Selmon’s human eyes could notice it, and before he could process what was happening Ren’s long white teeth were firmly planted in his neck. Selmon felt a new force take him over, a growth inside his soul. He looked at Ganna and saw not the shadow she once was, or the voluptuous woman that ensnared him, but a young woman of maybe 19, yet ancient in her eyes, with Druidic symbols tattooed over most of her body. Ren looked much the same, the visage of the dark lord that he is had dropped and he could be seen for what Selmon now understood was who he had been in life. And then the masks were replaced, and Ganna was again the succubus and Ren the vampire, both of them terrifying in their own way, but not to him, as he was now one of them, and he knew his mission without words even being spoken.

Sharon, Jessica, Sarah, and Parker had made their rounds of the yard and were walking in a short procession towards the house when they heard a rustling coming from the vines. The vines opened broadly, revealing a path, as Selmon emerged and waved at them.

“Selmon,” Sharon nervously snickered and began walking towards where he stood, “where have you been?”

“A place you must see, a place where the plants are the most beautiful you’ve ever seen,” Selmon said and waved them into the woods.

“We aren’t exactly dressed to walk into a jungle, dear,” Sharon answered.

“I can see it from here,” said Parker, “I can see blue and purple light among those trees. What kind of place is this?” As she said this all of the women looked into the woods excitedly and started ambling in, one after the other, all of them remarking on the bouncy nature of the trail and the denseness of the canopy. As they walked in Selmon hurried ahead of them and they attempted to follow but one by one began to break away from the group until each of them was alone and calling for the others, but no one could hear.

Selmon, though, could see them all, separated by mere feet from each other, with the trees and shrubs moving gently to keep them from each other. One by one he watched as Ganna approached them, and for each of them became the thing they wanted most to see. To no surprise to him she appeared to Sharon just as she appeared to him, a beautiful, voluptuous woman, and Sharon was completely entranced and swept into her arms to sleep, just as Selmon had done before. Selmon and Ganna collected the four women and took them to the castle of Ren. They laid each of them in their own beds made of branches, and flowers, and soft roots.

One by one Ren approached them and gently woke them, and he removed from each a thumb, and he drank from each his fill of blood, but he did not offer them a choice, when the time came and they were weak and relaxed in their minds that this was to be the end, and that Ganna was to be their heaven, and their paradise that lured them to their doom, Ren drove his teeth deep into their throats, but did not hold back, instead draining them and pulling away from their bodies with the flesh of their necks still firm in the grip of his jaw. It was at this moment the beds grew into them, and whatever remained was taken in by the roots of the bed itself, and the flowers bloomed, and the leaves grew dark with blood.

Ren saved Sharon for last, and invited Selmon in to see her face clearly. He took her thumb quickly but violently, and Selmon watched her scream, a small part of him sad for who she was when they first met, and a large part of him uncaring for what she had deliberately become. He watched her recoil in horror as Ren sucked the blood from her hand and then as she relaxed when he was through and the pain had left her body. It was then that Ren turned to him and offered him the final blow.

Ren looked as himself for a moment, the young man, and said to him, “Ask her, as I asked you, if she prefers to be a slave to you, or if she prefers to die and be a part of this forest forever, this is my gift to you, for you were always her slave in life, it should be that she should be your slave in death.”

Ren handed Selmon her hand and he looked at Sharon, and he asked her with every bit of the him that was left and not replaced by something else, “Do you wish to die, and be a part of this forest, or do you wish to be my slave in this place, and live eternally with me in this way?”

Sharon looked at him, her eyes swollen now with tears, and said to him, “I would rather be a part of this forest, I would rather die.”

Selmon opened his mouth and exposed his new bright fangs, impossibly white and glistening even without a hint of light striking them. He brought his fangs down to her neck and felt for the first time the power they held. He felt the electricity of her nerves as they sent messages up and down her spine and he felt them start to become increasingly slower and slower. The pulse of the blood entering his mouth, a steady rush at first, was lessoned with every moment his fangs remained. He felt the very life seep from her and felt it as it was only seconds from its end, and then he pulled away. He pulled his fangs gently from her dying body and opened his eyes to see what his new power had done.

Sharon opened her eyes, unsure of what had happened but knowing she was not entirely dead. “What have you done, what has happened?”

Selmon looked at her in a way he had never done. Ren stood over him too, Ganna in his arms, both smiling, knowing.

“Only a slave in life would choose to be a slave in death. So, I have given you the same choice you gave me before, none.” Selmon grinned, and laughed as he backed away from the bed, satisfied with what he had done for the first time in his short existence.

“Uubuhgh,” Sharon muttered despondently.

The End