Leigh was born and raised in the beautiful garden county of Wicklow, Ireland. She is the mother and proud protector of two wonderful boys, a black Labrador and a three legged cat that hates people. She is also the bane of her long-suffering partner James' life. Leigh has always lived in the dark, with a fierce love for all things morbid and macabre. A voracious reader from a young age, she always knew she wanted to write and it made sense to write about the genre she has loved for so long. She cites Ronald Malfi, Kealan Patrick Burke, and of course, Stephen King as her favourite authors and sources of inspiration. She is an advocate for mental health, having struggled with her own demons for many years. They're not quite friends yet but there's definitely some kind of truce in place.
Click HERE to follow me on Instagram for updates and new writing projects!
SWEET SIXTEEN
by
Leigh Kenny
Thunder rumbled in the distance and the rain pelted down. I was soaked through, my pretty blue dress stuck to my skin. People rushed by me, relieved that their umbrellas provided a barrier between us. The awning I stood beneath provided little to no protection from the squall, and my teeth chattered as I rubbed my arms, trying desperately to generate some warmth. Warmth was a distant memory for me.
The black town car pulled alongside me slowly, its headlights refracting on the wet asphalt. The back window lowered silently, and my own reflection was replaced with that of a man. He was attractive in a cold sort of way, and he smiled as he leaned towards the open window. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“What’s a pretty young thing like you doing out here alone on a night like this?” he asked.
“It’s my birthday tomorrow,” I replied in a small voice. “I’m turning sixteen.”
His wolfish grin widened.
“Sweet sixteen!” He whistled through perfect white teeth. “We can’t have you wandering around in that weather so close to your birthday. Hop in, I’ll take care of you.”
I glanced around nervously but nobody paid any attention to us. The door opened just wide enough for me to slide in. The cold leather, coupled with my already sodden dress, was uncomfortable to sit upon and I fidgeted. The man laid a gentle hand upon my leg, and something soured in my stomach.
We rode in silence, stopping briefly outside a grand building.
“Around the back, Josef!” The man rapped on the glass partition, annoyance in his voice.
I was ushered from the car and through a door to a plush, private elevator.
The elevator opened into a huge apartment, its baroque décor resplendent in hues of scarlet, maroon and black. It took my breath away.
With wide eyes, I allowed him to take my hand and lead me to a door at the end of the darkened hallway. The door opened into a beautiful bedroom, the décor from the rest of the apartment carrying through, but in deep shades of green and gold.
I swallowed heavily as the lock clicked on the door, and stood rooted to the spot, my arms wrapped protectively around me. The man sat on the edge of the bed before me and reached out, tracing a finger lightly along my cold skin.
“Your skin is just beautiful,” he said, “like porcelain, and just as delicate, I’m sure. You are beautiful.”
He shrugged his jacket from his shoulders and loosened his tie.
“I have a birthday gift for you,” he said as his eyes roamed hungrily across my young body. “I’m going to give you the gift of womanhood. Happy Birthday.”
And with that, he lunged forward, throwing me to the bed. I screamed and fought, bucking beneath him.
“Ssshhh…” he whispered in my ear, “Don’t fight it.”
But I could hear the excitement in his voice.
I stilled immediately, stopped fighting him. He loosened his grip and lifted himself to look at me in surprise.
“Why are you smiling?” he asked, the confusion evident on his face.
“Because its my birthday tomorrow. I’m turning sixteen.”
I threw him aside, pinning him beneath me. My fangs slid into view as I threw my head back.
He screamed. Oh, how he screamed.
Suddenly the predator had become the prey, and I giggled at the thought before latching onto his neck, the sweet, hot blood flowing into my mouth. I guzzled greedily, stopping only to roll the crimson liquid around my tongue as I savoured the taste. My sustenance. His life force.
He released a final cry as I ripped out his throat. After bleeding him dry, I padded softly to the bathroom. I had selected a new dress from his closet, a cerise pink article in a soft velvety fabric. It fit my small frame perfectly. It seemed I wasn’t his first, but I would definitely be his last.
Clean once more, not a trace of blood remaining, I stole through the shadowed building and back out into the night. The darkness welcomed me like an old friend.
I would celebrate my sixteenth birthday tomorrow for the two-hundredth year in a row.