My Wee Mate

2 - Crimson

Fraser

The dripping of water is a constant thing I have become accustomed to. At times it blends into the background, other times I count the echoey plops out loud. Plunk, plunk, plunk. I crave the senseless monotony as my brain deteriorates.

I lay on my back, staring at the crusted ceilings that look as though they've been here since the dawn of time. That ceiling may be as old as I am.

Rocks dig into my back, pebbles and dust coating my skin. I do not belong here.

My fangs prick my lip, hoping to have any taste of blood that I can get. My starved belly gurgles and groans in despair. I demand it to be quiet, craving some sort of control in this forsaken place. The burning urge in my gums to sink my teeth into anything is insistent, it's my constant companion aside from the water drops splattering the cobblestones.

Damn humans. They can't leave well enough alone. They absolutely can not handle what they don't understand. That is the way it's always been, I don't know why I thought that could ever change.

I close my eyes, the darkness comforting. For whatever reason, the human that trapped me down here thought leaving me in the dark was an appropriate punishment. I chuckle at the memory. I see better in the pitch-black.

A scrapping clunk tickles my ears, and I perk up. Something new. Something to disrupt the hours of nothingness.

Someone is coming down here. I set up a scene of false comfort. I put my hands behind my head, put my feet up and close my eyes with a slight smile on my lips.

"What do you have to smile about, monster?" The words are spat at me, but I don't move a muscle, not even at the preposterous insult slung my way.

"I am no monster. I've never hurt anyone."

"Lies!" Laird Sinclair yells, his voice is gravelly, and his round face is likely red from anger.

I crack an eye open to check, and I'm right. The stout laird is fuming, his skin inflamed and his neck bulging as he clutches a torch alight with flame. Silly, delicate humans and their light scourses. They can't go anywhere at night without them.

Going back to my earlier position, eyes closed with a casual sigh, I revel in the fact that it is indeed night. I know this based on my perfect internal clock. I love that it's night. I am stronger at night, even despite being weakened by starvation and lack of moonlight. And this man, this human male with chubby fingers and a god complex, he is weakened by the night. He relies on his little stick and flame like a caveman.

He may think that he is the one with the upper hand, but my strength gives me ease down here.

"Why do you seem so pleased with yourself?"

I don't answer him. I wouldn't dare allow him that satisfaction. A Laird he may be, but I am also a laird of my own clam. I too have had to fight to defend my title. He's not the only one with authority here. I've been called Laird since before his great-great-grandfather could walk.

He grumbles, rustling with his clothing as he swears under his breath.

"I brought you something, monster."

That piques my interest.

After more fumbling noises, the smell of blood attacks my nostrils and grabs hold of all of my senses. I dart up. My feet meet the floor in a low crouch, my palms flat on the solid ground as my fangs slide out of my gums against my will.