Scratches on an Attic Wall

Vodka doesn’t burn my throat like it apparently does for humans but it still causes a satisfying sting, and more importantly dizzies my head enough to make it worth drinking. Ray stares at me with an avid expression as I drink, and the moment I lower the bottle he snatches it from my hand and takes a swig - then spits it straight back out.

"That’s disgusting!"

I roll my eyes and grab it back. Sure, it isn’t the nicest taste, but it’s far better than the gloopy, metallic blood from half an hour ago. He shrugs, pulling out a beer from his bag instead and continuing to chomp on a tattered rabbit carcass. Sharpened teeth tear easily through the flesh and my stomach turns at the accompanying sounds. I swallow some more vodka. He can have his raw meat, and I can have my vodka. Everyone’s happy - except the pet rabbit’s owner.

"Lester?"

"Yeah?" I reply, leaning back against a moth-eaten sofa. Something starts wriggling inside it, but the moment I slam my hand back it stops.

"So… I was in this human’s room today-"

"Ray!" I scold, kicking him solidly with one booted foot. He snarls half-heartedly and pushes it away, crunching on the bones of the rabbit then licking his fingers before continuing.

"I’m sorry, I thought I smelt something good! And I can’t always stay away from humans, it’s just not feasible-“

"I told you why-"

"I know I know, but that’s not the point. The point," he pauses for emphasis, "is that this kid had a mirror. And… I forgot."

My irritation that he’d ignored my instructions again faded into sympathy. He shifts until he’s lying on the dusty floorboards, staring up at the ceiling and angled so he’s not looking at me. 

"It’s been a year."

"I know."

"A year - how much do people change in a year? What about in two years - three? Ten!"

"You’ll get used to it after a while," I murmur into the vodka bottle, taking another sip. 

"Wait - Lester!" Ray sits suddenly and spins around to stare at me. His empty beer bottle goes flying across the room - I hadn’t noticed him drink it so fast. "Do you even remember what you look like?”

Annoyance rears at the stupid question, but I push it away. It’s not his fault. 

"I was five," I snap. "Do you remember what you looked like when you were five?"

"Well… you must remember something," he replies, shaking his head in confusion. "Were you short, or tall? Was your hair the same?"

I shrug. Momentarily curious, I reach for a strand of hair and try and pull it in front of my eyes. I think it’s dark, but it’s not long enough to see. I release it with a sigh and slide further down the back of the sofa.

"It’s brown," Ray says, staring at me with those wide eyes that he normally uses to try and get his own way - but not this time. This time, he’s different. "And… and you’re not really short or tall. Average, I guess. And your eyes are - uh -" He pauses to lean in, far too close for my liking, then announces, "Blue. Did you know there’s a scar on your nose?"

I reach up to press tentative fingers against the bridge of my nose, trying to feel it. 

"It’s on the side - no, the left side. Yes, just there! It’s a triangle."

I can’t feel it, but I’m not too disappointed. Ray chirps up quickly again when I look at him, realising I’m waiting for more. I’ve never had such a clear picture of myself before, and a somewhat emotional wave of gratitude rises in me. It must be the vodka.

"Your nose is kinda big - sorry. And your lips are really thin and your fangs poke out a bit. Ha, this is like describing something to the police, like if they want to catch someone who did a crime!"

"Like eat someone’s pet rabbit?" I question with a smirk. He rolls his eyes but settles down on the floor again, chin resting on his joined hands.

"Come on, me now! Have I changed much? I used to be buff."

“Buff?" I snort - and his indignant expression just forces the laughter out of me. 

"Yes! I played football!" he protests. "Aren’t I anymore?" he asks in dismay.

"I guess," I admit, still chuckling. I can’t tell if it’s Ray or the alcohol that’s making me laugh, but I don’t care. When was the last time I laughed? "Okay, so you look like a kid still. Sorry. Still don’t believe you’re fourteen."

"Fifteen!" Ray growls.

"Fifteen," I agree with a patronising nod, making him scowl more. "And maybe if you cut that hair you’d look older. It’s all in your eyes, I don’t get how you see. And you need to stop growing.”

The sulking vanishes as swiftly as his beer had. “I wasn’t sure if I’d still grow like this! I thought I had though! You’ll have to do this again next year, tell me if I’ve grown more!”

I glance around the dusty, cobwebbed attic, then climb to my feet and gesture at him. He jumps up, and I pull him over to the side so he’s standing with his back against a wall. My head is spinning a little and I pause for a moment before reaching over his stupid puffy blonde hair. My nails are easily sharp enough to dig into the wood right above his head, marking his height. Ray pulls away but tugs on my arm immediately so we switch places. I hear the scratching sound as he marks my height, and a distant memory of a woman leaning over me to do the same disappears the moment I get a glimpse of it. I stand back from the wall and feel Ray’s arm swing around my shoulders as we stare at the two uneven gouges in the wood - Ray’s worryingly close to my own height. 

"This time next year, we’re coming back. And I promise - I’m gonna be taller than you."