Ghost

Hello.

My name is Rory Samuel Morgan. Today, I died. I don't know if you can read this, and if you can, I don't know how. As I type this, my body is on the floor next to me, a pool of blood circulating my head. I don't know how I died. From my body's position, it looks like I fell off the sofa. But that wouldn't kill me, would it?

When I woke up, I didn't know I was dead. I woke up, lying on the floor, asking myself how I got there. I got up and realised I was in the living room. I turned on the spot and saw a strange door where the door to the conservatory usually is. It was ornate and wooden, pine by the look of it. It had a brass door knob to the side of it. I pushed it open and this really bright, white light bathed me. I think instinctively knew what it was, but I was scared. I reached out and closed the door. This strange energy sort of exploded and threw me back. When I looked at the door again, the same old conservatory door was back. I opened it and stepped into the conservatory, the same as it had always been.

I looked in the mirror. It was empty. I gazed at the mirror in shock, waving my arms around. I turned to run towards the mirror in the hallway when I saw something else in the corner of my eye. A body. I dropped to the floor and realised it was me. I didn't have a pulse, and my skin was cold as ice. It dawned on me what had happened. Teary-eyed, I sprung to my feet and grabbed my mobile phone. I tried to take a picture of myself, but when I looked, it was just the television and potted plant behind me. I ran to the hall and looked in the mirror there too. Nothing. The same in the bathroom mirror. I ran back to the living room and picked up my phone. I tried to record myself speaking, but when I played it back, nothing.

I threw myself onto the sofa, taking in what had happened. My hand touched the keyboard of the laptop. The screensaver disappeared, and a letter L appeared on the Word document I had open. I could type. I could touch things, like pick up my phone and press buttons. I could open the conservatory door. So I must have some physical manifestation. Right?

Vampire

How the fuck do people do it? I've been like this nearly two months now. I've been told that people manage to go clean, and have been doing it for years. Legend tells of a few vampires who have never even tasted blood. Of course, in this community, they're regarded as pathetic, weak individuals, to be ridiculed. Wish I could get some pointers from them.

I suppose I'm not too bad though. I mean, I haven't actually killed anyone. Yet. Just let other people do the killing. Go into the city any Friday night, there's bound to be a murder or two. Once the murderer's gone, have a drink, then ring the police from a payphone and make yourself scarce. That's still only a weekly thing. About a month ago, I was so weak from lack of blood, I collapsed. When I woke up, I realised I'd cut my arm when I fell. The smell was glorious. Without thinking, I drank heavily from the cut; I drank my own blood. When you first think about it, it's revolting. But it keeps me going. And it's harmless to everyone. Except myself.

My arms and hands are covered in half-healed cuts and scrapes now. I refrain from doing it for as long as I possibly can, but sometimes the urge gets too much. I slice open a part of my hand with my fangs and drink my own blood. Hurts like a bitch, but it's better that than killing. I don't drink too much, just enough to keep me going. I've noticed recently that I've been able to go longer without blood. To begin with, it was a couple of hours, but now, I do it maybe once a day, once every two days if I can manage it.

I haven't told anyone about my condition, although there's this guy at college, Tom Harvey, who keeps looking at me funny. Maybe it's because I do it back; he doesn't half stink. My mum's asked about the cuts on my arms, but I just told her I fell into the rose bush in the garden. I think she bought it. I can't keep that up forever though. Maybe I'll have to start feeding from the less easily seen area. My upper arm or shoulder maybe.

If I am ever to kill someone though. I have a person in mind - the person who made me this way. Two months ago, I had the day off college for staff training. I guess these two had seen my parents drive off to work and assumed the house was empty. They certainly weren't making any attempt to be quiet. They woke me up as they called to each other, searching the house for anything valuable. I suppose even vampires need money. Anyway, one of them came into my room and saw me sitting up in bed, having just dialled 999.

"Hang up," he whispered to me menacingly. "And throw me the phone."

I'd done as he had asked. He threw the phone to the floor and stamped on it. His friend followed him into the room and saw me. He'd grinned and pushed the first one towards me. I was shaking. The man snarled at me. His eyes had turned pitch black, soulless holes of nothing. He bared great, white, razor-sharp teeth at me. I couldn't move. What a way to go, I remember thinking. Sat in bed in pyjamas, ripped to shreds by some tramp vampire burglars. The thing told me to close my eyes. I did so and braced myself. I felt a whoosh of air, and a gnashing of teeth as the vampire plunged its white-hot fangs deep into my jugular. I screamed out in pain, crying, feeling my warm, red blood spurting out onto the bed and walls, staining them forever. Tears streamed down my face as the vampire, with expert precision, kept me on the brink of death, prolonging the pain. Eventually, I blacked out.

Then, I woke up. I was in my bed. The bloodstains were gone from the bed and wall, and everywhere else. Had it been a dream? I wish it had.

Werewolf

I had to get out of that hospital. I'd been in an animal attack recently, I'd had blood gushing out of scratches on my back, and I'd nearly lost my arm. I'd been out camping in the forest when a noise woke me up. Leaving my friends sleeping by my side, I remember creeping outside to see what the disturbance was. The noise was louder out there. It sounded like a growling. I was scared. Our campfire had gone out and my torch was in the tent, so I couldn't see a thing. A great roar sounded behind me. I'd swivelled to be confronted with an almighty dog, a wolf as black as the night. I turned to run, having completely forgotten about my friends in the tent. The wolf slashed with its paw, catching my back. I screamed out in pain, attempting to hit the wolf away from me from my position on the ground. There was commotion in the tent as my friends awoke. The wolf bore down upon me.

"Oi! Dog!" a voice had shouted. The wolf was less than a foot from my face. It turned to the left at the sound. I followed its gaze. There was a man there. The man's eyes turned pitch-black and, when he grinned, the teeth he showed were enormous and incredibly sharp. The wolf barked ferociously and charged at the man, who turned and ran into the woods.

That was two weeks ago. I'd collapsed from blood-loss soon after, and my friends had managed to get me to hospital. I'd awoken about three days later, with large scars on my back, but otherwise okay. The doctors wanted to keep me in for a few more days. But on more than one occasion, I'd caught people glaring at me out of the corner of their eyes, some smiling venomously, some simply glaring at me with contempt. One had walked past my hospital bed muttering what sounded like "Fucking lycos..." Eventually, I'd managed to get released, after convincing doctors that I was fine. It still hurt to stand up straight, but I was sick of the looks.

Another two weeks later, I'm back at college. To some, I'm pretty much the hero. I survived a vicious wolf attack, and have the battle scars to prove it! But there's one girl, Emily Phillips, who isn't so impressed. She's giving me a lot of strange looks, quite similar to some of the ones I got in the hospital. Anyway, the first day I arrived back at college, I discovered that a guy called Rory Morgan had been killed in his house recently. Didn't know the bloke well, but he was a good guy. Too bad.

It's been nearly a month since the attack. Surely I should be feeling better by now. So why am I feeling worse than ever?