The velveteen cloak of darkness fell quickly over the small graveyard. There was no light to be found other than the blood moon hanging directly over the grave where a young girl lay unconscious.
It was Halloween; a night when most people sought to stay away from cemeteries. Although everyone claimed not to believe in ghosts, vampires, werewolves or zombies, few were willing to take a chance that they could be real.
The girl tied up on the grave would not have come to her location on her own. Sadly, she wasn’t given the option. She was drugged and brought there without permission. As she finally stirred, the images of her capture made their way to the surface of her mind. It was of hooded figures dressed in black. One of them injected her with something. That particular memory made the scream she’d long held dormant in her throat finally escape into the night air.
With the scream, the pretty brunette jerked awake. There was another memory. It was something she could not yet grasp. Her immediate problem, however, was how to gain her freedom.
The low chanting that surrounded her coaxed her deep blue eyes to open and then shut once more. The hooded figures were still there but she was no longer in her bedroom. Chantal Le Croix felt the cold earth beneath her uncovered legs and arms.
Chantal continued to struggle although she suspected the effort was pointless. She reached out her bound hands and touched cold marble. It was only then she realized for certain where she was. The knowledge made her heart skip a few beats.
‘What am I doing here?’ The question played over and over in her mind along with another. ‘What do they want with me?’
Whatever it was, Chantal knew it wasn’t anything good. She ventured another look at her captors. That’s when she first saw the knife. It was long – about 10″ in length. The blade appeared to be made out of gold. It was oddly shaped as well; almost round in nature at the hilt and slowly narrowing to a very sharp pointed tip.
The hand that held the knife was feminine. There was something about the hand that was familiar. Chantal let loose of another blood curdling scream as she realized what it was. It was the wedding rings. They belonged to her mother.
Suddenly everything snapped into place. Chantal remembered feeling odd almost immediately after eating the sandwich her mother made her for dinner. She was light-headed and dizzy. That’s why she’d gone to bed early. It surprised her when she fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.
Chantal’s next memory was the one of several hooded figures surrounding her bed. Her eyes grew wide once she saw them. Her first instinct had been flight but the effort was futile. She was caught almost immediately. Next, a needle was stabbed deep into the flesh of her thigh. She passed out almost instantly. Her next memory was the one she was now experiencing.
“Why mother?” Chantal finally found her voice and called out to the woman holding the blade. The figure moved closer, holding the knife directly above the heart of her flesh and blood. With the other hand, she pushed back her hood and smiled. “It’s not what you think,” she promised.
“So you aren’t going to kill me?” Chantal bored an angry glaze into the woman who had given her life and now appeared ready to take it away.
“No, dear, we aren’t going to kill you.” The woman’s flaming red hair looked amazing against the moon’s equally flaming color. Chantal couldn’t help but think she never looked more beautiful.
“It will only hurt for a moment,” the redhead whispered. As the chanting resumed, she raised the knife over her daughter once again.
“I hate you!” Chantal pushed out with as much venom as she could muster. “If I survive this, I never want to see you again. Is that clear?”
Her mother’s hand wavered slightly and Chantal wondered if she was getting through to her. But then the unthinkable happened. Her mother plunged the knife deep into her lower abdomen.
Chantal let loose of one final scream before unconsciousness hit her a third time. Only then did the chanting stop as the girl’s life blood poured onto the grave beneath her.
“Oh, but you will,” the redhead said as she caressed the head of her daughter.
The warmth of the morning sun coming through the window woke Chantal. She smiled at the clear blue skies she could see outside. It was going to be a beautiful day.
As Chantal sat up in her bed, a sharp pain hit her in the abdomen. She found it necessary to lie down again.
“You hurt yourself pretty badly last night,” Chantal’s mother chirped as she moved into her daughter’s bedroom with a breakfast tray. “How many times have I told you not to run with scissors in your hand? No worries, though. The doctor said, the blade missed all of your vital organs.”
Sitting down next to Chantal, the woman reached out and smooth away a few fly away hairs. “Now drink your milk too,” she encouraged as she rose to leave the room.
‘How can I not remember stabbing myself with scissors?’ The question rolled over and over in Chantal’s mind. “Oh well,” she said out loud. “No harm, no foul.” With that, she dove into the scrambled eggs in front of her.
In her own room, Chantal’s mother glided into the adjoining bathroom and closed the door, locking it behind her. Then reaching into her pocket, the witch took out a small vial of blood.
“Every twenty-five years you must drink the blood of your family. Only then can you remain immortal.” The words echoed in the woman’s mind as she opened the vial and drank its dark contents. “Here’s to another 25 years,” she laughed out loud. “The next time I drink it will be my granddaughter’s blood.”