Creature of the Night

That boy was sixteen years-old when he died-when he died and I was born. But, first, let me tell you about him:

Jonathan Muir, a loner, had few friends-not because he was unattractive. To the contrary, a slender boy, shorter than his peers, he was almost too pretty. If he hadn’t kept his dark brown hair clipped close to his head, he could have been easily mistaken for a girl.

Although he had always kept to himself-preferring the worlds of his imagination to the mundane world in which others lived-he had experienced no conflict with other boys until he had entered high school. There his life was made miserable-particularly by one boy, a senior, the star of the football team, Roger Waite, who was twice his size.

Roger, assisted by members of the football team and others who sought to curry his favor, had continually picked on Jon, knocking the books and papers from his hands in the hallway, scattering them-tripping and shoving him-teasing him by calling him a fag, even though Jon had never done anything that had indicated a sexual preference for boys-but, Jon had never indicated a preference for girls, either.

Actually, Jon had no interest in sex. Although his sexual organs had developed normally, and he had gone through puberty several years before, he had never masturbated; he’d never so much as had a wet dream or awakened with an erection. He was in love, but with a love that transcended sex. It caused no stirring in his groin-only in his soul; and, he wasn’t in love with a person-but with a dream-a dream he’d had when he was younger-a dream he continued to have.

There was a boy in his dream-a boy, yet not a boy. Although a boy in size and in appearance, he was more than a boy-perhaps more than human. Although, at first glance, he appeared to be no older than Jon, when Jon looked in his eyes, he seemed to be ancient-old beyond reason. And, Jon loved him-beyond reason. He wanted to be possessed by the boy in his dream, but not sexually. He wanted to give him his life-his soul. Yet, as real as the boy seemed, he was but a dream. He had to be a dream. A creature such as he couldn’t really exist; although, he sometimes seemed so real that Jon thought he must be losing all touch with reality. But, how could Jon have explained that to the boys who were calling him “fag?”

Jon couldn’t understand why Roger went to such lengths to torment him, but I, with my greater intellect and insight, know that it was because it was Roger who was the homosexual, although he wouldn’t admit it-especially to himself. He hated Jon because he also loved and wanted him. If he had ever admitted such feelings to himself, then he would have had to admit also that he was queer. That-he could never do.

One day, as Jon was walking home from school, Roger and three of his friends, passing him in Roger’s car, stopped, jumped from the car and surrounded him. “Hey, fag,” said Roger, while shoving him. “Where you going? Look at him, boys. Did you ever see such a fag? Look at his fucking pants-how high he wears them. Come on, sissy boy. Show us that you’re really a boy. Fight one of us. You can even fight Richard.”

Although a hanger-on, not a football player, but one who kissed up to Roger and the other boys, Richard was smaller than they, but still inches taller and pounds heavier than Jon. “Yeah,” he said, punching Jon on the shoulder, “Come on, you little pussy. Fight me.”

“I don’t want to fight,” replied Jon. “Look, you guys have already hurt me. Isn’t that enough? Why don’t you leave me alone? I’m not doing anything to you.” Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes.

“Look,” said Roger. “The baby’s gonna cry. Come on. Get him in the car. We’ll take him with us.”

Richard and one of the other boys, grabbing Jon, shoved him into the back seat of the car between them. “What are we going to do with him?” asked Richard.

Glancing back over his shoulder, Roger answered, “We’ll take him out to Johnson Creek. No one will bother us there.”

Jon had never been to Johnson Creek, but he had heard of it. Deserted during the day, it was a favorite parking place at night for couples from his high school. Frightened, he wanted out of the car, but, stuck between Richard and the other boy, escape was impossible. Thirty minutes later they arrived at the creek.

Pulling Jon from the car, Richard asked, “What now? What are we going to do with him?”

“Take off your clothes, fag,” said Roger to Jon.

Jon, glancing up at Roger-being held by Richard and the other boy, he had been looking at the ground-shook his head. Roger slapped him. “I said, take off your clothes.” He hit him again. “Let him go.”

Glancing around when Richard and the other boy, who Jon had discovered was called Sam, released him, he wanted to run, but knew that there was no chance of escape. The other boys blocked any chance of escape, and they could all, with the possible exception of Richard, run faster than he. When Roger raised his hand to strike him again, Jon pulled his T shirt off over his head-then crossed his arms, placing his hands on the opposite shoulders, covering himself the best he could.

Roger, grabbing hold of Jon’s right wrist, pulled his arm away from his body, revealing his chest. Hairless, it was pale and thin, having never been exposed to the sun. Not liking the sun, Jon had rarely exposed his body to it. He had never been swimming. His nipples, with large areolae, protruded from his otherwise flat chest. Pinching one savagely between his thumb and forefinger, Roger said, “Look, he’s got tits like a girl.”

Continuing to pinch and twist Jon’s teat, Roger, who, hidden by his baggy pants, had an erection, said, “Now, take off your pants.”

When, although grimacing with pain, Jon shook his head, Roger gestured to Sam and Richard. “Strip him.”

Jon turned to run, but was grabbed by Richard and Sam, who, each holding Jon’s arms with one hand, unbuttoned his pants with the other and pushed his pants and boxers down to his ankles, revealing his small cock and balls. Uncircumcised, his penis hid beneath its shroud. A full inch of foreskin extended beyond its head.

The other boys, as were most boys in the southern state in which they lived, had been circumcised. They had seen few uncut boys such as Jon. “Shit,” said Roger, “Look at that.” Then, to Jon, he asked, “Is that a cock-or is it an inverted pussy?”

His face, burning with shame, Jon stared at the ground, refusing to answer.

“What do you think, boys?” Roger asked the others. “Do you think there’s a cock under all that skin-or is it a pussy. Do you think that he’s really a girl?”

Taking it as a serious question, Richard answered, “Well, he does have balls-although they’re not much.”

While Sam and Richard held him, Roger pulled Jon’s pants and shorts off over his shoes, leaving him naked except for his sneakers. “OK, let’s see you beat off. If you beat off, we’ll let you go.”

When Jon did nothing, Roger asked, “You do know how to jack off, don’t you?”

It wasn’t that Jon didn’t know how. He had heard the other boys at school talk about beating off enough that he knew how it was done-but he had never had the desire to beat off. Somehow, he felt that doing so would betray his lover-the boy in his dreams. When he made no move to beat off, Roger said to Richard, “You do it for him, Richard.”

“Shit, I don’t want to touch that thing.”

“Do it, Richard.” Roger threatened him with a gesture from his balled up fist.

From behind Jon, where he held his arm pushed up behind his back, Richard reached around and grabbed Jon’s limp cock, pulling the foreskin back until the head of his cock was revealed.

“Shit,” said Sam, who was holding Jon’s other arm, "he does have a cock under all that skin."

As, with obvious distaste, Richard continued to pump Jon’s cock, it grew beneath his fingers until its head was fully revealed. Even when fully hard, it was no longer than about four inches and had a slender shaft.

Although he fought the feeling, Jon felt the pressure build up in his groin, then watched in horror as his seed spurted from his cock onto the ground. It was his first orgasm-and he hated it. Feeling that he had somehow betrayed his lover, he hated himself-and he hated the others for what they had done-for what they had made him do.

When they released him, he collapsed to the ground, sitting in the dirt amongst his crumpled clothes, crying, the last drops of his come, matted in his pubic hair. They left him there.

Hours later-not until dark-Jon put on his clothes and began his long walk home. He never made it.

There was no moon that night. The only light came from the stars and from the faint glow of the lights of the city in the distance. When he came around a sharp turn in the dirt road on which he was walking, he saw someone standing in the middle of the road about fifty yards from him. Although it was dark, he knew who it was; it was the boy from his dream.

Beset by conflicting emotions, Jon stood, unable to move. He wanted to run to him-but was afraid that, being a dream, he would disappear if he did. Then-there was what had just happened. Was he here to reject Jon for having betrayed him? Jon felt love, but he also felt guilt-and fear-fear not only that he would lose the boy, or be rejected him, but also a deeper, more primal fear-that of a prey being stalked by a predator.

As if reading his mind, the boy said, in a voice that seemed to come from all around Jon-or perhaps from within his head, “It’s all right, Jon. I know that you didn’t want to do it. Besides, it means nothing. It’s not your sex that I want.”

Then, the boy was beside him. One moment he had been fifty yards away; the next, he was standing next to Jon with his arm around his shoulder. “I love you,” said Jon. “I’ve always loved you, but I thought you were a dream.”

“No, Jon, I’m not a dream. I’ve been in your dreams-in your mind-but, I’m not a dream. I’ve been watching you since you were born. I knew that you would some day be mine.”

“I’m yours. Anything you want from me, you can have. You can make love to me. You can do anything to me.”

“I intend to make love to you, Jon, but not the way you think. I couldn’t make love to you that way-even if I wished.”

With that, he bent his head to Jon’s neck and bit deeply into his jugular vein. Jon’s hot blood gushed into the boy’s mouth.

Jon felt no pain-only love and an exhilaration that far exceeded that momentary twinge he had felt when he had ejaculated. Orgasm, upon orgasm washed over his body. It was as though every cell in his body was having a separate orgasm-yet he was dying; and he knew he was dying-but didn’t care. If his dying gave pleasure-if his blood gave substance-to this creature who was drinking, not only his blood, but his life, so be it.

The next thing he remembered, he was lying in the dirt of the road with the creature bent over him, but the boy was no longer drinking his blood. Too much of it was already gone, however. He knew he was dying. Looking up at the face above him, he smiled, happy to have given his life for the boy-the boy of his dreams.

But, as his consciousness faded, the boy slit his own wrist and held it to Jon’s mouth. Greedily, Jon drank.

He felt the blood slide down his throat into his stomach-then spread throughout his body until it struck his brain-where it exploded into bright lights and patterns- brighter than any ever seen by anyone on LSD. Then the pain began. It started in his stomach-then spread throughout his body-excruciating pain-the pain of death. Then nothing. Jon was dead.

Days-or perhaps weeks-later I was born. I awoke in the body that had been Jon’s. I was Jon-yet I wasn’t Jon. I had his memories, but I was more-and less than Jon. Jon had been human. I was not. The boy was beside me when I awoke.

I awoke gasping for air-but not because I needed it. Neither my body-nor my lungs had any need of air. It was my memory-Jon’s memory-that thought I needed to breathe. I only needed to breathe to talk-to make sounds with my throat.

Without asking I knew his name-Armand. Without speaking, we talked. His words appeared in my head.

“Am I dead?” I asked.

“Do you feel dead?”

“No, I feel more alive than I have ever felt.” Looking around, I saw that we were in a small cave. “But, I’m different. I’m not the same that I was.” And, I wasn’t. I felt a strength, a vitality, and an intelligence that I had not previously had. Remembering that night-the night Jon had died-the night Armand had drunk my blood-the night I had drunk his, I asked, “Are you a vampire-am I?”

He laughed, not with his mouth, but with his mind. “Vampire-I don’t know what that means. I guess we resemble-in some ways-the creatures in the old vampire stories, but we’re different, too. We are creatures of the night. The sun will kill us. Even a full moon is extremely uncomfortable.”

“What about crosses and crucifixes?”

He really found that humorous. “Why should they harm us? They’re just objects-made of wood, plastic, or metal.”

“Aren’t we creatures of Satan?”

“Satan-if he exists, I’ve never met him, but, I’ve never met God, either. I doubt the existence of either of them.

“What are we, then?”

“A symbiosis.”

“What do you mean, a symbiosis?”

“We’ve become a symbiotic combination of our original bodies and a virus or parasite that now inhabits it. It has permeated every cell, enhancing each of them-including those in our brains.”

“Does everyone you bite turn into one of us?”

“No,” he replied, “Until now, everyone I’ve bitten has just died. You’re the first I’ve ever given my blood to drink. Without that you wouldn’t be here to ask all these questions-and before you ask, I don’t know where we came from-or why we exist.”

“I’m the first? Why? Why me?”

“I don’t know; but, since shortly after you were born, I knew that I would someday take you-make you into one of us. Perhaps, I’ve been lonely. It’s been fifty years since I’ve come across another of our kind, and he tried to kill me.”

“He tried to kill you-why?”

“You’ll find that we’re territorial creatures-inclined to protect our hunting grounds. Besides, I was made before I was fully grown. For that reason I’m an anathema to the others.”

“But, you made me before I was fully grown.”

“If I’d waited until you were grown, I would have had to fear you as well. As it is, we need each other. Besides, we were somehow destined for each other. Don’t you feel it, too?”

“Yes, I’ve always loved you.” I wanted to make love to him, but I wasn’t sure how. I felt no stirring in my groin, and I continued to have the same disdain for my sex organs that I’d always had.

Reading my thoughts, he said, “No, we don’t use those. Take off your clothes. You’ll see why.”

I was still wearing the clothes I had on that day. They were filthy. First, taking off my T shirt, I saw that my chest was completely smooth. I no longer had nipples. Glancing down, I saw that my navel was also missing. There was no indentation, or any indication that I’d ever had one. My stomach was as smooth as my chest. If I had any thoughts or hopes that I might still be human, they were dispelled by the absence of a navel, since it’s our link to the rest of the human race.

“Now, your pants,” he said. I slipped them off as well.

I had no cock-no balls. Nor was there any indication that any had ever been there. Neither was there any hair. I ran my hand over my crotch-then between my legs. I was completely smooth. Not only had I no cock or balls, I had no asshole either.

“No,” he said. “You don’t need one. You’ll never have to shit or piss again.”

“But, don’t we eat? I’m hungry-in fact, I’m starving.” And, I was hungry-and getting hungrier by the minute. It was a hunger different from any that I had ever felt. It didn’t come from my stomach, but from every cell of my body; it was as if they were each crying out for food.

“Oh, yes, we eat, but we first have to hunt.”

I was so hungry that I was becoming frantic. Starting for the mouth of the cave, I realized that I was naked and turned back to look at my clothes lying on the floor of the cave. I didn’t want to have to put back on those filthy garments.

“You don’t have to,” he said-he always knew what I was thinking. “You can control their minds so that they see whatever you wish them to see. You have no need for clothes. See.”

In the blink of an eye, he was as naked as I-and as smooth. There were no cock or balls between his legs either, or any hair. Looking at his body-and then at mine. I saw that neither of us had any body hair. He had long blond hair on his head, but none anywhere else. I felt my head. My hair had grown. It was almost down to my shoulders.

Looking around, I realized that there was no light in the cave, but I could see as well as if there had been. “I can see in the dark.”

“Yes, all your senses have been enhanced-a thousandfold.”

I followed him out of the cave. The night was beautiful-beyond description. Not only could I see clearly, but there was a luminescent glow to much of what I saw. “What is that glow?” I asked.

“That’s life. All life has that-even bacteria.”

But, he didn’t glow. Neither did I.

“No, we’re not alive-at least not in the sense that all other life on earth is alive. That’s why I suspect that the organism which inhabits our bodies comes from some other planet-perhaps brought here on some meteor. Perhaps we’re the real Martians.”

Then, I smelled it. Although somewhat familiar, I couldn’t place it, but I knew it was food-the food that my body craved. I had to have it. Nothing else mattered. I would have even killed Armand had he come between that source of food and me. It was then I understood why vampires (although not entirely accurate, I’ll use vampire to describe us) don’t usually hunt together.

One moment I was standing in front of the cave-the next moment I was behind him. He was rummaging through a dumpster. A grocery cart full of cans and other items was nearby. He didn’t see or hear me. I knew then what the smell was-it was his blood. I could hear his heart beat. I could hear his blood as it circulated throughout his body-especially through his neck. Without stopping to think that he was human-a person such as I had so recently been, I ripped open his throat and began drinking his blood.

Not since I had drunk Armand’s blood had I ever tasted anything like it. It not only filled my stomach, but my entire being. Drinking that poor wretch’s blood was an orgasmic experience. Only drinking Armand’s blood had been better. All too soon, it stopped flowing.

“What a waste.”

Snarling, I turned, prepared, as if I were any other wild predator, to defend my kill from other predators.

“You killed him too soon,” said Armand. “You wasted most of his blood. His heart stopped from the shock of having his throat ripped out. You’ve got a lot to learn.”

I was still hungry; and, for a moment, I was attempted to attack Armand-to drink his blood-but reason returned. Knowing that he could read my thoughts, I said, “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t really attack you.”

“Oh, yes you would. While in a feeding frenzy, you might do anything. Now, you know why I’ve never made anyone before you. A new vampire has little control over his hunger.”

On the heels of reason, had followed guilt. I had just killed a human being. I had never before even struck another person. Now, I had brutally killed one.

“You ate meat before, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it’s not the same.”

“How’s it different?” asked Armand. “Some animal gave up its life to feed you. That’s all that happened here. An animal gave up its life so that you could eat.”

“But this wasn’t an animal; it was a human.”

“Are you a human?”

Looking down at my naked body, I saw no nipples on my chest, no navel on my stomach, and no cock or balls on my groin. “No, not any longer-but, I used to be.”

“You used to be, but humans are further below you now than the cows you used to eat ever were.”

“Couldn’t we take the blood from animals, instead?”

“Look, over there-in that field-there’s some cows. Smell their blood. Could you drink it?”

The cows were in a field over a mile away, but when I focused on them I could not only see them clearly, but I could smell them-and their blood. It revolted me. Just the idea of drinking it made me feel queasy.

“See. Now, let’s hunt again, now that you’re not so hungry. The blood lust will hit you again anyway, but try to control it this time.”

I was still hungry. I knew that I would kill again despite the pain that my conscience was causing me. The pain from my hunger was more acute. I had no doubt that it would win out over my conscience. “Can we at least kill someone that deserves it.”

Armand laughed, this time out-loud. “Deserves it. Who deserves it-a murderer? You just committed murder by their standards. To them, you, because you feed on them, are worse than the worst of them. If they ever discover your existence, they never stop until you’re destroyed.”

But, feeling my power, I said, “How could they kill us? We’re much too powerful for them.”

“At night, they couldn’t, but sunlight can kill us. We sleep during the day. If they find us then and expose us to the sun, we’ll die. Sunlight destroys the virus in our bodies. With out it, we’ll die. Our cells will implode and we’ll turn to dust. That’s why we must be careful. We can’t leave any more such messes.” Armand cut off my victim’s head to disguise the nature of the attack. “Now, let’s find another-and don’t worry about whether he deserves it, or not.”

I don’t know whether our victim deserved death. When I smelled his blood, it no longer mattered-only his blood mattered. Armand held him with his mind and we took him into an alley where he slit open his jugular-just a small slit-just large enough to provide a generous flow of blood. He let me drink. I wanted to rip out the man’s throat, but I didn’t. I continued to drink until the flow of blood stopped-and he was dead. I had the same orgasmic response to drinking the blood as I had before-but this time, when I was through, I was sated.

The guilt returned, but not as badly as before. I was what I was-a predator-and my prey was man. No lion ever felt guilty for killing its prey. Why should I?

We killed once again. This time I held the man with my mind, slit his throat, and let Armand drink. Although we didn’t look for victims who deserved death, we did pick those who would less likely be missed-the homeless, the flotsam of society. Then, we hid their bodies where they wouldn’t likely be found. Not only could we travel great distances in a flash, we could also easily carry their corpses.

When we had disposed of the last body, Armand took me to a different cave, miles from the previous town, which I had discovered, wasn’t my home town. “We have to move around. We don’t want to kill too many people in one place.”

“Why don’t we go to a large city. People are killed in them everyday. I doubt that anyone would ever notice if we killed a few bums, prostitutes, or drug dealers.”

“That’s true, but we would also be much more likely to run into another vampire. Then we would be the hunted-the prey. The only food better than the blood of a human is the blood of another vampire. Even together, we would be hard pressed to defend ourselves against a full grown vampire. No, we’d better stick to the small towns. We’ll just have to keep moving around.”

Inside the cave, we were both naked. Armand’s clothes had been an illusion. We had no need for clothes. We were impervious to the elements, feeling-except for the sun-neither hot nor cold.

Walking up to me, pressing his smooth body to mine, Armand kissed me, running his tongue into my mouth. Other than pecks which I’d given relatives, I’d never kissed anyone. I had certainly never had anyone’s tongue into my mouth. I thrust my tongue into his mouth. He bit it! My blood ran into his mouth and down my own throat. Then he bit his own tongue and our blood mingled in our mouths, running down each of our throats.

I was transported out of time, out of space. I was one with Armand-one with the Universe. I realized that everything I’d thought before was wrong. I had never been a boy-that had been an illusion. I wasn’t now a vampire-that was an illusion. I was God. I was Satan. I was the Universe. Heaven and Hell existed, but they existed within me-and they were the one and same.

Eventually, I returned to my body. Armand and I were lying on the floor of the cave. Our mouths had become disengaged. My tongue was no longer bleeding-and there was no longer a cut on it. It had completely healed.

I didn’t need to ask Armand if he had experienced what I had, because we were still linked, more that we had previous to this experience. It was difficult to know where he ended and I began. Eventually, as the sun came up outside, we drifted off to a deep, dreamless sleep.

Over the next several months we hunted together-always in a different town. We slept in caves and old mine shafts. Then, one day, I went off on my own. I had some unfinished business-some to which I wished to attend on my own. Armand knew what I intended. We regularly merged and couldn’t hide anything from each other.

Returning to my town, I looked through the widow of my home. I saw my mother and father. They seemed sad. I was their only child, and they thought I was dead-and the boy who had been their son was dead. I had only observed them out of curiosity. I no longer had feelings for them-at least no more than one might have for a pet. They were of a different species. I left. They weren’t the reason I had returned.

I found them-where I knew they would be. I had returned that night because I knew I would find them together-in that place. I could readily move in and out of time. What was about to happen-had happened-and would reoccur. I had already experienced it, although, in this illusion of linear time, it was yet to come.

The four of them were at Johnson Creek, drinking beer and smoking weed. I appeared to them as I had been that day, a slender sixteen year-old kid with short hair, naked with a small uncut cock. It freaked them out. I hadn’t been seen since that day. They, too, thought I was dead-and since I was controlling what they were seeing in their minds, I gave myself a somewhat spectral appearance. Roger was the first to speak.

“Shit, Muir. What are you doing here? Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“I am, Roger. I died that day you brought me here.”

That really freaked them out. “Let’s get out of here,” said Richard, but I wouldn’t let them go. I held them with my mind.

“Remember how you jacked me off, Richard?” I replayed the scene for them. They saw my little cock become hard, then spurt out my come onto the ground-the only sexual orgasm I’d ever had-a pitiful experience compared to what I now had with Armand. “Come over here and do it again, Richard.” I willed him to come.

He struggled against my will-to no avail. He walked up to me and reached for my cock. As he touched it, it disappeared. I let them see me as I really was, a boy-yet not a boy. My smooth body without nipples, navel, cock, or balls, could not have been mistaken for human. I moved so that I was immediately standing next to Roger. One instant I had been several feet away next to Richard. The next I was whispering in Roger’s ear. “Take off your clothes, Roger.”

When he hesitated, I said with authority-in a voice they couldn’t resist, “All of you, take off your clothes.” They immediately stripped.

“You wanted me to jack off. Well, now, I want to see you jack off-but do it to each other. Roger, you do it to Richard.” Roger started jerking Richard off. When I could see that Richard was about to come, I said, “Now, Roger, take his cock into your mouth. It’s what you always wanted to do.”

Unable to resist my will, he did. Richard came almost immediately-into Roger’s mouth.

After Roger had swallowed the come, he stood up. Richard again began pumping Roger’s cock. Sam and the other boy had already shot their wads. “Wait,” I said, “I have something else in mind for Roger.

When Richard let go of Roger’s cock, it kept bobbing up and down. I knew that he was close to a climax. I laid him on the ground and bent my head to his crotch. He expected me to take his cock into my mouth. Instead, I bit off his left nut. He screamed-and came at the same time, shooting ropes of come onto his stomach. I spit out his ball onto the ground, since I can’t digest meat, then bit off his other nut. After spitting it out, I began drinking his blood. It was just as sweet coming from his crotch as it would have been from his neck. He had his climax. Now, it was my turn. His blood spread throughout my body. Knowing him-remembering the torture that Jon had undergone at his hands-made my orgasm from drinking his blood so much the sweeter. When his heart stopped, I felt his consciousness extinguish. It popped like a light bulb when it burns out. There was a bright flash-then it was gone, dispersed throughout the universe.

The others had watched-held by my will-unable to move. When I looked up, I could see the horror in their eyes. I could see myself in their eyes, a wild creature with long brown hair and bottomless black eyes-a predator with Roger’s blood on his mouth and chin.

Richard was next-but, instead of his balls, I bit off his cock. Blood poured even more freely from it than it had from Roger’s balls. Soon, Richard was also dead-and I was full. I could have killed the other two, but I could have never feasted on them. I’d had so much already that I was feeling sluggish and wanted to sleep; so, I took the other two back to the cave-to Armand. I heard the sounds of his feeding as I drifted off to sleep.

You can also find this story on my site at: www.slammr.com/slammr_stories/