Blood.

It ebbs and flows in highways within our bodies, yet with observing such a substance in the wild, it elicits dread and anxiety. Why does the human mind fear what sustains it in the first place? A door silently creaks open. She made sure nothing is going to disrupt this plan of hers. Treading lightly, the pale-skinned girl enters your domain, without you moving as much as an inch. Her fangs—pronounced and sharp—but she holds herself back. She had been thinking about this for all of last week, and it would be a shame if all that preparation led to no result.

The moonlight shines through your window, only illuminating her lower body as she stands at the feet of your bed. If only you were awake (which you—unfortunately—are not), you would have been greeted with only the seams of her black dress. As you continuously slumber, a mischievous smirk crept up on her pale-white face. She readies her nerves, and in one swift, expertly motion—

“Roomie!” She calls out.

You are suddenly, very much awake from the commotion. And with a foreign, eighty pound weight lying on your chest. Your body instinctively jolts, before your conscious mind begins to recognize a throbbing pain on your chest.

“Ow…” You weakly cry out.

“Roomieeee! Wake up!” She repeats herself with rampant enthusiasm , seemingly deaf to your complaint.

“Delilah… cough You promised to never do that again after last time.”

This wasn’t the first time Delilah had jumped onto your bed. It was fun at first, but one hairline fracture on your rib later, it really made you realise just how dangerous this seemingly innocent action was.

“But this time it’s reallyyy important. You have to trust me.”

“Mmhmm. Sureee.” You answer, as you instinctively reach for your phone, and read the time through squinted eyes.

“...Delilah it’s two o’clock.”

“Yep! Perfect time, dontcha think?” She is annoyingly sincere sometimes.

“...No? For humans, at least.” You retort while trying to hold back a yawn.

“Anyway, what’s this ‘really important’ thing that I must hear at two in the morning?”

“So, y’know how it was your birthday last week, and I forgot about it?”

“Yeah?” You cautiously respond.

“I have just the thing to make it up to you…” She speaks with an air of mystery, before darting out of your pitch black room.

Rubbing your eyes, you attempt to get back to sleep, hoping that Delilah eventually tires herself out. You feel your head sink into your pillow, and come to the terrifying conclusion that you can no longer sleep. Utterly frustrated, you let out a sigh of defeat, and wait for her to come back with whatever surprise she has planned.

She comes back wearing a straw sunhat (in this case, a "moonhat"?), and a small picnic basket.

“We’re going to have a picnic, roomie!”

Your groan is involuntary, almost primal. Of course. Of course she would suggest a picnic at two in the morning on the one night your entire body feels like it's been through a blender.

"Delilah, I can't--" You start, but she's already bouncing on the balls of her feet with that insufferable energy vampires seem to possess after sundown.

"Can't what? Can't have fun? Can't appreciate the thoughtfulness of your dear roommate?" She tilts her head, the moonhat slipping slightly. "Or is it the usual?"

You pull yourself up on your elbows, and every muscle in your body protests the movement. Your jaw aches. Your shoulders feel like they've been dislocated and snapped back into place--which, if you're being honest with yourself, they probably have been. The transformation always leaves you feeling like you've been put through a car wash backwards.

"I transformed two nights ago," you mutter, rubbing your temples. "I'm still healing."

"I know!" she says grinning, swinging the picnic basket wildly over the foot of your bed. The sound of glass bottles clinking together feels like a bomb going off just behind your eyes. "That's why we're having a picnic."

"Delilah, the last thing I need right now is--"

"Trust me, roomie." She holds up a pale finger. "I've been around long enough to know what works. Vitamin B, electrolytes, fresh air, moonlight. You're going to feel so much better."

You squint at her suspiciously. "Delilah, this isn't a hangover, its--"

"I know, I know," she rolls her eyes in jest. "You're in your post full-moon slump. Roomie, I've been living with you for three years now, and you go through this angsty werewolf rigamarole every month." She grins. "Come on. Worst case scenario, you hate it and we come back inside. Best case, you actually feel human again."

"I am human," you grumble, but you're already swinging your legs out of bed, ignoring the shakes and tremors that begin to rock you the minute your duvet is stripped from your curled up body.

You slide on shoes and a hoodie with an exhausted sense of pride in Delilah for never really giving up on you even if you do tend to lay on the theatrics after a full moon. The night air hits your skin like a cool compress, and you have to admit that it does feel good. The park near your apartment is empty at this hour, and Delilah spreads out a checkered blanket under an ancient oak tree, and you collapse onto it like a puppet with cut strings.

She opens the picnic basket with ceremony.

"Beef jerky?" You raise an eyebrow.

"Protein," Delilah explains, pulling out container after container. "Also: coconut water, electrolyte tablets, a thermos of bone broth, some fruit, and-" she holds up a small bottle of pills, "--the strongest magnesium supplement I could find at the 24-hour pharmacy."

She bites a large chunk off of the jerky stick and savours it with no note of miming satisfaction. She's fed then, on enough to quell the nausea vampires relate to human food, which likely means she's made a kill tonight. You don't ask questions: she hasn't asked what terror you unleashed last night, and it is nothing but common courtesy to not grill her the same. The two of you sit in silence for a while, passing containers back and forth. The bone broth settles you, and the part of your brain that still clings to the feral, animalistic remains of last night feels as if it has curled up to sleep inside of you.

Delilah lies back on the blanket, staring up at the stars. In the darkness, her pale skin glows beneath the moonlight. The moon hangs above you both, full and bright, and for the first time since you woke up, you don't feel like your body is at war with itself.

"Same time next month?" Delilah asks.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Absolutely not," Delilah laughs, raising her cupful of coconut water at you in a toast.

You're about to respond when you catch a scent in the air, acrid and cutting through the night air. It's not human. Not vampire. Not werewolf either, at least not like anything you've encountered before. Your body goes rigid.

Delilah notices immediately, lowering her glass. "What is it?"

"Don't move," you whisper, your senses sharpening despite the lingering fog of your recovery. The transformation may have left you weak, but it's also left you hyperaware. "There's something in the park."

A low, chittering sound echoes from the darkness beyond the treeline.

Delilah's hand finds yours almost immediately, her skin cold and suddenly clammy. "Roomie, what is that?"

Before you can answer, a figure emerges from the shadows at the edge of the park. Humanoid, but with too many joints, movements that don't quite move in tandem. Its eyes lock onto yours, and you feel a wave of hunger that makes even your feral impulses seem reasonable by comparison.

"Well, well," it rasps, its voice like nails on slate. "A werewolf still reeking of transformation sickness. And a vampire playing nurse." It takes a step closer, and the grass beneath it seems to wither. "The Director is going to be very pleased."

Delilah's grip on your hand tightens. She knows what this is.

You don't.

"Run," she says quietly, then louder: "Roomie, run."

You run. You’ve known Delilah long enough to know that when she tells you to do something that seriously, you don’t ask questions.

You aren’t a wolf right now, of course, but the moon is full enough that some of your wolf strength and speed hasn’t faded yet. The adrenaline bursting through you is exhilarating in the worst way. All that relaxation you just felt from the bone broth? Gone. Your chest hurts and your eye twitches, and your brain feels like someone’s grabbed hold of it and squeezed hard. Somewhere, you let go of Delilah. You don’t notice.

After a moment, you’re halfway across the park. Everything becomes a blur as you run at random, trying to get away.

“Roomie!” Delilah catches up to you on the sidewalk. “I know you’re in fight or flight mode right now, but please try to lock in.”

Vampires and their vampire speed. She grabs your hand and the two of you book it down the street. “Isn’t the apartment that way?” you mutter as your sneakers pound on the sidewalk.

“We can’t lead it back there,” she answers, twisting her neck around for a second to look at you. It never stops being unnerving when she does that. “We need fire.”

“Fire?” you ask, but she’s already pulling you toward a little convenience store, the only thing open at this hour. She pauses and lets go of your hand, allowing you to stumble inside ahead of her, then looks at you expectantly.

You sigh. “Delilah, come in,” you recite monotonously.

“Perfect.” She steps across the threshold and starts scanning the shelves methodically, a big, fanged grin on her face. When she finds a pack of matches, she slides it up her sleeve with surgical precision. The cashier looks at you both like you’re crazy (which you probably are, but you’re too tired to care), but he doesn’t notice her theft.

Outside, on the dark street, you see the creature. Or rather, you see part of it—it sticks to the shadows, moving slow but steady, and its body flickers in and out of sight one limb at a time. Wherever it goes, the darkness deepens a little bit, and you feel a chill creep down your spine. You lean against the wall, hyperventilating, slowly beginning to feel a little bit better. The creature draws closer.

Delilah takes a newspaper from a stack near the door and throws it on the floor in the doorway, then strikes a match close to her chest. As the monster crosses the street, she throws the match on top of the newspaper, and it goes up in an instant. It all happens too quickly for you to tell her that’s arson.

The creature’s eyes widen. It hesitates, but keeps going as the pile of paper begins to burn itself out. “More fire,” Delilah mutters, and grabs the whole stack of newspapers.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the cashier dialing the police. “Please don’t do that,” you tell him anxiously. “This is self-defense.”

He doesn’t believe you, obviously. You bound towards him. You're about to grab the phone, still vibrating, out of his hand, but you hesitate. What are you doing? That's assault. This is a regular guy. You might be a bloodthirsty canine monster for one night a month, but right now you're in control of your own mind and you can choose not to attack people.

He screams in your face, a sound of pure terror. A glass pane catches your reflection and you see your face, hollow eyes and a grimace as you stand, frozen, right over this guy in his swivel chair. Your hand is formed into a grabbing claw, fingers hooked like talons. Even though you're completely human, you don't look it.

A shout from Delilah snaps you out of it. You spin around to see her still in the doorway, facing down the creature from the opposite side of a small bonfire. The creature hisses and screeches in discomfort as the smoke hits its face. Still, Delilah throws more stuff at the fire: cereal boxes, stickers, cheap T-shirts. It isn't enough. The creature draws in breath and blows at the flames, a cold dark wind far stronger than a normal breath, and they flicker out for a moment as it continues to advance.

"So you thought you could hide?" it cackles, voice whistling like it has a hole in its throat. "You are creatures of the night, living and hunting in shadow, but I am the shadow. When I bring your corpses to the Director, he will be happy. He is always in need of corpses." It extends a translucent hand toward the glass of a window, which shatters.

You have an idea. You run to the back of the store, where a door leads to a freezer full of alcohol. The strongest thing you can find after a moment's glance is a bottle of vodka, so you grab two and throw them at the creature. One passes through its arm and falls to the asphalt beyond. The other catches it in one of its several knees and shatters, broken glass drawing no blood.

Delilah grins. Then she throws a match at it. The creature lights up in flame, skin bubbling and sloughing off like melted wax. There's still no blood or bone, just a liquid form that melts into a puddle of darkness, then seeps into the ground. "How's that for a creature of the night?" she says smugly, looking very pleased at herself as she smirks at you.

"We should get out of here," you say, looking at the cashier huddled in the corner and staring at you both. He's definitely got pictures and video of the whole thing. The cops will be here soon.

"Yeah, you're probably right." Delilah grabs a 24-pack of water bottles and hands it to you. "Sorry our picnic ended this way. I was really looking forward to seeing you feel better, but I guess a good day's sleep will have to do. Maybe some Netflix binging with snacks. You like pretzels, right?"

"Delilah, we just robbed a store and burned a bunch of stuff. I don't think we can go home." You twist the caps off one water bottle at a time, pouring them on the fire to extinguish it. The sidewalk looks a little grayer where the creature melted. Maybe water will wash that out too.

"Couldn't agree more, bestie." She looks exhilarated. "How does the crypt sound?"