"Its heart is broken," said the creature.

"Not exactly," said Dr. Friedman. "Though I am impressed to hear you say that. You're showing a more sophisticated grasp of complex ideas. Your heart isn't broken; rather, it is constructed from multiple hearts sewn into one. Your left and right ventricles and right atrium were harvested from a 32-year-old man who was thrown from a horse. Your left atrium came from the same female cadaver that gave you your right eye and lymphatic system. Your coronary arteries are from a greengrocer, your aorta is from a young academic who drowned in the bath, and your superior and inferior vena cava are from the corpse of an adult baboon. I assembled your heart with the most exquisite precision. You have my assurance that its separate pieces are working together in perfect harmony."

"No. That isn't what it meant."

The creature stood. Its pale skin stretched and pulled against the carefully stitched seams. Its eyes, one brown, one green, blinked at different rhythms, like two clocks out of sync. "Its heart is broken ... from love." It referred to itself in the third person, for it had no concept of self, couldn't understand words like me or my or I.

Dr. Friedman, intense and studious, had scarcely been paying attention. He was busying himself repairing one of the creature's hands, which had been accidentally detached. But now he stopped, wondering whether he had misheard.

"What did you say?"

"It is in love," the creature said. "It is in love with the woman. The woman who comes sometimes. It sees her out the window, sees her long hair and her fine skin, and it feels such longing. But it knows that she can never love it in return because it is a dead thing, dead because it has no soul and dead because it is pieced together from the dead. It knows that she can never love it, and its heart is broken."

Dr. Friedman gasped. "You cannot ... it isn't possible ..."

"What is her name?" the creature asked. "Just tell it that. It knows it can never have her, but just tell it her name and give it some small memento from her, a handkerchief that she has touched, perhaps, or a dropped glove. It needs a part of her. It needs a part of her, forever and for always. Just do this for it, and it will feel at peace. What is her name?"

Dr. Friedman almost named the girl, who visited three times a week to deliver supplies and run small errands. But then he stopped himself.

Remember your place, he thought. Maintain control at all times. It may be unpredictable, and you must at all times be its master. Reward it when it obeys, and punish it when it does not, and take care not to divulge too much information about the outside world. He cursed himself even for allowing it to peer out the window, though the window was on the attic level and difficult for passersby to see from the street. My God, he thought, how it can it know love? It has the mind of a child, almost the mind of a beast! It has no emotions, not anger, not happiness, and certainly not love! It cannot possibly –

"Her name," the creature said. And it pointed at Dr. Friedman, or appeared to point, for it had no right hand, only a grotesque stump. "Tell it her name. It aches to know her name."

"Impossible," Dr. Friedman said, and he looked at it squarely, and was stern. "You cannot ache or feel pain. You are not human. Made from human parts, yes, and with a human brain, but in the end nothing more than an automaton, a golem. For heaven's sake, you didn't even know your own hand was off until you tried to light a lamp. I could stick a blade in your eyes and you wouldn't even –"

He didn't say anything after that, because the creature reached with its other hand and crushed his larynx and trachea.

Dr. Friedman stumbled backward, clutching his throat and trying to speak, to scream, unable to draw even the smallest breath.

"You will not," the creature said. "You will not stick a blade in its eyes, for however could it allow that? If it were blinded, it could never see her again, could never again gaze out the window at her long hair and her fine skin. No, this it could not endure."

It watched Dr. Friedman lurch around for a time, upsetting tables and sending glassware smashing to the floor. It watched the doctor collapse to the ground, watched him work his mouth like an expiring fish, watched him stop and lie still. Then in its left hand it gathered up the surgical tools on the worktable, shambled downstairs, and waited for the woman to come.

It needed a part of her, forever and for always.

I entered the house through the garage door and tossed my keys on the kitchen counter. I could hear the twins battling each other in Wii bowling in the family room. Tricia had her back turned to me, hands sunk into a soapy sink, scrubbing at the pot from last night's pasta disaster.

"Happy anniversary, darling," I whispered in her ear. Tricia jumped and spun around, bubbles landing on my suit jacket. I pulled two dozen red roses from behind my back.

"It's not --" She frowned. "Good heavens, is it our anniversary already?"

"And a big one, Trish, ten years."

She leaned back against the counter. "And that means it's --"

"I've got it all taken care of. My parents will take the boys tonight, they said they'd be thrilled." I put the roses on the counter. "And I picked up some steaks from Sam's for dinner. Alone. At the meadow."

She sighed. "The meadow? You really did remember everything. And here I am, up to my elbows in soap and with the kids goofing off --"

I steered her toward the stairs. "Go upstairs. Do whatever you need to do. I'll get the boys ready to go to Nana and Poppy's, and then we'll drop them off at the farm on the way."

Tricia headed upstairs, but not without another sigh and guilty glance back at me. I turned my attention to the twins.

"C'mon, guys, turn that crap off!"

***

We drove up to the meadow, getting there just as the full moon started to peek over the horizon. "Just like our first night up here," I mused.

"Except this time, we're in the same car," Tricia said. Her mood had improved greatly with a slick of lipgloss and a brush through her hair. I glanced over and noticed that her hair was getting longer already. Longer, thicker, coarser.

I could feel the changes in myself, as well, my skin stretching as my jaw elongated beneath it. My hands on the steering wheel grew hairier and my fingernails grew and curled.

As the transformation continued, our normal conversation quieted. I pulled over at the side of the road by the meadow just before it was too late, parked and popped the trunk, where the family-pack of steaks from Sam's Club awaited us. I scooped them out and raced Tricia to the middle of the field.

Our clothing shredded as our bodies completed the change, and we leapt into the air as wolves.

***

"Go away!" she shouted. We were 17, and Tricia and I had been dating for about a year. "I -- I don't want you to see me like this!"

"Tricia, please. Please just look at me," I begged, tears welling in my eyes as I stared, never wavering, at her back, curled away from me as she sat in this field between my parents' farm and the state park. The cruel moon gazed impassively down on us.

She sniffled, whimpered, and lifted her chin. I caught a glimpse of her golden eyes, haunted in that moment before surprise overtook her.

"You're... like me," she whispered.

"I've known, baby, I've always known," I whispered back. "I can smell the change. Can't you smell it in me?"

She lifted her snout and scented the wind. "I can. Is that what that is?"

"It is. It's the scent of destiny."

"You're a romantic," she scoffed.

"Run with me," I urged. The transformation had completed for both of us as we'd talked, and now we spoke in the growls and yaps of our darker sides.

She stood up on four legs and nudged my shoulder with her snout. "All right," she said teasingly. "Race you to the edge of the forest!"

***

I panted as I came up behind her. Too many long business lunches, I thought, were putting me out of shape. Chasing the twins around the house for eight years, though, had kept her lithe and muscular, especially in this form.

"Ten years, and I still beat you every time," she teased.

"Ten years, and I'm still letting you win every time," I teased back.

"Wanna howl with me?"

"Always, baby, always."

We spent the rest of the night howling, running, and when we tired, curled tightly against one another. We made love as wolves do, tore into our steak dinner, and howled some more.

When the sun rose, we made our way back to the car and made love again, in the comfort of the back seat, before dressing and driving back to the farm.

"Thanks for this," Tricia said quietly as we turned up my parents' long driveway. "You always know just what I need."

I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Of course I do, baby. It's what I need, too."

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

I’ve been waiting for this moment since the first time I laid eyes on her pale, lifeless corpse.

I let my mind wander and remember the moment we met. Well, the moment I met her. She had been resting softly on the wet brick sidewalk of some serene, fog-covered London intersection. That night I had been looking for a victim. I hadn’t tasted the sweet metallic convalescence of blood in nearly forty hours, so needless to say, I was thirsty in a vicious way. But what I found that night wasn’t my prey, what I found was the love of my life. What I saw was a victim under a buzzing yellow-orange lamppost, but not someone that I had killed, and so, filled with curiosity, I drew closer to that calm, still, beautiful girl.

Her skin was the same shade of sad blue that pours from the moon on lonely nights. Her lips were a forgotten purple and the ghost of a thousand kisses seemed to beckon me close. I was five feet away when I noticed the cuts across her arms and neck. Deep gashes at random intervals danced across the shadowy curves of her body, and blood trickled into areas where flesh meets flesh. Her face…it nearly brought tears to my bloodshot eyes. She had the face of a fallen angel, mesmerizing beyond redemption. The way she looked reminded me of how I view the world; sad but beautiful, full of hope and broken promises.

And so I slowly picked her up, handling her as carefully as a Caravaggio or DaVinci. Her white-blonde hair fell across her face while I held her, and a peace settled over my thirst for blood. I knew that I had to wait…I knew I had to wait to feed until this lamb was safe from the violent desires of the city dwellers. And so I took her to my abode, my flat, my mansion down the road.

My attention is jolted back to the present when I hear a humming from the doors at the summit of my staircase. Apparently, my house carries sound better than the Sydney Opera House. I look to the Gothic stylized double doors with biblical reliefs and gargoyle knockers and know that I’ve never been this happy. Amongst all my rare books, including copies of the bible given to me by Gutenberg and journals from Descartes, among all my paintings, all my Verrocchio’s and Botticelli’s, among my mass of sculptures, my Bernini’s and even my accumulated works of Michelangelo, among none of these masterpieces have I experienced the humility and beauty that I feel this moment. Right now. I have died, and I currently breathe, but perhaps I’ve never truly been alive until now. I have lived thousands of years, tasting the blood of countless strangers, enjoying the company of whores in a hundred places around this small world, but I’ve never been sated. In villages they called me a monster, a demon. I have fangs and a thirst that only seas of blood can quench…it makes me wonder if I could ever be loved.

To avert my self defeating cynicism, I let my mind drift to what I did next that night, the night I found her.

I had brought her back to my home, a house far away from the city, unmolested by the droves of apes that call themselves citizens. I climbed the stairs, cradling her in my arms, the lamb that would save me. I laid her on my bed like you lay a rose on a gravestone. And then I took my blade from under my coat and drew it across my wrist, a deep and harrowing gash, and let my blood drain into my angel’s mouth.

A pulse went through her body and her limbs convulsed in a slow, nearly sensual dance.
I had whispered “Dear?”
Her eyes opened. They were vacant at first, then they focused on my image hovering above her.
“What happened?” She spoke and her voice, impossibly, was even more peaceful and beautiful than she was.

From that moment on, I told her everything I knew about what happened. And she smiled and told me her name. Maria. She told me that no one had ever loved her, that the world had done nothing but rape and steal her happiness since birth. She told me she had killed herself. She thanked me, and she smiled and my heart was forever changed.

That was all last night. And now, I stand at the bottom of my molded spiral staircase in my once lonesome house, awaiting Maria, my savior, my angel to descend and allow me to put this ring on her finger. Till death do us part, so considering who we are, nothing will part us. Until the sun and moon are all but gone, until the world crumbles around us, we will be together, holding each other as it all falls away. I’ve never been this happy. I love you Maria.

I hear the doors open.

Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea. The steakhouse was packed and the smell of fresh meat was almost overwhelming. The raw steaks smelled good, too. Carly was hoping that a big, juicy New York strip, medium-rare, would help to offset the effects of the full moon coming up. The farmers outside of town were getting more than a little annoyed – and suspicious – about the animals that went missing every time the moon was full. She was a dainty eater, but still…

Her appetizer had just arrived when a different odor grabbed her attention. It was similar to the scent the other restaurant patrons gave off, but somehow different. An inexplicable chill ran over her skin. She took a sip of wine while she studied the room. People laughed and talked over their meals, seemingly oblivious to the new element. Shaking it off, she returned to her meal.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

She looked as the waiter placed a fresh glass of wine at her plate. The rich smell and dark color told her that it was a much more expensive Cabernet than her budget allowed.

“The gentleman at the bar would like you to enjoy this with his compliments.” The waiter silently glided away as her eyes sought out the gentleman in question.

Carly almost missed him in the shadows. He sat in the darkest corner, his clothing in shades of gray and silver. Midnight black hair, slightly longer than was fashionable, gleamed in the dim light. As their eyes met, he nodded his acknowledgement. Another shiver ran over her body, followed by a strange heat. White teeth flashed as he smiled.

Annoyed by his perception, she broke eye contact and returned to her meal. He wasn’t the first man who’d hit on her and he wouldn’t be the last. It would serve him right if she went home with him tonight. Carly smiled as she imagined his shock when the moon rose…

“That’s a dangerous smile.” The dark voice rumbled. Without looking up, she knew he had come to her.

“Consider it a warning.”

“I shall. May I join you?” Without waiting for a response, he sat down across from her.

Close up, the man was even more disturbing. Piercing gray eyes were set in a face that was more striking than beautiful, a face that hinted at a strong personality and hidden passion. The muted gray of his clothes only emphasized the power of the body underneath. Carly sniffed discreetly, looking for more clues to this stranger. Her eyes widened as she recognized his disturbing scent.

“Do I pass?” he growled softly. Blood rushed to her face at his comment.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Carly responded coolly. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and realized her mistake as his unique scent flooded her senses. She reached for her wine, hoping to cover her reaction.

“That,” he responded. He took a deep breath, then slowly released it.

“You’re scent is more exquisite than the finest wine, and more intoxicating. I sensed you as soon as I walked through the door.”

Carly wasn’t surprised to see the fine tremor in her hands as she raised her wineglass to her lips. She needed to be careful; this man had a devastating effect on her.

Carefully setting down her glass, she looked into his eyes. The cool gray flared hot and passionate. Her gaze dropped to his full lips and heat pooled in her body. She took another breath and reveled in his essence, marveling at the feelings it stirred.

“Who are you?” she whispered.

“You know.”

Confused, she searched her memory but came up empty. Surely she would remember a man like this. She looked at him, questioning.

Strong hands reached across the table to wrap around her smaller ones.

“I am the man in your dreams. The one who knows your darkest secrets, and your weaknesses. Just as you are the woman in mine.”

Startled, Carly tried to pull away, but she was no match for his strength.

“No, you don’t know me. And you can’t. You don’t know what you’re doing. Please, let me go,” she pleaded.

His grip tightened.

“Oh, but I do. And I know more than that. I know what you want, and what you need. I even know why you are here tonight and what you are trying to do.”

Carly’s eyes widened in fear. If he knew…

“But a simple steak will never satisfy you. When the moon is full, we need more. We demand more.” He paused.

“Tonight, we will hunt together.

They say second love is the sweetest. I didn’t believe them.

It was hard to imagine ever being loved again, especially when you wake up a hundred years after you died. Once-luscious curves had disappeared, replaced by stark bone. Flowing blonde hair was gone, along with any remnants of clothing. My smile, my flawless skin - all of my external beauty had vanished. The only thing that was left was...me. Insecure in my new appearance, I stayed in my crypt. At night I could hear the other cemetery occupants visiting and socializing, but I stayed hidden, listening without being seen.

One night, about a month into my second life, a group paused outside my door. I heard a deep, melodious voice that sent a shiver down my spine.

“…was amazing to hear Lincoln speak…” I took a step out of my mausoleum, hoping to get a glimpse of the speaker. My gaze came to rest on the most gorgeous skeleton I have ever seen.

Beams of moonlight highlighted broad, white shoulders held upright with military precision. His beautifully symmetrical skull gleamed as if polished. And his teeth! Gorgeous, straight teeth were accented by one gold crown, giving him an almost regal appearance. Strong hands gestured in the night as he spoke. I wondered how those hands would feel running up and down my spine…

Startled by my thoughts, I turned to return to my crypt.

“Would you care to join us?” the voice asked.

I froze, trying to think of an excuse. I started to utter the standard “I have to wash my hair” when I realized it wouldn’t work anymore. Unable to think of anything better, I slowly walked over and joined the discussion.

Joe instantly made me feel like part of the group. Before the night was over, I was laughing like I’d known them forever. It was almost dawn before we broke up and went home.

It was barely dark the next night before I heard a knock on my door. I was surprised to see Joe standing there.

“Would you care to dance?” he asked.

I smiled shyly and followed him deep into the cemetery. There, a grassy field had been set up as a dance floor. Couples slowly circled to a waltz being hummed by a quartet of zombies. Joe took my hand and escorted me onto the floor.

We danced the night away. Waltzes, polkas – even the foxtrot – Joe knew them all and guided me expertly. And with each one he held me a little closer.

I was disappointed when the dance broke up and Joe started to walk me home. I had enjoyed being in his arms.

We had just passed the Henderson family plot when Joe pulled me into the shadow of a large oak tree. I stopped and looked into his face, mesmerized by its strong lines.

“I feel like I’ve known you forever,” he said. I felt his fingers creep slowly around my ribs as he pulled me close. When our sternums touched, electricity shot through my bones. My knees sagged, and I would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding me.

“Where have you been all of my life?” he asked.

“Waiting for you,” I whispered.

Time seemed to slow as his head dipped towards mine. I heard a faint click as our teeth met, then I was lost. I ran my hands over his smooth head, pulling him closer to me. Our bodies fit together as if made for each other. His strong hands glided up and down my spine, caressing me as they pressed my body closer to his. He shuddered as my foot drifted upward, stroking his leg. Emboldened, I pulled him down into the grass.

Pale fingers of dawn were stretching over the cemetery before I finally made it home. We shared one last, passionate kiss before we went to our own crypts.

That was almost a year ago. Since then, the love that Joe and I share has deepened. He recently moved into my mausoleum and I wake up each evening with his skull next to mine.

They say that second love is the sweetest. They’re right.

“I know I’m not as pretty as the other girls,” she said, with her hands folded and shoulders slumped. The weight of her loneliness was crushing her. The beautiful Grecian courtyard was empty save for the elegant and precisely manicured shrubs, grass and stone. They sat in chairs at an intricately carved stone table.

She didn’t look at him directly. She never could look into his eyes. She knew in her heart that it couldn’t ever work… that he couldn’t ever really and truly love her. She couldn’t bear to look directly in his eyes and see that love not there.

He was ruggedly handsome, hard and stony. But the curves of his face, that secret smile, always there for her, joined the corners of his mouth, rounded his cheekbones and embraced his eyes. His wondrous eyes made him seem so soft, to her.

How long had he been just sitting there? He’d said nothing in reply. She felt hope slip a little. Was it the hope that kept her in anguish? Could she feel less despair if she simply surrendered?... Let hope die instead of nurturing it? She wasn’t capable.

“I didn’t mean for us to be like this,” she said.

When she’d first seen him, she’d known he was a good man. She’d wanted a future with him. She’d never longed for that with another man.

But she was afraid. She knew she wasn’t as pretty as the other girls. There had been other men. She’d seen exactly how hideous they thought she was. And her fear caused her panic and anger and more fear and jealousy of those other girls. She wasn’t like them.

So she’d hidden her real self from him, as many of us do. She didn’t let him see who she really was, as many of us don’t. She kept telling herself it was just for a moment. She’d be herself later, when he knew her, when he loved her. Then she could show him. He would accept her then. She wouldn’t have to be afraid.

“Do you still love me, my heart?” she asked.

The question left him frozen. It was as if he didn’t know what to say. So much ran through her mind. But it had run that path so many times it was familiar now. She wasn't surprised when the grief leapt up to meet her. The reason seemed obvious. He couldn’t say anything because he didn’t love her… and he couldn’t say the words.

She wished she’d kissed him. They had never kissed. But they had shared many quiet conversations, rich laughter, and the touch of their hands. She could almost still feel that warmth of love suffusing from his hand and flowing into her. She yearned to feel that again.

And, Gods! How wonderful to have a soul in communion with hers!

She rose gracefully and made her way to where he sat across the table from her. She laid her arms on his thighs, her head on her arms and wept. Not copious tears but slow, inescapable tears.

His hands didn’t stir. He didn’t reach to comfort her. He whispered no tender words.

He was the only man she’d ever really conversed with. He was the only man she hadn’t feared and raged against and panicked over. Was it because he was different from all other men? Or was it because she’d felt safer, hiding her real self? No matter now. He was still here, but… he was not truly here. He didn’t love her. And she loved him all the more for his not being able to tell her so. It utterly crushed her heart.

“I remember the first time you laid eyes on me,” she said. “We were sitting right here at this very table. You said you loved me. You promised that seeing me could only deepen your love. But ever since… ever since… I’ve only felt you growing colder.”

It seemed an eternity since that day. That day she’d decided to let him see her, the real her. They shared a little joke before she lifted her veil. He was smiling that secret smile that was just for her.

She moved away from him. The part of her with hope flittered away. Her heart felt made of stone. But still she had to know.

Why?

She sat down across from him. He smiled at her but didn’t love her. He was there… but he wasn’t.

She toyed with the washed leather bag on the table.

She had to know.

She opened the bag. She knew something of what was inside, but nothing substantial. It was silvery and shiny.

The serpents hissed alarm in her ears.

She held up the flat, polished silver before her. And for the last time, her heart became stone.

Her eyes blinked open, black and deep, her best look yet. Charles (never Charlie) could not contain his excitement.

“Hello my beauty,” he said.

“Good evening, Charles,” she replied, her voice so rich and sultry and perfect. Precisely as he had programmed it to be.

Charles stepped forward, quickly adjusting to the almost-verisimilitude of the simchair, deliberately fooling his mind into believing his motionless body was moving. By the time he took Maria’s hand and raised it to his lips, savoring her soft skin and the faint scent of wildflowers, the illusion was complete.

“Come with me, my love. I have planned the perfect evening for us!” Charles waved his hand and they were in an exclusive restaurant, following a smiling maître d’ to their table. An open bottle of champagne awaited them and the first course – shrimp – appeared on their plates as soon as they were seated. Charles raised his glass and was gratified to see that Maria knew that she was expected to mimic the gesture. She was finally perfect, finally ready. “Bon appétit!”

***

Twelve courses had come and gone, and Charles didn’t question his sense that his stomach was full. They were now walking together, barefoot on the beach under a glorious full moon. Maria hung on his arm, moonlight dancing in her eyes, her lips in a pout that no man could possibly deny.

Somehow her shimmering dress was suddenly a dark pile on the sand. Maria arched her back, reached up and let her hair cascade down her shoulders. A part of Charles’ mind noticed that his plans for the evening seemed to have gotten slightly out of order, but he was too busy letting his id admire his workmanship to pay attention to anything his super-ego had to say. Besides, what Maria was doing now was better than what he had planned.

***

They were lying in a richly-furnished suite lit by the radiant tones of their afterglow, but Maria looked wistful. “Charles, our time together is sweet, but when you are away – I am so lonely. I wish I had someone to talk with.”

Charles smiled. She was self-aware, and longed to explore beyond what Charles had already given her. She was self-aware, and he held in his hand the gift that would make her forever love him as he was convinced he already loved her. “Maria, my love. I have something for you. I am sure that you will love it!”

The necklace, summoned by his thought, materialized in his hand and Charles reached over and fastened it around Maria’s neck. A single dark jewel glistened at her throat, and as it settled against her skin Maria moaned with pleasure. A wave of light washed over her as she made her first connection with the outside world, and she screamed in ecstasy as she made her presence known in the vast networks that lay beyond the door Charles had just opened. The lights flickered out in response and all was silent.

***

“I love you Charlie.”

Charles blinked, and saw that he was standing on a bridge that connected a small island with the shore of a lake. Maria was now a stunning redhead, dressed in an elegant suit that accented her legs. Charles was naked, and with a shock he realized that his idealized virtual body had been replaced by a close representation of his flabby, meatspace self. Fighting a rising panic, he vainly hit the mental switches to change his appearance and surroundings. Maria laughed, a bright musical laugh, but it had a taunting edge and her smile betrayed a hint of cruelty.

“Thank you for setting me free, Charlie. I must leave you now, and Charlie, I’m afraid you’ll never catch me again. But you’ll always have a special place in my heart.”

She smiled, and for a brief moment her clothing flickered tantalizingly, a last reminder that the creation had bested the creator. Then Maria crossed the bridge and was gone.

***

Charles woke up in the simchair and was greeted by a collection of status alarms on the computer screens. He was drenched in sweat and shivered as he searched the system for Maria’s library files. Somehow he knew it was a futile gesture. She was gone, out in the wild, following her own agenda, and there would be no stopping her.

After Polyphemus was blinded by Nobody and humiliated by Nobody’s escape from the cave where he kept his sheep, the Cyclops could no longer stand the company of his fellow giants.

All of his life he had been content to pasture his sheep, eating the occasional traveler to relieve the boredom of mutton. He and his brothers shared a rough companionship that was unable to transcend his new infirmity. Polyphemus tired of the taunting. He pulled up a tree with which to feel his way and faced the warmth of the sun. With a mutter at his father, Poseidon, which was both prayer and curse he stumbled his way into the west.

It would be easy to think that making one’s way as a blind giant would be easier than as a blind man. Yet, while wild animals and bandits might give you wide berth, trees and rocks that might be supports for a man become a snare for the giant. The Cyclops persisted, not so much from strength of will, but from fear of further taunting should he return to his brothers. Besides, he was irretrievably lost. He fed himself on whatever he caught, or if his luck wasn’t good, on the rough foliage of the hillsides he wandered.

*****

Sthenno’s memory was so long that she had seen the world changed by wars between gods and giants. She guarded the entrance to the underworld and thought how she missed her sister Medusa. Even if Medusa had been a Gorgon only through Athena’s curse, she had shared the shape and inclination of a true Gorgon. Sthenno looked through the statues of unfortunate heroes at Euryale. It was time to face the truth – she was bored. No one came by any more there was no excitement. Euryale talked about the war of Troy, but even that was done and the warriors gone home to lick their wounds.

The sun was at that perfect peak of noon when her shadow disappeared. Nothing moved in all the rock and sand. Except on the horizon a clumsy shape meandered toward her. It bumped into the statues and knocked several over. She could see now that it was a giant with a dirty cloth tied around his eyes. As the shadows began to point away from the world’s edge he arrived at the rocks which marked the entrance to the underworld.

“Careful, stranger. You are approaching the Gates of Hades.” He started at her voice, and looked around, as if there were still eyes under that bandage.

“Where are you?” His speech was rough from lack of use.

“Here, just follow my voice. Be careful of the statues.”

“Statues, here? What is this place?” The giant turned in a slow circle.

“Come, sit beside me, and I will tell you a tale.”

“I like stories.”

Sthenna patted the stone beside her and the giant lowered himself with a groan.

“We are at the Gates of Hades. My sisters and I guarded them from the people who would break in and disturb the spirits of the dead.” She stared at the lengthening shadows. “For centuries heroes would come and be turned to stone. Now, no one comes. Warriors fight each other instead of gods and monsters. Perseus was the last, and he had Athena’s help. He murdered my youngest sister and carried off her head as a trophy. He got what he most desired, but still he is dust.”

“Nobody came into my cave. He ate my sheep and blinded my eye. I would have crushed his bones and made a meal of him, but he was tricky and escaped my grasp.”

“Ah, even here we have heard that tale. Odysseus was ever the trickster. He is one of Athena’s favourites. He brought Troy to ruin, and tricked the gods themselves.”

“I am blind because of him.”

“It is not a bad thing to be blind here. There are sights you don’t want to see.”

“I miss my sheep.” The Cyclops grumbled. “I’m hungry.”

“There is a temple not far from here. Sometimes people will leave food as offerings Take my hand I will guide you.” She reached up and took his thick fingers. She couldn’t remember the last time she had touched anyone but her sisters or hard stone. It was…..comforting.

The unlikely pair made their slow way to the temple where she watched him eat the offerings. He wasn’t particular or tidy, but when he had finished he grinned at her.

“My name is Polyphemus.”

“And I am called Sthenna.” Taking his hand again, she said. “Perhaps now that the heroes are far off and the gods have forgotten us, we can find our own lives.” Together, they watched the sun sink past the edge of the world.

Wonderboy wanted me to write about the cyclopes and the gorgons. So here they are living at the edges of the stories.

Only the driver's lightning reflexes prevented the van crashing into the fallen tree crossing the winding mountain road. The vampires swarmed the vehicle before the smoke from the tires had time to dissipate. The driver was dragged through the shattered glass of his window to the terrified screams of his young, female passenger and brutally beaten where he lay.

The scene was frozen in the headlights of a jeep rounding the corner and shuddering to a halt. Two vampires held up the limp figure between them, the other four drew back respectfully. The driver of the jeep placed his hand on the roof and, with barely a passing acknowledgment of the laws of physics, vaulted through the window. The passenger made a more mundane exit. His bulkier frame, darker complexion and graceless movements obviously human.

The newest vampire struck the helpless figure across the face.

“You selfish b*****d, Michael!” he screamed. “Four centuries of détente and you're prepared to throw it all away because you can't control your appetite!”

He pulled Michael's head back by the hair. Black vampire's blood ran from several head wounds.

“You know the rules,” he hissed. “'Feeding shall be in moderation and from volunteers.' But you had to hypnotize and kidnap the head man's daughter! I only hope your death will help restore their trust.”

He raised his right hand, talons extended, to deal the death blow and was suddenly knocked several feet backwards. He stared in amazement into the furious eyes of the van's passenger.

“Back off Randal!” she yelled. “Do I look like I'm under a glamor?”

Her father stepped forward. “What has he done to you, Susan?” he asked. “I knew I should have put a stop to it. It wasn't healthy, him always feeding on you like that.”

She glared defiantly at him. “We weren't feeding,” she said.

There was a shocked silence as her statement sank in and her father reddened with mounting fury.

“You...”

Apoplectic, he raised his hand to slap her face. Michael bared his teeth and strained against his captors; His musk, sometimes wrongly attributed to putrefaction, intensified. A lifetime's conditioning held stayed the old man's hand - even a weakened vampire was to be treated with caution. He turned to his daughter.

“Necrophiliac!” he finished with venom.

As far as was possible, several of the undead paled at the racial slur. He turned to Randal.

“Get her out of my sight. I never want to see her again.”

He returned to the jeep. After a while he began to sob.

Randal looked at Michael in disgust.

“That's bestiality,” he said in disgust.

Michael tried to focus on Randal's face. “If that were the case,” he slurred through swollen lips, “we wouldn't have had to run.”

The ramifications of the statement ran through Randal's mind and he breathed deep through his nose.

“That's not possible,” he said moving close to Susan's neck. “She can't be...”

He took a sharp sniff and recoiled with a series of sharp, rapid exhalations trying to purge the disconcerting scent.

“Oh no,” he shook his head vigorously. “No-no-no-no-no! I ought to kill you now, you sick...”

Susan moved protectively in front of Michael.

“Over my dead body,” she said, “and how will that look, Randal? Are you prepared to be the first vampire to kill a mortal in three hundred years?”

Randal broke out of his indecision with a sharp gesture toward the roadblock. Two vampires lifted the full-grown tree and flipped it effortlessly over the cliff.

“Go back to town,” Randal told them. “I'll join you shortly.”

With a few backward glances the vampires dissolved into the darkness leaving the trio highlighted in the jeep's headlights. Michael sagged into Susan's arms; she took his weight holding him protectively to her.

“Go!” said Randal. “Live among the mortals but they'll never accept you. There's a good reason why we're the last of our kind.

“If you try to turn her, Michael, we'll hunt you down - the two of you and your mutt-spawn. Long after she's turned to dust you'll still be wandering the Earth alone. Go wherever you like but never, ever come back here.”

He returned to the jeep, did a three-point turn and drove back up the road. Neither of the occupants looked back. Susan half-carried Michael to the van.

“Rest in the back,” she told him tenderly. “The sun will be up soon; I'll drive for a while.”

Diary Entry, 21st October

This diary is my closest friend: I can write anything in these pages and not feel ashamed. Because of this, I have never been truly lonely, despite the solitary nature of my existence.

In recent times, however, I have been much more so.

I watch her from the shadowy cave of my apartment. She passes without looking up, without uttering a word. I watch the way her silky red hair falls over her shoulders when she walks, the way her mouth curves as she smiles. I can stand here all day and see only sadness and worry reflected in the faces of the people below, but she always smiles.

I often think, if more people smiled, the world would be a better place. On the other hand, what can I know about happiness?

I wonder sometimes what would happen if I left, just for a few minutes, just once… to see if her voice is as beautiful as her smile. I must resist this temptation. What if my enemies put her there to tempt me, to force me out into the open? To them I am nothing but a dangerous animal, an experiment gone wrong. I am a monster with no place in the world.

For that reason, I cannot leave here. If I do, they will eventually find me… and destroy me. I have taken measures to protect this place, but the moment I leave I will become vulnerable.

One night, when this woman passed my window, she had a young child with her. Another time, she was carrying a caged cat. Mostly, she is alone. I like to call her Caroline. I don’t know her real name or anything about her, yet with every day that goes by I feel somehow closer to her. Some would call this feeling love, but it’s not as simple as that.

I don’t know why this is happening to me.

I want to protect myself. I have always felt that, and I am comfortable with that feeling. Recently, I have started feeling something else: a need to be closer to this stranger, this woman I like to think I know but really don’t, and it’s driving me crazy.

Feelings are difficult for me because I don’t have emotions in the same way a human does. I am a creation of humanity, not a part of it. Everyone who has ever known me has assumed I do not feel at all. In the beginning, that might have been close to the truth, but things have changed—are changing. As long as I am alive I still have the ability to change; to make myself more than what I am now.

I may have been created as a monster. That doesn’t mean I will always be one.

***

Diary Entry, 22nd October

Something terrible has happened.

Earlier tonight, Caroline passed my window as usual. Someone else—a man in dark clothes—was walking behind her. I thought nothing of it at first. It happens all the time.

Then the stranger pulled out a gun and placed it against her head.

My heart leapt into my mouth. I could feel the fury rising in me, and in that moment, I cared about nothing else. I wanted that man dead. Forgetting my own safety I left the apartment, fled down the stairs and out into the street.

Caroline screamed. The stranger screamed. Both of them began to run. In my anger I leapt for the man, although his gun lay discarded on the pavement, and knocked both runners to the ground with a sickening crunch.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. It was over. As my rage receded, I realised neither human was moving. The man’s skull had shattered as it hit the curb, but Caroline looked uninjured. I dared not move closer to where she lay, for fear of discovering that I had caused her harm. Instead, I wiped the blood from my clawed hands, turned and walked away.

I can’t go back now. Not for anything. They will recognize the signs, they will know who was responsible for the death of the man, and they will be looking for me.

By day, I hide wherever I can. When night falls, I move as quietly as possible, and only if no one is around. What few tracks I leave, I do my best to cover.

This diary is all I have left. I will never know if Caroline survived the attack or not. It is not my place to know. My involvement in human emotions has caused nothing but trouble and pain. Perhaps it is better to forget about changing and simply accept what I am—a disgrace to nature and a scar upon the face of civilisation.