"KILL OF THE NIGHT"

The sound of blood dripping in the garage echoed around Esme.

She was still panting from the struggle when she began to eat.

The flesh was fresh, the way she liked it.
The smell filled her nose, making her eyes roll back into her head. Behind her eyes, she could see stars.

Esme had been starving. Her sharp teeth scraped against bone and she could only groan in happiness. Teeth to the bone. Flesh and muscle are ripped from the body.

There was nothing she loved more than to have a nice warm meal after a long couple of days traveling to the next town.

This town was just like the others.
A fresh body. A church on the corner to repent. And another a way for Esme to satisfy her needs.

Mrs. Connor, an old lady who died of a heart attack was fresh when Esme arrived in her cat-filled home. Esme couldn't stop sneezing. Allergies.

She finished soon after, and she then began her routine cleaning.
It was a perfect method.
One that had been fool-proofed through many trials and errors. Esme wasn't one to be messy, but her lifestyle called for it.

Esme remained meticulous in all her work and life. Nothing that could convict her would ever be left behind from her meals.

When all that you own fits in a messenger bag, it's essential to stay organized.

She leaves nothing but the remains in the pond behind the house. And she leaves, closing the door after one last look, wiping her mouth of residual blood.

A visit to the church and she should be on her way.

This is her routine.
She kills. She feasts. And then she repents.
Mother's rosary only left her neck to pray.

And thus, she moves on to the next town in her beat-up, absolutely stolen, Chevy Celebrity.
People don't notice her in it. It's perfect.

When she leaves, it's dark. She likes it that way. She feels comfortable in it.
After all, spending your formative years in a dark basement usually makes you quite partial to the night.
Sometimes she laughs to herself and jokes that she's a vampire. Pale, blood-thirsty, and happier in the dark.

She follows her nose, letting it guide her onto the highway. There is nothing in sight for miles.
Just fields, stretching on for acres.
The backcountry of Kentucky is nothing if not farm country.

Her stomach is filled and she is satisfied, her hunger sated for now. She hums along to the song on the radio, tapping her fingers on the wheel to the beat.

She is but a normal teenage girl in these moments.
The hum of the car, the wind whipping her hair, her arm out the window, the blood drying on her lips, and not a care in sight.

Esme wouldn't want to change it for the world.