Kay's Journal

Subject: Kay's Journal Tue Jan 18, 2011 1:14 am

As Kay is very very shy she has a hard time talking about herself and about her human past so instead she wrote it all out in a journal which means anyone can read it and know about her if they chose to get to know her better. Obviously the RP of her writing can't be seen but I think it adds to the overall story sorry.

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Kay sat staring at the blank page. Curled up in her small bed, her two dogs sleeping at the foot and her ferret asleep on the pillow next to her, she bit her lip. Her past was something that never left her; that always haunted her thoughts and dictated her actions. She hadn't been human for almost a hundred years and yet the fear in her memories left her paralyzed; the pen in her hand poised over the pages of her journal, unmoving. She knew that McAllyster was curious about her history but she never spoke on it and as far as she was concerned she never would.

Her fear of other people made it hard for her to talk about anything, especially anything so deeply personal, but she couldn’t keep everything locked away forever. McAllyster never pushed her, never demanded Kay to explain once she started to shake but it was clear in her sad eyes that she was worried and desperate to understand the girl better. She owed everything to the vampiress who taught and protected her, helped her to return to civilization. Helped her to remember that there were other things than hiding and fighting to survive, like her dogs.

That knowledge left her no choice but to find some way to explain her past. McAllyster suggested she could write down her history so that others could read it instead of having to explain it. It wasn’t that she feared other’s reactions, far from it, but the constant fear of loud noises and people in general was all consuming. That fear was simply bigger than almost anything she could imagine and it was deeply ingrained after so many years of solitude. Sometimes even McAllyster’s calming presence and gentle voice wasn’t enough to shake the terror and she would disappear for days until the woman found her once more and coaxed her back to their camp.

At the foot of her bed the small cockapoo huffed in his sleep, which brought her thoughts back to the present. She was safe and there was nothing to fear. Petting the small white ferret’s head it nibbled her fingers before going back to sleep. Exhaling slowly Kay swallowed hard and began to write.

March 11, 2009:
I spent a lot of time in the dark. One of my earliest memories is clouded in shadows. It was so dark I couldn’t even see my hands as I held them up before my eyes. I don’t remember exactly what I did, Uncle almost never explained why I was being punished and to question him would only have made the punishment that much worse. I don’t remember how long I was there but my stomach ached with hunger. When the light switched on at the top of the stairs I was momentarily blinded. I didn’t even see him appear at the top of the stairs but I heard his voice. He asked me if I was an obedient child, if I had learned my lesson. The answer was always yes, what else could I say? Did I learn a lesson? How could I without knowing why I was being punished? It didn’t matter, the answer was yes, and I was obedient; bowing and agreeing to whatever he wished once I was back in the sunlight. I remember when the light was my savior, when I did everything I could to stay there and not locked away in the darkness. I also remember when I began to fear the light. When I would hide under my covers, under my bed, in my closet. When the darkness became my shield. I remember when I craved the darkness and sought its protection from the twisted light.

Subject: Re: Kay's Journal Tue Jan 18, 2011 1:15 am

Rereading her first passage, the pen shook in Kay’s hand and she had to hold tightly to it or else it would slip out of her grasp. This was going to be much harder than she had first anticipated and it made her whimper softly. At the sound of her whimper the large husky mix looked at her and rose up to lay closer to her. Petting the dog’s head she relaxed slowly and kept her eyes locked with the ice blue ones of the canines, “Thank you Sasha, I’m alright now.” As if the words would become true simply by saying them she let her breathing become normal while the dog came to rest behind where she lad been laying, careful of the ferret still asleep and undisturbed by the dog. Using Sasha like a second pillow she smiled at how the dog’s always brought safety and comfort to her and began to write again.

February 13, 2008:
I never knew my parents, my mother died giving birth to me and my father died the following year of influenza. When I was four I had a locket, which contained a picture of each of them that I used to stare at for hours on end and try to hear their voices. Since I had no other blood relatives, I was sent to live with my Godfather as my parent’s had written in their will. They hadn’t seen him in some years, as he lived in New York and they in Virginia. I can only hope that he had changed from the man they knew and grew up with. I can only hope that he was not the man they would send their only child to live with. I can only hope that they had envisioned a happy childhood full of warmth and love under a caring provider. I can only hope such things, or think my parents crueler than even he was.

My Godfather or “Uncle” as he demanded to be called was by no means an easy man to live with, not even in the beginning. At an early age I was lectured on the biblical scriptures and taught my place in society as a woman. Uncle often would see me passing and glare, mumbling some curse under his breath as if I had condemned mankind myself. He would have me kneel in front of his makeshift alter and pray for hours to save my worthless soul.

For most of my life I believed him too. I would sit and listen and pray as he instructed and feel the damnation within myself. Perhaps that is why I accepted everything he did to me later on and why it took so long for me to see the truth. For all his words Uncle was a gambler and a drunk. He would spend all of his money on whisky and when he couldn’t afford that, moonshine one of his “friends” made would suffice. I can remember still to this day the reek of it on his lips and his skin and it turns my stomach.

Putting her pen down once more Kay closed the journal with a heavy sigh. It had been some time since she thought about such things and it came back to her as clear as day. Putting the leather book down on her bedside table she turned and cuddled up against the furry pillow, petting the small ferret’s head as Kiri yawned and nipped at her fingertips. Her eyes remained open, fearing the dreams that might come after opening the wounds she tried to forget over the years.

Subject: Re: Kay's Journal Tue Jan 18, 2011 1:19 am

Sleep never came and it was a small blessing as Kay rubbed her sore red eyes. Kay had cried softly into Sasha's fur as memories came back to her a flurry. The husky licked her salty tears from her cheeks as she wept and Finn found his way to lay against her chest. Kay's fingers stroked his short curly fur and she took in what little comfort they gave. Even her ferret had rose up and licked her nose before scurrying away from the cockapoo to sleep in the soft socks under her bed. The two animals didn't get along as Finn was apt to chase the ferret around the room in an attempt to play but Kiri didn't find it fun in the least. When he was older he would be larger and less afraid of the dog but for now the fluffy white ferret just found shelter. Kay saw a lot of herself in the pet.

Taking hold of the journal she decided she might as well write since she could find nothing else to do and it was best to get it out as quickly as possible. The sooner she finished the sooner she could forget it all over again and focus on what she had now: a family that cared for her and looked after her and only wanted the best.

March 5, 2008:
I was six the first time he struck me. I was washing the dishes after preparing the midday meal and a mouse startled me by running across the floor. When I cried and jumped back I dropped the plate I had been drying and it shattered. Uncle came rushing into the room, drunk on shine, red in the face and livid, he grabbed my wrist so hard I thought it would break. Screaming and cursing me he dragged me towards the large cross he had in the living room and threw me to my knees. I thought he would have me pray, I was trying to apologize when I felt the belt meet my back. When he heard my cry of pain he yelled at me again, telling me to shut my mouth and take the punishment I deserved. He said I dropped the plate on purpose, that I was willful and disobedient. When he locked me in the cellar I was confused and frightened. He had yelled before and smacked my hand when I was younger when I touched something that was not to be touched but this was different. My skin was inflamed but not broken, not this time, but for all I had known it was the most pain I'd ever felt. It would soon come to be the kind of beating I would consider “lucky”.

After that moment the littlest infraction seemed to set him into a rage and he would hit me harder and more often. When I couldn't afford to buy a loaf of bread for our meal due to his debt, he used his fist. He began to favor that, and would take to punching me whenever I was too slow on bringing him a refill of his drink. Uncle had a large steel ring, intricately designed which would imprint it's design all over my body. I think he took delight in seeing his mark upon me as a symbol of my being trained. When it faded away he would beat me all the harder so that it would glow on my skin or be inked in my blood.

It was around that age that he started to hold parties at our home. Uncle would invite his gambling buddies, the loan sharks and other bottom dwellers of society who would sell him his favored beverages for a discount. I hated those parties and those people. When they came my Uncle would insist upon me waiting on them to show how a good God-fearing woman behaved. They would laugh and poke at me, sometimes I would feel hands over my body as I passed and I would walk faster to escape their probing fingers. This always set them to laughing and grabbing harder. If I complained my Uncle's angry voice would ring out and he'd slap me, telling me to do as I was told. The parties would end with me being locked in the cellar after a sound beating and left until my Uncle awoke the next morning and kicked me for not keeping the house clean. I would spend the next few hours washing and scrubbing while he watched me.

One night he had a few men over, gambling and drinking while I was forced to sit on my Uncle's knee and watch. He had lost a large sum of money that night, too much for him to cover or talk his way out of. The man, Mitchell, who he owed had been watching me and made a deal with my Uncle to repay his debt. I felt the chill up my spine before the words even escaped his lips. I was eleven and didn't know the full extent of what he said just then, but the look in his eyes as he licked his lips made me shake. My Uncle agreed without a second thought and told me I was his property so it was a good deal.

The pen hovered over the page as she considered her next words. Kay couldn't write them, she just couldn't put that down on paper. Swallowing the lump in her throat she bit her lip and moved forward.

That would not be the last time I was used to cover his debt and I cried each time. It was always rough, painful and there was always blood. They all must have known because the parties changed from that night on as well. Uncle's friends found new ways to humiliate me, dressing or undressing me, smacking and petting me, throwing things at or on me. All the while my Uncle smiled approvingly and continued to beat me after. Even if I didn't fight, didn't resist, didn't argue, he still beat me and locked me away.

Her breathing increased as she pictured the man in her mind. With a growl she took hold of the journal, held onto the pen and began to scribble the words down quickly.

I hated him. I hated him. I hate. I hate. I HATE HIM.

She continued to write those words over and over as they got larger and filled an entire page. Crossing over each other until the page was nearly black with the words scribbled across. The paper tore as she dug into the page with her pen, stabbing it as she cried out angrily as the tears started once more. When the page sagged from the excessive ink she flung it from her and clutched onto her knees, pulling them up tightly.

Subject: Re: Kay's Journal Tue Jan 18, 2011 1:21 am

March 20, 2009 -- Kay woke up in a cold sweat screaming so loud the dogs began to bark and growl at the would-be attacker. Scratching her way out of the blankets she toppled out of the bed and onto the floor. She had dreamed of Uncle and his friends. The nightmare had been so vivid that she could feel the cuts and welts as if they had just occurred and her back ached from tense muscles. Looking down she found her fingernails covered in blood and her palm cup up from clenching her fists as she slept. Kay didn’t know when she had fallen asleep but she wasn’t pleased that she had. Sleep hadn’t been her companion in some time and she avoided it as much as she could but her body eventually died out on her. She had found the abandoned shack located deep within her new woods and camped. Perhaps it was the familiar feel of wood encasing her or the soft cushion instead of bramble and rocks that had brought upon those old memories.

On the ground her knapsack had fallen open and there like a demon in the room sat the leather journal. When her eyes looked on it she growled again and glared as if it had brought the nightmares upon her. For reasons she couldn’t understand she leapt upon the book to describe her nightmare.

I was in a cold place, dark and confining. I couldn’t move, couldn’t see, could barely breathe. I could smell the earth all around me and feel the cold of it’s depths from within the linen sheet. It must have snowed while I lay unconscious, the earth resisted some as I pushed against it. The sheet was wet and clung to my legs but by some luck my head was secured under something sturdy, keeping the dirt at bay. Shivering more from fear the realization began to take over me at where I was and what had happened, but a part of me still didn’t believe it. No, Uncle wouldn’t allow that, he couldn’t, yet the more I struggled the clearer things became. I was trapped but then suddenly before me I saw McAllyster. I was no longer trapped but I still couldn’t move, all I could do was watch as the bolt hit her chest and she hissed out in pain. The terror hit me first but then I felt the cold rage swelling up inside me as the hunter drew closer to the vampiress. She was going to be killed, she was going to die, then everything went black and the heady smell of blood was everywhere.

Subject: Re: Kay's Journal Tue Jan 18, 2011 1:24 am

It had been a long time since Kay had even looked at her journal let alone left an entry within its pages. She hadn’t even glanced at it since she had woken up screaming and wrote out what she had dreamed. She didn’t want to remember, she didn’t want to think about it or care. Spending several days in the woods had helped that, helped her lose track of everything. It was so easy to return to her old habits of hiding and hunting. Staying away from everyone and everything, and simply shutting down. Kay wanted it to fade away again, to simply let it become another fuzzy thing from the past, something she could turn off and forget, and then McAllyster’s face came into her mind. The dream felt like it had greater meaning and perhaps it was a sign that she couldn’t ignore. It was not fair to forget the women; she couldn’t hide again. McAllyster deserved better, she deserved to be remembered and Kay would finish the journal that her first true mother would never get to read. Returning to the cabin they once shared her fingers lightly ran over the leather cover before picking up the book.

April 2, 2009:
I was making this journal for another, to help her to understand me and to help explain my past. I should have said that before. ~~I should have~~

I can still hear her voice singing to me and feel her warm hands caressing my cheek. When we first met I barely remember snapping my teeth and biting her. She laughed as my fangs sunk deeply into her hand and simply watched me with an intense curiosity. That was McAllyster: understanding, patient, calm and curious. She was the first mother figure I ever had and it took me a long time to trust her or open up to her, but once I did it was infectious. McAllyster was perfect in every way and I’m grateful to have met her. She gave me everything I could ever have wanted and taught me so many things about what I now am. My sire left me for dead, he didn’t care if I survived once he changed me and I don’t know why he bothered to do even that much. I must have amused him, covered in blood and dirt and barely alive as it was. McAllyster told me it was not uncommon among our kind to sire childer by accident or to leave them to fend for themselves. She told me not to take it personally and that I did nothing wrong. That she was proud of me for surviving and growing as I had without any guidance. She told me all that, but I don’t believe her. McAllyster was too kind to tell me the truth.

After I bit her she began to visit me in my woods on a regular basis. At first I ran away, trying to outrun and hide from her, but she always tracked me down. She was far older and had gained powers I couldn’t have fathomed existed. I was a child in the world of our kind and lost to the wilderness on top of that. When running didn’t work I would hiss and snarl, slash and bite and try to defend myself. The wolf who hunted beside me would bare her teeth and McAllyster simply dodged and avoided our attacks, careful not to harm either of us. She saw what the animal meant to me and wanted my trust and friendship. McAllyster began to follow me as I hunted and fed, and when I watched her hunt for the first time I was in awe.

Hunting had become second nature, I was a predator in the woods and killing to survive was all there was. McAllyster hunted with a fine grace that I had never really understood. I knew I was stronger and faster than I used to be, but I’d never dreamed of the skill and deadly accuracy that could be harnessed. She was lethal and from then on I began to follow her, to study her. At first she kept close to my woods so that I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable.

Kay smiled softly in memory while she continued.

As I grew more accustomed, bolder, she moved further out until she was closer to the loud places. We were only a few yards from a residential area when she met the edge of the forest and spotted her prey. I remember the glint of her fangs as she smiled gently towards me. Before that time I had only fed upon animals, wild cats, deer, whatever crossed me and so had McAllyster so deep in my woods, but here she was now with a lovely blond boy no older than I had been when I was turned. I could hear his heart beating but his blood dripped from the large torn flesh of his throat. A part of me that was still human shrunk away and was horrified at what it saw but the darker part of me simply rationed that it was another mammal ready to service what was needed.

I think McAllyster sensed the war within me and pet the boy’s hair lovingly while watching me. She told me that she only killed hunters, and that feeding was a personal choice. She said I could continue to feed on animals but their blood was weaker, and she could teach me much more if I followed her. That she would protect me. I told her that I didn’t kill people and she nodded without comment. I told her I would not live in a box among the loud noises and she nodded again. I thought it was amazingly fortunate that she had a cottage in the woods not far from civilization but far enough not to be disturbed. It never occurred to me until much later that she had it constructed after I had made my demands. She wanted me to be happy and to help me. The cottage was my fault, they wouldn’t have found us if we had left the woods and hidden away like our kind should.

On March 20, 2008 McAllyster was murdered. This journal is for her.

Kay ripped out he pages and placed them at the front of her journal. With a long roll of scotch tap she began to slowly and carefully reconnect the pages into the front of the leather book. When she was finished the book was placed carefully in her knapsack before curling up in a blanket beside her pets.

A year ago she had done the same exact thing, packing the journal away along with a few small mementos of the cottage. With the two dogs at her heels and a ferret hiding in her sweater pocket, the last present she received from her friend, she stood outside in the snow and watched the cottage, and everything within, burn.

Subject: Re: Kay's Journal Tue Jan 18, 2011 1:26 am

To Be Continued..