Sacrifice

This is an adult story, with language and content which may offend those easily offended.

I can remember the sparkles. Sunshine on water. At the river, that warm day in late spring. I remember the droplets on her skin and I remember her eyes. Her huge childlike eyes, deep brown and clear and innocent. Still unaware of her beauty, a child. Her perfect sun kissed legs. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. I thought, how long do I have, how long will it take her to finish her drink, lips pouting round the rim? I didn’t want it to end. A face like one of those perfect golden ratio faces that artists paint. Every single freckle was perfect, but she was real and was so beautiful it could have made me cry. And when she dived into the river, swam, ran on the bank, I watched her and I wanted her.

I have skills, talents. Everyone knows I can charm, manipulate, lead them where I want them to go.

Call me a wolf, but all wolves aren’t the same ; there is one kind with an amenable disposition – tame and gentle, following the young girls in the streets, into their homes. The young girls don’t know that these gentle wolves, out of all the wolves, are the most dangerous!

Yes, I have skills. I know these girls. They go for the bad boy and I am the likeness of a devouring wolf, strong and mighty, with great, large eyes, which in the night sparkle like fire, and a wide mouth, with most sharp and cruel teeth, a strong body. They want me. They want the dangerous man.

All the girls are racing to be the first. The first to bleed, first to kiss, first to touch, first to fuck. It’s not that they especially want any of these things but they are terrified of being different, of being left behind. Stay with the flock, keep in time. She, as much as the others, terrified of not being the perfect girl, the girl who speaks quietly and calmly, who is always kind and nice, never mean or bossy. She, who wants to fit in; not lead or lag.

So, yes, I could have had her. Led her there, like any of the others, but this one was different. I had imagined, her and I, something real. I could have shown her things, many beautiful things and excitement too. It was a dream, I know,

I know it could never happen. Eventually I’d change and it would all go bad. The moon or the season would call me and I’d hurt her, knowing I didn’t want to. It’s too hard when it comes. Not something you can fight. It just happens. They know that, the ones who choose the girl to wear the hood. In the end, they all know that in the end, the bloodlust prevails. Yes, I’d eat that heart, panting hot and raw, eat that sweet dainty morsel.

I don't know why they had to send her. Why they had to send this girl. Any girl would have been OK. Any young girl. Fresh, you know. They knew. I think they knew my feelings for her.

They must have known when they chose her. When they gave her the robe and the hood. Chose her as the virgin. And they knew when they sent her out, they knew she had to die like the others, like every year  

Did that make it better, stronger? They for sure didn't think of me. Why would they? None of them ever cared about me.

Here we are on the path. Her rich cascade of auburn hair tumbling out from her hood. She’s skipping, smiling. With that basket full of wine. Some bring cakes, bake things, but she knew her grandmother.

And her grandmother, old hag, crept away. She knew what was coming. She left the door unlocked and sneaked into the forest. Kept herself safe. That’s not as she’ll tell it, but that’s how it was.

Her name doesn't matter now, she is the blood, the offering. They've dressed her in the robe, the hood. She's on the path. Everyone knows where this ends. Everyone but her. They will speak of her by her robe. She had a name. Dyani. Sweet soft Dyani. Dyani, always with a smile, and so generous it was close to foolish. Her name meant deer. Fitting perhaps, now. Now she is just the girl in the red hood.

If she wasn't here, now, sometime later she would have taken my hand and drawn it on to her breast. And it would have been sweet. In that cottage, on that bed. And she’d love the soft skin of my penis on her lips and she’d smile when I shuddered as I came inside her. Like a child given a gift.

But this afternoon isn't going to end like that. I hate them for that. I want to call a pack and hunt them all down. They should fear me now. Those cruel men, choosing her. Making me do this.

The worst thing. the worst part of this nightmare, what is destroying what soul I have left is I know she will taste good. Good as she looks.

I have always loved the way she looks. pale skin and that mass of dark hair, tumbling out from her hood. Those child eyes. Too big really, those dark brown eyes. A beautiful child face on a woman. I want to look into them and for her to see me. The real me, you know. Not just the teeth.

How long has this gone on. Thousands of years. I have read - yes I do read, I am educated – I have read, the Greek, Pausanias knew the how and why. Told the story, in which, each year, a virgin girl was offered to a malevolent spirit, offered as a sacrifice. And this spirit, dressed in the skin of a wolf, raped and ate the girl.

They will tell another story. One that ends well. The girl will be rescued. Wishful thinking. A better story for their guilt, a happy fairy tale. Keep out of the woods, don’t speak to strangers. No one will mention Dyani. They will agree, without words, not to mention her. They won’t admit they chose the story, they chose the girl.

I will be the malevolent spirit. Everyone believes there’s a malevolent spirit. What does that mean, malevolent? I don’t hate her. I do what they want. I do it for them. Someone has to. Someone always has. A thousand girls, a thousand innocent young girls, a thousand virgins. So their crops will grow. So their gods will smile.

I don the skin, the rank smelling skin and pull the fangs into my mouth.

It will haunt me. Next year and the years after, all I will see is her eyes. I will see my teeth in her eyes. Watch her last moments, her confusion and the rising fear. Her scream as I take her. Remember her hair tumbling from her hood. Remember the soft sweet taste on my lips.

As we stroll through the woods, the flowers mock me. They cover the peaceful, sun-dappled glades. Bluebells crowding round the base of the trees like flirting girls, sweet smelling columbine in the glades, the dog violet line her path; Bow as she walks to her sacrifice.

“Take your time, pick some flowers” I say. “It’s a lovely day.”

I know I’m going to do this. I know the flowers will cover the smell of your fear and your blood when I take you. Will help cover the stench when my teeth rip open your stomach. The gods will smile. Their bastard smiling gods. And the villagers, they all know it’s happening. Duplicitous, lying, cruel bastards. They will cover it up, again. They will tell their tales, like they always do, but they know.

They know, they all know, what big teeth I have and who I’m going to eat.