Jorden Norn, Author

     The sun slid past the horizon, and Elizabeth woke. Tonight, determined not to stay in her boudoir and allow time to slip past she forced herself to move. She threw back the sheet and paced the room, seeking some vague something to quiet her and bring comfort.

     "Hunting will fill the evening, for even now, I tremble with hunger. I can go through the graveyard if I leave by the back garden gate. The darkness at the river always provides good hunting." She spoke aloud as was her habit. A harsh, dry rasp emanated from between cracked lips. Only blood would ease the pain.

     Elizabeth reached for a favourite dress, but the ancient fabric split in her hands. With regret, she chose another made of heavier material and made do. The colour of the heavy, old velvet brought back sad memories of other days.
"I won't go to the graveyard. The blood of cows will do. Tonight, I'll walk among the living." The dry, ragged words sounded strange, even to her. As she slipped down the stairs, dust swirled around her feet. Something brushed a cheek, and she recoiled.

     "Only a cobweb." A bitter smile twisted her lips. "This house used to be beautiful."
Now, masses of cobwebs lined the walls and dripped like rags from the stair railing. Wallpaper hung in strips, exposing crumbled plaster. Elizabeth turned away from the rotting sofa. Stuffing oozed through the split seams and rodent holes.

     "Even fine Italian cloth doesn't last forever. Mother purchased the fabric because I loved the embroidered jewel tones. I wish I could shed tears. Once, my parents brightened this room with lights and music. We welcomed our friends with wine, candlelight, and laughter. Those days are long gone. I've wandered through these rooms for decades and watched them decay. John Cosgrove destroyed it all!"

     The change started the year he befriended her parents. That summer, Mr. Cosgrove became the centre of their social circle. Bright, clever, and witty, the man charmed everyone.

     "He brought death and horror. Even as he professed his love for us."

Chapter 1
She rubbed at the sores and bruises that speckled her skin. Encircling one arm with thumb and finger, Miranda hung her head. There was little left but skin and bone. Soon, it would be too late to try anymore. Staggering upright, her sunken eyes locked on a small window high on the wall. Hidden by flimsy shelving and blocked with plywood, it showed signs of rot. Each windy gust shook the frame and let in rain.

Somewhere inside her, a spark still burned. There might be a way. Tonight, an attempt at freedom, or she might give up forever. She whispered into the darkness.
"My name is Miranda." Perhaps my last words, she thought.

She pressed one ear against the door and heard nothing. When Tomas went out tonight, he wore shoes, not boots, for there was business to attend to. He may be gone until dawn. There might be time. Climbing to the top shelf, Miranda grasped the edge of the frame and worried at the rotten wood.

Every time the house creaked, she froze and listened for footsteps. An hour later, it let go. Squirming through the opening, she fell headfirst into the alley with a cry of triumph. Barefoot, clothed in nothing but a filthy skirt and tee shirt, Miranda was free.

Shoulders hunched against the downpour, she peered into the murk. To the left, city lights and traffic noise. To the right lay the dimly lit dock area. She ran towards the safety of darkness. Finally spent, she stopped in an alley behind a restaurant and crawled between a metal garbage bin and the brick wall.

The image of her captor's mad eyes burned in her memory. Like a fishhook in her brain, a psychic link bound Miranda to her maker. Did he know she'd broken out? With luck, he wouldn't find out until he returned. When the sun set, he'd come after her. She knew too much about him and his business. How much distance did she need to put between them before he could no longer feel her presence? Before she could hide?

Blood would heal her, sharpen her mind, and give her strength. Up to now, she'd feed on the rats he'd thrown into the pen. The filthy things had kept her from complete starvation. At sunrise, she'd need shelter. He'd changed her, and she was like him now. Face pressed to her knees, she pushed the hunger away.