Sunday, 13 February 2011

Something wicked comes with Pixie - Sunday's Femme Fatale

February Femmes Fatales - February 13th

Sleeping Shadows is Pixie J. King's second offering to the February Femmes Fatales showcase, and justifies her status as wordsmith.

Beautiful and disturbing... This is so enjoyable I truly have nothing more to say except that this is what darkness is made of.

Sleeping Shadows By Pixie J. King

I lurk in the shadows, silently wait for you. It’s late, and you’re going to bed. You creep up the stairs in the dark, your breath raspy because the blackness terrifies you. I feed on your fear of the gloom around you. You become weak as I become stronger.

But you turn on the light – I recoil back into the darkness, watching, waiting; my hunger becoming deeper for you.

Slowly I lose my patience as you take an eternity to go to bed, and the light burns my eyes, but the hunger burns deeper, bubbling in my stomach, pulsing through my veins and making me ache.

At last, you switch off the light and retreat to your nest. I smile; I know my patience will be rewarded. The darkness gradually calms the madness in my mind like the slow descent of a feather; my goal is clear.

Like a thick veil protected by the black maw, I creep forward, your warmth feeding me, making me stronger. I will suck out your happiness and your calm demeanour and I will feed on your inner fears.

A thick shaft of moonlight pokes from an open curtain. I move closer to you, careful not to let my stench awaken you. I can see the cool paleness of your skin beneath the glare of the moon, almost like an icy reflection. My grin becomes wider as I weigh up your worth. I listen as you snore gently, with your back turned to me, oblivious. Your soft breathing captivates me, your folly evident. There is something about your manner, the calmness as you sleep, that fascinates the sleeping demon inside me.

I place my hand on your bed. I feel your warmth radiate into my sharpened fingertips. I take a gasp and suck in the cool air as something pleasant sweeps through me. But the impulse grows stronger, the hunger becoming insatiable.

No, I have to control it; the anticipation of the wait will make you stronger...

I move my hand to your shoulder; feeling, judging and pricing you up like a precious commodity. My fingers trace a line up to your neck and I feel your pulse. The dark angel inside is screaming for attention now, a ravishing hunger determined to be fed. My eyes turn to black slits, my senses fire up.

I can feel every pore open and awaken as I lean in and sniff your raw scent. Such innocence...I need to feed.

Drawing in the cloak of darkness which shields me from you, I move onto the bed, and gently climb on top of you, chuckling because you didn’t stir, lost in your slumber, your body paralyzed for me. I see through the gloom, sweep hair from your face, tightening a yellow curl around my finger. Your flushed cheeks look strangely alluring against the whiteness of the covers, like an invitation; I lean forward and plant a kiss, my lips like a brand against your skin, but you don’t revive from your deep slumber, you are locked in a deep sleep and my hot, furry tongue glides across your body.

One claw neatly slices the button from your nightshirt and it opens out, revealing your naked bosom.

I peer at your lips, so plump, so round. They part, ready for me. As my lips meet yours, I take in a deep breath and begin to suck as though ripping the breath from your lungs. I can see a stream of myriad colours emerge from your larynx, bringing up your very existence. I feed my desire, and not just my burning hunger. I can feel your body fight against me, even though hypnotised, I can feel the adrenaline pump around your body; it knows I am pressing you into the covers, stealing you.

I place my hands around your neck and squeeze as I climb right into you, desire and death entwined, feeling the life drain from your body until you quiver one last time, and I am satiated.

But I am never truly satisfied, never happy. I’m constantly hungry, constantly filled with lust, I constantly want.

I slink back into the shadows, wipe your juice from my mouth and body.

I am Incubus, and I’m coming for you.

Pixie is a 16 year old student who is trying to balance writing with her college work. She is a full member Fictioneer. Pixie’s work can be found at

Lily Childs is a writer of horror, esoteric, mystery and chilling fiction.

If you see her dancing outside in a thunder storm - don't try to bring her in. She's safe.