Consumed: Chapter Twenty-Six

Michael had set a few simple rabbit traps in the woods on the very edge of town the night before, so decided to check them before he went back to his cottage. He followed the path he had taken when he had set the traps making sure to leave as little trace of himself to not attract suspicion from any townspeople.

The first trap held a medium size hare and he found himself softly humming “Mr. Moon,” as he gently picked it up, bit into the neck artery, drained the coppery blood and swiftly wrung its neck. He did the same for the other rabbit in the trap positioned several yards away. He thanked them as he did and they did not struggle. Death was an unpleasant business, but he hoped he was quick enough so they didn’t suffer.

He found that he didn‘t really need a lot of blood. This catch would keep him for a couple days. He carefully buried the carcasses with the small spade he’d left there earlier and headed back to his cottage.

Now that he was sated, he took a quick shower, got comfortable in some sweatpants and tee shirt, and prepared for a quiet night of reading or thinking about Allison or probably both. At this point he didn’t know if things were going to develop into anything more than flirtation and singing with her, but he wanted them to. He picked up the magic 8 ball that he’d found in the cottage, shook it and asked the question, “Will Allison be mine forever?”

“Signs point to yes,” said the little triangle in the blue fluid. He smiled hoping it was right, so he didn’t ask again. He didn’t quite believe in divination in any form, but still thought it was fun to try.

He looked through the selection of books on the small squat bookshelf in the living room. There was a usual odd mix of novels and inspirational Christian books as well as a King James Bible. The wide range was impressive: Mazes and Monsters, The Spy in the Ointment, The Fathers of the Primitive Church, The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe were just a few of the titles. ‘Of course they have some C.S. Lewis,’ Michael thought with a smile. Either the person who owned the cottage just went to the used bookstore and picked up books at random, or they had the most eclectic taste Michael had ever seen.

He finally landed on the copy of the Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde, by Robert Lewis Stevenson that was tucked between Jaws and The Love Pirate. Even though he had read it many years ago, tonight, it called to him again. As he opened the book, he remembered how the character of Jekyll/Hyde had reminded him of his father; a well-respected member of civilized society who held a darkness that could not be contained.

Michael had his own experience with violence as a vampire, but the hidden darkness of his father felt different. When he briefly tried to live like the other rotter vampires early on, he never had to hide the violence. They were demons and they knew they were acting demonically. They never had to lie to themselves or act conflicted about their darkness because they were the darkness. There was freedom in that lack of constraint.

For his father, the darkness had to lurk behind a veneer of civility and a slippery code of high-toned Christian morals. He had seen his father struggle to hold back that darkness within the confines of the society that had given him his fortune. Sometimes it worked, but other times, the pressure was too much and the darkness escaped. Then a servant or one of his hunting hounds felt the consequence from his silver gilded riding crop. Anyone could be at the receiving end as long as they couldn’t retaliate and as long as the beating fit within the broad definition of what society considered appropriate discipline. From Michael’s vantage point, the definition had included anything just short of death.

As a child, Michael had learned to recognize when the darkness was coming. It would glaze into his father’s eyes, in his voice, or change the air as if a storm was coming. Then Michael knew it was time to steer clear just in case.

There was one time that bothered Michael more than the rest. It was when he was 10 years old and heard his father beating Baba in the basement of their house. He was not in the basement, but heard yelling, hitting and Baba crying and screaming.
Michael paced back and forth in the dining room upstairs like a frustrated predator in the zoo. What kind of monster would hurt someone like Baba, he had thought as he listened to his father beating her. He had desperately wanted to do something for her but knew it would only make her situation worse. He had tried to intercede before when his father beat the son of their gardener who was his playmate. That ended in both him and the boy in question getting a worse beating. He was no match for the imposing mass of his father.

As he was debating how to distract or otherwise defuse the situation, the beating sounds stopped. He heard his father say something in soft but serious tones to Baba and then his heavy footsteps on the stairs. When he reached the top, he pushed past Michael without a word and left the house walking towards the stables, gripping the riding crop tightly in his fist. Michael could hear Baba crying softly and rustling around to get herself collected followed by her soft slow footsteps coming up the stairs.

“Are you okay, Baba?” he asked as she stepped through the doorway to the dining room.

She had been looking down at her feet and didn’t see Michael, so she was startled when she heard him. There was blood on the edge of her mouth and some welts were already forming on her face and arms. “Oh Michael, I wish you had not heard that.”

“Baba, why did he do that?” Michael asked as he trailed after her to the kitchen.
Without turning, Baba said, “Don’t worry about it. I forgot to get something at the market your father had requested and he was angry, that’s all. It wasn’t that bad. He was mostly hitting the wall next to me with the crop.” Michael had the feeling that she was saying it as much to herself as to him.

Prior to that, Michael, like a lot of children, just accepted that adults had good reasons for the things they did - good or bad. He really didn’t give much thought to why his father did anything unless it had to do with him and even then, he didn’t question it. It just was.

But looking at Baba then, he didn’t care why he’d done it. His father had been wrong. It was the first time that Michael thought his father, an adult who prided himself on being rational and professional, was acting anything but rational or professional. A sustained 15 minute beating of a servant was not about what Baba did wrong.

It had been a very long time since Michael thought about the incident and his father’s cruelty. Yes Michael had been cruel. He had been brutal and violent early on. He tried it on as if he was trying on his father’s suit and then realized it did not fit him at all. Now he killed to live. He did not torture to hide some deep darkness, like his father had.

A tear formed in Michael’s eye. He tried again to read a few pages of the book but then let it slump closed on his chest. An overwhelming sense of grief enveloped him like a blanket. He couldn’t do anything for Baba now, but the pain was like a metal rod through his sternum anyway. He resolved to visit Auntie Ellen the next day and hoped he would see Allison there again too. He turned the light out, put the book on the nightstand and concentrated on his own breath. Slowly with each inhale and exhale the cold memory of Baba’s pain was replaced with the warmth of her love and care, of her soft hugs and tender singing. It wasn’t long before his breath deepened, his muscles relaxed, and he found sleep.

Citations:

Stevenson, Robert Louis. Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. London, England, Longmans, Green, 1886, standardebooks.org/ebooks/robert-louis-stevenson/the-strange-case-of-dr-jekyll-and-mr-hyde/text/single-page. Accessed 13 Nov. 2025.