The view outside the window was one of sheer darkness until the lightning burst forth, revealing a curtain of rain heavily draped around the house. The window shutters chattered their teeth in fear of the howling wind, and the candle light caused the room to seem like it was being shaken by an earthquake.
Jiminy looked out from under his duvet with aprehension, feeling comforted by the feel of the heavy cloth and fur covering him, yet frightened like a child at what lay outside his little world of comfort.
He shivered, although not from the cold. He looked out of the open window - why was it open again? He had been woken by the loud noise of its shutters bursting open from the force of the houling wind - or at least that is what his head told him. So why did he feel a primeval fear like something ominous and dreadful was near?
When he had first arrived in the small country, he had been told of its infamous legends of vile man-eating beasts that roamed the hills on its outer west edge. He had heard horrible tails of villagers hearing screams of babies stolen from their cribs, who were later found drained of most of their blood and barely alive; and he had heard how a few were targeted over and over again - mothers were driven mad by the terror of having to live with the realisation that no matter what you did, your most beloved possession was not safe, and would suffer the same fate over and over again. He had found it amusing how cultures that had developed almost completely independently had such similar legends; these poeple with their man-eating beasts, his own with its legends of vampires.
He now experienced a feeling he had felt before, a long time ago. He was a child, and one night he awoke to find what he thought was a hunched figure standing in the corner, leaning forward towards him. He had realised that it was only a football hanging by its net bag on the coat stand, but he had still felt the unease of something boring holes into him with its eyes, filling him with an inexplicable terror. That feeling now seemed like it resonated throughout his whole life, through the ages, as once again he thought he saw a figure next to the window. It's just like before, he told himself, nothing to worry about. And, just like before, the feeling of fear did not leave him.
Suddenly, he heard a scratching noise that made his blood chill. At first it seemed like it was coming from outside - but then suddenly it appeared directly next to his bed. He thought he saw - no, it could not be - the hunched figure slowly shuffling towards him, the screeching noise coming from its mouth. There was a flash, as the lightning once again burst forth from the sky, and the hooded figure revealed itself! An old native carving, nothing more - immobile, dead, not worthy of fear.
He sighed in relief, but his head suddenly exploded with agony, and his left arm suddenly jerked into the air. He opened his mouth to scream, but nothing came out except a hoarse whisper. As the pain settled into a rhythmic throbbing, he could sense it emanating from his left arm. He tried to get out of bed, to run downstair, to alert someone, but he felt his body settle into his bed - he had completely lost control of it. His senses seemed to sharpen, and he heard hisses and creaks he had not noticed before as if they were a hunderd times louder, and he could see objects in his room he was not able to make out before.
Slowly, the pain completely subsided, and again the scratching noise was heard. But it no longer seemed chaotic, he could tell there was a meaning to it. He temporarily forgot his feeble condition, and instinctively concentrate on it as if he could make out what it meant. To his surprise, words slowly started to take shape in his mind.
"...almost.....harvest......until......struggling......"
The scratching sounds seemed to be etching the words into his mind, onto his very soul. He looked around to try to see where they were coming from, and saw something move next to him. He looked on his other side, and saw more movement - he was surrounded by God knew what, and they were planning how to devour him!
"....blood....fragrant.....enjoy....from.....refreshing....."
"....yes....will.....wonderful.....drain...."
Were these vampires? As thoughts started flooding through his head - images of vampire stories he had read and films he had watched - he started to ponder how to free himself from the clutches of his assailants. The cross? Garlic? Holy water? But deep down, he knew he was merely clutching for strands of hope to hold on to. Hope that was surely wasted.
"....remember.... all its blood is drained, we.... not be able.... continue.... harvest this one...."
".....yes, it will.... wasted...."
A dull realisation, like thick fog, settled apon him. He was familiar with this feeling because he had borne it before. After the night in his room, when he thought he had seen the hunched figure, he was found in bed by his parents almost completely drained of blood. Why had he not remembered earlier? What was happening to him seemed so familiar, yet so unfamiliar at the same time, like a terrible dream that one forgets after waking up, and no matter how much one tries to remember it, its vile memory never returns.
Still the words became ever more understandable as time slowly wore on.
"....Make the cuts, and inject the heart with the anti-coagulant and the nervous system accelerator.....do not want....heart to stop pumping, or we will never get....blood out in time to meet.....schedule"
"You....always the one.... so slow when harvesting....crops...."
I am not a crop! I am a human being!, Jiminy angrily shouted in his mind. The two - whatever they were - were arguing over him as if he was a feelingless entity, not a living, breathing, feeling person. He was aware that the poison, or whatever it was, had given him the ability to understand what they were saying, but part of him wished he could not understand now that he knew what fate lay in store for him.
"Why...we not eat the...."
This was followed by an unprounceable series of gurgles and scratches that Jiminy understood to be the name of some kind of entity similar to themselves, but of lesser complexity.
Yes, why not eat those whatever-they-ares, he thought reproachfully.
"No! The..."
Again followed the series of gurgling noises.
"...are living breathing creatures with feelings - it is immoral, hurtful, cruel and wrong to make them suffer purely so that we may selfishly enjoy the way they taste! We are advanced, superior beings and would be taking ourselves to a lower standard if were were to act like that. These objects do not react like us to harm, so must therefore not be sentient, and must therefore not feel, and we can therefore eat them without causing hurt".
They're treating me like a plant! I FEEL! I HURT!, he tried to shout out aloud, without success. He knew there was no hope now, whatever fate awaited him was inevitable.
He wanted to see these things that were debasing him, treating him like a meaningless object. He tried to move his eyes as much as he could to either side, but it was too dark. Then suddenly a flash of lightining illuminated the room, and he just managed to catch a glimpse of a wavy sillouette outlined against the wall. It appeared to be a thin wavy tentacle, that seemed to be floating in the air. It bulged in and out as is moved, if it was filled with a liquid or gas. The bottom end was thin an rounded, the top was thin and proruding, with what seemed to be smaller tentacles along it that seemed to curl in like a hand.
If only I could make them understand how I feel, they would feel compassion, they do for those other creatures, he thought. But it was pointless to think such thoughts, they were so biologically different from him that they could not possibly know how he felt, they could not empathise with him. Compassion depends on empathy, he thought to himself, half-mocking himself for philosophising at a time like this.
The 'hand' seemed to gesture and point as it spoke, this time going through a procedure to drain poor Jiminy's blood that was too horrible for him to contemplate. Jiminy would have to be paralysed for it to work, as a neuro-toxin would be injected into him that would cause his muscles to reject any oxygen in the blood. The creatures knew it would cause him excruciating pain, but did not know how terrible it would feel, being of a completely different nervous make-up and therefore being unable to empathise with him. They referred to the increase in nervous activity as "enhanced self-preservation neuro-response phenomenon - reason unknown". Then an anti-coagulant would be injected into him, and several small holes drilled in his body would be used to suck out almost all the blood in him. A probe would be entered into his heart through a gap in his ribs that would be used to electrocute his heart to cause it to help pump the blood out faster. When it was over, his mind would be erased of memory - what they called "residual self-sefence muscle-training" - to stop him putting up a struggle next time he detected their presence before they paralysed him. So that's why I couldn't remember the other encounters, he told himself, having resigned himself to his fate.
The procedure began. He sensed one of the creatures move toward his hip, and felt a sharp stab at his side. He howled in pain in his mind, but his body did not react. He felt the sensation of liquid being injected into him, and at once his whole body started to burn like it was being stabbed by a thousand hot pokers. His eyelids felt like they had been lifted up and a razor blade placed under them. His nails felt as if they were being continually pulled out, with a soldering iron being applied to the soft flesh underneath. His mouth felt like a hot coal had been placed in it that was hotter than anything he could imagine.
He felt himself fainting from the pain, but the relief was snatched away as a second, deeper stab was felt in his chest. Electricity burst forth from the tentacle that was now reaching into his heart, causing Jiminy's mind to reel with anguish. The pain in his whole body was amplified, and he wished his chest would burst open and relieve the terrible pressure that was built up inside it. He felt a tentacle slither across his ankles and wrists, he felt the slits cleanly being made, the blood oozing out like water, and the suction at each slit suck his body clean of his blood. Of all the pain he was suffering, this made him despair and be angry more than anything at how he was being violated and his blood stolen.
Then he understood - his ability to understand the creatures was merely a side-effect of the nerve-toxin that paralysed him and erased his memory of the event, like it had done on so many occasions before. He felt the suction being applied to his ankles and wrists subside, and his head swoon as his eyes slowly closed and his consiousness faded.
Why me?, he asked himself, just before he fell into a deep sleep.
The following morning, Jiminy awoke, feeling weaker and looking paler than usual. He called in breakfast, and the waiter looked at him and asked, "You look very pale, sir. Is everything alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine. I have a condition. This happens to me from time to time - do not worry, I'll recover."
"Very good sir," said the waiter, in a concerned tone of voice, "please do not hesitate to call someone if you require assistance."
Of course you want to help, thought Jiminy, you empathise with me and therefore feel compassion for me. Compassion depends on empathy. He did not know - or did not remember - why that thought filled him with dread.
