The bite mark on his neck seared. He poked at it, the angry red, highlighted with a sickly green ring. The imprint almost looked human, with the circle of teeth. But no human has canines so long.

His phone buzzed from its place on the nightstand. Audrey.

“Hey, up for another party tonight? 🙂”

He scoffed at the text.

“Still sleeping off the last one,” he responded before he tossed the device to the side.

Keeping his eyes open proved difficult. He knew he should find some ointment for it, or go to the hospital. But his bed was a sweet lure.

He collapsed onto the pile of disheveled blankets while his phone buzzed, once, twice.

His jaw ached. His stomach coiled like a snake. The memory of the sunshine that tinged his skin now burned.

After a long, dreamless sleep, he awoke to blinding white light.

For a moment, he thought he had died. Then he narrowed his eyes and realized it was morning sunlight streamed through his window.

He pulled the shades tight.

His head seemed better. But the sun had seared its mark into the back of his eyes. And exhaustion lingered.

When he dragged himself into the kitchen, he meant to eat. But opening the fridge made him retch.

He went to the bathroom to check his wound, and found the bite mark gone. Not a scab or speck of white to show it had ever been there. In his fuzzy brain, it was just a regular fever. He collapsed back into bed.

When he awoke, it was with a gnawing in his stomach. He lurched forward out of bed. It was later now: the sunlight no longer filtered through the frayed edges of the curtains.

His cupboard offered him nothing to eat: oranges, crackers, soup, or the pastries he’d bought on impulse. Everything tasted of iron. Even the water scraped on its way down.

He thought about going to the hospital again. But the thought of the florescent lights and clattering noise drove him back to his bed. It reeked of sweat and rot.

Through the night, and the next day, he slept, awakening to occasional buzzes from his phone. When he finally awoke, a pounding drilled through his skull. Rhythmic, unyielding. It took a moment to realize someone was knocking at his door.

He must have looked rough. That was why Audrey had looked so shocked. When did she rush inside, and usher him to his couch? Her words floated past his head, but he could hear something else clear as day.

A steady thump.

Her heartbeat was a soothing metronome. As the melody flooded all his senses, he realized his own absence. Audrey kept talking.

He pressed his fingers to his neck, just below the jut of his chin, as he had so many times before. The cold, stiff skin sat still under his hand. His own heart had stopped.

Audrey’s face was in front of his. His best friend, her eyebrows furrowed. Her cheap eyeliner was crooked. She put her warm hand on his shoulder, and he sensed more than noise.

She smelled like the chocolate chip cookies his mother used to make. As he breathed again, he could sense it. It wasn’t just the vanilla soap she had used; it was deep under her skin.

His stomach ached. He rose abruptly. Audrey stepped neared. His stomach roared. He was ravenous.

Editor: Lucy Cafiero