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-January-
It's my tradition every year to take time to reflect and set goals. Growing up, my human family would sit down for a meal on January first and recall the previous year, discussing any new habits we could implement in the near future. Then, we'd write down our resolution. Just one goal, written boldly on a new page of a notebook. It was fun to flip the pages back, year after year, and see if we'd succeeded.
I've held onto this tradition long after their deaths — it's the one thing that anchors me to my past life.
Today, I turn to a fresh page of my book, page three hundred and ninety-four, and pull out a ballpoint pen. Societal changes over my long lifetime have led my collection of fountain pens to obsoletion, and I do my best to stick with the times. The pages of my book are worn and weathered, and the ink from previous years has bled through the paper, rendering my oldest goals illegible. But that's okay. Sometimes it's good to close doors on the past, especially when the surrounding world has changed so drastically. The way my ballpoint pen slides over the rough, aged parchment just reminds me that I exist in two worlds. The present and the past. Us and them.
I live in an overgrown, run-down cottage next to a sprawling farm, which has turned out to be a very convenient food source. In the past, as long as I hunted strategically at night and cleaned up the aftermath, the farm owners left me alone, attributing any lost cattle, horses, or sheep to the brutal game of nature.
Unfortunately, this wasn't the case with the last owner. She was an odd one, immediately taking an interest in the strange, dilapidated old shack on the edges of her property and the young boy who lived inside. Little did she know, I was not young, nor was I harmless. I didn't need her help. I kept to myself as much as I could, but she'd come around a little bit too often for my liking, always offering food, or worse, company. I haven't eaten human food or held company in centuries, and I wasn't about to start then.
So, I did what I could to remove her.
It was a mistake. I only narrowly escaped law enforcement's thorough search and investigation by pretending not to exist. There's nothing suspicious about an old, creaky house as long as it's empty, and eventually, the case of her disappearance went cold. I can't even think about what would have happened if I had been caught. Humans aren't very nice to my kind.
My close call influences this year's goal. I give my pen a few flicks with my bony, sun-deprived fingers, watching the ink settle to the bottom like blood would in a glass vial. And then I scribble my one and only resolution for the year.
Refrain from eating my neighbors.
-March-
Shielded from the sun behind a blackout curtain, I watch my new neighbors from the window. They are busy feeding the goats and sheep, preparing the newly thawed soil for planting season, and… frolicking. I think that's the proper word. I find that odd. It's a middle-aged man with wiry, dirty blonde hair, and his young daughter. They both wear bright yellow — a horrifying, blinding color if you ask me — and seem a little too happy to be left to their own devices on a tucked away piece of land.
I observe the way the girl skips toward the stables, carrying a bushel of hay under her arm. She's distracted by a blooming flower, which she stops to smell. Then, she trips over a rock and lands on her knees. But this doesn't seem to bother her one bit. With a laugh, she brushes off the dirt, gathers the fallen hay, and continues skipping on her way. Once she drops the hay off at the stables, she stops to talk to the horses. They don't answer, of course, but the girl doesn't care.
Something about the way she interacts with the world unsettles me. She seems to take an interest in every little thing around her, no doubt a trait instilled by her equally inquisitive father. I noticed he uses magic — like my parents did — but not for everything. He appears to enjoy the manual labor associated with non-magical folks. I resent this. Having never learned magic myself — Hogwarts doesn't allow vampires — I wonder how they could take such an ability for granted.
On her way back, I see her eyes wander over my house. I close my curtain halfway, leaving only a small gap for me to peek through. Having spotted my movement, she freezes, staring directly at my window. I wonder if I've scared her. Then she smiles and waves, her hand motions quick and spastic, and I know that I have not frightened her. She's just curious.
I wish she wasn't.
-June-
The girl has begun leaving gifts.
First, it's a fruit basket. I don't eat fruit. I let it rot on my porch until a fox comes one night to snatch it away, and then I prey on the fox. I hate to admit the fruit basket was useful.
Then, it's a note.
Hi, I'm Luna. What's your name?
Simple enough, but I can't waste any ink on a response. There's no need for her to know my name — Severus Snape. I can't risk her researching me, and finding out how my family died, centuries ago. Exsanguination, draining of blood. Nowadays, there are many ways to exsanguinate someone — medicine has come far — but when I was a child, there was only one. That information would scare most humans. So, I leave the note on my porch, letting it blow off in the wind.
Then it's a necklace, or at least that's what I think it is. It's poorly made, just a cluster of bottle corks tied to a string. My parents used to tell me "it's the thought that counts" when I would receive horrifying presents, but I don't agree anymore. It's the quality that counts, and Luna's necklace is terrible.
Plus, there's no point in wearing a necklace. How would I know what it looks like when I don't even have a reflection?
After the sun sets, I step out onto my porch and chuck it into the tall grass.
-August-
Luna pounds on my door one evening, waking me up from a deep sleep. Of course, this alarms me — as far as I know, she's never stepped foot onto my porch before. She's never been this close. I open the door a crack and peer outside.
"What?"
"Have you seen my goat?" She places her hands on her hips, showing defiance.
"Excuse me?"
"One of my goats is missing. Buttercup must have wandered off."
"That's too bad," I tell her.
"Did you see her run away?"
"No."
"Have you seen her at all?"
"No," I repeat, closing the door a slither, hoping it hides Buttercup's carcass behind me.
Luna's face turns to a scowl and she tries to catch a glimpse into my house. I hope she can't smell the metallic scent of drying blood or the deliciously rotten stench of death.
"Are you sure?"
"I'm sure."
Her eyes darken with something I didn't expect, but can't mistake — recognition. It's a look I recall from my first few days as a vampire, the same one my mother gave me when she discovered that I had been turned. The look meant that I was no longer her son, but something to fear.
Luna's eyes remain dark as she turns around and shuffles down the steps and into the field, back to her own house. She brushes a tear from her cheek as she stomps away.
I close my door and look at the dead, bloodless, exsanguinated, goat. A pit forms in my stomach when I think of Luna hiding her tears. She must have been quite attached to Buttercup.
I know I shouldn't feel guilty — Luna should be grateful. It could have been her.
-October-
I think about that pit in my stomach a lot. Something about the girl changes after she loses Buttercup. The bounce in her step is gone. There is no frolicking through the field; instead, she stomps toward her animals, milk and water splashing from the tin pails she carries at her side.
I watch the way her face changes when she strokes her horse's mane. She smiles gently for a moment, as if one animal makes her forget the loss of another. But the moment passes, and the frown returns. Sometimes she looks up at my window and hardens her face into a scowl.
I've taken more animals. Buttercup left me satiated for a few days, but I still need to eat regularly. I take smaller things — any squirrels or rats I can find around the property — but the horses, cows, and goats are calling to me. I need more.
So I take what I need. Always at night. Always in the dark.
That pit in my stomach returns every time, and I do not like it.
I find another note on my porch.
I know what you are.
Stop eating my animals.
-December-
For Luna, I try. I attempt to live only on mice and rats. I want to let her animals be. It's not her fault I am what I am, and I know she deserves to live there in peace.
But I can't for long.
She's noticed I've stopped. She smiles at me now, sometimes waves. I have to admit that she's a little too trusting, but it's quite nice. Her face is brighter and that bounce in her step has returned. She's started bringing me gifts again, even though I don't usually keep them. It's the thought that counts.
Maybe, she doesn't care what I am, as long as I don't eat her animals. Maybe, she could be my friend.
The thought makes my hunger more difficult to manage.
Especially when she comes too close.
Just like my last neighbor — I waited until I couldn't resist any longer before going out on a hunt, and she had been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
The sun has just set, and Luna spots me on my porch on her way back toward the house. She shouldn't come any closer — she knows what I am — but she approaches me anyway.
"I still don't know your name," she says. "I can't be your friend if I don't know your name."
I scrunch up my nose to lessen the tantalizing aroma of a much-desired source of food. I hope she doesn't think I look disgusted, because I'm anything but.
But I'm so hungry.
"Severus Snape."
It's the last thing I ever say to her.
"Nice to officially meet—"
She doesn't have a chance to finish her sentence before I snap. It's all too much. I watch her eyes widen as my fangs come out. I watch her face go pale as she realizes she won't be able to run away.
I hate myself for it.
-January-
Just like every year, I sit down with a ballpoint pen and open my notebook. Today, I turn to page three hundred and ninety-five.
I hate new years resolutions. I find myself overthinking my past failures instead of focusing on my goals, and I'd rather not start the year off reflecting on what I've done wrong. I'd prefer to live in the future, not the past.
But this is the only thing that anchors me to the human I once was.
I look out the window at the farmhouse. I can see Luna's father in his window. He's been crying again. His shoulders are slumped and his reddened face is plastered with tiny lines, aging him far beyond his years.
I envy him. It must be nice to be able to age.
The police have left for the day, which is a relief. They won't find her, and I don't want them to know about me.
At this point, I barely notice the ever-present knot in my stomach. It's something I've learned to live with. I lean over my notebook and I scribble this year's goal onto the parchment.
Refrain from eating my friends.