Yet I Linger

I can still remember hiding behind the thick roots of an old oak tree, stifling my giggles as Papa called out playfully for me. Rays of sunlight streamed through the leaves, dappling my skin. I held my breath, waiting for him to give up searching.

But then came the snap of a twig, his amused voice drawling, "Found you!" before his fingers dug into my side, tickling me relentlessly as I squealed with laughter. We tumbled out from the oak tree into the grass. The world froze for just a moment and I prayed for nothing to change.

Maybe I should have watched what I was wishing for.

I awoke with a gasp, my father's laughter echoing hauntingly in my ears. The memory faded like smoke as I found myself lying on the cold dirt floor of an abandoned cabin. Weak predawn light seeped through cracked windows to reveal the abject ruin around me.

Cautiously, I rose, my body aching with that now familiar hollow craving. My unnatural existence mocks all I once held dear. I neither hunger for food nor tire, yet neglecting my true inhuman needs for too long leaves me weakened beyond measure.

I can go days without sleep, but it offers an escape from the unbearable loneliness. I dare not sleep too long however. The risk of discovery lurks in every creaking floorboard, every sigh of wind through the trees.

Approaching the cracked window, I peered out at the waning moon. An hour yet before the sun rose. Plenty of time to flee this wretched hovel and put more distance between me and my pursuers.

I gathered my meager possessions with trembling hands. A flickering lantern, a silver dagger, a leather canteen - pitiful weapons against the forces of darkness that hunt me. But they are all I have.

Steeling myself as the moon sank low, I stepped outside into the gloom of the woods. I do not know what I am, or why I'm hunted.

The sun beat down relentlessly as I shambled down a dusty road, lost in thought. My shoes, cobbled together from old leather and bits of rope, felt ready to fall apart beneath my feet. Just one more indignity for the immortal creature who owns nothing and belongs nowhere.

I adjusted the frayed shawl around my shoulders, seeking some protection from the sun's rays. The light which once filled me with joy now only brings danger, limiting the hours I can travel undetected. I move from place to place like a ghost, leaving no trace of my presence.

In my endless isolation, I find myself straining to recall the simplest details of my former life. Papa's face, once so clear in memory, now only comes in flashes - the crinkle of his smile lines, the warmth in his eyes. I cling desperately to these faded glimpses, terrified that one day I may no longer recall his face at all. It's this loss, more than anything else, that frightens me about my unending existence.

But Papa's spirit stays with me. His unwavering kindness and playful laugh gave me strength. If only I could truly share one more bright summer's day with him. We'd picnic under the old oak tree, play hide and seek in the orchard - and I'd finally beat him at chess like he always joked I would someday.

Well, I suppose an immortal has all the time in the world to practice chess. I reckon I'll be a grandmaster within a few centuries or so.

As the sun sank lower in the sky, I spotted a ramshackle motel lurking near the side of the road, its flickering neon vacancy sign beckoning. Another nondescript place to disappear for a few days. With darkness soon falling, it will have to suffice for now.

As I continued down the dusty highway, a faded sign caught my eye: "Sunset Motel - Vacancy." The building itself was a dilapidated little place far past its prime. The parking lot sat mostly empty, with only a few cars scattered about. At the front desk, a middle-aged woman with teased blonde hair looked up from her magazine with a friendly smile as I entered.

"Well hey there hon, welcome to the Sunset! Just passing through?" she asked in a sweet country drawl.

I nodded, painfully aware of my grubby, travel-worn clothing and the layer of dust coating my skin. But the receptionist's gaze held only kindness, no judgment or suspicion. For that I was grateful.

"How many nights could this get me?" I asked softly, placing a small pile of cash on the counter. It represented the last of my dwindling funds.

The woman glanced down at the money and gave me an apologetic look. "Oh I'm sorry hon, looks like just one night with that amount."

I sighed but nodded. One night would have to be enough. At least it was a real bed in an actual room. After so many nights spent in abandoned shacks and makeshift camps, the prospect of sleeping in a real bed again, even a cheap motel one, filled me with relief.

"Alright, Room 105 just around the side," she said, sliding a key across the counter. "Vending machine's out front if you want to grab a snack. Let me know if you need anything else!"

I smiled weakly in thanks, then made my way towards Room 105 as she'd directed. My heightened senses told me we were alone here. Perhaps this place would offer a few precious hours of undisturbed rest before I had to move on once more.

I made my way around the side of the motel to Room 105. Inserting the key, I stepped inside and was pleasantly surprised by the space. Though small, with just enough room for a full-sized bed, nightstand, dresser and a tiny bathroom, it was clean and tidy. Fresh linen adorned the bed, the surfaces dusted and wiped down.

I set my meager belongings on the dresser and ran my fingers over the quilt, marveling at its softness. After so long on the run, living in squalor, this simple room felt like unimaginable luxury.

I glanced at the bathroom, with its dingy tub and mini toiletries, and my heart swelled. To bathe properly, to wash my grimy hair and scrub the dirt from my skin, seemed like heaven. I hadn't realized how desperately I craved small comforts like hot water and soap.

Crossing to the window, I noted the flimsy curtains and lack of locks with dismay. But with darkness falling, I knew I couldn't delay taking advantage of the room's amenities. Even this fleeting glimpse of normalcy, false as it was, revived my weary soul.

For one night at least, I could pretend to just be a regular girl. Push away thoughts of what lurked outside and indulge in a few cherished hours of sanctuary.

Sleep came swiftly, but with it returned the memoried. I stood once more beside my father's hospital bed, watching his once-strong body wither away, diminished by time. Tubes and wires encircled him like snakes, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Though I should appear as a woman in her 60s, my reflection mocked me - smooth skin, untouched by age, frozen eternally somewhere in my mid-20s.

Papa's wispy white hair clung to his mottled scalp. How small and fragile he seemed now, a mere husk of the vital man who once spun me around effortlessly in his arms. But his eyes, sunken into wrinkled folds, still met mine with profound love and recognition.

"My darling girl," he rasped, skin paper-thin and spotted with liver marks as he clasped my hand. "I'm sorry to leave you alone."

I choked back a sob, staring at our intertwined hands - one aged and trembling, the other deceivingly youthful. "It's I who should apologize, Papa. I cannot follow where you go."

He stroked my cheek with a bittersweet smile. "Do not despair, dear one. There is purpose yet for you in this life. Someday, you will understand..."

His hand went limp in mine as the monitor flatlined. Nurses rushed in, but I sank to the floor in deafening silence. My father was gone, while I remained frozen in youthful mockery of mortality.

Alone in a world not meant for one such as I...

I awoke with a gasp, heart pounding. The ghostly echoes of the hospital room faded as I found myself back in the motel. Judging by the moonlight outside, it was still deep night.

Loud banging sounded through the wall behind me, followed by muffled cries of what sounded like a woman in distress. Every instinct told me something sinister was happening next door. Despite the risk, I felt compelled to inform the manager.

As I reached for the door, it burst open suddenly with a crash. Two men stood blocking the exit, both emanating an aura of ancient menace. One was tall and muscular with olive skin and closely-shorn dark hair. The other slimmer man had pale skin and piercing grey eyes.

Behind them loomed the receptionist, eyes now cold and calculating, smiling with malicious intent that sent a chill down my spine. These were no ordinary men. I could feel the threat pouring off them in waves.

Vampires...