Two lovers met in a reckless embrace beneath a moonless sky.

Their bodies intertwined in a flurry of twirls and dips as they danced across the warm December night...

Sally stood up, oblivious to the slumped male figure co-habiting her bed. Giddy and a little hung over she made her way into the bathroom and loaded her toothbrush. Slowly she looked up at the mirror, rubbing her eyes and brushing her ruffled hair from her face. But upon opening her bleary eyes she could see nothing except her toothbrush, suspended where her reflection should be. Disbelieving she gasped. In a rush to return to her bedroom she stubbed her toe hard against the door frame.

“Why is it so dark in here?” she thought out loud, hobbling towards the curtains.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” The previously unconscious man asserted, prompting a startled scream from Sally.

“What are you doing lying in my bed?!”

“Don’t you remember anything about last night, my dear?” he crooned in a smooth English accent.

She hesitated, “…we… had sex….” Her thick Australian accent sounded harsh against his.

“More than just sex – sweetheart, we made love.”

“…and you were awfully fixated on my neck – why shouldn’t I open my curtains?”

“Ah yes, about that. Darling, place your fingertips on the artery in your throat.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What? Sweetheart or darling?”

“Either.” He paused to consider this, then gesticulated to her to check her pulse.

“Why can’t I feel my heart beat?” she asked alarmed.

“Well let’s think about this logically shall we. You have no reflection… or pulse…. And trust me when I say you have an aversion to sunlight.”

“I’m dead!... and you’re.. Some kind of angel?!” she asked, genuinely perplexed.

“….Not quite. Listen swee-, Sally, humour me. Can you think of anyone else in history who had all those symptoms and also had a bit of a neck fetish?” he drew his arm dramatically across his face in his best Count Dracula impression.

“You mean to tell me – you made me into a Vampire!?”

“Yes,” he smiled broadly, “now come back to bed, my love and let’s have lots of undead sex.” She lunged forward and began wildly throwing anything within her reach at him, “…angry, undead sex?”

“How dare you! I invited you (drunkenly) into my home and you took advantage of me!” she yelled.

Sally sat down heavily on the edge of the bed and hugged a pillow. She remembered them dancing their way around the gardens at South Bank and how they continued to dance in the train carriage, across Brisbane to her house. The air in her bedroom was warm and humid, but her skin was now ice cold. She sighed angrily.

“I can’t even see my reflection in the mirror anymore…. How am I supposed to do my make-up?” she asked suddenly.

“I don’t think it will make much of a difference. Frankly I found you more attractive when you were alive.”

“You are unbelievable!”

“Well, it’s kind of a compliment…” he said dismissively, with a wave of his hand.

“In the same way a guest throwing up, because they ate far too much of your home cooking, is kind of a compliment. You jerk.”

“Tart.”

“Freak!” she retorted. He scoffed.

“We’re both cut from the same cloth now.”

She searched her mind for a scathing reply, but came up with nothing. Instead she attacked him with a punishing silence, drawing on all her experience with passive aggression. After a few minutes the bitter silence turned into an upset quiet.

“I’m sorry I bit you without asking,” He offered eventually, “it was only because I thought you were… special.”

“I’m sorry I called you a freak… and a jerk…” she replied quietly.

He kissed her hand.

“At least you didn’t go home with the other man who was flirting with you last night.”

“Why – was he a zombie?” Sally asked sarcastically.

“No, of course not…. He was a Werewolf.”