Stacey Mckay sat, observing perfectly manacured nails, in her seat along a large table. Business folk sat left and right, up and down the lengthly table, some paying attention to the man speaking at the head, others off in their own world. It was nothing more than a monthly meet to discuss progress. Some people already knew what the meeting would entail, others did not. Those few were the ones who paid attention, those like Stacey simply attended for a good reputation, though their minds were elsewhere.

The ramble of the man standing at the head seemed to drone into one continuous noise as the young woman carefully filed away at a hang nail. No one bothered her for the lack of respect, as several others were doing things that did not at all pertain to the task at hand. Reading a magazine, doodling on their notebook, playing with their phones. Were it required that they actually all pay close attention, Stacey was one of the few who would do so.

She loved her job, a writer for a pop culture magazine. She got to meet famous or inspiring people and write about them. She got a healthy pay for going to the biggest events in town so she could record what happens in them. It was her ideal job, and she got to live her ideal lifestyle. She had the ideal man, the ideal house, the ideal life. Everything was perfect.

Well, mostly everything.

Exiting the meeting room, Stacey proceeded to her cubicle, a spacious area of her own plastered with photos of beautiful people and beautiful places. Notes littered her desk, her computer remained on and open to an article she was in the process of writing. Sitting in her potentially entertaining spinning chair, she set back to work, brushing blonde hair from her face as she did.

...Rumors swarmed around Club Wykkyd's grand opening, calling it a trashy place for outcasts and vampire-wannabes, but after my experience there, I must say I disagree. The people there were wild and friendly, dressing up in a variety of colourful and scary costumes. With the blood-and-guts themed buffet and heavy, pounding music, Wykkyd provided the feel of a giant Hallow'en party in the middle of May more than a gathering place for dark-dwellers. In my professional opinion, anyone who loves a good time should...

"Hard at work, sweetheart?" That leecherous low voice broke the young girl from her writing trance. She let out a long sigh, blowing stray hairs out of her face and giving her eyes a good roll.

"I was," she replied bitterly, "what do you want?" Spinning her chair around, Stacey almost kicked her supervisor in the shins by accident. He'd been hovering right over her shoulder, watching her write. Had she turned any faster, and the man would've had painful end of her high-heeled shoe in his leg.

"Well, what are you doing later tonight?"

"Going to dinner with my fiance, Harold."

"Oh, I see...What about the day after? You know I won't tell him..." The ruddy-haired supervisor leant forward with a questionable grin on his face. Stacey felt compelled to lean away from him, as far as her chair would allow. However, Harold seemed to take this as an invitation.

"I wouldn't dare cheat on the perfect guy," she quipped, moving her chair back a little.

"Oh really? He's perfect now?"

"Perfect for me."

"Hah, for how long, though? No one's perfect, everyone's got something nasty about them that makes them undesirable."

"True, and yours is clearly your insufferable attitude and your obnoxious behavior."

"Oh sure...you say that, but what do you really think?" He leaned forward, resting his weight on the armrest of her chair. This was the action that crossed the line. The woman drew her lips into a thin line, knitted her eyebrows together and slapped the man solidly across the face. When he'd pulled back out of surprised, she straightened herself out and stomped her heel down hard on his fancy black shoe. He howled in pain and stumbled back.

"I think you're an obnoxious creep! You stop this right now, Harold, or I'll report you to the management!" Her demand was met with a frightened nod. "Get out! Go away!" He scrambled out of her cubicle as if the devil himself was at his heels. Letting out a long sigh, she turned back to her document. The round face of the woman next door beamed down at her.

"Nicely done!"

Stacey smiled brightly back at her, then settled back into a comfortable mood to work.

"Hey honey, I'm home!" Stacey lifted her head from her stir-fry creation and leaned back, hearing the clatter of keys and the rustle of her man kicking off his shoes in the walkway. She smiled to herself, turning her attention back to the frying food and saying nothing in reply. A few seconds later, warm arms snaked around her waist and pulled her back. She giggled girlishly and blushed, placing her own hands over his. "Hello there!"

"Hi, hun, how was your day?" Stacey tried to talk levelly with her fiance nibbling at her neck.

"Oh, you know, same old, same old. You?"

"Pretty much the same, but I finally told off Harold today. I don't think he'll be bothering me anymore." Gently, the blonde pulled those larger hands off of her and spun around, holding them both tightly and beaming up at the face of her lover.

"Good for you! I would've loved to see the look on his face! I still wish you would've let me handle him."

"John, you would've destroyed him."

"Well...maybe not destroyed, but definately given him a bruise or two!"

"Anyways, he won't be bothering me anymore. And I got my article on that club I went to finished. So, to celebrate this momentous day, I'm making stir-fry!" She released one of his hands and pulled said dish off the element.

"Smells delicious. Or maybe that's just you," John purred into the pretty blonde's ear.

"I smell like stir-fry?" He could practically hear the frown in her voice.

"No, no...just...I...err. Let's rewind. I'll go get plates." He chuckled sheepishly and went to do just that. When he returned with a pair of plates, Stacey was giving him a pouty look. He took the frying pan from her hands and destributed the contents relatively evenly, giving himself a little more to eat. He knew by now, he had the bigger appetite. However, when he turned back to her with the now food-laden plates, she was still pouting. "Don't look at me like that."

"I'll look at you how I want to. You said I smell like stir-fry!"

"That's not exactly a bad thing."

"It is to me."

"Well, let me make it up to you. We'll have ourselves a nice, romantic dinner, and then afterwards? How about a good long massage?"

Stacey pondered this, tapping her chin as she kept the mildly upset expression in place.

"I don't know..." She bit her lip, looking from the stir-fry to her fiance, folding her arms just under her bust. Putting her weight on one hip, Johnathan suddenly realized she was teasing him. And not just vocally, her body language was triggering a feral grin on the dashing young man's face.

"I changed my mind. No dinner. Straight to bed with you!" With that, he quickly stepped forward, grabbed her around the waist once again and threw her over his shoulder, turning around and marching towards the stairs.

"Wait, wait, John!" But he didn't stop. She was laughing now, which meant he wasn't still in trouble. "The food, it'll get cold!"

"That's what microwaves are for. But just incase, I'll give you something to take your mind off of it..." Moving into the bedroom, the man through his future wife on the bed and slowly shut the door behind him.

"I love you so much it hurts, John."

She was beautiful, lying there. Her skin, soft and a welcoming peach in colour, accented with the glisten of sweat from their activity. A blush tinged her cheeks, bringing out the wonderful sparkle of those ocean blue eyes. Thick and full blonde hair fell around her heart-shaped face, which was fair-featured and near perfectly symmetrical. Her curves were in all the right places, everything about her well taken care of, her figure, her hair, her nails. She was perfect, beautiful, worth dying for. He brushed a stray hair from her face.
"I love you too."

By the time John emerged for food, the sun had set and a new day had started already.

It was almost four in the morning when he stumbled down stairs to munch on cold stir-fry and place the rest in tupperware for lunch later that day. After placing the leftovers in the fridge, he spent a little time tidying up the kitchen so Stacey wouldn't have to do as much when she woke up. He was just about return to the comfort of bed and the warm body waiting for him there when he heard a loud bang echo from outside. His head whipped to the door, hearing a distant scream.

Hesitant at first, John made his way slowly towards the grand oak door to their shared home. He paused in front of it, hearing another couple bangs and a chilling howl...A shiver rocketed down his spine. Those were gunshots, but that howl...he'd never heard that before.

He opened his door, not thinking to peek through it. There, walking slowly in the middle of the street was his neighbor, still dressed in his pajamas.

"Hey, Swanson!" He called, making the man's head whip around to face him. "What's going...on...out..." He trailed off, though it was almost as if his voice had frozen in his chest. The man was covered in blood, and his eyes shone wildly, filled with something primal and feirce. The creature let out another howl that carried on up and down the street, this time making the young man's heart skip a beat. He barely had time to slam the door shut before the neighbor-creature barelled into it.

John locked it instantly and stepped back, though all seemed quiet now.

"Johnathan..?" Stacey's quiet voice made the man jump, whirling to face his fiance, who stood at the bottom of the stairs in her flannel pajamas, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. "What's happening? Is something wrong?"

Thud!

The door shook with the force of something slamming into it.

Thud!

Again.

And Again.

And Again.

The hinges were coming loose.

"Stacey, we need to get out of here. Quick, to the back door!"

She didn't argue, staring wide-eyed at the shaking door and allowing her lover to tow her in the direction of the back porch. When they reached the sliding glass door, Stacey went to open it.

"No, wait!"

The postman slammed into it, streaking blood down the glass as he rammed his head over and over into the door, trying to break it open. At the rate he was going, it wouldn't take long. Stacey screamed, stumbling back into the open arms of her fiance, who muffled her yells with his chest, forcing them both to back away slowly from the door.

"We'll get out the window, come on!" Keeping her close, he towed her into the kitchen. It was then that they heard the front door break down, and slam as it hit the floor. An unnatural shreik filled the house, and Mr. Swanson came charging at the pair of them, arms out and fingers grabbing at empty air. Acting on instinct, Stacey quickly opened the drawer, pulled out a long knife and stepped in front of her companion, stabbing the large knife straight into the head of their formerly friendly neighbor.

She stood panting, splattered with the blood of the man now twitching on the floor.

The shatter of glass brought their attention back to the front door, as the back had now broken open.

"Run!" John screamed, booking it instantly for the front door now that the path had been cleared. Stacey took a moment to recover, then quickly went to follow. Something caught the back of her shirt, and she wasted no time in whirling around and slashing the knife at it. She managed to sever the arm of the post man, but there were others behind him, dashing in her direction. She let out a cry of fear and turned, running towards the front door where her Fiance now stood impatiently waiting. Just as she excited out into the hall, something tackled her from behind. She hit the floor hard, then began to feel something tearing at her back. She fought her way around to roll over, trying to get her knife up to defend herself. What she saw, however, startled her to dropping it.

Her attacker had ruddy hair, stained with blood that also ran down the front of his shirt and his arms. Those glittering eyes were open wide, his jaw dislocated slightly, but he was recognizable regardless.

"Harold! John...John! Get him off!" As she screamed, Harold began to pound at her face, driving his fists down at her and tearing at her clothes, howling unnatural in response to her cries. Her blood splattered his face, but it hardly phased him.

Tilting her tear-stained face back, Stacey could still see the shillouhette of her lover standing at the door.

"John...please! Help...me!" She managed to get an arm free, reaching out to him in desperation. "I love you...please! Help...!" He took a step forward, hesitated, then suddenly turned around and sprinted out the door. "John...no...john...JOHN...JOHN!" Pressure on her throat forced her to stop screaming. She felt sick, her heart ached, almost cancelling out the pain of her bruises and cuts caused by the creature once named Harold still pinning her to the floor.

It took only a few more blows for something to snap in the young woman. Her eyes opened wide, she opened her mouth wide in a shrill scream, then lashed out at her attacker. Those perfectly manicured nails drew claw-like marks across Harold's face, again and again. Until she pushed back with a sudden visciousness, grabbed the knife and drove it through the man's chest. The others that surrounded her before now suddenly backed away, tucking themselves in alcoves, corners and against the wall. Before, they'd been eagerly shouting their approval of their fellow's actions, assiting by kicking the downed woman every once in a while.

Stacey didn't have time to consider their change of heart. Filled with an incredible rage, she rolled over, trying to stand. Stumbling, she hit her hands and knees instead, head low. She began to cough, loudly and hoarsely, blood dripping from her mouth and eyes, having no more tears to cry.

She shook violently, hands quivering before her and she continued to cough a wheeze.

"No...John...no...no...john...no...rgghhh...no...rghhh...john...rghhhghghrghhh." Her forehead met the floor as her arms curled around her stomach. There was a burning in her hands, stretching out to the tips of her fingers...She felt so cold, so angry...Coughing still, she dragged herself towards the door, making it a few feet before startling herself with the appearance of her hands. They were...stretching...her fingers stretched and hardened to a point where they looked more like claws, soaked in blood. The hair that fell around her face had whitened, and now void of the healthy body and shine it had before.

"John..." she choked, tears beginning to fall once more as she pushed herself upright, examining her horrid hands. She knelt on the threshold between the kitchen and the hall, the door wide open, but no sign of her lover present. "John..." She began to sob, so loudly it echoed down the hall and out into the street. She sobbed over the feeling in her heart. That undying love that had been torn apart by betrayal and the violation of trust she had in one person in the time of her greatest need. She crawled a littleways forward, before stopping a few feet in front of the door. She cradled her stomach and began to rock back and fourth, moaning her sorrow to the world that would no longer care, as those creatures that so visciously attacked her before now quietly wandered outside, or lingered where her attention would not ever find them.

She lost track of time. How long had she been there? Did it matter? John...oh John...why did you leave? Was I not good enough? Was this your imperfection? Why this...why now...Why...why...why was that thing getting close to her? Her head whipped around and she began to snarl in the direction of the infected individual that had wandered a tad too close. It squealed curiously, then hobbled away. When she was satisfied with it's distance, she settled herself back on the floor and began to rock herself again, moaning aloud, finding strange comfort in these actions. I'll wait for you John, I'll wait for you...to save me...you'll save me...Just wait...

"Check the houses, there may be supplies left."

What time was it? How much...how long...Time?

"Careful...I hear a witch. Lights off, be quiet."

Witch...?

"Shit, there she is...we can't get in."

"I'm sure we can, just don't bother her...stay quiet...walk around."

Stay away. I'll destroy you. Don't come near...

She lifted her head.

"Maan...stay back..."

"It's okay, I've done this before."

He was getting closer. She began to snarl. They all went away when she snarled.

"Dude, stop pissing off that witch."

Still he approached, so she rose, unable to stop rocking as she growled loudly, angrily, shaking her head furiously and waving her claws.

I'll tear you apart! You're not John! One more step!

He took that step, and she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"Shit, RUN!"

No! Suffer!

She took off after him in a mad sprint, screaming all the while. He would pay! He dare disturb her, he was not who she wanted! Now he would suffer! She caught up to him in a matter of seconds, catching his shoulder in her claws. He cried out in pain as she ripped away, forcing him to spin and face her. Acting on instinct, she raked her claws hard across his throat, and he clattered to the ground a bloody mess.

He was gone...it was okay now...so why...why was there so many lights? Lights...noise...pain...yelling. No...no more! She ran, covering her head with her hands and she screamed and sobbed, dashing down the street and around the corner. She ran as far as her legs would carry her, before they gave out underneath her and she hit the floor. There, she drew herself into a tight ball. She began to rock back and fourth, finding this was the only motion in which she could be calm, in which she could be content. She began to moan again, her voice carrying down the unfamiliar streets. This wasn't her home...why was she here? She wanted home...she belonged there...John would be there waiting for her...she musn't be late.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she rose. Her head pounded now, but she needed to get home...she had to find...home.

Slowly, she stumbled back in the direction she'd come. Moaning and whining as she did, hoping in some way the echoes would guide her to where she belonged.

"...Mama...how much further is it...?"

"Not far, sweetheart, just a little further."

...Voices? Female...not John...

"Mama, will Daddy be there? I really mi-"

"Hush, Anne! Turn your light off!"

There...shapes...Not John...

"Anne! Don't get too close, stay out of her way!"

"But Mama, I dropped Mr. Cuddles!"

"What? No, Anne I- She's..."

Mr. Cuddles on the ground. Not John.

"Stay here, stay quiet."

She paused. There was a fluffy thing...on the ground in front of her...Mr. Cuddles? It looked soft...reminded her of...bedtime.

Suddenly, Mr. Cuddles was swiped away from under her sights. She panicked, letting out a feirce growl as she whipped her head around to face the culprit

I want it!

She chased after the woman who'd kidnapped Mr. Cuddles, screaming her hate aloud. She made a made attempt to claw the woman's back, to no avail. Her claws just missed flesh, and all of a sudden the woman was above her, just above her! She sat on a ledge, not too high...if only she could reach! She began to jump and claw above her madly, trying to catch that bitch and drag her down.

"No! Leave Mama alone!" Something connected solidly with the side of her head, making her stumble away.

"Anne, don't!"

She whirled to face the little devil, snarling and drawing her claws back. She was hit solidly in the face with another rock, making her stumble back even further.

"You won't hurt Mama!"

There was a smash, and suddenly everything was bright and red...very hot. Too hot. Screaming in despair, she covered her head and ran away, turning her back on the bright red hotness. Running again. Running away. Oh, why won't John save her?

Home had been found. Long, long ago. Now she sat. Waiting. For what? She couldn't remember. She sat and waited. She protected her home. It was her home, her street. Not theirs. If someone got too close...she would end them. She would decorate her imperfectly manicured claws with their colour. If they left her and her house be...they could live. She didn't care about them.

How many had it been? How many had dared take her home from her? She'd lost count at twenty. She was good at this now. As long as she killed quickly and fleed faster, those pains would go away, she would find her home again, and she would sit. And wait.

For the end of the world.

Longer still, the end had yet to come. There were still those that passed her. The end would only be here when they stopped passing her. When her house was truly hers again, the end would be here, and she would be happy. For now, she kept herself happy by rocking, moaning...the sounds let her know she was still okay...she was still here. The rocking calmed her. It felt good to move.

Wait!

Footsteps!

...Only...only one. There was only one...how dumb was this one, to travel alone? And this one got closer. Stupid, stupid. But, as long as this one went away, she would let him live. The Hunter could have him instead.

Rghh! Light! So bright...in her face! Make the light go away! She began to snarl, feeling that routine begin again.

Go away!

"Oh god..."

Leave me!

"No...no..."

I'll tear you apart!

"Stacey?"

...

...John?

She rose, heart aflutter, arms open. He'd come back! Sweet John had returned! She knew he would! She began to laugh, not even realizing how much this laughter rumbled in her throat, sounding like the noise she'd been making for as long as she could remember. It didn't matter, it was her noise, and he would love her for it!

"Stacey...no...don't...It's me...John!"

Oh, she knew! How she knew! He'd left her before, but now he was back for her! Back to be in her arms forever and ever! He'd never leave her again, of this she was sure!

"Stacey...I'm sorry!"

It's okay! He's here now! That's all that mattered! She wanted him here, and now he was! Here for her, she was okay, the end had yet to come and he was here!

"Wait...Stacey...Wait!"

She ran for him, screaming gleefully as she all but leapt down the stairs towards the light. She stretched her long fingers forwards, wanting nothing more than to hold him and be held by him. This nightmare was over, the waiting was over! They could be together now, forever and-

The air split with a single gunshot.

"John, did you find what you were looking for?" A female voice broke the man out of his teary trance. He wiped the streaks from his face, unaware that he'd begun to cry in the confrontation. He knelt on the floor, hunched over as his shoulders shook with supressed sobs.

"I...I..."

"It's okay hun, relax...What happened?"

"I killed her...I had...no choice..." He straightened out and turned back to his female companion. She gasped suddenly, covering her mouth to muffle the shreik of shock.

"John...what...!" In his arms lay the corpse of a Witch, blood staining her face from a single wound in the center of her skull. Her face was gaunt, eyes sunken into her head and still shining a brilliant crimson. Her hair was torn out in clumps, and what remained was thin and stringy, an almost transparent white. She was dealthy thin, terribly pale and those trademark claws were stained with the blood of many, the remains of her colour-worn clothing suffering a similar fate.

Despite the revolting sight of the weather-beaten Witch, John still held her, brushing a stray hair from her face.

"It's all my fault...I ran...I left her behind to die...and instead, she became one of them...one of the worst...and now...she attacked me...and I...I killed her..."

"John, relax...it's just a Witch..."

"But she wasn't always...she was once the most perfect woman in the world...and I let her down."

"No one's perfect, John."

"She was perfect for me..." Slowly, he moved her off of his lap and set her on the rubble-riddled floor. He held that wickedly clawed hand for just a little longer, before leaving it to lie lifeless at her side. He pulled out a glass bottle from his jacket, took a few steps back, and then broke it just before her corpse. The fire consumed her in a matter of seconds, quickly spreading to the rest of the house as well. He turned her back on her a second time, barely able to bring himself to do it. His partner was silent as she moved to follow him, looking back one last time in attempts to understand his attatchment.

She probably never would have understood how he felt, if she'd not seen the brilliant glisten of a gold engagement ring, shining in the fire and still clinging to the bone of the Witch's hand.

Author's Note

Feel free to share your thoughts. This was more of a thought as to what might drive a Witch to be...well, a witch. It was kind of fun to have her slowly descend into madness. Might do more for the other infected. Depends on my muse. Regardless, hearing from you would be wonderful!

Toodles,

Shmee