PROLOGUE

After almost three hundred years of fitful slumber, it slowly opened its eyes, blinked and looked around the coarse, wooden box in which it lay. What- or whoever had awakened it was nowhere to be seen or heard. It cautiously attempted to move, uttering a guttural, low bellow of pain in the process as its cramped and stiffened muscles revolted. Beetles scuttled from within its tattered rags and down its legs and arms like rats from a sinking ship, squeezing through the box’s cracks into the surrounding earth. It inhaled the stale air deeply and closed its crusted eyes once more, trying to recall the events that had resulted in its current state of being. But there was only hunger.
Blood.
After clawing its way out of its makeshift grave, it stood upright and looked around the gloomy cave. It sniffed the air in the darkness that its bleary eyes were now accommodating to. With no signs of immediate threat, its trip-hammering heart began to slow, making it only too aware of the ever-increasing hunger that was gnawing at its stomach.
Blood!

It needed to feed. Cautiously, it made its way to the cave’s yawning maw and squatted on its haunches, completely still. It scanned the moonlit landscape, every muscle tensed in anticipation, but the crusaders, the ones whom had slaughtered the rest of its nest, were nowhere to be seen. In the distance, a deer rummaged in the bushes. Less than a minute later, it lay on the ground with its throat ripped open.

The first feed in three centuries was a frenzied one, and as the deer’s blood coursed through its body, it felt its life force return in orgasmic surges and its mind flood with images of its pre-slumber state. Flashes of hordes of men with flambeaux and swords, crucifixes and holy water filling the forest crossed its subconscious eye. Its fellows fighting for their lives and losing, each in turn beheaded and staked. Its own narrow escape and retreat to the nest, one of the last ones left on the island. And finally, the desperate self-burial, its final act of self-preservation. As far as it knew, it was the only one to have survived the crusade that night, probably the only one of its kind left. Deep within the recesses of its feral mind, it mourned.

Having finally drained the deer’s carcass, it collapsed on its back, completely gorged, and assessed its surroundings. Far off, it registered the unfamiliar dull roar of modern day civilization. From its hilltop vantage point, it glimpsed on the horizon the orange blaze of a far-off city and mutely marvelled. At some level, it understood that it had awakened into a new age. Even the very pulse of the forest seemed different. Would its assailers still be at large?

Standing up, it walked to a nearby pond. The night was clear, and the moon illuminated its reflection with stark clarity. It had aged. Touching the hard lines and sunken cheeks of its face, it wondered how long it had actually slept for. Finally, it cast off the rags it was shrouded in, baring its naked, distinctly female form to the wilderness and stepped into the pond. The chilled water caused every pore to rise in gooseflesh. It plunged deeper into the pond until nothing but its thick, waist-length, matted dreadlocks were visible above the water’s surface. The effect was a further awakening of its senses, which it took advantage of by attempting to probe the force that had awakened it. But there was nothing.

Confused, it exited the pond, and began to ponder its situation, but before long the hunger returned. Its heart began to pound. Panting, it began to sniff the air once more. In its naked form, it pricked its ears and glided stealthily forward, barely making a sound. The hunger had crowded everything else out of its mind. For now, the hunt was on. Feeding was all that mattered. The soucouyant bared its fangs.