Lamia

LAMIA

Copyright 2012  by Juliandes

This book contains explicit scenes of sex and violence and is only suitable for a mature audience.  The story is purely fictitious and is not intended to represent any persons, countries or organisations.

CHAPTER 1

People tell me that vampires are not real; that they were invented by fi
ction writers, yet the notion of the
vampire goes back much
further in
to
folk lore.
  The
se same people stare at me in disbelief when I tell them
that I
once kn
e
w one. 
She was
not the vampire of
legend
, she had not been bitten by one of the undead; she did not dissolve in the sun’s rays or have an aversion to holy water or silver crosses.
  She did not sleep in a coffin
or fly through the night sky
.
  She did however bite into the bodies of living people and suck their blood.  She caused
the most
appalling
injuries to
those she did not kill and she became the most feared creature in the whole of Latin America.
  This was the life she had chosen for herself
simply
to survive, but survival eventually turned into power, love and ambition.
  The locals called her Lamia, but I knew her as
a shy young girl called
Maria.

It was gap year and I
had
decided to spend it by immersing myself in another culture.  A
Christian
missionary visited my local church on
a fund-raising trip to England and
i
mmediately
I
warmed to the man. 
His face lit up as he recounted tales of Latin America.  There were stories of joy and hardship, of sadness and fun, but most of all
of building a community spirit in a place where people had so little.  His latest project was to build a first
-aid centre in a remote place, high in the
Colombian
Andes.
  This project appealed to me; it would be the last exciting year before the hard work of getting my degree.  My parents are both stockbrokers and my future was secure, but I
knew that
still
I
needed to put in the work.  When I discussed the project with dad, he was very much in favour
,
s
aying
that I should get out and see some of the real world before becoming enmeshed in the financial nets of the stock market.
  He even donated a modest amount, probably more to save his soul that out of altruism, but every donation was appreciated.

After another month I had flown across the Atlantic
,
across America
, then south to
Bogotá
before taking a short hop to an Andean landing strip where I was met by the Rev. Swan.

“Rev. Swan!”

“Just call me John out here,” were the first words he spoke.  “Did you have a good trip?”

“Tiring.  I believe we still have a bit of a drive.”

“A couple of bumpy hours in the Land Rover.  I’m afraid you won’t get much sleep on the way.”

John was right, the
track was bumpy with the odd boulder
tossed in
for good measure, but as we climbed higher, the stunning scenery of the rain forest made me glad to be awake.

The drop in temperature was apparent
as w
e drove up knotted roads, climbing ever h
igher through the Andean jungle.
  I had imagined it to be much warmer but John had pre-warned me of chilly nights and warm days.  It was late November, just at the end of the rainy season and everything was wonderfully green.  The light began to fade just as we pulled into a small village of half-a-dozen or more wooden buildings.
  We were met by a woman in her forties, with shoulder-length
brown
hair tied in a pony tail.  John embraced her as they met.  Then she extended a hand to me.

“You must be Michael,” she said in a cultured English tone that belied her dress.  “I’m Patricia, John’s wife.”

John looked a little embarrassed at his breach in etiquette by not
having introduced
me as he should.

“You’ve had a long journey.  I’ve put some food in your room and we can sort you out in the morning.”

“Thank you Patricia, it’s good to be here.”

John led me to
my room which was annexed onto the kitchen and sleeping quarters
they used
, although it was accessed through a different door.  He pointed to a hut some distance away.

“That is the toilet.  If the door is open it’s vacant.”

Then he left me and I closed the door
,
thrilled to have finally arrived.
  There was a ewer and a basin on a small table.  I brushed my teeth and went to bed.  I was tired; I would unpack in the morning.

CHAPTER 2

I was awoken by voices and the general bustle outside.
  I got out of bed, still feeling the effects of my journey.  Livestock were being fed and it seemed that the day had begun without me.  I buttoned up my jacket against the chilled morning air and wandered next door in search of my hosts.

Tapping
lightly on the open door
,
I
walked into
an
empty kitchen.  A voice behind me made me spin around.

“You must be Michael.”

There, standing before me was the most delightful girl I had ever seen.  Short and rather pale but with vivid blue eyes and tresses of golden hair tied back loosely. Her accent was English and I was so stunned by this apparition that I was momentarily rendered speechless.

“Well, you are Michael are you not?”

Every time she finished speaking, her eyes dropped towards the floor.  I thought it would be good to get to know this beauty during my stay.  Her eyes once again rose to meet mine.

“Er, yes,” I said.  “I’m Michael.”

I extended my hand and watched her eyes once again drop as we shook hands.  A slight blush coloured her cheeks at the physical contact.

“
I’m Maria. 
Here, sit down and I’ll get your breakfast.
”

I sat at the table while I watched her working at the stove.  I could not take my eyes off her.

“Did
you have a good journey?”

“Very long,” I replied although my mind was not on the subject.

“We thought you might like a lay-in this morning.”

“Oh did I oversleep?  What time is it?”

Maria automatically glanced out of the window, much as one
might
look at a watch.

“It’s been light for a time,” she said without too much emphasis.

She put some bread on a plate, placing it on the table.  Then she brought a bowl of white liquid with what looked like an eye in the centre. 
I took my spoon and carefully lifted up the central mass, assuring myself that it was in fact an egg.  There were other lumps in the liquid and some green leaves sprinkled over the top.  It was the least appetizing breakfast I had ever seen!

“Have you had Changua before?” asked
her
sweet voice.

Not wanting to show my ignorance I dug myself into a pit.

“Yes of course,” came the unwise words from my mouth.

She seemed amused as she watched me move the lumps around with my spoon before tearing off a piece of bread and dipping the corner into the white liquid.
  I hesitated before putting it into my mouth which made Maria smile.  Then she brought another bowl
with
sliced mangoes which she set down beside me.

“You might prefer these,” she said as she smiled and left the room.

I was still holding the piece of bread as I considered what had just happened. 
This place might be even more interesting that I
had thought!  I
hoped Maria was going to have volunteered for the entire season and that we might become friends.  As I sat musing, I realised that I had been dunking and eating the bread.  It seemed that the liquid was milk with onions and herbs and an egg.  It was quite palatable which both surprised and delighted me.  This would reinforce my statement that I had eaten it before.

Breakfast concluded with the freshest mangoes I had ever eaten.  I
rinsed out the bowls and then
wandered outside, asking one of the natives where I might find John or Patricia, although I was more interested where Maria was
.  He pointed to some building work which was going on at one end of the village.  A sudden pang of guilt gripped me as I realised that the work had been going on while I slept in.

“Good morning Michael,” said John cheerily as I approached the building.  “You’re just in time.”

“Sure, where do you want me?”

“We’re about to lift this frame into place.”

On the ground were the frameworks for all four sides of the building.  Two ropes were attached to the top of one frame with some local men ready to haul it vertically. 
I was positioned at one corner with John at the other and three local
s
in the middle for the initial lift.
  We lifted, the guys on the ropes took over and in a moment the frame was vertical, its protruding ends slotting neatly into pre-dug holes.  Then it was straight onto the other end, then the sides and in a short time I was holding the joints together for the men to fix.  I was breathless by the time the corners were joined and was about to sit on a large rock that was jutting out of the ground, when I caught sight of Maria with a tray of drinks.  This very much speeded my recovery
and she offered me one as I approached.
  John and Patricia joined us and what John said next and even more, Maria’s answer, made me think twice.

“You’ve met Maria, haven’t you?”

“Yes, she cooked me breakfast.”

He put his arm around her and I was stabbed by a pang of jealousy.

“She’s the bes
t cook around and the prettiest,
”
he said, kissing her on the head.

“She certainly is!” I enthused, jumping in with both feet.

“Stop it dad,” replied Maria, making me wish that my last comment had not been made so enthusiastically.

“You know that you and mum taught me to cook.”

Maria carried the tray over to the grateful workforce, relieving me of some of my embarrassment.  I tried to change the subject.

“How long have you two been in Colombia?”

“Only five years but we’ve been in South America for the last nineteen years.  Maria was born in Peru two years after we became missionaries.”