King of the Recluse

[ASGetty ((Zovo))]

It is a free for all king of the hill style competition that. . . never ends.

It works like this:

One person is the "King/Queen of the Recluse" The King/Queen of the Recluse is a defendable title, bestowed by an admin, that only one person may possess at a time and hold so long as they can defend it.

The only way to obtain the win the title is to challenge and defeat the reigning King/Queen in single literary combat.

A King/Queen of the Recluse must:
A.) Present a challenge by posting the "Topic" within 24 hours, for the next round of combat. The "Topic" can be anything the King chooses; though a a "Topic" cannot be repeated during any one King's reign.
B.) Defend his Title against all comers. Once a "Topic" is posted the King may either immediately post his/her submission which stands until challenged; or he/she may wait for a Challenger to post a submission, at which point the reigning King has one (1) week to meet the Challenge.

A Challenger must:
A.) Await the King's "Topic" of choice before initiating a Challenge. A Challenger cannot set a topic.
B.) Be the First to Accept the Challenge. There can be only one challenger per "Topic" decided by whomever posts a completed submission first. A Challenger may post his submission either before or after the reigning King posts his own. If the Challenger posts first, the King must meet the challenge in one (1) week or forfeit his title.

Once both entries (King and Challenger) are posted, both combatants must await a "best two out of three" decision by the judges. Judges are decided by the first individuals from among the community to step and judge. If the first two judges are in agreement as to a winner, then a third judge is not necessary.

A Judge must:
A.) Read both entries.
B.) Decide which entry is of higher quality and post a short review of both entries explaining their decision.

Results
A.) If the reigning King/Queen is victorious, he/she posts the topic for the next round and retains his/her title.
B.) If the Challenger is victorious, he or she takes the title of "King/Queen of the Recluse" (assigned by an admin) and must post the "Topic" for the next round whilst assuming all responsibilities of the reigning King/Queen.

This competition is unique in that it continue indefinitely. It is -always- in process.

I will manage a second thread trackiing past match-ups and victories.

Discussion should be kept in the discussion thread.

Finally:

Agro is our first King since he won the Cup. So the next post should be Agro posting his "Topic."

[James]

Topic: Dark Fantasy

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[James]

The Other War

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“Great,” Alec grumbled sarcastically as he turned the street corner, the air raid sirens screaming shrilly into the night. Already the lights of homes and shops were beginning to flicker into darkness, the owners desperately trying to hide their homes from Hitler’s Luftwaffe. “I was so hoping for a little less visibility.”

Behind him he could hear the huffing and laboured breathing of his two companions, struggling to keep up with his long strides. His coat flew out behind him, barely hanging onto his muscular form, his hat long since lost in the London’s breeze. His balding hair was too short to become knotted and ruffled in the wind with not a strand lashing against his weathered and wrinkled face.

“Slow down,” Emily yelled from behind, leather slapping against concrete as they turned down another street. The air raid sirens had done their job, the road completely vanishing in the suffocating blackness. Alec spat in anger as he cleared a fence to a boarded-up pub, just his luck that his quarry enjoyed hunting in the darkness.

“I could use a breather too,” Matthew wheezed, a portly man barely in vision as Alec threw a glance across his shoulder.

“Not unless you want people to die,” Alec said, sniffing at the wind, the foul smell of the beast upon the breeze. “It’s moving. Fast.”

Not checking to see if the others were still running, Alec cleared the garden wall of the pub with a leap, the moon momentarily appearing from behind the clouds. Rushing between the rubble of a previous bomb, adrenaline clearing the lead-like fatigue from his body, he caught sight of a shadow disappearing into the secret garden of the park. A decorated bamboo fence was torn like paper by the force of the beast’s movements.

Already he could hear the song of aircrafts within the sky, the first whistle of bombs falling to the ground. He cleared his thoughts of the inevitable flames though, his concerns focused on the enemy that the army and air force couldn’t handle on their own. It didn’t make sense for the Lukos to disappear into a deserted park; it should have been prowling the darkness, searching for stray pray.

“Where is it,” Emily spluttered, pulling to a halt beside him, Matthews several steps behind them.

“There,” Alec answered, pointing at the garden in front of them, thick exotic vines attempting to climb free from the walled enclosure, barely visible in the night.

“Why?” Emily said, echoing Alec’s own questions.

“Let’s find out,” he said, rushing forward once more into the garden, the sound of swearing mingling with the footsteps of his companions.

The concrete path disappeared into dirt, plants towering up on either side of him as he entered the garden. Eyes flickering in every direction, thorn bushes stretched forward with great limbs, threatening to reach out and wrap their branches around his throat. An oak tree clambered high into the sky, staring coldly down at him, the hairs along his arms and back reaching up towards the clouds. Peaking out from the darkness was a splash of colour, more sinister in the inky blackness of night, the beautiful red of a rose appearing more like a splash of blood against the leaves.

The guttural moan began to slip between the branches, the leaves quivering from the force of the sound, petals almost seeking to turn away from the noise. Ripping his sleeve upon some unseen object, Alec tore into the garden, foot stamping upon plant and insect alike. Rustling sounds encircled him, the wind and plants allied in attempts of trickery, as he dropped his coat to the floor, entangled in the fingers of a searching vine.

“Alec! Where are you?” Matthew called from the other side of the garden, his voice fearful.

Alec never got a chance to respond, the Lukos bounding out of the darkness with a snarl. The beast was upon him before he could turn; fur, claws and fangs colliding with his own body as the two tumbled to the ground. Dirt exploded upwards, the force of the blow upon the ground immense as Alec put a boot squarely into the chest of the Lukos, sending it over his head and into the tangle of plants behind him. Letting out a swiftly picked expletive at discovering his gun was no longer tucked within his belt, Alec scrambled to turn his eyes onto the beast.

The Lukos had pulled itself free of the bush within an instant, snapping at the branches that had vainly attempted to keep him captive. The beast was upon all fours, taller than any human when upright, fangs glistening in the moonlight. Fur bristled along its entire body, powerful legs ending with thick, sharp claws. Two small ears were perked uprights, twitching at such a speed Alec barely registered the movement, and a pair of green eyes viciously met his gaze, a hint of the cruelty and primitive drive behind them.

Alec kept his own eyes locked upon the Lukos’, refusing to look away as it snarled and spat only inches away from him. If he looked away from the beast’s eyes, he was dead. When captured within a stare, a Lukos was entranced for reasons that Alec didn’t fully understand. Some said it was a curse or a piece of magic, others believed that it was the remains of humanity trying to take control of the soul once more. Alec didn’t particularly care for the answer as long as staring into the beast’s eyes kept him alive.

Foot tapping around the floor beneath him, Alec searched for his lost gun, the iron crafted bullets the leading method in killing the beast. As the adrenaline began to leave him, sweat beginning to form along his brow and his heart beating quicker, fear was eager to take its place. If he couldn’t find the gun he would have to rely on either the bottle of holy water in his left pocket, or the bag of salt and rosemary within his right. He had no idea if the two items would even give the Lukos a tickling sensation.

Matthew’s screams nearly caused him to look away from the beast’s eyes, the sound causing his eyes to glance to the left before he caught himself, redoubling his gaze upon the Lukos. If Matthew was screaming then it meant that another Lukos was within the gardens and in that moment he understood why the beast had ran away from the city. They knew they were being hunted and had set a trap for their hunters. They were smarter than he thought.

Hair stood on end all along his body once more as he considered the possibility of there being more than two. He could have stumbled upon a pack; one of them could be waiting in the shadows behind him, silently drawing closer. His stomach fell beneath him and he heard the cracking of a branch to his left, a rustle of leaves closely following. Despite himself he looked away for a moment, eyes searching to his left in the darkness, before the force from the lunge of the Lukos in front of him sent Alec battering into the ground.

His eyes found the specs of green at his last chance, the beast’s maw frozen just above his exposed throat. Body pinned beneath the weight of the Lukos’, its claw partly through the process of tearing through his shirt, Alec felt a sigh of relief involuntarily past between his lips. Then the skies began to darken, the moon disappearing once more beneath a thick cloud, and he found himself being plunged into darkness once more. The Lukos’ eyes were there, barely visible, growls vibrating along its body as Alec reached for his left pocket. His eyes were beginning to strain in the inky blackness, he had to act.

Taking the bottle of holy water, a thumb running along the comforting cool glass container, Alec moved the vial into the Lukos’ mouth. Pressing back the repulsive feeling that was riding up his throat as his hand entered the beast’s maw; he pushed the bottle against the back teeth of the Lukos. He had no idea if his plan was going to work and if it didn’t then he was going to die, painfully. It wasn’t the most comforting of thoughts as he did the one thing he needed to do to set his plan in motion. He blinked.

The stomach wrenching sound of shattering glass pervaded the air before his eyes could even open, the Lukos snapping down upon the vial within its mouth. For a moment nothing happened, and a fang nipped along his neck, drawing blood from beneath the skin and then everything burned. Eyes flying open, Alec saw the entire beast atop him on fire, the naked flames licking down the fur of the Lukos’ body. Scrambling from beneath the moaning beast, Alec pulled himself to his feet, already rushing away from the dying creature. Matthew and Emily were still in trouble.

It didn’t take long to find the duo, Alec following the path of destruction set by the second Lukos, plants and small trees scattered along the ground. Matthew was upon the ground, propping himself up on the back of his elbows, bleeding profusely from his leg. Emily, wielding just a stick, was dodging the swipes and lunges of the Lukos, the beast being stabbed and prodded by the pity excuse for a weapon. It was slower than its fellow creature, slightly unsure of its movements and strikes and Alec caught sight of two scarred, shallow holes where eyes should have sat.

“Matthew!” Alec roared, appearing in the tiny courtyard of the garden where Emily and the Lukos was battling. “I need holy water.”

The portly man gave a pained look of puzzlement before reaching into his clothing, pulling out another small vial of crystal clear water. Alec raced across the cobble stones, yanking the vial from Matthew’s hand and rushing towards the beast in front of Emily. It turned, possibly smelling the sweat upon Alec’s body or hearing the sound of his shoes slapping upon the ground below, and growled at the incoming attacker. Alec didn’t waste a moment, hurling the vial into the open mouth of the beast, the Lukos’ jaw clamping shut as it felt the vial hit the back of its throat. With a grim sense of satisfaction, Alec watched the beast catch alight and fall to the ground.

“Is that all of them?” Emily breathed, walking over to where her pistol had fallen to.

“Yeah, otherwise we wouldn’t still be alive,” Alec said, letting himself slip to the floor in exhaustion. He was getting old. “Father, after tonight, you can tell Churchill I want a pay rise. The supernatural is really being shaken awake with this war and its noises.”

“Don’t count on it, as far as the War Cabinet is concerned, you don’t exist,” Matthew said and Alec caught sight of the priest’s leg, the cut wasn’t too bad. “Anyway, we need to move.”

“Your leg will be fine for a while, Father,” Alec replied.

“It’s not my leg I’m worry about,” Matthew said, pulling himself upright. “But I assume we now have at least two burning creatures setting alight the rest of this garden. This means that in a few moments, this area is going to be the only lit area in the entire city of London. And I hear planes.”

“Great.”

[Meleta/Isoldaa]

As soon as he entered the small village, Ryan could tell that something wasn't quite right. Barely anyone was out on the street, and those who were quickly scurried away from him, as if he was some strange new creature. The buildings were a mess, and most looked on the verge of collapse. An aura of despair and misery hung over the dirt streets like a dark, ominous cloud, ready to set loose a tempest on this benighted place at any moment.

But above all else, the place reeked of carrion, the stench settling sickeningly over Ryan. He kept his gaze straightforward, though he was unable to keep his traitorous eyes from a surreptitious glance toward the gallows set up along the side of the road. Two of the three nooses were occupied by the now-blackened, gas bloated bodies of the summarily convicted: a fly-blown warning to newcomers and passers-by alike that “justice” could still be meted out in this God forsaken parish.

Shuddering dog flesh pressed insistently against his thigh, shoving him rather unceremoniously into the horse’s flank as they walked. The normally even-tempered mare snorted in protest, throwing her head back and stomping one hoof in aggravation into the compacted road dirt with a thud. Ryan’s brow furrowed deeply as he reined the mare back in with one hand, the other landing with a reassuring clap on the back of the mastiff.

“Easy, Rolf,” he whispered, a simple reassurance as much for himself as for the mastiff beside him. The nervous behavior of his two traveling companions would have set him on edge, if not for the serpent of chilling dread already snaking its way up his spine. And it was far more than the just sickly sweet smell of death, the cloying scent that seemed to wedge itself in his nostrils - an odor he knew from long experience that not even the hottest bath or strongest drink would rid him of.

No, nothing but Monsieur Bellevue’s explicit orders could have kept Ryan on the road now as he moved to the inn, exactly as instructed. One night in this blighted little hell hole alone, and that was all – not even the boss man himself could have goaded him into staying one second more, even with the mastiff at his side.

He already missed the stuffy, overcrowded confines of the wagons, filled to the brim with the incessantly singing and chatting and laughing entertainers and their gear. Saints preserve him, he even missed the animals, and the cacophony of their grunts, calls, screams, lowing and braying. Compared to the miasma that covered this town like a funeral pall? Even the monkeys’ cage on hot day was beginning to seem good - at least, it was a stench that meant life. Alive and good – and so unlike this little piece of Hell at the arse end of a Louisiana bayou.

The young man tied the mare’s reins loosely around the hitching post outside what, he could only pray, was the inn. At the very least, it was the largest building in Beauvais proper besides the “church” - itself no more than a wooden box with a steeple that looked every bit as dilapidated and abandoned as most everyplace else.

Ryan rubbed at his eyes quickly, blinking a few times in the dim light of the tavern as he strode across the floor to the bar. A ruddy-faced man looked up from the glass he was wiping absently with a greasy-looking cloth. Any words of welcome died unspoken as dark, beady eyes fell on the dog that remained steadfastly at the young man’s side.

“Hello sir,” Ryan said slowly, removing his cap and running one hand uneasily through the shock of brilliant red hair. “A room for the night, please. Er… see-voo-play?”

“Non,” growled the innkeeper, his eyes never leaving Rolf, “Non non non! Votre chien – ce ne peux pas rester ici!”

Ryan blinked slowly, deep brown eyes traveling from the meaty man before him, following his line of sight to the mountain of a dog sitting sedately at his side. He spent several long, uncomfortable moments doing his best figure what the innkeeper could be saying by context alone. French was hard enough for him to work out, though he’d had at least some experience trapping among the Quebecois. But this thick Cajun patois? Bah! It was damn near impossible.

And apparently the innkeeper had had quite enough of Ryan’s obviously blank stare. “Non! No dog! Zees ees a respectable place – get zat damned beast out of- “

“Henri! Ce n’est pas très poli!” The voice that carried across the dark, near empty tavern was smooth as silk – God, sweeter even than wild honey. Cliché or no – it really did seem as if Ryan’s knees turned to water, ready to give out and send him kneeling before the bearer of that beautiful voice.

The mastiff’s head ducked low, spindly strings of drool falling from its massive jaws to the dirty wooden floor. A low growl rumbled through his chest, thick lips pulling back over ivory fangs, even as his great tail dipped and disappeared behind him between his legs.

Not that Ryan noticed in the least. Enraptured, he watched the woman approach, the heels of her boots making a light clicking noise against the floor’s timbers. A vision in pale green and ivory satin, she seemed to glide across the room, her every movement as soft as water in a slow-running creek. Ebony curls were piled on the top of her head, barely contained beneath a gray velvet hat, its ostrich feathers bouncing jauntily with every footfall.

Blessed Mother preserve him, and may the good Lord forgive him, but the thoughts came unbidden. God above, what I’d give to see her hair down around her shoulders. His mind’s eye ran with the image: all those long black tresses framing her sculpted face; those full, tender lips; cascading over her soft, pale brown shoulders – oh, and they would be soft, too. Tender and sweet – just like the rest of her…

Ryan’s eyes traveled longingly down the curve of her neck to her throat. Laced on a silver ribbon, a tiny silver crucifix was suspended there, the end pointing down to that promising shadow, the valley between the gentle slope of her breasts. Anything, anything at all just to touch her, just once to taste her-

Ice gray eyes met Ryan’s gaze, stopping those thoughts cold. He shook his head, suddenly overwhelmed with feeling he’d woken from a dream as a faint, knowing smile played on those rose petal lips. Ryan could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, a near sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach as a strange surety struck him: somehow his thoughts weren’t his own. Against all common sense he’d somehow spoken out loud his little foray into fantasy…

His mouth hung open for only a moment longer before he finally managed to close it, to “stop catching flies,” as his dearly departed mother would have said. He must have looked like an imbecile, some small panicked part of him worried – not, of course, that he could have done a damn thing otherwise.

“Marie,” breathed the innkeeper softly, that single name a response, and a prayer and a desperate plea rolled into one. His great, jowly face gentled, tamed almost. “Oui, cherie - pardonnez-moi.”

The innkeeper turned toward Ryan, for all the world as if he’d noticed him for the very first time. “Up ze stairs, second door on ze right ees yours. Just keep zat… zat… dog… out of sight, oui?”

Dumbfounded for the second time in less than a minute, Ryan simply nodded his head. “Yes. Oui. Sir.”

“Well, that’s all nicely settled then.” The lady turned toward Ryan, holding out her hand for him. “Marie-Agnès Chevalier, mon ami. And you would be… ?” Her voice trailed off, one perfect eyebrow raised expectantly as a small, vaguely amused grin played about her perfect face.

For one mortifying second, Ryan actually feared he could not speak, his mouth opening and closing like a dumb fish before he finally managed to stammer… something. His face reddened even further as a shaking hand took the lady’s fingers lightly. “Ryan, ma’am… er… Mad-mwa-zel She-val-ur. Ryan Kelly – and… And pleased to meet you.”

“Mais bien sur,” Marie replied without a hint of irony. “And what brings you all the way out to Beauvais, Ryan?” In one fluid motion, the woman threaded her arm into his as she began to walk from the inn into the gray light of day.

The mastiff followed on the opposite side of Ryan, growling impotently, his tail still firmly tucked between his legs. The dog’s giant head butted heavily into the young man’s thigh as they approached the door, leaving a long trail of slimy saliva along his pants.

But Ryan startled as if he’d been struck, shaking his head quickly as he looked about. His eyes widened as he peered into the woman’s face, blinking slowly as they emerged onto the street.

God, what the hell is wrong with me?

“Advertising, ma’am,” he said a little too quickly, clearing his throat and moving toward the black mare, still tied to the post. “Carnival season’s arrived, and my employer, Monsieur Bellevue? He runs something of a traveling show. We should’ve headed to the Quarter, but he got it in his head to come to Beauvais – though I sure couldn’t tell you why-“

Ryan’s teeth clamped down on his tongue, cutting off the words he nearly spoke aloud. This town was rotten – right to its very core. But how could he possibly think it so bad, so very, very terrible, when a creature as exquisite as Marie graced its grimy streets? When a goddess of antiquity moved through its putrid air – and somehow remained so very above the squalor, untouched, her beauty unmarred by the nasty meanness of what had become of Beauvais?

“Le Carré?” Marie purred softly, as if she’d noticed nothing at all to Ryan’s speech. “Your employer must be a generous man, mon cher, if he would choose to grace our humble village at such a lucrative time of year?”

Ryan simply shrugged an answer, a small half-smile on his lips as he reached for the mare’s saddle bags. She stomped irritably, snorting and rolling her eyes until the whites showed as Ryan and Marie approached. He pulled the precious roll of papers from his pack, untying the strings there as he unrolled them.

Bellevue’s Circus of the Occult and the Macabre screamed the headline, the attractions printed in French and English in a beautiful manuscript, the bizarre and graphic pictures teasing any passersby with the promise of the strange, the unusual, the shocking and the horrifying. A night to remember a whole life long, for a mere pittance…

“Oh! C’est formidable! So exciting!” Marie exclaimed, clapping her hands together in joy as her hungry gray eyes fell on the poster. A slow smile spread across her face as she looked up to Ryan. “May I have one, Ryan? S’il vous plaît? To show to a dear friend, who I know will be so very interested?”

The young man’s face fell for a moment, torn between the value of the posters he had in his hand, the cost of the ink alone a week’s wages at least for him, and the undeniable desire that welled up in him, to give Marie anything – anything at all she could possibly ask for.

But in the end, the decision wasn’t really all that difficult. Ryan peeled off one of the posters, rolling it up quickly and laying it in her waiting hands. “Merci,” she said softly, eyes lit with a satisfied glow. She laid one hand on Ryan’s shoulder, leaning over to brush petal-soft lips against his cheek. “So very kind, mon ami.”

The young man breathed in her scent deeply. Warm. Dear God, so warm – nearly hot, like purest cinnamon she was, and as intoxicating as absinthe. Ryan let his breath out slowly. “You’re welcome,” he replied shakily, leaning against the mare’s side for support as, still weak kneed, he watched her turn and walk away.

A beautiful, otherworldly mirage she seemed to Ryan’s eyes before she stepped from the curb, turned a corner and simply… vanished.

*********

The clasps unhooked, her dress fell quickly in an emerald and ivory pool about her bare feet. Marie stepped lightly from the pile of cloth, bare arms stretching over her head as luxuriously as a cat as she turned. The clear white cotton of her shift hid next to nothing of the flawless body beneath as she slowly sidled across the exquisitely appointed room.

“The carnival is coming to us this year, René. Beauvais has been so tedious of late – it will be nice, to have a bit of… fun,” she crooned softly, walking around and behind the man reclining on the blood red and gold damask chair before the marble fireplace. Her long, knowing fingers played with his curly, dark brown hair as she peered over his shoulder.

Marie grinned wickedly as she watched him tuck the last bit of cotton stuffing into the small, handmade doll. Not much more than simple canvas really, with brown buttons for eyes and a crudely stitched mouth. Utterly unremarkable, but for the few deep red hairs sewn inside – the very same she’d managed to palm when she’d touched that silly boy’s shoulder, distracting him with a simple glamour and a kiss on the cheek.

She gave a snort of derision. Pathetic. What kind of a threat could this Bellevue possibly pose to them, when he couldn’t even be bothered to teach his own people the very basics of protecting oneself from a mambo?

“So it is, chère.” The man’s rich tenor filled the air about them, near palpable in its undeniable power. It was the voice of a man born to mastery, the possessor quite used to having his every last whim considered a command. René laid the doll on the mahogany table beside him, one graceful hand reaching upward to take Marie’s fingers in his own, and pulling her around the chair.

She knelt there before him, smiling eagerly as her hands ran slowly along the silk of his trouser legs. “But it would be a terrible mistake, to underestimate this Bellevue,” René said easily. Cupping her chin in his hand, hard fingers digging into her cheeks, he raised her face to meet his icy blue gaze. “You would do well Marie, to leave not a single thing left undone before their arrival, hmm?”

Marie gasped softly, seeing the sudden storm there. Her eyes widened with fright as she cringed before him, her smile disappearing as if it had never been. “Pardonnez… I did not mean I would fail to prepare a… ah… ‘Proper reception,’ René,“ she stammered, “Of course I will do no less, than for any of the others! Already I bring you the gris-gris from that foolish child, and- ”

“Shhh… “ He hushed her softly, one finger pressed to her lips. “Only a reminder, my sweet,” René continued, almost tenderly, “No mistakes, no slips. Not now, when we’re so close to all we’ve worked for.”

Marie nodded slowly, her eyes closing with relief as she sensed the storm had passed.

For the moment, at least.

“Oui cher, so very close,” she murmured, her pale pink lips opened slightly as her tongue ran slow, unhurried circles around his finger.

René smiled, burying his free hand in those soft black curls as he pulled her to his lap. “Quelle bonne fille.”

[Lilam]

AGRO:

First off, I really enjoyed this little snippet and would have loved to read more! I liked how it started out with the war taking the forefront and then how smoothly you worked in the fantasy element. A couple paragraphs into the story there's a bit of dialogue where it becomes a little repetitive with the "he said this" and then "she replied " and then "he answered" etc. Some variety in sentence structure there might make that part flow a bit better.

You did a good job of creating suspense and engaging the reader in the story. You really got into Alec's head, which made me actually give a damn that he was about to be turned into Lukos kibble. Overall, it was a solid piece and any story that has werewolves bursting into flames gets an A for Awesome in my book.

MEL:

Very well written piece as usual, Mel. The imagery and your descriptive word choices were simply perfect, really giving the story a life of its own. You really painted a vivid picture, which helped to set the unsettling tone throughout the piece. Mucho kudos there. And the ending took the creepiness of the story to a whole other level. I felt really bad for Ryan by the end, the poor guy.

I would have liked to see more happen in this piece though. It felt more like a prologue than anything, which isn't necessarily a bad thing since it left me wanting more. It kinda' felt like I got strung along, what with the chilling setting and Marie being all suspicious, and then nothing of consequence really happened, which left me just a bit disappointed. And as someone who took Spanish all throughout high school and college, it would have been nice if there had been some translation for the French. Having to Google search for a French to English translator every few paragraphs kinda' ruined the flow of the story.

MY VOTE:

Agro

While Mel's had me hooked and wanting for more, Agro's piece was action packed and had a satisfying conclusion. Very nicely done you two, it was a tough decision as I truly had a blast reading both pieces!

[Jenny (Reffy)]

Agro
Run on sentences? You have a habit of making sentences longer than they actually need to be. This isn't a grammatically incorrect thing, just something that I noticed. A little variation would help.

(I'm such a dork >.> Totally thought of the Doctor when you said about the coat flying in the breeze and his long strides and the others struggling to keep up - considering the Doctor is always running everywhere!)

Kudos on the action bit and the description as Alec is approaching the vines and the Lukos! :] Definitely what I want for scene-building. You couldn't have made it more theatrical if a thunderstorm had been going on (and that would have been too clichéd at any rate!)

I loved that it was set during the War and that they could cover up the supernatural stuff with that excuse in mind. The casual comment at the end did provoke a smile.

I think I wanted it to be a little more ... dark. There wasn't really a point where I was worrying about any of their safety or lives. Sure, it got hairy for Alec - especially when the beast was on top of him but there wasn't much gut-wrenching or "final thoughts" to give it that full "umph" that I kinda wanted.

Saying that, what you did do with the topic was fun! The running, the fighting, the suspense when he had to blink and if the vial of holy water would work ... you did have it all there but I didn't have much of a connection to your characters (you did well with that connection early on with the running and panting but later it faded). Although this could be a snippet of a much bigger thing it also felt like a complete-enough story to stand alone. Satisfying conclusion (as Lilam already said >.>)


Mel
You do such a marvellous job at setting the scene! Everything is right there like watching a movie. I didn't hanker after any more details because it was all right there for me. Even the slight lust at seeing the woman and how the necklace hung just between her breasts. This is definitely one of your stronger pieces.

The French was a nice extra thing to add to the story and gave immersion to the character and plot and setting. It would have been nice to know exactly what was being said but I don't think it was required since I could fill in most of the pieces I needed.

Wishing you'd given us a little more to go on though. All we really have is a lot of clues and one very strange meeting, which is, in itself, a very dark fantasy meeting and with the right tones all the way through. However, there is no real action just a lot of worry for Ryan and what is to come. You built up such an amazing thing and then took it nowhere, which sucks for the reader! Hope you continue this though because there is something awesome here!

I want to be scared! Not just a promise to be scared.




Overall: While both stories were immensely engaging and I did enjoy both of them ... I am caught between a very difficult decision. One gave us the chase, the thrill, the fun while the other gave us threat and suspense. One feed us with action but the other gave us real connection to the characters. However, one story gave us a satisfying end and something to actually munch (even if the emotional connection to the characters could have been stronger)

My vote: Agro.

[James]

Topic: Sci-Fi

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[Jenny (Reffy)]

Overworked and Underpaid.

Anger roiled over the Commander’s face. “I don’t care! We were sent here to get them minerals and get them we will! I’m not going to be chased off this god forsaken rock by a bunch of flying squids!” He leaned forwards in his chair, which creaked horribly, until the main bulk of his torso hung over the table, the forefront of his grotesque belly brushing the top of the surface pushing paperwork further away. Commander Sames was no thin man. It took most of his energy just to lever himself up from the reclining position to look menacingly over the table. Sweat poured off his forehead and dribbled towards the seemingly glowing red eyes. Ash fell from the cigar that dangled between his lips, falling on stacks of paperwork and calculators. The front of his Commander uniform gaped around the buttonholes and the sweat patches under his armpits became visible.

“These aren’t just flying squids though, Sir!” Lieutenant Michaels shifted on his feet uncomfortably, suddenly feeling like the armoured suit was two sizes too small and the visor he carried heavier than a small rhino. With the back of his hand, suited in metal, he tried to wipe his brow and push away his dusty blond hair that was thinning by the day and growing grey.

“Then what, pray tell, are they? Aliens?” Spittle flew from the Commander’s lips this time, spattering the far edge of the table. It was quiet impressive how far he’d gotten the projectile saliva, especially considering the lack of air the guy could haul in through his flabby cheeks. His voice was rough and demanded complete submission as it hacked its way through anything thinner than a steel door.

“Reports say they … have … Look, they are a bit like squid, alright? Just, they fly – quickly, and their aren’t squishy, they have spikes, and there’s millions of them! The walls do not hold these fuckers. And the squid aren’t the half of it. Another report talked about dog-like creatures that pounced and chomped and that could blow things to bits. These aren’t normal things, Commander. Men are dying down there. We need to pull out. No minerals or amount of money is worth losing these men. They’re already spooked!” The Lieutenant’s cheeks flushed red as his rant grew steadily quicker and much louder than he had ever planned. Michaels was never one for voicing his opinion, it was why he’d gotten promoted so quickly. He favoured the “Keep your head down” method but for once the little man had grown a pair balls. He shifted the visor in his hands once he had finished talking, suddenly aware that he’d possibly over-stepped the mark. The main clue was the Commander’s reaction.

“Spooked? That’s because they are all chickenshits! Their Mummy coddled them.” His voice steadily grew louder. “Training should have kicked that out of them. It did me! Made me who I am. Made a man out of me. Training just ain’t what it used to be.”

“Forgive me Commander but you have to see the truth. We need to pull out-“

Commander Sames fell deathly silent and leaned back in his chair, looking altogether too smug given the report and the losses that he knew were going on. He picked up another cigar and cut the end off with the precision and delicacy of a ballet dancer, his great brow knotted in concentration as he pointedly ignored the Lieutenant. The single light overhead flickered uneasily.

The silence thickened, doubled, and folded over the room, smothering the metallic walls that were covered in maps. The rotten pieces of calico and old paper were covered in scrawls, with a few more up-to-date holographic maps floating nearby. All had details of where the thickest vein could be located, a few even showing where the main drilling units were. Books lined the floor, mostly kicked to the side and uncared for. A small sink stood in the corner of the room over-piled with dirty mugs with brown and stale water gathered in each. Underneath the Commander’s desk was a waste-paper bin stuffed with scrunched up reports and crisp packets, and on top of the desk sat one solitary ashtray that struggled to contain the many butts already laid to rest there.

Lieutenant Michaels fidgeted like a fly caught in a spider's web, searching for anything to say or do. His feet worked at repositioning themselves, like the floor was perhaps moving out from underneath his feet faster than he could hope to adapt to. He tried a small cough but even that somehow died in his throat. A single drop of sweat worked its way free from his forehead to curl around his chin and down into his suit. The trail of cold and uncomfortable sweat making him fidget even more.

“Michaels? Michaels?” Suddenly his PCD broke the silence like a crystal glass smacked with a sledgehammer. The voice sounded urgent, blatantly ignoring the protocols for any communication with a higher ranking officer. The sign of disrespect was even worse as the Commander heard it and raised an eyebrow at Michaels, pulling his attention away from the cigar finally.

“Go ahead and answer it.” The smugness of the Commander was back. He grinned as he twisted himself lazily around in the swivel chair, yellowing teeth taking over his face temporarily. His sausage fingers rested on the table, one hand gripping the cigar, the yellow and brown stains over his calloused skin defined by the one dim orange light that swung over head, coupled with the green glow from the maps.

“Lieutenant Michaels speaking. Report.” He emphasized the title but it was lost on the reporter.

“They’re coming again, Micky. Attacked the South-East wall this time. We’ve already lost one MULE to them and a few men. They’re bigger now. Some kind of spider is with them, like the one Tom described. It’s huge. Got spines all over it and hooks for legs; towers well over all our men … bigger than our tanks!” The report sounded like he was moving about, the shortness of his breath a fair sign of panic.

“Alright, John. John? Settle down. You know what to do. Call in back-up. They’ll come.” Lieutenant Michaels looked to the Commander questioningly and got no answer. “They’ll come. Hold on tight.” Hastily he switched off the PCD as he felt his stomach drop out of his ass.

“Let me get this straight. You want me to send you back-up? Which means training more diggin’ men to be marines? Which means more minerals lost? Which, in the end, is less money for sitting on this dusty old rock?”

Lieutenant Michaels was unsure which Commander Sames was worse: the silent and ignorant one or the cocky and sarcastic one. “Yes, Sir. Please.” The original and unconfident Michaels came clawing back with his tail between his legs. His head lowered and shoulders pulled inwards as he wished he could magically go home.

“Explain to me, Son, why you think this would be a good idea?”

“I, uh …”

“Get back to your base, Lieutenant. You can deal with a few squid, can’t you? I didn’t give you them stripes for no reason now, did I? Make this problem go away. I know you can do it.” Commander Sames waved him away with one hand, finally stuffing the new cigar into his mouth.

Lieutenant Michaels turned and shuffled away, a headache forming as he wondered if he were walking to his own death. Perhaps then that would be more than one problem solved for the Commander. Towards the darkness at the other end of the room Lieutenant wished he could see the day when those aliens, or monsters, or whatever the fuck they were! Wished he could be here when they came in here to tear that son of a gun a new hole!

Back by the desk Commander Sames flicked open his lighter. The scritch sound filled the room briefly as the naked flame jumped up to catch the end of his cigar. He pulled a couple of difficult puffs, causing the tobacco to catch light, and then puffed out the thick light grey cloud from his pocketed and beefy cheeks.

~~~

“Stupid minerals,” Jim stumbled over another loose rock on the dark and dreary landscape, lit only by the small torch on his helmet. He cussed again quietly, his metal armour clanking as he struggled to keep his footing.

Tom caught him and helped him regain his footing, obviously a little more stable on his feet and more accustomed to being on an alien planet. “Careful there cowboy! Don’t want to break your visor.”

“How much further?”

Tom checked the readout on his PCD. “Should be just over that ridge.” He pointed towards a little rise in the grey rock, highlighted barely by the small torches. Above them the dark night sky twinkled sharply; giant balls of gas and rock spinning violently, spewing forth strands of ethereal gases and rocks.

“Good because I want to get back to the base. Get this scouting mission finished.” Jim shambled towards the rise, starting the up the small incline with short bursts on his jet-pack for aid. The gravity on this planet was a lot stronger than normal and the men needed all the help they could get.

Here and there on the floor were traces of previous habitation, although most of it had been blown away by now. Scrap pieces of grate or railing still stuck out of the harsh and hard earth and rock like skeletal trees. Every few feet or so another piece of evidence would appear like a scrap of clothing or a broken lamp. All of it alien.

“What are you Jimmy, scared?”

“Naw. Just thoroughly fed up. All we do is dig minerals.” Jim breached the top of the rise and took in what he could of the landscape in front of him. His torch only lit the forward few meters with a small yellow grin. What was there was very much like the last few miles they had travelled across. “Does this place not change at all? Could walk for days and not see anything change! No plants. No nothing ‘cept us.”

Tom bustled his way passed the despair stricken Jim. “Won’t find it by standing still. Look,” he pointed again, his finger picking out a faint blue glow that shimmered slightly against the matt grey rock, “there it is. The pay load.” The glow was hard to pick out in the near pitch black tainted with a purple hue.

Seeing that he was closer to the goal and thus getting closer to returning back to base, Jim hurried up. He got to the bottom of the rise they’d just climbed and started forwards, only to stop suddenly. He bent over and tested the floor with two fingers. Tom grinned and hurried up as well. “What have you found?”

“Not sure. It’s squishy … purple.” Jim was right, something carpeted the floor before them and spread as far as the torches could reach. He held a section of it up between his fingers keeping it connected to the rest. On closer inspection it seemed to be moving on its own accord, growing and stretching to cover more ground, like some sort of putrid flesh. Occasionally it would bubble and burst upwards with stink and gases that neither man could guess the origin of. Along the thick carpet, which was at least a hands’ width, large veins criss-crossed to strengthen the fragile network of fibres. Jim tilted his head to look under the material. Below looked similar but this side had thin strings seeking out the rocks. The strings twitched and pulled downwards, growing at a very quick rate. One of the strings lashed on to Jim’s hand. In shock he dropped it.

“Whatever it is, we need to walk over it. Minerals are only just over there.” Tom seemed partially uninterested, gesturing briefly. “Can it support our weight?”

“Probably.” Jim brushed his hand off on his armour suit, slightly awkward and uneasy about the weird carpet.

“Let's find out!” Tom stepped on to the flesh with a heavy boot, then continued to test its strength with a jump. For a second neither man breathed until it was clear that nothing bad was going to happen, then both laughed. “It’s probably just alien grass or something. Whatever. Let’s get the sample and get back.”

Feeling sheepish and suddenly a lot more tired than he should have been, Jim stepped up on to the purple flesh and started making his way forwards again. After a few minutes of walking and stumbling they found the vein. Sharp pieces of blue crystallised mineral poked out through a crevice in the grey rock.

“Jackpot,” muttered Tom as he pulled free a small laser to cut off a sample. “ We'll take this back to the base, get it tested for mineral content. As good as money already in our pockets. Take a scan of the area, Jim. Maybe we can find out how much is here as well.” The laser whined as it cut through the coarse and dense material. The blue light from the laser edge mixing with the blue sheen from the rocks. All of it highlighted Tom's face as it fixed in concentration.

Pulling free his portable scanner Jim started his way around the vein, taking snapshots with the x-ray to see how deep it went. The readout showed the mineral patch was deeper than first thought as it coloured his scanner with swaths of deep blue mingled with orange hard rock.

With his eyes focused on the readout he continued to move about until something hit him in the face with a squish. Completely unsure about what just happened Jim looked up. Dangling in front of his face were thin tubes of purple and red flesh. He looked downwards, near the ends of the tubes were little suckers and hooks. On inspection upwards he found the same hooks that eventually widened into a meaty-sack. Putting the scanner away, he pulled his torch upwards to get a closer look. The tentacles that hung before him moved slightly, as if seeking his torso. The torch immediately revealed a shiny eye, like those of a fish, that gleamed dully in the new sharp light.

“Fuck!” Jim took a stumble back, narrowly avoiding ending up on his ass. The floating meat-sack followed him, albeit a lot slower. The tentacles were now definitely seeking him out as they groped forwards with little hooks of death, beckoning him into their embrace. “Tom, we gotta get out of here. You done?”

“What's the rush?” came his voice back through the communication device.

“Found something … looks like an octopus or a squid. It doesn't look friendly, yo.”

Jim scampered back quickly enough that Tom now heard him in stereo: through the PCD and just in front of him. For the first time Tom now saw what he was talking about. “The fuck is that?”

“Ain't a clue, buddy, and I don't fancy sticking around to find out.” Just as he finished his sentence something skittered in between them, knocking Tom's legs as it went. It caught on his leg as it flew past, pulling him down quicker than he could react. Jim moved to help him back up but whatever it was that had knocked his friend over was coming back. He managed to get another quick look as it zoomed closer before knocking him fall on his back as well. The thing was mostly red and purple and looked like a manta ray but with hooks surrounding its fleshy curtain and giant pincers for mandibles. It seemed to swim through the thin air; unaffected by the heavy gravity of the planet.

Both men now rolled to get up, adrenaline already coursing into their veins like the stim-packs marines carry. Tom was to his feet first, followed swiftly by Jim. “What are they?”

“Don't know. Never seen this!” Jim replied, out of breath.

“You've spent longer on alien planets. Must have seen this.” Tom was starting to panic, his arms lifted in defence against whatever could fly at them next.

“Only heard horror stories. Thought they were just that.” He took a second to look around. The squid monster was close-by but not moving and the ray was hovering a short distance away as well. “We need to get back to the base.”

“What are they doing?” Tom managed to ask the logical question. Just moments ago the aliens were on the attack but now they sat back, watching and salivating.

“Waiting. Don't want to be around to find out what for. Come on.” Jim tugged his friend in to action and in the direction of the base when the first dog-beast crested the rise. The strange animal lumbered forwards, tall enough to reach a man's upper torso and at a stretch throat. It jumped as it moved, crossing a few metres at a time with the ease of a feather on a cool wind. Stunted wings protruded from the dog's back, the last signs of evolution still clinging on. Above the wings two giant arms swung with pieces of bone poking through. A mouth covered with razor sharp and pointed teeth gnashed as it leapt; rubbing the smaller teeth against the huge tusks that rested on either side of its face. The thing didn't appear to have any eyes or much of a brain either as it charged forwards. It was quickly joined by two more, then four, then six, until there were too many to count in the small spotlight the torch could produce.

“Holy fuck!” The men picked up the pace, wishing the base closer with every step. Neither looked back. The sound of the pursuit was enough to know the beasts were still there.

They stumbled and fell down the next small valley on the rough terrain, scraping their armour even more. The distance was closing no matter how they pushed. Jim darted around a huge rock in the valley, followed by a gasping Tom, as they ran into something new. In their path sat something only comparable to a giant spider but this one had mutated into something entirely new. The upper body looked something like a torso and not the normal spider. It sat nearly two stories high and as wide as two old steam-trains. Underneath its belly huge green sacks hung and sloshed about with some kind of fluid. Two more pincers pointed forwards, dripping with the green juice. Without pause the thing attacked, lashing forwards with its legs to kick or impale the men and finally with poisoned darts that could penetrate the suits.

Jim took a dart to the shoulder. He stumbled again and screamed out in pain as the red flooded his vision. Now he knew they wouldn't get out of this alive and almost gave into the feeling. Meanwhile Tom radioed for support or some kind of help, or to at least warn of the incoming attack. The man on the other end of the PCD, John, didn't quite believe him but he knew Tom and knew the man wouldn't lie. He replied that the unit would be on alert and send a few marines to investigate.

Feeling the poison spreading through his shoulder and into his torso, Jim slowed. Tom spun and tried to move his friend on but it was useless. “Go on, Tom. Get back to base. Go.” His voice was etched with pain as it wheezed from between clenched teeth. The dog-beasts were catching up.

“No ...”

Jim pushed his friend away, “Get going! I'll only slow you down … but maybe I can slow them down instead.”

The aliens were practically on top of them now. Tom saw this and lurched away. He looked his friend in the eyes for the last time, peering through the thick glass of the visor, then turned and continued running.

Tom's mind became a drumbeat that his feet danced to as it repeated and pushed his body on, overriding any stupid feelings. Get to the base. Warn the rest. There's enough here to kill us all. Probably more. Get to the base.

[James]

Way Station Five

“Way Station Five, do you copy? Way Station Five; seeking permission to land, do I have permission?”

The Commodore’s voice had a metallic ring to it, a not quite human tone to match her slightly not human appearance. Her hair was cropped so viciously short that there was hardly enough of it to decide whether it was blonde or brown. Unblinking colourless grey eyes broke up the monotonous blotched skin that covered her squared face, which stood atop a butch and fit body. However Ma always said that I was too kind so perhaps I was being optimistic about the Commodore’s looks. Also the bitch kidnapped my ship.

“No one’s answering,” Davis said, the Private showing his magnificent capability of pointing out the obvious.

“I can see that,” Commodore Adel snapped before ordering me to move the ship, my ship, closer to the Way Station.

I tended to avoid Way Stations that ended in numbers. It meant they were run by the military and had a limited amount of booze available. Sure, I might be a slight five foot two woman but I can still out drink the largest of smugglers. Helen Brooks was a name that sat in pride upon many neon boards boasting of my drinking prowess in Way Stations with proper names. Like the Rich Bastard Branson, Ye Olde Wheatsheaf or the Galaxy’s Cunt. As I said, proper names.

While Way Station Five might not have had a decent name it was certainly the most impressive station I had ever seen. It still possessed the eerie sense of hanging in nothingness that all debris in space seemed capable of, but it was only enhanced by the sheer size of the thing. My eyes widened as it had stretched out before us, four times larger than the smuggler-preferred Branson, with its various windows and airlocks. The rest of the Commodore’s team was relieved to see something that resembled home before I tactfully pointed out that not a single ship was docked against the station.

“Right,” Commodore Adel said shutting down all of her transmissions and messages. “I’m getting no answer so we’ll dock manually.”

“Umm, do you think,” I began, giving the Commodore my best ‘are you complete fucking insane’ look.

“You will do as you’re commanded, smuggler, if you don’t want to find yourself in the brig,” Commodore Adel interrupted. I didn’t press the distinction between smuggler and opportunistic thief. To military people there was no difference between the two. And of course con artists were even less respectable than smugglers so I was keen on letting them continue to believe their own tinted visions of thing and hopefully get the command back of my ship.

I slowly eased the craft forward, the banged up old vessel swimming gracefully through the inky blackness of space. Well as gracefully as it could manage with chunks of metal hanging off the wings and bodywork, an old gun turret empty except from a hose pipe. I’d won the old girl from a miner in a game of cards; well I don’t know if it’s called a game when you’ve magnetically charged the deck to your favour. After five years of gunfights, drunken piloting and a chase through an asteroid field the girl didn’t have much left. And still the bitch singled her out at the mining plant that I was trying to con, demanding that I give them safe passage to the nearest military outpost.

A lot of things had chance in the five hundred years since humanity first conquered the moon. We hadn’t found any alien life yet but that was about it. Hotel chains had business floating around Mars and companies were busy mining asteroids and harvesting gasses. And of course various private and national militaries guarded it all from scheming individuals such as me. I spent most of my life alone within my ship floating through the skies but the dental plan was excellent.

“If they’re not responding how are you going to open the airlock?” I asked with a grimace as the ship grinded against the side of the Way Station in a shower of sparks.

“I know the manual override,” Commodore Adel answered. “Just attach us to the damned thing.”

Brushing the dirty blonde hair from my eyes I turned on the magnets with the flick of a switch, the ship clutching onto the side of the Way Station. Without even asking for permission the Commodore began to punch in a series of numbers upon the screen to her side, leaving grubby fingerprints all over it. Holding my tongue I killed the engine and waited as the ship shuddered to a stand still.

“We’re going to play this one carefully,” Commodore Adel began as the whistling sound of an opening airlock filled the ship. “Private Hollt and Doctor Keanity will join me in investigating the station. Davis, stay and protect the ship.”

“I’d much rather have Private Hollt protect the ship with me,” I purred, flashes of flesh pouring from my memory of joint shower time in my small, cosy wash room.

“I’ve think you misunderstood, Brooks,” the Commodore said turning to me. “You’re coming with me.”

A dozen different expletives soared into my mind at that moment; the only thing stalling me was trying to figure out the perfect combination for them. None of them quite carried the malice and loathing that I wished to truly express for the woman in front of me. Instead I resorted to opening my mouth very quickly before clamping it shut once more, like a moron desperately struggling for air.

“If you think I’m going to leave you onboard this ship while we’re in there you’re dumber than you look, Brooks,” the Commodore continued in my silence. “You’ll leave us there to rot and you wouldn’t give a damn.”

“I’d like to make a correction. I would feel bad about leaving Susan and the doctor,” I bit back before I could stop myself. “Davis though smells a bit like mould and you actually look like it come to think of it.”

I wasn’t entirely sure what I was hoping for, perhaps the Commodore to throw a punch at me and then I could pull off the most daring Citizen’s Arrest in a lifetime. Instead she merely ignored me, barking orders at the rest of her team, telling them to open the airlock and arm up.

“Don’t suppose I could get my weapons back? Since you’re taking me into a potentially dangerous situation,” I asked in a mock polite voice.

Before the Commodore could shoot me down, Susan re-entered the cabin with my two laser pistols, placing them into my outstretched hands. Thanking her with a cheeky wink I slid the pair back into their respective holders, immediately feeling better about the whole situation. The guns had seen me through a lot of hairy situations, including placing a beam of face-melting heat right between the eyes of my former husband.

Keanity was rising to his feet now, the doctor showing the first sign of aging, his black beard heavily streaked with thick lines of grey. I was slightly surprised when he too patted his hip to check that he had his weapon. The doctor was packing heat, which generally meant things were about to get interesting. The two privates, Susan and Davis, were both carrying some sort of military rifle that I hadn’t seen before, bulky with a long barrel. The Commodore was covered in guns and explosives. Shit, so much for hitting her in the back with some sort of piping.

Within a few minutes we were moving out of my ship, with a certain amount of apprehension on my part. You didn’t last long as a con artist if you didn’t trust you’re intuitions and mine were screaming at me that I would never see my girl again. Private Davis was perched upon a cargo box, rifle pointing down the length of the corridor we were walking down. It smelt stale, like stepping into an attic filled with model cars that no one had gone into since your father died fifty years previously. I certainly wasn’t receiving a welcoming vibe from the Way Station.

Susan was at my side, rifle jerking in her hand as she watched every nook and cranny in the walls of the corridor, blue eyes in squinting in the darkness. Already I could hardly seen Commodore Adel, her form just a shadow in front of us as the doctor took up the rear, throwing one final glance at the entrance to my ship before it sank into the darkness.

“Can I suggest a torch or something,” I muttered into the blackness, my uneasiness growing with every step, sweat forming beneath my fringe. Clamminess clutched at me and my ears began to play tricks with me, skittering echoing through my eardrums.

The tip of Susan’s gun flared into life, a light attached to the end of the barrel, as the Commodore flicked the torch on within her right hand. The corridor was visible in the meagre light as my eyes scanning the walls and floors in front of me. I had never seen a thicker layer of dust in my entire life, my lungs recoiling just at the sight of it all. There are no real scientific calculations for measuring the days of emptiness by the collection of dust but using my own brand of thinking I guessed that no one had been down this corridor for a very long time.

“Just out of interest before I choke to death,” I said, gesturing at the walls around us. “Where are we going? It’s quite obvious this place is deserted, we should get going now.”

“Main control room,” Commodore Adel grunted, heading down another corridor. To my absolute delight it was equally dust infested. “I want to know what happened here.”

“We die perhaps,” I said as the doctor disguised his laugh as a hacking cough. Glancing to my left Susan was biting upon her bottom lip in steely resolve, it looked very cute. Concentrate Helen, I said to myself sliding loose one of my pistols, this is no time for cute.

We carried on in silence for the next ten minutes, turning through darkened corridors and slipping through jammed doors. Every turn I expected to see a decaying body waiting for me or the end of a gun barrel pointing right between my eyes. Neither was waiting. All that greeted me as I went around every corner was another stretch of dusty metal walls and empty floors that tried so hard to glint in the torchlight. It did nothing to ease my sense of dread and by the time we reached the control room my heart felt heavy and my lungs sore, my limbs shaking at the slightest sound.

“Moment of truth,” Susan whispered to me as Commodore Adel began to punch numbers into a lock next to the closed doors. It wasn’t fair, I didn’t want the truth, I just wanted to get the hell out of here.

Motors whirled, grinding heavily against each other, as the door opened up to reveal what I feared most. Everyone always seems to be afraid of the sight of a corpse with the flesh rotting; perhaps a host of maggots eating away at what remains. That’s what people shudder at. It’s actually the smell that makes people vomit violently. My nostrils burned with the vapours of dead flesh and excrements that had fled the body. I fought a bitter battle within my mouth, swallowing down my last meal before it could escape from my lips. My throat seared.

It was so bad that it took me several seconds to even notice the two corpses in front of me. Both were heavily decayed, large stretches of skeleton visible from where the flesh had fallen away. They were lying next to each other in the middle of the room, a smear of dried blood stretching from beneath them to the other side of the room where several chairs and a large control panel sat. The Commodore swept into the room, one hand on a carbine the other holding the torch, before deeming that the area was secure.

“Doctor, I want to know how long they’ve been dead,” she said, striding across the room without giving us a glance. “Private Hollt, guard the entrance to this room while I’ll access the main computer. Brooks, stay out of our way.”

I was quite happy to hug against the wall, my stomach still turning at the smell. I wanted to look away or go after Susan who had positioned herself in the corridor but my legs had turned to led, my neck stiffening with invisible concrete. I could only stare at the bodies in front of me. Keanity began his work as gloved hands began to massage dying flesh and inspect stained bones. I’m pretty good with the observational thing so my nerves didn’t calm as I saw his eyes widen twice either in surprise or fright in quick succession.

“Something wrong, doc?” I managed to get out, my tongue feeling clumsy in my mouth.

“Maybe,” he said, not looking up at me. That really inspired confidence for me.

I slumped to the floor, my back sliding down the wall. Next time the military came to commandeer my ship I was running. Or shooting. Either way would be preferable to the situation I was currently in. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a squeamish girl. I’ve killed more people than most and I’ve dodged more bullets than either Susan or Davis were likely to see but this was different. I always knew my foe; I always knew where I had to point my gun. The darkness and the mystery in the Way Station though frayed at my nerves.

It took me several seconds to see the creature beneath the control panel. My vision swam in that unfocussed way before I blinked in surprise and the thing skittered out into the light. It was somewhere in between small and large, the same length and height as a coffee table. Six legs sprawled out from the centre of the glinting metallic body, all spindly, shiny, and heading in different directions like a spider. From what I assumed was the front of its body, two pinpricks of light moved left and right like eyes.

“What the hell is that?” the doctor yelled, scrambling away from the thing that moved towards him. I didn’t have an answer for him. Part of me was busying deciding whether it was a creature or a machine; the other half was deciding where the best place to shoot it would be.

Apparently the Commodore was quicker in her own decision making process. Several compressed bangs filled the room and three streaks of red struck the thing; the first two sweeping legs clean away while the third collided with its body. As it slumped to the floor, a part of its metal body pulled away to reveal a sickly green maw which screamed out in pain.

“It screamed,” I said, repeating the words several more times as Susan entered the room. “That thing screamed. It had a fucking mouth.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that,” the Commodore said coldly. Her eyes were locked onto her kill, Susan’s rifle also stoically pointing at the creature.

Keanity however had burst into life, rushing over to the bodies and examining the bones again. He seemed far more frantic about it than last time and a chill went through my body. Frantic doctors were never a good sign unless you were in a casino. He ran his fingers across what I think was an arm bone before rushing over to the fallen creature, grunting that he needed a laser pen.

Laser pens are far more deadly than they sound. They have the same deadly firepower as a gun but a smaller, more surgical beam. Also they were capable of holding down a laser strike for more than two seconds without exploding in your face. The doctor began to draw with the pen across the beast’s back, melting the metal as he went. Sticking the pen within his mouth, Keanity pulled away the metal to reveal a mass of lumpy forest green flesh before the laser began drawing once more, this time revealing a skeleton as the meat began to drop from the bones.

“Fascinating,” the doctor murmured much to my surprise. I would have gone more along the lines of sickening. “It seems to be some sort of alien life form. We’ve actually found other life in the universe.”

“It’s not a machine?” Susan asked, voicing my previous thought.

“No, see look it bleeds,” Keanity said pointing at where the Commodore had blown away the creature’s legs. “It is nothing like I would have expected. It has an extra level of complexity than our bodies. A skeleton to protect the vital organs, flesh above the bones and apparently some sort of natural armour to protect the flesh.”

“And a mouth,” I added.

“Yes, those two bodies did display signs of being partially eating,” the doctor said without a hint of repulsion. My eyes flickered to the door that Susan left unguarded. I wondered how quick the Commodore would give chase if I bolted back to the ship. I also considered how many more of those things might be lurking in the shadows. As much as my mind screamed to retreat, I stayed with the people who had the really big guns.

Keanity was now removing a patch of the metal armour near the creature’s eyes, sliding it free to reveal the maw that had screamed out in pain. Without hesitation the doctor slid his hands into the thing’s mouth, feeling around for several seconds. My stomach dropped several metres and I struggled to swallow my vomit once more. I tried to lock my eyes onto the doctor’s face instead but that quickly failed as he paled quicker than a drunkard facing a ‘full house’.

“It’s teething,” he whispered.

“What?” three voices called out in unison.

“Umm,” the doctor struggled. “It’s teething. I think this is a baby.”

Suddenly finding oxygen to transport to my lungs became a far tougher job, my breathing shallow and rough. The thing that could reach up to my knees and probably charged me to the floor was a baby. Something that resembled a massive metal spider was still teething. The gun in my hand was looking slightly more attractive than it had ever been before.

Commodore Adel had already rushed over to the control panel, opening up a layout of the Way Station on the big screen in front of us. It was empty except for four dots in the middle of the map. I took several steps to the left and a second later one of the dots moved, the adrenaline coursing through my veins slowing slightly.

“Commodore, can you measure cold with that thing as well?” Keanity asked, running a hand along the creature’s flesh.

The Commodore didn’t even answer as she hit several more buttons upon the panel and the red dots, which signalled us, disappeared from the screen. Then a blue dot appeared down a corridor on the far side of the station. Three more dots joined it within a millisecond. It was one of those rare moments where time itself seemed to slow down as I watched tens perhaps hundreds of blue dots appear across the screen, most of them moving in one direction.

Most of them moving towards us.

“They must have heard the youngling scream,” the doctor said and I couldn’t believe his calmness. It was as if he didn’t believe he was about to be torn limb from limb before being eaten.

“Commodore?” Susan asked and I saw her steadied the grip upon her rifle. My own hands felt surer of themselves as they each took grip around a pistol. Strangely this felt better than the journey through darkened and dusty corridors, at least now I knew what we were fighting. Giant metal armoured spider aliens that could scream.

“There’s only one way into this room, you two keep control of that door for as long as possible. Take my assault rifle; you’re not going to be much help with those girl guns. Doctor, you’re with me,” the Commodore ordered, throwing her weapon to me as the doctor scrambled to the control panel. The assault rifle felt lighter than I expected, more balanced that I could have imagined, nevertheless it was a reassuring presence that calmed me.

“Doctor, see if you can dig up the Level Five Defence Code,” the Commodore said as Susan and I took our place on either side of the door. “I’m going to initiate the self-destruct sequence.”

And suddenly my nerves returned in world record pace.

“Look, I’m not willing to die for this, lets just get back to my ship,” I said, not turning my eyes away from the corridor and shadows in front of me.

“No can do,” Commodore Adel said absently. “They’re quite a few blue dots disappearing exactly where the airlock we docked at is. Davis must already be dead.”

I gathered the deeper meaning from her words without a pause. They were on my ship. I had lost control of my ship. My stomach dropped and my heart paused. Most children had a toy that they cherished and loved, something that accompanied them through years of self-important discovery. And when they lost or broke that toy it hurts like a motherfucker, I’m sure they would say. I never had that toy; I never had any companion when I grew up. My first possession beside the clothes off my back and my razor sharp wit was the now monster-infested ship. And that cut me. Deep.

I vaguely heard Susan make some sort of statement about death but my heart wasn’t in the conversation. The Commodore explained that there would be ships we could reach once the self-destruct was in place and then I saw the shadow move. It happened quickly, the metal creature appearing in the light before Susan pulled the trigger. I shielded my eyes from the highly focussed and bright laser that arched down the corridor and struck the alien, going right through its armour and roasting its internal organs. It was only then I that realised the creature was nearly as tall as the corridor, its legs easily capable of stretching across the entire width of the floor in front of it.

“Shit,” I said succinctly as the next creature bounded into sight, slightly smaller than the first. I hardly thought about it as I swung the gun around and pulled the trigger, the adrenaline taking control, as I peppered the beast with a volley. Holes appeared across its body, a liquid leaking from them, as it collapsed to the floor and I felt a surge of power course through me. Then four more of them tore through their fallen brethren and charged.

Susan stopped the first dead with a shot right between its eyes as I lashed out at the second’s legs. They fell out from beneath it, the laser cutting them away, and the creature tumbled to the floor bringing down its companions. We didn’t waste anytime in killing them as their blood began to redecorate the walls in a dark purple hue. I’d like to say that my aim was precise and thoughtful but by then the animal inside had seized me, taking control of the gun in my hands and using it to fulfil its most base desire. To kill.

Several seconds past before Mama Alien appeared, ripping her way in a frenzy past the corpses that blocked her way. She could hardly fit in the corridor, legs bent to stay beneath the roof with a body that was nearly as wide as the space she charged down. I didn’t panic. I didn’t even think. I reacted. Aiming for the underbelly of her armoured body I laid down a sustained burst of fire, Susan launching several powerful arcs at the alien’s head. It simply exploded.

“Get out now!” the Commodore’s voice somehow penetrated the sound of battle and I turned to see her head sticking out from the floor. Laser pens are incredibly useful.

I heard the screams before I saw Susan fall to the ground. Her body was covered in miniature version of the aliens attacking us. Mama Alien hadn’t exploded blood and guts. She had exploded her own offspring from her body. I took one step forward to rescue her and then I recoiled, catching sight of her angry red skin and pain-wracked eyes. I liked the woman but I’m no hero. Whispering a sincere word of apology I rushed backwards, planting a shot into Susan’s head, before leaping into the hole.

Commodore Adel didn’t ask me where her solider was, she understood instantly from the look of disgust upon my face. Grabbing my arm in her harsh grip she threw me forward to where the doctor laid waiting in the ventilation shaft. He should be running I thought, the pain increasing as the Commodore’s nails dug into my arm and then I saw him up close. Keanity’s face was as white as a ghost, his muscles strained and visibly bulging beneath his skin. His left sleeve was rolled up to his elbow which was stained in purple blood that was spreading with every second I stared at it.

“Must have dipped my arm into the puddle of the baby’s blood, probably a great defence mechanism that it’s poisonous to touch,” Keanity said, amazingly with a little grin upon his face. The doctor was insane; the good brave type of insane.

“Here,” Commodore Adel said, ripping the assault rifle from my hands and dropping it into the doctor’s lap. “Reckon you can give us a few more minutes to get out of here.”

“I have always so wanted to use one of these,” Keanity laughed, propping the gun up upon his arm and pointing it down the way we had just fled. I felt a surge of affection for the man that I had hardly spent more than ten minutes talking to. Before I could say goodbye though the Commodore was dragging me through the ventilation shaft once more.

We travelled in silence as time inched slowly pass us. My heartbeat fell a bit, maybe only one hundred and fifty beats a minute now, as the adrenaline was replaced with a sudden dull pain. My legs were tired, my arms were sore and heavy and my eyes began to water in a salty concoction of grief and hurting. Susan was dead. Keanity was dying. And my ship was loss to me. Somewhere down the shaft gunfire began to echo.

“Here,” Commodore Adel said, dropping to her knees. The laser pen was in her hand before I could even look down. “The scanner said there was no life forms, hot or cold blooded in here, I’m hoping it’s right.”

The panel of metal fell to the ground in a deafening crash, like a thousand jet engines roaring into life, before the Commodore jumped down through the hole. I followed without hesitation. I just wanted to leave the Way Station from hell. I found myself in a wide empty hanger, glorious empty spaces staring back at me as the Commodore strode across the room.

“Records suggest that two of those things were captured from some planet or asteroid,” Commodore Adel explained as she walked. “And brought here when their transport needed new supplies before returning to Earth. Proof at last of life beyond our own planet. Except they outgrew their cages, killed the crew and to finish it off have an incredibly fast breeding time. They stormed Way Station Five about four years ago; something had been giving out the usual radio waves ever since then.”

“It can’t be them?” I spluttered, racing to catch up with her. I tried to ignore the tricks of my mind; the sounds of skittering footsteps from the roof above us.

“Don’t know,” the Commodore said, halting at the ship in front of her. It took me several more seconds to realise the problem and then I decided either fear or long lasting alcohol damage was affecting my intelligence. There was only one remaining ship left in the entire hanger and it was a one-seater. Several years ago I swore this would never happen again.

“One ship,” I said as the Commodore turned to face me, her eyes as dull and as soulless as ever.

“Yes, one ship for me. I’m sorry but the army must kno…” the Commodore began. She didn’t see the pistol until it was pointing at her face. She didn’t realise her mistake until after I had pulled the trigger. She probably didn’t understand what was happening until after I had melted her face off.

“Why did people stop taking lessons from Star Wars?” I said out loud, clambering into the ship before looking down at the corpse of the Commodore. “Han shoot firsts.”

[Lilam]

I’d just like to preface my review by saying that I’m not the biggest sci-fi fan, so it may or may not have affected my overall opinion on these stories.

REFFY:

I’ve had the pleasure of reading works of yours in the past and it just amazes me at not only how much you’ve improved in your writing but how you are still improving and surprising me with your awesome stories! It’s so easy to be complacent and let your writing skills stagnate but your best just keeps getting better and I definitely envy that ability of yours which shall now be known as the Reffy Factor. The descriptions you use were creative and detailed; like I was holding a microscope over your mind and could see everything you were seeing. While wonderful, sometimes these descriptions did overpower the narration and seemed a tad excessive. For example, when you mentioned that Commander Sames was “no thin man”, your awesome descriptions have already told the reader this, making this sentence unnecessary to the progress of the story.

You also described the Commander’s cheeks twice, where one description would probably have sufficed. Just to clarify, I have nothing against the imagery itself, but I feel that some sentences made the story feel clunky and acted as speed bumps in the flow because the details weren’t all that important or there was simply too much “show” and not enough “tell” stuffed into one paragraph. The story itself was fine. Again, I’m not a big sci-fi buff but it was easy to read and didn’t bore me so I say job well done on that! Some of the dialogue didn’t feel organic, like the conversation in the cave between Tom and Jim as they were being attacked by the alien squid thingies. It could just be my biased opinion, but I feel as though we could have seen some more panic or fear from the two. It seemed as though you played it safe and focused on putting together a well written story that got to the point. Which isn’t a bad thing, especially if this genre isn’t in your comfort zone. But on that note, the story didn’t wow me either. It was a nice, safe story for the topic and some of that creative Reffy charm managed to shine through, so all in all I have to say great job!

AGRO:

Oh Agro, why must you make my job so difficult? I really don’t know what to say other then I really liked it. There were some spelling/grammar issues, but nothing major. As soon as Helen mentioned “that bitch” kidnapped her ship, I was hooked. I wasn’t expecting that but I loved it! Brooks’ quirky and sarcastic storytelling was just delightful and kept me reading. It worked very well with the story and the situation she was in. The dialogue felt organic and the small details to the character’s personalities gave it that touch of realism. Just like Brooks, I kinda’ felt bad for the Doc despite only getting to know him briefly. I think that writing this in first person was a good choice. The story flows well, the action is well written and the aliens are creepy and believable. It wasn’t the most adventurous of stories given the genre but I honestly can’t complain. The characters and the ending definitely make up for that. Wasn’t expecting that little Star Wars quip at the end there. Nicely done.

My Vote:

Agro

I'm probably biased, but Agro's felt more like something I'd find on the Syfy channel or in a generic sci-fi video game and thus, something I am more familiar with and Helen Brooks was entertaining to the end.

[J.O.N ((Dragonwing))]

First off I'll just say I'm here because Agro was loud, don't expect fantastic critique from me.

Reffy

When I read stuff written by you I can't help but smile, all your writing seems to have a sense of Reffy to it. For example your description of the commander is fantastically vivid and your imagination seems to know no bounds as shown in your various aliens. I always get the feeling you put a lot of time and effort in thinking up characters for your stories, this one was no exception.

Lilam has already pointed out your double descriptions of things like the commanders cheeks so I won't focus on that. What I did find was that you essentially wrote two introductions to your story. I feel like there was no conclusion to it. A suggestion would be that you made the second part focused on the battle that was mentioned in the first part.

It would also have given you more chance to develop Michaels character. With a short story I think it's best if you stick to one main character and develop them in the little amount of time you have instead of trying to make multi people as in-depth.

Other than that I can't emphasise on how amazing I find your descriptions. In the future just remember to have an introduction, body and conclusion in a short story.

Agro

As normal your writing quickly sucked me in and wouldn't let go. Your use of first person quickly made Helen a fascinating character with a lot of depth. Something that can be hard to find in short stories. You did an incredibly good job in making this a character driven story, as well as doing justice to the typical sci-fi horror story.

You do have some mistakes that I feel proof-reading could weed out. For example:

"We travelled in silence as time inched slowly pass us."

Past would be a better fitting word here. It's easy to miss this sort of thing unless your actively looking for it.

Overall though it didn't hurt your story flow for me and I enjoyed it immensely.

My vote:

Agro

The short story of Helen Brooks felt for me to be a better structured story and I felt a lot more attachment to the characters. While I found Reffy's alien world to be more fascinating than the way station, it was the character and plot that won me out with Agro.

[James]

Topic: Urban Fantasy

[Allya]

The Keeper

Tom sat nervously in his idling car outside the large prison complex, trying to steel his courage. “Remember not to show fear,” he told himself, “withhold judgment. You’re there to listen.” Why had the condemned man chosen him? He was no reporter, no writer. He had only snapped the photos that accompanied the sensational headlines. His job was to capture the moment, not comment. Words were another man’s game.

He thumbed the letter again but did not open it. The message had circled his mind all week.

whitespaceI am ready to speak now. Come Alone.
whitespaceAaron Lucas

They had called him The Keeper. Tom could no longer remember who had so named the butcher, but he agreed that it was appropriate. He kept their hearts, their tongues, their eyes, and their hair. He dehumanized them and left his naked angels in visceral display, begging the world to see. Tom, an unwilling vehicle for the madman’s message, had obliged.

The last tongue The Keeper kept was his own. Throughout the trial he remained stoic and silent. He did not meet the gaze of weeping families. He did not smile for those who stood in judgment. He did not flinch at the angry accusations or tearfully request mercy upon sentencing. The killer had only shown emotion once during the trial, a movement so slight that, had Tom’s lens not found the moment, it would have been lost in the tide of the court’s proceedings. The next day the front page of every newspaper featured the grim picture of The Keeper looking blankly at the court as the prosecutor displayed his handiwork to the jury. The only sign of emotion was the slight upturn at the corner of the madman’s mouth. He was smiling.

The guards buzzed Tom through the outermost gate and he walked briskly through the long fenced walkway to reach the doors to Cell Block D. The warden met him inside and walked him to the interview room.

“You’re not the first, you know. Others have tried to pry a word from The Keeper.” The old man grabbed Tom’s arm as they stopped at the door. “What makes you think you’re any different?”

Tom shrugged. “He asked me to come.”

The warden eyed Tom for a moment before radioing to control. “Mr. Levy is ready. Open the door.” The thick door buzzed as the warden pushed down on the handle to let Tom into the room. “Here you are Mr. Levy.” He gestured to a panel on the wall by the door. “We will have cameras on you during the interview but should you need to request immediate leave, please press this button and control will unlock the door.” The old man spared a withering glance towards the prisoner shackled across the room. “You should be fine. He’s hardly moved in twenty years.” The door clicked shut and Tom was left alone with The Keeper.

Cautiously Tom walked to the table and chair left for him in the middle of the room. He sat down and pulled his notepad and recorder from his pockets. The prisoner watched him but said nothing. Tom pushed the button on the recorder and heard the little device hum to life. He gulped back his fear and in a calm, steady voice said, “Shall we begin?”

At first, it looked as though the prisoner wasn’t going to say a word. He sat silently for a moment before starting to move his jaw. The first words escaped his mouth in dry rasps that sounded like a worn engine trying to turn over. “You are Levy, then?” He reached for the bottle of water on the table but the chains kept it just out of reach. Tom moved the bottle closer and watched as he gulped it down.

“Yes. I received your letter.”

The Keeper finished his water and broke into a coughing fit. “Please excuse the cough. My voice has grown idle. The vines of age are strangling me back to silence.”

“Take your time.”

“I suppose you would like to know why I wrote to you, what I have to say after so many years.” Tom handed him another bottle of water and said nothing. “I am dying, Mr. Levy. I have kept the truth long enough. She cannot hurt me now." He swallowed another gulp. “I’m sure of it.”

***

I noticed her right away. I’d been living in that old courtyard motel down on Sycamore in the Fens for over five years. Do you know it? Yes? Well then you know that life is faded down there; reds turn to rusted pinks, whites turn to sallow yellows, and blacks turn to dusty grays, but not her, every inch of her gleamed. Her eyes sparkled, her hair caught the moonlight just-so, and even her laugh sounded like a tinkling bell. She was a sparkling oasis in a desert of pawn shops, pay-day loans, and liquor stores. My starving eyes feasted as she walked across the courtyard to her new apartment. I had been painter years before, when I still had belief and passion to cling to, but my well had run dry as reality rusted the armor of my youth.

You can be anything you want, that’s what they tell you, but it’s what they don’t say that’s important. They don’t say that the forty-year old alcoholic behind the gas-station counter had a dream once. They don’t say that the mother clinging to the last vestiges of sanity as her kids squall around her wanted to be a dancer. They don’t say dreaming is easier than doing. Yeah, we’re the snowflake generation alright, but all those snowflakes forgot that most end up mixed with salt and left in a dirty pile by the side of the road.

Dreams die slowly. It was an unfortunate series of compromises that led me to the courtyard motel with my canvas and brushes stashed in a forgotten closet. I won’t bore you with the wrong turns and missed chances. Suffice to say that as I watched her stroll across the courtyard, I felt a stirring I thought had long died and my fingers itched to give it form.

That evening, after she had finished moving into her new space, my new neighbor strolled into the courtyard of the old motel and settled into a chair to bask in the warm night air. It didn’t take very long for my fellow tenants to emerge from their own caves and make their way to the dry patch of grass in the center of our home. She was glorious to behold in the moonlight and they flitted around her like tired gypsy moths circling a welcome flame. Her laughter filled the night air and I could tell she had them all enthralled.

I didn’t join them on that first night. Instead, I opened my long-forgotten closet in the back of my apartment and dragged my old friends back into the light. I set my easel on the balcony outside my second-floor digs and went to work. At first my strokes were clumsy and ill-formed. Art is just like any other worthy endeavor; your body falls out of practice if not used regularly. Soon though, my mind and brush found a rhythm. I painted late into the evening until spent, I dragged my work back indoors and collapsed upon my bed in content exhaustion.

Now I can see what you’re thinking. You’re wondering what any of this has to do with my body count. I assure you it has everything to do with it. Please bear with me and you will come to understand why I had to do it, why I had to kill them all.

I woke up around eleven the next morning and started to get ready for the day. I was doing the three-to-eleven over at the bottling plant on King so I had a few hours to chill before I had to catch the two-fifteen bus. I showered, ate breakfast, and watched a little Maury before my morning-fogged brain remembered my painting. I opened the curtains to let in the light and gently set the canvas on my kitchen table to view my handiwork. It was not at all what I expected.

Instead of a pleasant moonlit scene depicting a warm evening gathering, I had painted something horrible. The background looked just as serene as I remembered but the people were all wrong. They were not standing and gaily chatting as I had witnessed the night before. No, in the painting they stood around my new neighbor’s chair blank-eyed and slack-jawed. From the eyes of each person, I had painted a golden light flowing outward and joining into a powerful beam that poured into the chest of the figure sitting in the chair. And into their open mouths I had painted a stream of darkness that rushed down their throats and encircled their hearts in shadow.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. In place of the stunning woman with golden, flowing hair I had painted a horrible and twisted creature. Its skin was a purplish hue that stretched across its bony frame like old, worn leather. Its gray, matted hair hung limp upon its slumped shoulders ending in uneven strands that framed its flat, sagging breasts. In place of her hands I had painted long talons that gripped and pierced the faded chair on which it perched. And its mouth, oh God, its mouth! In place of sensual, inviting lips I had painted a gaping maw filled with row upon circular row of pointed teeth. They dripped with a yellow slime and framed a darting forked tongue.

I lost my breakfast. How could I not? Then I hid the painting behind the couch so that I could mull it over without that thing staring at me. I tried to remember what I had seen the night before. The warm air, my old neighbors, the moonlight, the sad little courtyard, I could see all of those things clearly in my mind’s eye. But when I tried to think of her, I only saw the demon.

Of course, I’m a rational man. I wondered if it was something I ate. Can burritos do that to a man? I mean, lord knows what’s in those things. Sycamore doesn’t really do five-star, ya know? Anyway, I thought about it on the bus ride to the plant, all through my shift, and on the way home. By the end of the night I had concluded that I must have hallucinated, like maybe I had gotten so tired or so into painting that my mind created something that wasn’t there. I was okay with that reasoning; I could accept that. At least, that’s what I thought before I walked into the courtyard that evening.

The tenants were gathered around as they had been the night before only this time instead of hearing the silvery laughter of my new neighbor, I heard a rasping cackle. As I tried to sneak up the stairs to the second floor, I risked a glance toward the courtyard and to my horror I saw the living image of what I had painted. Tendrils of bright light were once again streaming from the eyes of my neighbors and being funneled towards the chest of the decrepit monster. Just as in the painting, a thick smoke of darkness emanated from deep within the belly of the beast, flowing up through its open mouth and down into the slack-jawed tenants. At that point, I ran.

I never said I was a brave man. My feet took those stairs two at a time until they brought me breathless to my door. With trembling hands I worked the lock and rushed inside, quickly shutting the door behind me. And there I sat in the darkness, wondering if it was I or the world that had gone mad.

Now, I don’t know about you, but when I was faced with my possible insanity…well, let’s just say I took it rather unwell. This isn’t exactly the type of thing you call the police about. In my part of town, that would just be inviting them to commit me. Besides, I was a bit scared they’d be right to do so. Nope, the police were out of the question so I did what any thinking man would do in a similar situation; I dead-bolted the door and then I got drunk, black-out drunk.

If Jim Beam is good for anything, it’s good for crystallizing your core thoughts. It punches through all the bullshit and really gets down to it. I woke up the next morning with a dry mouth, a splitting headache, and a plan. After chugging some water, eating some toast, and main-lining some Folgers Dark Roast, I got to work.

My first stop was the door of my next-door neighbor, Harry. Both in the painting and in the courtyard the night before Harry had been front and center for the festivities. I wanted to know what he had seen. I gave a sharp rap on the door and heard Harry rustle awake.

“Who’s there?” From behind the door I heard him banging things around as he stumbled in the dark. “Christ, what time is it?” I knocked again. “I ain’t got religion and I don’t want none!” I knocked a third time as a smile crept upon my lips. “That’s it! You creepy bastards ready to meet this God you’re always going on about because I’m gonna…” He opened the door, bat in hand. “Oh, hey Aaron. What gives?”

He invited me in and I gave him the quick version. When I was done he gave me a look quite similar to the one you’re giving me now. His face said I was crazy, his eyes told me he was thinking about whether he put the bat away too soon. “So, you didn’t see anything like that, then?”

He shook his head. “Nah, I think I’d remember beams of light shooting from eyes”, he shrugged, “You sure you didn’t get some that ecstasy stuff the Bowman kids are always going on about? They say it makes you see things.” He walked over to his kitchen counter and poured himself a cup of coffee and then poured some vodka in the glass. His hands were steady as a rock.

This is a man who’s had the shakes for as long as I’ve known him. Fens Bends, he called them. That early in the morning his hands should have been vibrating like a car driving over railroad tracks. Instead his whole body seemed perfectly relaxed. “Say Harry,” I tried to sound calm, and nonchalant, “what’s with your hands? I thought those shakes of yours were about as regular as that old tom that visits Mrs. Holson’s each night.”

“Well, I’ll tell ya,” he said, “That new neighbor of ours sure ain’t a monster but the sight of her does calm my nerves.” He took another sip of his coffee, “it’s that or the cancer that’s finally catching up to me. It’s like my organs are fighting over which one gets to kill me off first.” He started to laugh and got to hacking. I waited patiently as the coughing fit subsided.”Truth is, I don’t think I have very long.” He raised his glass, “Might as well enjoy it, right?” I nodded my agreement and said my goodbyes.

My visits with the other neighbors went much the same. No one had seen anything close to what I had described. In fact they only had good things to say about the young woman in 2A. The only thing that seemed at all odd was their health. It was after I finished talking to Mrs. Holson that I realized all of them had mentioned feeling unwell. Jim, up in 10B, he called it faded, like his energy had just slipped away.

Since that avenue had brought me to a dead end I figured the next thing I ought to do was look it up. I mean, surely if there are demons in the world I can’t be the first to have seen one, right? If I was looking for something normal I probably would have gone down to the Super’s apartment and just used his old Britannica set but I figured looking up stuff about demons might raise his dander a bit. I’d had it hard enough with that guy; I didn’t need him looking at me sideways. So instead I hopped the twelve-thirty down to the city library.

I’m sure you remember that things were a bit different back in 1986. You couldn’t just pull a device out of your pocket and ask it a question. How the hell does that even work? I’m locked up in here because I save the world from a demon and that’s too much to believe. Meanwhile it’s common practice nowadays to carry around all-knowing magic boxes in your pocket. Yeah, that makes perfect sense.

Back then I wasn’t exactly the type of man who spent his days in the library. I’m sure that before I began my slow descent into bitter adulthood some perky broad had taught my young self about dewey decimals but I had long since replaced that knowledge with much more important facts. I was going to need help and I didn’t want some book Nazi giving me strange looks about my topic of research. So, on the bus ride over, I concocted a back-story.

I waited patiently in the line at the front desk and when it was my turn I opened my mouth prepared to lay out a glorious and intricate lie. It was not needed. The bored librarian hardly even looked at me. With a worn sigh she said, “What are you looking for?”

“Demons,” I answered.

She tilted her head back and curtly said to the woman behind her, “Chloe, show this man to the nonfiction paranormal. He wants demons.”

Chloe led me to a full row of books and at first I felt overwhelmed. I just took it one at time, reviewing each title and pulling the ones I thought might be useful. Ten minutes later I had eleven books sprawled across a wooden desk and was carefully thumbing through each one.

Those books were fascinating to me. I had never been one to believe in the things that go bump in the night but my new neighbor had changed all that. Consequently the books now read like the hidden history of the world instead of the ravings of people with too little wits or too much imagination.

It was in the eighth book, an old tome filled with pencil depictions of each named demon, that I found her. Well, it wasn’t her exactly, but the drawing could have been her sister, it was that close. Succubus, that’s what she was. She was stealing the life of all those around her and filling those empty vessels with tendrils of her darkness in place of their souls.

Once I knew exactly what I was looking for, it was much easier to get the information. Chloe helped me pull several more books that specifically covered succubi and I poured over them late into the evening. I left the library knowing what I must do.

I am not a religious man but I stopped at St. Michaels on the way home. I sprinkled holy water on the small knife I had always carried with me for protection and I asked the Catholic God to help me succeed. I wasn’t sure he heard me but I figured it was worth a shot. That’s how they get you, you know, when you’re scared. They’ve built up these fabulous painted castles that exude authority with only one true message in mind. “Come to us, we know.” I was still wary enough of religion to duck out before a priest could spy me. No use trading one soul thief for another, am I right?

I reached home at about nine-thirty. They were all in the courtyard and there were even some new people I had never seen before. They all stood there in the same trance I had witnessed each night before. My heart wept for what I had to do but the books had been quite clear. To save their souls I would have to kill their bodies, the only way to loose the anchor of that foul she-beast.

Harry was the first to die. He didn’t even acknowledge my presence as I walked toward him with determined knife in hand. I knocked him to the ground and he fell over like I was tipping a board. The lights continued to flow from his eyes, the darkness continued to fill his heart.

I took the eyes first. The books hadn’t warned me about how slimy they were nor how easily they popped from their sockets. My stomach turned as I set them aside. They truly are the windows of the soul. As soon as his eyes left him the windows were shut and the beam of golden light ceased. The demon shrieked behind me as it happened but did not move. I could only hope the books were right, that she was just as caged as they while she consumed them. I swallowed my fear and continued

Next, I took his tongue. They’re longer than they look and quite hard to hold unto when you’re trying to saw through them with a small pocket knife. It helped my nerves that he did not struggle but nothing could ease my mind as I carved through the bloody slab. I managed it nonetheless and tossed the still wriggling meat next to his eyes. The books had been very clear about the order of things. The tongue needed to be removed so that the darkness could not return to its master. She had shrieked again as I severed the link but still she did not move.

Finally, I took the heart. I crudely carved into his chest again and again until at last I managed to wrench the heart from his body. That’s when I knew I had done the right thing. He expended a last bloody, gurgling breath and died upon the courtyard grass. The blood trailed down my arm as I held his heart and envied his serenity. Some part of me already knew that my end would be much more unpleasant than his. That the heart still beat as I held it, was my only consolation.

I set the beating heart away from Harry’s eyes and tongue and went to work on the others. Each fell as easily as he and each death hardened my resolve a little more. Except for the children, nothing can prepare you for killing such innocence. Her shrieks after each death drove me onward, even as the blood of the Bowmans dripped from my hands.

She did not move until I had severed the final cord. Once that link was cut, she launched herself from the chair and rushed upon me with all the fury of a demon scorned. But she did not strike me for in my hand I held the Super’s heart and behind me set the beating pile of her dark anchor.

She howled in anger instead and, in a moment of fury, she let slip a roar of fire that swept the hair and clothes from their bodies. I stood my ground and found that the books had been correct. Because I held a part of her, the fires of her rage could not touch me. I saw her eyes grow desperate and watched as she wove a veil around her, thinking perhaps that she could still capture me in her thrall. It was, of course, no use. What is seen cannot be unseen. You know that just as well as I. She saw it as well and dropped all effort of the illusion. She took off running instead.

I didn’t chase her right away. That she still lived told me other fingers of her darkness still gripped this world but I had to see to my friends first. I took care of them as best I could. I placed their hands over their hearts to cover the holes I had made. The curtains from Mrs. Holson’s home made good blindfolds for their eyes. There wasn’t much I could do to bury them so I left them naked and hairless upon the moonlit grass.

She led me from city to city over the next few months as she retreated to those she had already enthralled. I slaughtered them each time and I am sad to say I took less care with those who were not known to me. It was dirty work and her vessels became the object of my rage. How could they be so easily fooled? How could they not see the demon before them?

She grew weaker with every den I raided until at last, in Boston, I held her last beating toehold to the living in my hand. You wouldn’t think that demons could cry but they’ll do anything to meet their ends. She could not harm me so she begged instead. It was no use of course; she had made me a killer. My heart had filled with its own darkness; there was no room for hers.

I burned them, all of them, after piercing each with the blade to still their beating. A great belch of black filled the air as they turned ash and then dissipated in a rain of orange cinders. Her howl of pain was exquisite as she was dragged back from whence she came.

For that brief moment I saw the fires of hell. They’re not as you would imagine. To one whose heart has been filled with cold and black, the warm fires offer a solace you cannot find in the naïve laughter of the blind masses. Only duty held my feet to the floor.

I kept them, the tongues and eyes, so that their souls would be safe. I locked them away to keep the vessels forever shut. They shall wither as the bodies but stay separate from them until the windows are no more and the soul is free.

***

There were no windows in the interviewing room but Tom’s body told him he’d been sitting a long while. The recorder had gone through three tapes and the prisoner through eight bottles of water. He wasn’t quite sure what to make of The Keeper, the old man was not at all what he had expected.

“That’s quite a story, why tell it now?”

“You know I am to die tomorrow by the hands of righteous men. I wished them to know me as I am, not as what they see.”

“Why me? Surely you could have found someone better, someone who could give your story the proper treatment.”

The prisoner laughed. “To bend my words through their prism? No thanks.” The Keeper placed his chained hands upon his knees and looked at Tom with earnest eyes. “Why you? Because you are a seer like me. You see things as they are.”

“What…”

“…the pictures, Mr. Levy.”

“The pictures?” Tom’s mind raced through the photos he had taken and fell upon the last one he had snapped of The Keeper. “You smiled. Why?”

The prisoner smiled at Tom. “Because sir, they were at peace. Your lens saw them at peace.”

[James]

The Underworld

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“I ain’t as dumb as everyone seems to think ‘round here. I’m good at watching and I’m good at paying attention to all the other lousy scumbags in this world. Do you really think you could keep your little secret for so long? If it ain’t gonna be me then it would be someone else, we’re all watching, all as paranoid as each other.”

Lauren Pritchard stared down her long, skinny nose at the tatterdemalion in front of her. Rubbing at his chin, he was steadily applying more grubby dirt to his skin with each passing round of his thumb. The football shirt that proudly showed the insignia of Manchester City grinded against the expensive leather that draped itself over all the seats in Lauren’s office. She supposed that the beer and vomit stains had been earned while celebrating their championship success. Still, she thought cringing as the man’s shoes shifted independently from his feet, the fact that the vomit was a year dry wasn’t much of a consolation prize.

“And what is my ‘little secret’, Dirty Mike?” Lauren asked, running a hand slowly through her mousy-brown hair. She wished to send the man from her office as soon as possible. Tonight, of all nights, was the night that Lauren didn’t want to be delayed. “What’s so important for you to grace me with you presence.”

Sniffing, wiping away a concoction of snot and sweat from under his nose, Dirty Mike leered back at her. “Don’t play coy with me, Pritch. I know all ‘bout you and your sister.”

“Sister?” Lauren repeated, swallowing back the laughter that rose up her throat. The idiot knew nothing about her after all.

“Yeah, sister,” Dirty Mike said. “That fiery sexy little thing that works inside Scotland Yard? Pauline Miller? Really, you think that changing her last name was going to keep people off the chase. I seen you go to the same places as her. Just a few nights ago I saw her leave the very same restaurants that you entered half an hour before hand. That was fuckin’ careless of you, weren’t it?”

Rising to her feet, Lauren took several steady steps across the room to face the well-painted, fake Turner that hung from her wall. She chose to ignore the dreadful grammar that floated from the man’s mouth and the eyes that leered at the flesh of her toned legs. The waves of the painting rolled and turned around the fisherman’s boat as she caught sight of her sparkling blue eyes in the reflection of the polished bronze frame. Dirty Mike knew nothing dangerous. She could probably let him go and nothing would come of it, he would talk and people would laugh. Questions, though, would be asked by both the police and the criminal underworld of London. Questions that Lauren didn’t particularly wanted to answer at such a delicate moment in time. It was a shame really; Dirty Mike was an excellent tool to use to unnerve the upper-classes.

“I ‘pose you wanted a bit of extra protection,” he offered into the silence, his voice shaking somewhat. “What with the Kray Twins being arrested last year, you must have got scared, didn’t you? I don’t blame ya, not one bit. But you understand, right? If you got some ‘criminating information on a poor sod then you bloody well use it to get whatever you can.”

Lauren turned to face the grubby-faced man, a smile dancing across her full, red lips. “And what do you want, Michael? What could you possibly want from little old me?”

“Ah no, you’re not making me quiet that easily,” Dirty Mike sneered, clearly picking up on her swaying hips as she walked towards him. “You’re ain’t my type anyway, love, though; I wouldn’t mind a swing at your sister. But only if you two don’t share the same dad, I don’t want to upset the old man. Nah, I’m gonna want money and lots of it. And a house in the countryside: fucking ducks and a pond and everything,” Mike said, punctuating each demand with a jab of his finger against her desk. “I want out of this whole fucking thing.”

“Why not ask my father if you’re so afraid of upsetting him?”

“Because I understand what those lads out there don’t. Sure, your old man is still tough as nails but he’s getting old, ain’t he? He don’t want to hand over his whole empire to some half-wit like me or Phil or Grant. He wants his son to take over, ain’t he? And, love, you’re the closest to a son he’s ever going to get. So he looks tough and he swears a lot, batter some poor mug’s head in while you make sure that everything runs like clockwork. You’re the brains and you’re the one who’s going to give me my money.”

Lauren smiled as she ran a painted nail along Mike’s cheek, the edge lightly pushing down against the skin. “You know, Mike, you’ve been one of my father’s best men. You’ve always been there for him. I remember you saved a whole group of us from that botched job in the Strand. I’m going to miss you.”

“You’re going to give me an out?” Dirty Mike asked, his eyebrow jumping dangerously close to his matted fringe.

“Of course,” Lauren purred. “Albert, did you hear everything?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

A shadow untangled itself from the darkness that clung to the corner of the room, limbs stretching out as a man strode confidently across the room. Impeccably dressed in a crisp suit, he looked as if he was ready to hit the swinging capital. Dim, blue eyes shone out from a blurred face, features oddly waxed and merging together. A cane swung through the air, never touching the luscious carpet as it struck down upon Dirty Mike’s shoulder.

Crying out in pain, Mike swung his arm towards the blow. The limb jumped and struggled upward, battling through a bowlful of invisible treacle before it froze completely. “What the hell?” Mike screamed. “What you done?”

“Don’t you think it would have been better to silence him at the same time, Albert?” Lauren said, clicking her fingers. Dirty Mike’s complaints ceased in an instance, his mouth flying up and down noiselessly.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“Oh, don’t start that up again,” Lauren said.

“Yes, Ma’am.”

Lauren sighed, rubbing at the bridge of her noise as she wandered over to the antique wardrobe in the office. With another click of her fingers, the strap of her dress unfastened as the fabric pooled around her ankles. There was a deliciousness that while Mike’s limbs slowly froze and locked, his eyes widened at the view of her naked form. Lauren always took great pride in her artwork. She allowed the dying man one final glance at perfection before her pale white skin began to ripple and wrinkle.

She was positive that if Mike was capable of it, he would have screamed like a man had never screamed before. Curves vanished, replaced with wispy hair in a blink of an eye as the tall, beautiful woman turned into the squat, bulldog form of Edward ‘the Confessor’ Pritchard. Grabbing a loose, blue shirt and baggy trousers from the wardrobe, Lauren dressed herself before draping a greatcoat around her shoulders. She allowed her hard brown eyes to glance down at the silently sobbing man in the chair, a smile playing across her lips. Dirty Mike had nearly figured out her secret, all he was lacking was a crucial weapon in his arsenal. He had no knowledge of the supernatural. Lauren didn’t have a sister. She was her sister. And her father. And anyone else she wanted to be.

“Albert,” Lauren said, a growling voice jumping from between her thin, cracked lips. “Get rid of Dirty Mike as quick as possible, and I don’t want no one knowing that he’s dead, alright my son?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Fucking smartarse,” Lauren spat, walking out of her office.

The change from elegant, velvety rich to pure destitution was instantaneous. Sweat drifted on the air and grey, chipped walls stood tall in every direction. There was no shaggy carpet under Lauren’s polished, black shoes. Vomit and blood were easier to clean away on a concrete floor. Boarded windows allowed a glimmer of the cocktail of moonlight and streetlight, which was instantly consumed by the bright shining lamps that were stationed around the room.

Men, and even a few women, were crowding around a raised platform. Beer bottles were sprinkled along the ground as they yelled and exchanged money, betting taking place on the fight that was about to take place. Lauren moved effortlessly through the crowd. No one wanted to block Edward Pritchard’s way. Several people spoke hurried words of greeting, eyes dropping downwards as they muttered the words. Everyone else fell silent and looked in the opposite direction. Searching out for her next fighter, Lauren moved to whisper several carefully chosen words within his ear. The last thing she needed was a cock-up like last week.

“Remember,” Lauren whispered in the Confessor’s gravelly voice. “You’re going down in fifth round or your wife is bang-up in some barney.”

Satisfied with the fighter’s wide-eyed nod, Lauren moved away, allowing the swarming gamblers to resume their yelling and hurried final bets. By fixing the match, she was confident she had cleared off the final debt that was left on the books. Everything was going to be in perfect condition. She didn’t want to be a disappointment. Catching sight of several of her more muscular bruisers, Lauren gestured towards the door with a curt nod of her head. They immediately understood what she meant, several metal objects being grabbed by a nearby table.

A snatch at her overcoat caught Lauren off-stride, her feet spinning as she landed from mid-stride. “Eddie, I just wanted to say,” a voice said, coming from an elderly gentleman on the edge of the crowd. “I think the law change is going to go through quite nicely, you should find yourself in a nice legal position.”

“Good, that’s good, Anthony. I’m glad to ‘ear that. I can’t reward you yet, though. It’s a few more years ‘til I can swing that seat in the cabinet for you,” Lauren joked, earning a chuckle in reply.

Albert appeared from Lauren’s office, wiping away a hint of blood from his cane. Lauren pointed a finger at the door and the man nodded, moving cleanly through the crowd as if it wasn’t there. Everyone was ready to go. It was time to pay Superintendent Marshal a visit. He was best placed to tell her everything she needed to know.

***

The sun was rising from behind the rising temples of finance, the streetlights flickering to death for the day as Lauren clambered out of the car. The Confessor’s shoes padded softly against the road. The quaint, suburban street was devoid of life. Adults and children alike were enjoying the weekend sleep-in. Albert appeared from the passenger seat, two other armed goons appearing from the back as they swiftly crossed the street that separated them from Superintendent Marshal’s house.

It was an old Victorian building, the door and windows visibly replaced with a more modern edge. Hideously green curtains protected the interior from prying eyes and the lawn had recently been mowed, weeds long since removed. Pushing open the garden gate, silencing the whining noise from the rusted metal with a layer of magic; Lauren led her little group along the garden path.

“You two, wait ‘ere until we get the door unlocked,” Lauren said quietly, looking at the two men behind her. They didn’t need to know about how the door was going to be opened.

Grant and Rob didn’t question the order, hanging back as Lauren and Albert crept forward. “You’re going to have to do the lock,” she whispered. “I never got the hang of unlocking doors.”

“Because you’re too impatient,” Albert said, pressing the end of his cane against the old, metal lock. Metal ground against each other, piercing the otherwise silent morning, and the door swung open without a word.

Stepping through the threshold with ease, Lauren closed the door behind them as Grant and Rob entered the building. A line of shoes waited beside them: several expensive pairs mingling with cheap scandals and a bright red pair of children’s Wellingtons. She saw a small wooden table hidden in the shadows, a telephone sitting proudly atop the varnished wood. They probably didn’t need to cut the line; it was going to be a simple job.

Turning to face the three men around her, Lauren issued ‘the Confessor’s’ orders with eased. “Rob, get that dopey fucking look off your face and take the child’s bedroom and make sure that he doesn’t scream or get away. You’ll take the wife to that bedroom too, Grant, as soon as we wake them up. Albert, you’re with me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Biting down the urge to slap Albert, which would have earned raised eyebrows from the others, Lauren moved silently up the stairs. Her heart was pounding so quickly that she was afraid it would wake the entire house. The others would surely be as calm as a sheltered sea. They had all intimidated police officers before. However, this time was different; if Marshal knew the information that she wanted then she would only be days away from understanding her whole life. Days away from understanding her magic, her past and maybe even her future. The expectation alone was enough to nearly make her fall up the stairs, a shoe catching the edge of one step.

Light was beginning to inch across the landing through the open bathroom door. Pencil marks climbed steadily up one of the door, reaching just over three feet, still well below where a school drawing clung to the wood with blue-tack. Rob moved effortlessly across the landing and slid into the child’s bedroom without a sound, Grant already moving towards the other door. Letting Albert walk in front of her, Lauren followed the tall man through the threshold and into the master bedroom; her heart still hammered away inside her chest.

“What? What’s going on here?” Superintendent Marshal yelled, untangling himself from his bedding as his wife was plucked from his side. “Pritchard? What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Can’t I come in and say a friendly good morning to one of my best pals,” Lauren said, smiling as she watched the wife be carried from the room.

Swinging his cane down upon the rising policeman’s shoulder, Albert pushed the man back into his bed. “Stay still and you won’t get hurt.”

“He’s right, you know,” Lauren smiled. Sitting down upon the end of the bed, she folded her hand in her lap, looking at the pop art wallpaper. There were little creases up and down the wall, the tell-tale signs of a DIY job. “You should ‘ave got a man in, Marshal.”

“Put a sock in it, Pritchard,” Marshal snarled.

Shaking her head in disappointment, Lauren rose to her feet and walked calmly to the dresser in the corner of the room. Framed photographs ran across the entire wooden surface, overwhelming the solitary jewellery box within the middle of the armed guard of smiling faces. Opening the box despite Marshal’s protests, Lauren sighed as she saw the few cheap necklaces and dirtied bracelets that sat coiled like a snake within the box.

“Been at the cards again, Marshal?” Lauren said, eyes still running over the various photographs: a boy riding his first bicycles, smiling grandparents, a family reunion, a husband kissing his wife’s cheek.

“How could you know that?” Marshal asked, struggling against the cane that was digging steadily deeper into his shoulder. “Have you been spying on me?”

Plucking the grubbiest chain of cheap bronze she could find, Lauren lifted it between her and Marshal. “No, I just thought that’s the only reason why your wife’s jewellery seems to be taking a hit. Damn, Marshal, if I had such a pretty girl then I’d buy ‘er nicer things than what you’ve got ‘er.”

“Don’t you start getting my wife involved, you bastard!”

“Watch your tongue, boy,” Lauren growled, the Confessor’s trademark scowl dancing across her face. “That’s not a nice way to speak to the only man who’s keeping you from getting nicked.”

Marshal’s mouth moved to speak, his lips separating and then closing several times before he fell into silence. Taking a great pleasure in the pained expression upon the policeman’s face, Lauren dropped the bracelet back into its home and wandered slowly back to the edge of the bed. This was the best part of her sprawling criminal empire: power. She had power over people from all forms of life; the type of power that could floor the strongest of men and make the bravest of women into weeping statues. Most people didn’t have free-will in London. They were either owned by the elites or by her, and Lauren was confident she was scarier.

“What do you want?” Marshal asked, slumping back into his bed like a child.

“A time,” Lauren said. “All I wanna know is when Frank Pollard’s prisoner transfer is occurring.”

The policeman’s mouth fell, his jaw dropping several inches as the cane began to shake again from his struggle to move upward. “You can’t be thinking of springing, Pollard. He’s dangerous, Pritchard. He kills.”

“I kill, Marshal,” Lauren said, jabbing a stubby finger at the superintendent’s face. “I’ll kill you if you don’t tell me what I wanna know. I’ll kill you’re whole happy, little family if you don’t give me what I want.”

“You don’t know what you’re getting into, Pritchard.”

Rolling her eyes, Lauren threw her hands into the air and ordered Albert to give the policeman’s a bout of pain. Marshal’s eyes widened as they looked between her and Albert before he screamed out in pain, writhing upon the bed as he swore bloody murder. The patch of his night clothes that was nestled between Albert’s cane and the policeman’s skin burned away as fire licked down the length of the cane. An angry burn began to form immediately across the skin, red and raw as Marshal continued to scream.

“Yeah, scream as much as you fucking want,” Lauren said. “You’re whole family can ‘ear this, I bet they’re feeling right good about now.”

“How are you doing this?” Marshal cried through watery eyes.

“With magic,” Lauren said, her arms flying through the air with the words. Ignoring the disapproving glance of Albert, who had pulled the cane away with the uttering of the ‘m’ word, she angrily clicked her fingers.

Marshal cried out as his face flung itself to the right, an invisible hand slapping him hard across the cheek. “Two days from now, midday,” he whined, rubbing at his reddened cheek as blood trickled from between his lips. “Please, just stop… whatever, however you’re doing it.”

“See?” Lauren said, swinging around to face Albert. “It worked, didn’t it? Two days. We know now.”

“Yeah, except now I have to wipe his memory,” Albert replied, already striding forward to the groaning policeman.

Lauren shrugged as she stepped passed him, already moving towards the bedroom door. “Just do it quickly, we only have two days to plan this. And I don’t want a single thing to go wrong in front of my father.”

***

“Are you sure you want to be here, Lauren,” Grant grunted, seated upon the bonnet of the car parked on the gravel upon the side of the road. Trees lined the empty, country road. Two more cars slept beside the banged-up motor, seven more men loitering around the vehicles. It was several more minutes until the prison van was expected to come rolling down the road. “I mean, I know your old man seems to think you can handle it, but this might get hairy.”

“If I hear you suggest one more time that I might not be able to handle this, Grant, you’re going to experience the sharp side of a knife. Anyway, where the fuck is Albert?” Lauren said. She was pacing up and down along the side of the road, her eyes spinning from one direction to the next.

Vaguely catching the end of a hurried apology from the man upon the bonnet, Lauren moved further away from the grouping of cars. It would have been easier to run the job as the Confessor, but she was determined to meet her father for the first time in the closest thing to her actual appearance. Everything had been going so swimmingly. Her fighter had gone down in the fourth and her entire empire’s debt had been wiped clean. She had found out all the information that she needed to spring her father free. Now, though, Albert was late as the job was about to go down. He wasn’t going to ruin this moment for her.

Taking a deep breath, Lauren looked back at the waiting attack force by the cars. They could handle themselves without Albert. Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Lauren swallowed down the nerves that were rising up her throat. It had been four years ago since she began tracking down her father. Once, she had been satisfied with her mystery powers that she could summon from within herself. It was merely enough that she could change her appearance at will and occasionally suffocate a man with a single click of her fingers. It made her rise steadily through the ranks of the criminal underworld until her rivals had all fallen to the wayside.

Albert’s arrival had changed all that. He had hunted her down upon hearing whispers of her magical prowess; apparently people had noticed her. At first he had just honed her craft, made her more intimidating than ever before to the community around her. She still remembered, though, the day that he had ventured into the subject of her origins. Revealing that magical humans weren’t just a lottery, Albert told her that one of her parents had been a shapeshifter. It had set a fire off in her soul. She needed to know where she came from.

Her mother had died in childbirth. There was a stream of paperwork from birth to death concerning her: school reports, ration slips, several cheap novelty photographs. There was nothing unusual about her. Her father, though, was another matter entirely. A solitary cross sat on her birth certificate where a name should have been. No distant relatives seemed to have a clue about how her mother got pregnant. She was close to despair when Albert revealed who it was, her mentor delving deep into the magic world to find her answers.

“Penny for your thought,” a voice said, slicing into Lauren’s thoughts.

“Albert?” Lauren said.

The dark-haired man stood in front of her, a plain white van idly resting behind him. The ever-present suits had given way to baggy clothing that struggled to hang around his body, the cane tucked under his left arm. It looked utterly out of place. Throwing a glance down the still empty road, Lauren looked down at her shaking fingertips before asking where her mentor had been.

“Hunting down this van,” Albert said, gesturing to the van. “It might come in handy later.”

“Your face is pale,” Lauren blurted.

Taking hold of her hand, Albert lightly stroked the skin of her palm as his whispers carried across the country road. “Pollard’s a dangerous faerie, Lauren. Things might not go as you want them to.”

“How did he end up in prison if he’s so dangerous?”

“We’re about to find out,” Albert answered, the sounds of engines cutting through the wind whistling through the trees.

Sprinting together down the road, Lauren saw the parked cars upon the side of the road slowly roll into life. A large van appeared from around the corner, blue lettering barely visible upon the bodywork as it trundled down the road. Grant and the others brought the car to rest in the middle of the road, clambering out of them with weapons in hand. The van skidded to a halt, teetering dangerously to one side as the driver slammed on the brakes. Lauren didn’t need to order her army to attack; they did so instantly.

Gunfire roared out down the quaint country road, glass shattering as the windshield of the police van took a barrage of bullets. It was sweet music to her ears. As Albert’s cane flew subtly through the air, the tyres burst beneath the truck. Lauren took a delicious breath of smoky air as the mobile prison was left completely defenceless. Rushing forward with several of her most eager thugs, she allowed them to shower the police officers with ammunition while she raced to the back of the van. Her heart thundered and it felt as if her skin was on fire. Somewhere Albert was yelling at her, his footsteps somehow breaking through the madness. She didn’t listen. Her magic tore through lock, door and hinges alike as the back of the van fell away to reveal the upright figure of a bearded man.

“Well, well, well,” he said, looking at her with his hard grey eyes. “When Quentin said someone was coming to free me, I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Frank Pollard?” Lauren breathed, the words struggling to free themselves from her throat.

Pollard took several leaps forward before the cuffs around his wrists and ankles erupted into flame. The metal turned to slag and fell to the floor of the van with a dull thud, not a single burn gracing Pollard’s body. “The very same,” he said, stretching his legs as he leapt from the back of the vehicle. “And who are you?”

“Your daughter,” a voice said from behind them. Albert was standing several steps away from Lauren, breathing heavily as he held his cane out in front of him like a shield.

“Prove it,” Pollard barked, holding Lauren’s gaze in an iron-like grip. “I’ve had half-ling children before, actually, lots of them in fact. I know what they can do. Prove you’re my daughter.”

Lauren stared dumbly at the towering man in front of her, his grizzled brown hair unkempt and knotted. For a second she panicked, every thought fleeing her mind and dashing towards the trees until she noticed that Pollard’s eyebrows were slowly changing colour. Inwardly grinning, Lauren concentrated on her hair, picturing it growing darker and shrinking back towards her skull. A breeze licked at her expose neck as the change took place before Pollard’s approving eyes and she felt her heart slow a little as the panic slipped away.

“Impressive,” Pollard grinned. “Even more so because you managed to free me from my prisoners, although, it would have been more impressive if you realised that I didn’t need freeing.”

“What were you doing in prison?” Albert asked, his cane slipping lower.

Lauren watched as Pollard pulled his eyes away from, her pupils drifting back to where her small army was cleaning away the shards of glass and bloodied body. “Hiding,” Pollard said, facing down Albert. “From a little group known as the Wolaeth. They want me dead for some strange reason that is probably unrelated from the mass killings that I’ve committed in my long, long life of crime.”

“Why prison?” Lauren asked.

“The Wolaeth were beginning to expect me,” Pollard said, rubbing at his wrists as he jogged on the spot. “They’d never expect a man who got himself imprisoned, though.”

Grinning at the near complete stranger’s wisdom, Lauren ventured to gain more information about herself and her magic when Albert uttered the sentence that caused the walls of her wall to tumble down. “We did, actually.”

Lauren spun on the spot, her eyes widening as Albert’s cane flew upwards and the air rippled around her. Hair lifted itself from the flesh of her arm and Pollard flew back into the van, struck by an invisible battering ram. Lauren turned to scream for help from Grant and the others, but they had been left bloodied on the ground by a group of quickly moving people. Some of them were carrying staves or thin branches of wood, wands slicing through the air. In the distance, the van that Albert had arrived in stood with its doors wide-open.

“Did you know?” Pollard wheezed, lying bloodied upon the floor.

“No,” Lauren said. She stumbled backward as Albert bore down upon her father, his cane lifted.

His eyes flickering from between Albert and the rushing mob, Pollard turned to Lauren with a smile upon his face. “Run.”

Fire erupted from the man’s hands as he clapped them together, consuming him, Albert and the van in a swirling bath of heat. The group halted for a second and Lauren caught sight of a young red-haired man being pushed aside by a rugged, older person. She didn’t allow them a chance to stop her. She ran into the trees. She ran and ran and didn’t look back. Her hair flickered between colours like a television flicking between channels. Tears dripped from her rapidly changing colours. She had gained everything: an empire, power, her father. In a blink of an eye, it had been ripped from her completely.

She felt like a little girl again. She didn’t know what to do, so she did the only thing that made sense to her.

She ran.
[/blockquote]

[J.O.N ((Dragonwing))]

I'm lousy with grammar so I'll focus more on your writing styles and content.

ALLYA

First off, I loved your descriptions. You really painted a picture of the scenes in your story and quite vividly. This could only add to eeriness you managed to convey with The Keeper and his recount of his murders and first meeting with the succubus. It was a fantastic short story and quickly drew me in.

AGRO

Oh boy, you do action well, like awesomely so. Like Allya, you really drew me in and quickly. And with names like Frank Pollard, Edward "the confessor" Pritchard and Dirty Mike you quickly set the mood for a gangster fuelled Urban Fantasy. And your twist at the end made me want to read more, so much more.

Overall

For both Agro and Allya I can't find any faults outside grammar or punctuation, but my love of action packed Urban Fantasy has to mean I vote for Agro.