A Collection of Creatures

by B R Grove

  “You’re awake,” stayed a distinctly posh female voice.

  “Where am I?” He demanded.

  The voice ignored him. “You’ve been asleep for hours.” It was too dark to see up ahead, so he squinted. His blood ran cold when she stepped into the light.

  It was her: Talia Herter. Her blonde hair was neatly tied back, and her piercing blue eyes zeroed in on him like a predator sizing up its prey.

  He shivered. “W-where am I?” He asked.

  She smiled. He had seen that smile before in photos, only now it was positively menacing. She proceeded over to the table next to him and unrolled a white cloth. An assortment of medical tools and carving knives were neatly organized inside. His chest seized.

  “You trespassed on my property,” she said, tugging on yellow rubber gloves. “And you tried to steal from me. You and your friend are incredibly stupid.” She turned to gaze at him, medical saw in hand. “Lucky for you, I’ve decided that I’m going to devour you over all the others I’ve stored. This will be a special occasion.”

  She knelt down and plugged in the saw. She revved it up and leveled it with his stomach.

  He screamed in hideous agony.

  The Vampire’s Kiss

  At night, the autumn air was cool and crisp. Ivy closed her eyes and breathed it in. It felt nice and it cleared her mind, if only a little bit. She was anxious about tonight, and nothing she did alleviated the stress. She sighed and opened the trunk of her car. Her guitar case was battered and patchy, but it had served her well for the past five years of playing. She slung it over her shoulder and slammed the trunk shut. Then, after locking up, she took a deep breath and started walking to the doors of the club.

  It was fairly busy inside. Lights flashed magenta and violet as people danced. Everyone was dressed in black. The band onstage was performing Happy Birthday by The Birthday Massacre. Ivy longed to stay in the dance hall and join in with the festivities, but she couldn’t. She had an obligation: perform this last gig, and Garth would pay her what he owed her. Then she wouldn’t have to play in the band ever again.

  Gritting her teeth, she made her way through the crowd to the backstage door next to the stage and knocked. Stan opened it and grunted. He was a lanky guy with stringy black hair and a soul patch. His white tank top was stained in the pits, and she repressed the urge to wrinkle her nose. He opened the door wide for her and she followed him up the stairs. Her other bandmates were there sitting on the raggedy couch offstage. Garth saw her and stood up. She braced herself for an unpleasant encounter.

  “Finally! What took you so long? We’re the last performance and it’s almost time to go on!”

  “Sorry,” she said. “I got stuck in traffic.”

  “Traffic? Well, I guess I should’ve expected you to fuck up.”

  She didn’t respond. She could feel his breath from where she was standing, and it made her skin crawl. She still felt the shame of having his hands roam up and down her body while she couldn’t say ‘no’. It gave her cold chills and the urge to vomit. She clenched her fists, digging her nails into her palms. She knew it was a bad idea to come back.

  “Dude, she’s here now,” Marcus said. They looked at him. He sat on the far end of the couch, dressed all in black like the rest of them. Garth must have glared daggers at him, because he looked down at his hands, his long black hair shrouding his face like a curtain. “We should just go set up,” he mumbled. “It’s almost time to go on.”

  “Fine,” Garth hissed and stormed off. The rest of the band glanced at each other in silent relief. They knew why she left, and even though she resented that they didn’t stand up to Garth’s lechery on her behalf, she was grateful that they at least understood.

  Finally, it was time to go on. Everyone took their places on the stage, and the crowd whooped and hollered. Ivy squinted in the bright lights as she tried to look out at everybody. The place was pretty packed…

  Garth did his usual rallying cry. “We are The Forsaken! Are you ready to rock?”

  Some drunken whoops and laughter responded. Ivy smirked. They knew it was a stupid name.

  “One! Two! Three! Four!”

  Marcus did his drum intro, and the song began. The crowd seemed to enjoy it because murmurs died down and Ivy faintly saw bodies swaying on the dance floor. She focused on losing herself in the music- on letting her fingers go on autopilot as she fantasized about being anywhere but here. In her mind, she was at home in her bed, reading a book before going to sleep…

  The set went off without a hitch, and the crowd cheered like they always did. Backstage, Ivy sighed with relief when Garth went off with the other boys to get drunk. She was sweaty from the heat of the lights, and her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She just wanted to go home, but she couldn’t go yet. Not without getting what she came back for.

  She took a deep breath and, hoisting her guitar bag over her shoulder, she went down the narrow stairs off of the stage. Garth was standing at the bar, resting his elbows on the tabletop as his friends talked to him. She came up behind him. “Garth?”

  He turned around, a slow grin appearing on his face. “Heeeyyyy….”

  She cringed internally. He was drunk already? “I..I want my money now.”

  “What money?” He asked.

  She froze. This wasn’t happening. He promised… “The money you owe me for this gig! We talked about this.”

  He turned to look at his buddies and gave an exaggerated shrug. They snickered. “Sorry girlie, I got nothin’.” His eyes focused on her, and he suddenly looked a lot less drunk. “…unless you’re willing to make some… exchanges.”

  Ivy’s face felt like it was on fire, and her throat tightened. She was done playing nice to this bastard, of all people. “Just give me the fucking money!” She snapped.

  “How ’bout I give you something else?” He lashed out a hand and grabbed her ass, pulling her against his body. She slapped him and stumbled backward. The assholes guffawed as he growled at her as a dog would to a piece of meat.

  She turned on her heel and stormed off. Hot tears burned her eyes, and she looked around the club to try and find the washroom. She wasn’t going to cry out here. Not in the middle of the dance floor for everyone to see. She wouldn’t give that fucker the satisfaction. It felt like an eternity, but she finally saw the sign for the women’s room at the far left of the room. She weaved her way through the crowds of people and shoved open the door. The tears were already streaming down her face when she dropped her guitar bag on the linoleum floor and leaned against the sink. Clutching the concrete, she hung her head so she wouldn’t have to look in the mirror and sobbed.

  She shouldn’t have come. Hadn’t she told herself that already? Of course, she didn’t listen. She felt like a fucking idiot. A dirty, cheap, useless idiot. And a soon-to-be homeless idiot now too, she thought bitterly. There was no way she would be able to keep paying rent like this.

  She cried openly, loudly, covering her face with her hands as she let all of her frustration and pain flow out of her with the tears. Eventually, her cries turned into hiccups and she looked up at her reflection. Thank god that she’d chosen to wear her waterproof eyeliner tonight. She tugged some paper towels out of the dispenser next to the sinks and dabbed her eyes with it. She crushed it in her hands and sighed deeply, feeling the overwhelming weight in her chest lift a little bit.

  Ultimately, she decided it was best to leave, money be damned. It wasn’t worth the pain and struggle. She hoisted the guitar case that she’d let fall flat on the floor over her shoulder, and pushed the bathroom door open.

  It was a guy, probably in his twenties like her, with black liberty spikes and a studded leather jacket. His face was covered with his hand, and he was rubbing the spot that was smacked by the door.

  “Shit, sorry!” She exclaimed.

  “It’s okay,” he said. He removed his hand and smiled. He had piercing blue eyes, which stood out from his pale face thanks to his heavy eyeliner. He had angul
ar, elegant features. “Truth be told, I was actually coming this way to see if you were alright. I saw what happened at the bar.” His eyes darkened. “That guy is a piece of shit. You deserve way better.”

  She blushed. This handsome stranger in a nightclub cared about what happened to her? It seemed too good to be true.

  “I should’ve said something earlier. I’m sorry.”

  She gave him a tight smile. “It’s alright, thanks.”

  He smiled back genuinely. It made her blush harder. “You played wonderfully on stage, by the way. I might come around this place more often just to hear the music.”

  Her fake smile blossomed into a real one, if only for a moment. “That’s sweet, but I think tonight is going to be my last night. You can only put up with so much bullshit.” Especially when you’re not getting paid, she thought.

  He gave a sad frown. “That’s too bad. Here I thought that The Forsaken had a future.”

  They shared a chuckle at that. Ivy tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her pigtails were coming loose. “I’m Ivy, by the way.” She held out a hand.

  He gave it a shake. “Vincent. Nice to meet you.”

  A scratching sound played through the club; the live shows were over, and it was time to play regular music again. A familiar harpsichord sounded, followed by the smooth baritone of Peter Steele singing Black No. 1. The crowd screamed in excitement as the fuchsia lighting turned a deep navy blue.

  “She’s in love with herself…

  She likes the dark…

  On her milk-white neck,

  The Devil’s mark…”

  “I know you wanted to go,” Vincent said loudly over the music, “But could I ask you for one more dance?”

  Ivy froze. Dance? With a stranger? She knew his name at least, and he seemed nice enough, but what if he tried something? She stared up at him. His eyes, although hard to see in the low light, displayed honesty and genuine care.

  Oh, what the hell, she decided. She let her guitar case drop off her shoulder and she set it against the wall. Then she took Vincent’s hand and followed him to the centre of the floor.

  She let him hold her softly against his chest. His hands remained at her waist and didn’t move anywhere else. She rested her cheek on the soft fabric of his red turtleneck as they swayed back and forth together. She even closed her eyes, letting her fingers rub against one of the spikes on his leather jacket. It was…gentle. Sweet. Something she wasn’t used to from guys. The sound of Type O Negative playing in the background was a nice bonus.

  Feeling daring, she lifted her head and pushed herself up on tip-toe. She cupped his cheek in her hand and kissed him. There was a moment of surprise on his end, before he kissed her back, bringing his own hands up to cradle her face.

  “Loving you…

  Loving you…

  Loving you is like…

  …loving the dead…”

  She pulled away and saw him grinning. He nuzzled her forehead and held her close again. She smiled with delight as she resumed her original position.

  She never wanted this moment to end.

  Unfortunately, it did, and they separated. She went back to her guitar case, still propped against the wall, feeling warm and fuzzy. It was an unbelievably pleasant sensation compared to the rest of the night.

  When she turned back, Vincent was gone. She scanned the throngs of people, but he was nowhere in sight. She frowned, puzzled, and went to look for him. She wanted to say goodbye before she left; maybe even get his number so they could keep in touch.

  She made her way to the opposite end of the place, but she still couldn’t see his liberty-spiked head anywhere.

  She did see Garth, much to her displeasure, but something seemed…off about him. He was stumbling through the backstage door. She knew Garth when he was drunk. He didn’t get that incapacitated. He just forgot the humanity of other people around him. Against her better judgement, she followed after him. The hallway from there to the door leading outside was dark and eerily quiet. A muffled moan came from the other side of the EXIT. She pushed it open and went outside.

  She let out a soft gasp.

  Vincent had Garth pinned against a grimy wall, and his face was near Garth’s neck. It looked like he was kissing him for a moment before a strangled gasping noise escaped Garth’s mouth and his eyes rolled back in his head. Ivy took a step back, accidentally smacking into the still-open door.

  Vincent lifted his head from Garth’s throat, and her stomach dropped.

  The whites of his eyes were pure red, and his irises glowed eerily like a cat’s. Blood dripped from his lips, and his canines had grown into fangs. Ivy stood still, frozen with fear. Vincent just stared at her before resuming his feast.

  She hesitated. What should she do? Should she call the police?

  Before she was able to process anything in detail, she stepped back through the exit door and went inside. As she made her way around the crowd she felt a twinge of guilt. Shouldn’t she have done something? Was it really worth it to leave him there?

  She couldn’t think about that right now. That particular issue was overshadowed by the inexplicability of what she’d seen.

  Vincent had been drinking Garth’s blood. He had fangs! The word vampire flooded into her mind, and she shoved it out. That was ridiculous. Vampires weren’t real… right?

  Not that it mattered anyway. She was going to go home, go to sleep, and forget any of this ever happened. She shoved the doors of the club open. Once again, she was greeted by the sting of the cold night air. She breathed it in and sighed. This was one night that would take more than just her favourite autumn evening atmosphere to cleanse it out of her mind.

  When she got to her car, she unlocked and popped open the trunk. Haphazardly flinging her guitar case inside, she slammed it shut and turned to open her front door. She stopped when she saw a familiar face standing right outside the doors across the parking lot.

  Vincent.

  From what she could see, he looked normal again. He gave another one of his genuine smiles, this time tinged with… regret? Guilt? He waved.

  Before she knew what she was doing, she waved back. Snapping back into reality, she flung her car door open and started it up.

  She sped out of there like a bat out of hell.

  Audition

  Abby was at her wit’s end. It was that time of year again at Dagenhart School for Performing Arts: the time of the annual Springtime Musical! Every year, Abby developed a severe case of stage fright that prevented her from trying out- which was odd, since acting was her specialty- but this year she was determined to get over her fear of singing in public, and nab a part in the Spring Musical!

  Unfortunately, there was a special rule at Dagenhart: to audition, auditioners needed to craft their own song, about whatever subject they choose, and perform it. Abby may have been sufficient in writing scripts and dialogue, but songwriting was a different beast altogether.

  So there she was, pacing around the empty quad on her break, endlessly fretting about her lack of an audition song. Of course, I had to wait until the last day, she fumed as she circled back to the barren fountain at the centre of the quad. She gripped her long brown hair in frustration and looked down at her open notebook on the fountain ledge. She’d tried jotting things down, but in the end, all she had was pages of scribbles.

  “How hard can it be to write a goddamned song?!” She shouted. Her voice echoed through the empty courtyard. She sighed heavily and slumped down next to her notebook. She picked it up and slammed it shut.

  “Not as easy as you think, huh?” A voice said, making her nearly jump out of her skin.

  She spun around to face a Goth girl standing next to the fountain. Abby never saw her before, and she sure as heck didn’t see her standing there when she was walking around the place! “Wh-What?”

  The girl smiled. Her dark makeup made her pixie-like features pop, and she tucked a strand of jagged black-and-blue hair behind her ear as she sat next
to Abby on the ledge. “I know how it feels. I always wanted to be a singer, but writing songs is so difficult! I’m Gwen, by the way.” She held out her hand.

  “Um…I’m Abby, nice to meet you.” She shook her hand sheepishly. “Sorry, I just didn’t see you. You scared me!”

  Gwen cringed. “Sorry. I always pop up when nobody’s expecting. It’s a…habit of mine.” She paused. “Are you writing a song for the Spring Musical?”

  “Yeah, or I’m trying to anyway. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, I wrote a song for the audition a few years ago. It took me a long time to write, and I never got in. You can have it if you want.”

  This was very kind. Why was Gwen willing to do this? Technically this was plagiarism, wasn’t it? Still, Abby wasn’t sure she was going to have a song ready in time otherwise, so she figured she would take a chance on this. “That would be great, actually. But how does it go?”

  Gwen cleared her throat and started to sing. Immediately, any concerns Abby had were washed away. Gwen’s voice was angelic and lovely.

  “It still needs some work, but it should do the job,” Gwen said after she finished.

  “Still?! It sounds pretty damn good already!” Abby exclaimed.

  Gwen blushed and shrugged.

  “In fact, I don’t think that I could possibly do that song justice with my voice,” Abby continued. “You should try out with it again! I don’t think there are any rules against that. I can just wait until next year for my turn.” She smiled.

  Gwen didn’t reciprocate. “No,” she said. “My time to shine was a long time ago and I missed it.”

  “Oh come on! You’re just going to let ONE rejection ruin all your chances?”

  “It’s more complicated than that!” Gwen interrupted. She sighed, a somber disposition coming over her. “Sorry. It’s just…it would really help me if you were the one to perform it.”

  That didn’t make any sense to Abby, but something in her gut told her that it was best not to question her on it. “Okay,” she agreed.