Invisible Monsters

by H L Macfarlane

  She grew silent.

  “Good,” Dorian muttered as he finally let go of her mouth. Poppy trembled in front of him, a shadow of the confident young woman who had leapt from Patrick’s boat to greet him. “You must know what will happen now.”

  “I – I don’t,” she stammered. “What did you mean, bid me off? What’s going –”

  “Be quiet. Just be quiet,” he said as he moved away from Poppy once more, resuming his frantic pacing even as he felt his human guise fall away. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Poppy staring at him in horror.

  I suppose it’s not every day you watch a human transform into a monster, he mused. Or, rather, a monster pretending to be a human turn back into a monster.

  In truth Dorian didn’t look all that terrifyingly ‘monstrous’, going by human standards. He had clients who looked far worse.

  For Dorian was a satyr, if a human was going to describe what he was. Or a faun, if they wanted to insult him. Though his hands ended in claws, and the horns upon his head intricately wove around his ears and hair instead of protruding outward as two separate appendages, and he was brushing almost eight feet tall, a satyr was still the best way to describe him.

  Dorian laughed, though not for anyone in particular to hear. “I can’t believe this. After all that planning – after finding the perfect humans to sell off – you waltz right in and change everything.” He walked purposefully up to Poppy, who flinched against the wall in response.

  He grabbed her arm and held it up, ripping open the bandages he’d only just wrapped ten minutes ago. He laughed in disbelief as he stared at the skin there, which had almost completely healed.

  “How long have you known you were like this?” Dorian asked. Poppy stared at him in blind terror. “Answer me, Poppy,” he added on in a beautiful mockery of the voice that he’d known from the very beginning she would fall for. The one that she would obsess over from the moment she heard him speak on the phone.

  “I…as long as I can remember.”

  He barked out a laugh. “And then you fall right into my lap. How fortuitous. You have to die now, of course. I thought I’d have more time with your group showing off their strengths and weaknesses but they’ll know something’s up if you disappear. Guess I’ll have to expedite the entire process.”

  “The entire process of what?” Poppy asked. It seemed as if she had entirely glossed over Dorian telling her she was to die in favour of finding out what was going on.

  Curious to the end. At least she’s consistent.

  Dorian let go of her arm. “You humans don’t eat sick pigs or fatty cows or diseased sheep, do you?”

  Poppy shook her head. Something about her expression told Dorian that she didn’t like where this was going.

  “Well we don’t like eating sub-par humans, either,” Dorian continued. “We want you to be as physically fit as possible. But your group are…on a whole other level.”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” Poppy whispered.

  Dorian waved a clawed hand dismissively. “You are what you eat,” he explained. “Well, it’s not so literal for humans as it is for us. If we consume human flesh from some unhealthy, lazy, unskilled sack of nothing then that’s exactly what we get out of it: nothing. Empty calories, as it were. We need to eat again so quickly…which isn’t good when we don’t want you to know we’re around.”

  His eyes swept up and down Poppy’s frame and smirked. “But if we eat someone who, say, is a daredevil climber, who never falls and has the stamina and dexterity to climb through ceilings…well. That keeps us going for a long, long time. We’d probably not have to eat another human for years and years if we ate someone from your club. And it makes us better at whatever it is you were good at. Better climbers, better swimmers, better brains, better eyes. My kind would pay handsomely just for your legs. But…”

  Dorian crept in so closely to Poppy that she had no space to move. He crouched down to her eye level. “Your worth isn’t in your flesh and bones, Poppy King.”

  Poppy’s eyes widened in understanding. What little colour had returned to her face over the past couple of minutes immediately drained away.

  “I have clients who would pay millions for your blood. I’d never have to bid off another high-quality human again.”

  “You said you couldn’t bid me off, though,” Poppy said in a small, small voice. “You said –”

  “That I’d have to eat you instead. It’s true, of course. Why should anyone else have you? I’m the one who found you, after all. I did all the god damn research to locate the perfect group of humans for the monsters in this part of the world to gorge on. They can have the rest of your group, but you’re mine.”

  He stretched his hooved legs back up to their full height and grasped Poppy’s chin to turn her head upwards. He watched the throbbing artery in her neck in marvel.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever witness someone like you in my lifetime…”

  Poppy couldn’t help but ask, “What do you…what’s in my blood?”

  Dorian laughed incredulously. “To think you humans don’t even know what your own bodies can do. To think you didn’t even question how quickly you heal, and how you don’t get hurt! You’re beyond ridiculous.”

  “I’d rather say believing monsters exist that want to drink my blood because I heal too quickly is fucking ridiculous,” Poppy muttered despite herself.

  Dorian only laughed harder at the comment. “I guess that’s true, Poppy. Nobody would ever believe you, anyway. They’d think you were crazy. People would think anyone who garbled on and on about a monster stalking them in the night is crazy.”

  Poppy understood Dorian’s point immediately. “But I’m not getting out of here to tell the tale, so what does it matter if anyone believes me, right?”

  “Bingo.”

  She struggled to comprehend her own rapidly approaching demise. “My blood will make you heal faster?”

  Dorian shook his head in disbelief. “You really just…don’t get it. That stuff pouring through your veins isn’t just healing you and protecting you. It doesn’t die. And with it in my body I won’t die, either. Not for a long, long, long time; generations longer than any of my kin. It’s as close to being immortal as a being could get. As close to being a god, even.”

  “And I…that’s in my body?”

  “Not for long,” Dorian said viciously as he grabbed onto Poppy’s neck, pulling her up to his height as he bared his sharp, pointed teeth and –

  “Wait, wait! You have to wait!”

  Somewhat amused, and curious to see what Poppy would say to no doubt plead for her life, Dorian waited. He raised an eyebrow expectantly.

  “I-if drinking my blood extends your life, doesn’t it make sense to drink as much of it as you can, so you can live even longer?”

  “Your point being?”

  Poppy clawed at Dorian’s hand clenched around her throat; he loosened it slightly.

  “Blood regenerates,” she spluttered. “But if you drink it all in one go, I’ll die. You could have eight pints now or eight thousand over time, if you don’t kill me.”

  Dorian dropped Poppy in surprise. She was right, of course; Dorian had simply been too on-edge to think about it. He narrowed his eyes down at her. “Why in the world would you prefer that to dying outright? You’re signing your entire life over to me. I won’t let you go.”

  “I know.”

  “So then…what?”

  Poppy’s eyes hardened as she stared at Dorian, resolute and determined. “Let the rest of my club go.”

  “Absolutely fucking not.”

  “Then I’ll kill myself right now!”

  Dorian knelt down in front of her, a low growl growing from the back of his throat. “You dare threaten me?”

  But Poppy remained expressionless. “Let them go.”

  “If I let them go how will I know you won’t then kill yourself or try to escape?”

  “If you let them go I’ll happily stay.”


  He laughed at the audacity of what Poppy was suggesting. And then he thought of a cruel, twisted compromise that he would thoroughly enjoy watching unravel.

  “Half of them,” he said. “I’ll release half of them. But only one a week. And one person a week also has to be given up to be sold off. You’ll pick them both.”

  Though Dorian’s hand was no longer curled around Poppy’s throat, she choked. “I’m not doing that!”

  “It’s either that or they all die, Poppy. It’s your choice.”

  “I…what happens every week when I save a person?”

  “They stay here until half of your group have been given up,” he explained, making the rules up as he went along. “Just to keep you from saying anything, and to make sure you keep your word. After that I’ll let them go.”

  Poppy’s eyes widened. “What am I supposed to say to keep them here for fifteen weeks?!”

  “I’ll leave that up to you.” Dorian grinned wickedly. “I guess you’d be sacrifice number one. So who’s the first to be saved?” He realised he was genuinely curious about who Poppy would choose. Her best friend, perhaps. Or that silver-haired boy who Dorian had noticed kept looking at her. He wondered if they were together. Or –

  “Andrew,” Poppy murmured breathlessly, completely and utterly resigned. “Andrew. It has to be Andrew.”

  He smiled. “Of course. I suppose that one was obvious. I’m curious to see who you’ll decide to give up next week. But for now…”

  Poppy stared at Dorian as he stood up and walked away, returning to Poppy’s side with a scalpel. “I guess I’ll cut that arm of yours back open. Everyone thinks it’s injured, anyway.”

  He motioned for Poppy to stand back up; numb and frightened beyond belief she obeyed. She held out her arm without a word, though she was shaking. But when Dorian placed the scalpel against her skin it didn’t seem to want to cut through. It was as if the metal was blunt; only by using far more pressure than should have been necessary did the blade finally cut open Poppy’s skin. But it healed within seconds, leaving no trace that she had ever been hurt.

  Frowning, Dorian tried again as Poppy winced with every attempt. But the small, slender cuts Dorian had been trying simply weren’t working.

  He stared at Poppy for a few seconds. “I guess you can blame yourself for this,” he said.

  Before plunging the scalpel straight through her arm and ripping downward.

  Poppy yowled in pain but Dorian, anticipating the noise, held a hand against her mouth. Then he brought her bloodied mess of an arm to his lips and began to drink. He kept his eyes on Poppy’s the whole time, watching her watching him drain the life out of her.

  There were tears in her eyes, and Dorian could feel her teeth biting into his hands to keep from screaming. But no longer did she look scared. She looked resolute and resigned to her fate.

  Good girl, he thought as he felt Poppy’s blood begin to course through him. It was exhilarating; as if he could literally feel the years being added onto his life. He felt powerful. He felt lucky. He felt invincible. He felt –

  He felt like he was taking too much blood.

  Poppy had stopped biting his hand. Her eyes were beginning to turn glassy. Dorian stopped drinking immediately, catching Poppy as her legs gave way. He carried her over to the infirmary bed and sat her down, watching with continued amazement as the mess he’d left Poppy’s arm in began to heal.

  But it was happening far more slowly that it had been before.

  “Less blood next time, then,” he muttered, as much to himself as to Poppy, who was barely conscious. With adrenaline-shaking hands he re-cleaned and re-dressed her arm, as if the past half an hour hadn’t happened at all.

  It took a few minutes for Poppy to properly regain consciousness and, in the time it took for her to recover, Dorian’s human form gradually began to return. When she looked at him once more Dorian looked exactly as he had when she’d first arrived on Patrick’s boat.

  Poppy didn’t seem surprised by the reversion. She was expressionless, which Dorian supposed was the least he should have expected given he had just drained part of her life away.

  But she’ll get it back, and then I’ll get it, until the end of time.

  “Fifteen people,” Poppy said quietly, her eyes downcast. “Fifteen people. Fifty percent. Fifteen –”

  “I think you get it,” Dorian joked. Now that the two of them had come to an arrangement – and a fortuitous one at that – he felt ecstatic. This was more than he could ever have hoped for when he’d first convinced the woman in front of him to send her club to its death. “One a week to live, and one a week to die.”

  “Let Andrew leave in two weeks,” Poppy suddenly said, a little of her previous spark returning.

  Dorian frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “When everyone would expect the trip to end,” she elaborated. “When I have to think of a reason for them to stay. Let Andrew go. He can’t – the only reason he’s here is because of me.”

  Dorian was tempted to say no. If Andrew suspected something had gone awry then he could blow his entire operation. And keeping Andrew here would torture Poppy, which Dorian discovered he’d love to see.

  But what she was giving Dorian was worth one allowance. Her blood now coursing through his body was priceless, after all. Granting her this one, measly request was nothing.

  “Fine. He can go. Everyone else waits. And if you even think to try and tell people that something’s wrong – if it seems like you might be planning some kind of escape – I’ll slaughter them all.”

  The two of them said nothing for a while, Dorian’s threat hanging heavily in the air between them. Poppy wasn’t looking at him, choosing instead to stare at her hands. He’d never seen a person so pale; the blood still spattered on her clothes and skin was stark and eerie against it.

  “I’m going to go,” she eventually said, struggling off the bed to wobble towards the door. Dorian had to hand it to her; Poppy was strong. He had taken so much from her he’d have expected her to sleep for days.

  “At least you can make it believable that you fell, now,” Dorian called after her, chuckling at his own comment.

  It seemed as if the next fifteen weeks with the Outdoor Sports Society were going to be very fun indeed. Pulling out his phone, Dorian called Patrick.

  “Change of plans,” he said as soon as his friend picked up.

  “The good kind or the bad kind?” Patrick replied, sounding concerned.

  Dorian grinned.

  “The excellent kind.”

  ROSS BRIDGES

  Poppy

  Poppy didn’t know how she had the strength to escape from the infirmary. Not that she was technically escaping, given that she had just signed her own life over – as well as fifteen of her club members – to a monstrous sociopath. Emphasis on monstrous.

  For that’s what Dorian Kapros truly was, both figuratively and literally: a monster. It wasn’t something she could have ever dreamed existed.

  What was he? Poppy thought blearily as she staggered down the hallway, though the sight of Dorian, the monster, was currently hazy from fear in her brain. She’d tackle the question later, when she had more blood running through her body and a functioning nervous system.

  Poppy wished she could go straight to her room, but in order to get there she had to make her way through the central building. And everyone would want to know how she was. She glanced down at her expertly wrapped arm; it was viciously painful. The mess Dorian had left it in was arguably even worse than the original fracture that had caused her to bleed in the first place.

  And now she had to somehow, impossibly, convince everyone that she had broken not one single bone in her body when she fell. For even though her arm was currently horribly injured – and would take longer to heal now that Dorian had drained her of so much blood – any serious damage would heal up in a matter of days. When that time came, she wouldn’t be able to explain away her advanced healing. People had
to believe that it wasn’t serious now, not later.

  Hard to do when I look like I almost died, Poppy mused as she caught her reflection in a window. She laughed somewhat bitterly.

  “I did almost die,” she mused, “twice.”

  Never before had Poppy King been so painfully aware of her own mortality.

  And yet…though she was still to fully comprehend and process everything Dorian had said to her, one thing rung through her head more than any other: her blood was ‘immortal’. Dorian had explained what that meant for one of his kind if they consumed her blood. What he hadn’t explained, however, was what that meant for Poppy.

  Does this mean I’ll live an absurdly long life, too? she wondered, horrified at the prospect. If she was going to have to spend the rest of her life enslaved to a monster then she’d rather that life were a short one.

  But she didn’t want to ask Dorian about it. She never wanted to speak to him again if she could avoid it, though she knew that was impossible.

  Struggling slightly with the effort it took to push the door open, Poppy made her way into the large social area that overlooked the climbing walls. She was crowded with people immediately.

  “Oh my god Poppy, are you okay –”

  “What the hell happened?!”

  “How are you still alive?”

  “Hey, hey, give her some space!” Nate called out, pushing his way through the throng to reach Poppy’s side. He helped her to one of the sofas in the social area, immediately sitting down beside her and calling someone to get her a glass of water. Rachelle and Casey sat down on her right, whilst Fred sat on the closest coffee table, staring at Poppy with expressionless eyes. It was beyond disconcerting.

  Behind them all stood a horrified and anxious Andrew who clearly didn’t know what to do. Poppy smiled wanly at him.

  At least he was safe. At least Poppy had saved him from everything.

  When one of the youngest members of the club, Jenny, handed Poppy a glass of water, she took it with the meekest thanks she had ever uttered in her entire life.

  Nate seemed to pause before speaking, looking down at Poppy’s arm critically before asking, “Poppy, honestly; how are you this okay? That was such a huge fall.”