Invisible Monsters

by H L Macfarlane

  They were up to something, although in reality Fred wasn’t sure if it was simply innocent fun. The two of them had been exploring in and around the facility as of late, setting up scavenger hunts that most of the club invariably joined in on enthusiastically, as well as going for early morning jogs together.

  This kind of behaviour wouldn’t have been so strange if they’d acted like this before. But Poppy was never known to get up in the morning willingly – let alone for exercise – and Andrew was the last person Fred expected to organise complicated games that involved working with other people.

  The entire club was currently out on a leisurely hill climb, the recent bout of hot weather making full-on hiking almost impossible without risking an extreme case of sun stroke. And so everyone was content with taking their time picking a path up one of the gentler slopes dressed in as little as could still be considered decent. For Casey this meant a bikini bizarrely paired with proper hiking boots, as she was determined to get a full-body tan. Patrick, who was joining in on more and more of the club’s activities, very much appreciated her choice of attire.

  Fred scanned the hillside as he caught up with Rich and Nate. Robin had left them to walk on ahead with Rachelle, something which he couldn’t help but feel irked about. Casey had Patrick in tow, though Fred could spot at least three or four male club members eyeing up her golden, glowing skin desperately. Now behind Fred, Poppy was encouraging Andrew to climb a tree whilst Dorian watched, though Poppy was ignoring him.

  Four people had been scouted so far by Dorian’s clients. Along with Ross, who’d been kicked out, that left twenty-five members of the club and eight and a half weeks left of their residence at the sports facility. Although they had lost just a sixth of the club’s total members Fred was feeling their absence fairly keenly, and he wasn’t the only one. Cliques and best friends had been split apart, leaving some club members feeling a little out of place and awkward.

  Fred was determined to fix this…somehow. He didn’t want to have to rely on Poppy all the time for spontaneous ideas like her silly scavenger hunts. He was sure he could be just as imaginative as she was if he tried.

  He just needed an idea.

  And then he stood in one.

  “Good thing it’s so fucking hot out, otherwise walking about with one foot like that would be disgusting,” Rich joked as Fred shook out his now-sodden shoe. He’d stood in a shallow stream, but upon closer inspection Fred realised that much of the stone beneath the water was smooth and unbroken, beginning at some point further up from where they stood and ending a few metres behind them.

  Hurriedly, Fred took off his shoes and tested the rock. It was slippery, and there was just enough current in the stream that the water tugged at his ankles, insistently moving him back down the hillside.

  Nate and Rich looked at him suspiciously. “The hell are you doing, Sampson?”

  But Fred didn’t respond, merely grinning as he threw off his t-shirt and abandoned it by his shoes before running further up the hill, following the stream. When he passed Rachelle she broke away from Robin and followed him.

  “What’s going on, Fred?”

  “This stream,” he said as he reached what seemed like the best place to start. Several club members were watching Fred curiously, pausing in their tracks to see what he’d do next. “It kind of looks like a –”

  “Water slide?” Rachelle finished for him, grinning as foolishly as Fred was as soon as she worked it out.

  “Exactly. Want to try it out?”

  “As if you had to ask.”

  To Fred’s surprise Rachelle took all of her clothes off, but she was wearing a bikini underneath. She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “You really thought I was gonna get naked?”

  “I’d bloody well hope not.”

  She laughed. “You first, or me?”

  “Together?”

  “I’m sure that won’t fail at all.”

  And so the two of them took a deep breath, gathered up the courage to run, and deftly slid into the stream. With a squeal from Rachelle and a somewhat bumpy start, the stream easily carried them down the hillside so quickly that Fred worried for a moment they’d end up crashing into a rock. But when they reached a bend he grabbed hold of Rachelle around her waist and rolled the two of them out of the stream, sliding along on the grass for a few metres until they eventually petered out to a stop.

  Covered in blades of grass and dandelion fluff, the two of them stared at each other in momentary disbelief that Fred’s plan had actually worked, then burst out laughing.

  “Again?” Fred suggested.

  “I think there might be a line now.”

  He glanced back up to where they’d started and saw several people ridding themselves of shoes and clothes in order to emulate Fred and Rachelle, the air filled with their excitement.

  Rachelle raised an eyebrow at Fred. “What made you think about doing this?”

  “You really think King is the only one capable of thinking up fun shit to do?”

  “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  He sighed. “The group’s been a bit…off-kilter since people started getting scouted. I just wanted to get everyone to socialise more with the members whose friends are now gone.”

  Rachelle’s smile was warm and affectionate. She squeezed Fred’s hand a little; it made his heart hurt.

  “That’s really kind of you, Fred. I’m glad you’re looking out for everyone.”

  “Speaking of,” Fred murmured as he narrowed his eyes. “Where’d Andrew go?”

  “Wasn’t he with Poppy?”

  “That’s Poppy racing down the stream with Nate and Casey.”

  Rachelle chuckled. “Of course. You want me to see where he’s run off to?”

  “Nah, let me do it,” Fred replied, shaking himself of excess water as he stood up. “He can’t have gone far.”

  And so Fred wandered away in the direction of the trees he’d seen Andrew and Poppy climbing. But Andrew wasn’t by the trees. Frowning, Fred looked around until he saw the tell-tale signs of trodden grass and followed the path away from the rest of the club that it made. As the sun’s rays beat down upon Fred’s skin and dried him off, he picked his way over shrubbery and heather and rocks, cursing himself for not putting his shoes back on.

  When eventually he spied Andrew he was surprised to see him crouching behind a reasonably-sized boulder.

  “Andrew?” Fred wondered aloud, though he had the sense to keep his voice hushed. Andrew stared at him in surprise, then gestured for him to crouch down beside him. “What’s wrong?”

  “Over there,” was all he said, pointing to his left. Fred peered around the boulder, the stone almost painfully hot against his splayed fingertips.

  “Andrew, I don’t see – oh, is that Tom and Nick? What are they…”

  But then a garbled, inhuman noise permeated the air that caused Andrew to hide behind his hands and the tiny hairs on Fred’s spine stand on end despite the heat. Andrew began to rock on the spot as the noise continued.

  “Get Poppy, get Poppy, get Poppy,” he repeated, over and over and over again.

  “Why her?” Fred bit out, frustrated. “Andrew, what are they doing over there? What’s making that noise?”

  Andrew’s eyes were overly bright. “Mountain goat. They’re hurting it.”

  “They’re – Andrew, how do you know? You can’t see anything from over here.”

  He nodded in the direction of a couple of trees closer to Tom and Nick. “I was over there, before. I couldn’t take the noise. I don’t know what to do. Please get Poppy.”

  “Andrew, I can deal with –”

  “Please get Poppy.”

  Resisting the urge to scowl and scream and generally give in to a tantrum not befitting his age, Andrew stood up and stalked back the way he had come, not stopping until he reached Poppy’s side, grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the rest of the group. The club, having become accustomed to this sor
t of behaviour between their president and vice-president, left the two of them to it.

  Poppy, however, was not happy with Fred having pulled her away. She tried to wrench her arm out of Fred’s hand and failed; he was sickeningly gratified to see a flash of concern cross Poppy’s face as she realised she wasn’t strong enough to break away from him.

  “The hell do you want, Sampson?” she growled.

  “Andrew needs you.” Poppy lowered her proverbial hackles immediately and stopped struggling, her expression serious as she quickened their pace. It still shocked Fred to see how quickly Poppy’s attitude changed when it came to Andrew, though she had been like this from the moment she’d convinced him to join the club.

  As soon as they reached Andrew’s side the goat let out another pained, horrific scream. Poppy’s head turned in the direction of the sound before glancing back at Andrew, whose rocking had only grown more severe. She bent down and squeezed his hand tightly, rubbing his back until Andrew finally seemed to realise she was there.

  “What’s going on, Andrew?”

  “It’s Tom and Nick,” Fred muttered. “Andrew says they’re hurting a goat or something.”

  Poppy broke from Andrew and ran over to the source of the noise without another word, leaving Fred to chase after her. It didn’t take them long to reach Tom and Nick, who looked up at them in alarm once they realised they weren’t alone.

  “…the fuck is this?”

  It had been Poppy who spoke, but Fred shared the sentiment. For there on the grass lay a wounded goat, an ugly, bloody gash rending its stomach open. Fred had dissected animals before, but the shining, pulsating organs visible through the wound combined with the animal’s wild, terrified eyes had him retching in seconds.

  It took him a few seconds to realise that both Nick and Tom were holding bloodied sticks, which they dropped as soon as Fred stared at them in disbelief.

  “It was already hurt when we got here,” Tom explained quickly. “We were just –”

  “What? Just torturing the poor thing?”

  Nick looked at the ground uncomfortably, not daring to match Poppy’s furious eyes. “It’s gonna die anyway.”

  “How would you like it if someone cut you open and poked at your guts instead of helping you out?!” she screamed, surprising even Fred with the sheer volume and anger in her voice. She took a step towards the pair of them. “Is that what we should do, huh? Kick you to the ground and tear you open, then laugh as you howl in pain?”

  Fred glanced at her. “King, that’s a bit –”

  “What kind of a person needlessly tortures another living creature for the sheer hell of it? Fucking psychopaths.”

  Tom didn’t like that at all. “Hey, watch your tongue. What we did was wrong; I get it. We didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Oh, so as long as you didn’t mean anything by it then it’s okay?” The goat continued to cry out for help, though its voice grew gradually feebler. “So if I picked up a rock and flung it at your face it doesn’t count so long as I don’t mean anything –”

  “King, stop it.”

  “Or what, Fred?” Poppy fired back. “Are you honestly siding with them?”

  “Of course I’m not, but –”

  The conversation was abruptly interrupted by the sickening sound of bone snapping. The group turned to face the goat; Dorian had knelt down beside it and expertly broken its neck with his arm. Fred blinked at him, speechless. He hadn’t even heard the man approach – and neither, by the looks of things, had anybody else.

  “I think everyone needs to calm down,” Dorian said, his voice gentle and his expression bland. He barely spared Nick and Tom a glance before he told them, “Both of you, get back to the centre and clean the hell up. You’re covered in blood.”

  The two of them hadn’t seemed to have realised this yet, but upon looking at their calves and boots they saw that Dorian was correct. Tom glowered at Poppy one final time, then turned and left with Nick in silence.

  Fred didn’t know what to do. He altogether felt like he shouldn’t be watching Dorian look at Poppy as Poppy stared at the dead goat, the beginnings of tears in her eyes. He didn’t think he’d seen her look so vulnerable since she fell.

  When Dorian made to take a step towards her, Poppy took a step back.

  “I’m going to tell Andrew everything’s fine,” she mumbled, before running off.

  Which left Fred standing awkwardly with Dorian, at a loss for what to say.

  “How much did you hear?” he eventually asked.

  Dorian smiled grimly. “All of it. I followed you and Poppy over here.”

  “You’re scarily quiet.”

  “I know.” More awkward silence, and then, “You should go help with Andrew, Fred. I’ll take care of the goat; we can’t leave it out in the open.”

  Fred watched as the man bent back down to the goat’s side, running a hand over its glossy, spiralled horns with surprising tenderness.

  Must be an animal person, Fred thought somewhat numbly as he headed back to where Andrew had been crouching, but Poppy had already taken him back into the fold of the club. He seemed to have calmed down a lot, now that Poppy had told him everything was fine.

  Something seemed off about the whole situation. As Fred walked behind the pair of them a careful distance away, he couldn’t help but wonder why Andrew had been so adamant that Poppy had to see Nick and Tom torturing the goat.

  It’s not as if she could actually do anything about it, just…shout at them. Fred had to admit that the pure vitriol Poppy had spat at their faces had taken him aback. He had never known her to be so angry before in the six years he’d known her.

  It was a side he hadn’t known existed.

  It was a side that scared him.

  But, more than that, the entire situation only added more fuel to Fred’s mounting fire of suspicion that something was going on – something he was fairly certain wasn’t anything good. For the first time in his life Fred felt a pang of regret that he wasn’t friends with Poppy. He was sure she knew what was going on, but given how much they hated each other Fred knew she’d never tell him what was wrong.

  Which meant he’d have to get much sneakier and much, much more suspicious of Poppy’s every action if he was to have any chance of discovering what she was hiding.

  JOHN CAMPBELL

  Dorian

  Poppy’s reaction to the tortured mountain goat kept resurfacing in Dorian’s mind, even as he went about his general day-to-day life. Even now, having only just woken up to the early morning sunshine slanting into his bedroom, it was the very first thing he thought about.

  Perhaps it was because it had been a goat. Perhaps it was because he’d never seen her react so viscerally to anything else before. Perhaps it was because the creature being tortured wasn’t human.

  Regardless of the reason, it only served to increase Dorian’s regard for Poppy. Not that Poppy would know this, of course, given that she was ignoring him. But there was something about the way she was ignoring him that meant Dorian wasn’t annoyed by her doing so. He wasn’t sure what it was, but it felt distinctly different from when she’d ignored him out of sheer terror and hatred when she had first discovered what Dorian really was.

  He missed being in close proximity with her, though, so he was determined to break through the icy wall she’d thrown up in defence against him. Dorian thought back to the last time he’d taken her blood, wondering if he could get away with pulling the same stunt later that very day.

  He somehow, regretfully, doubted it.

  For what Dorian regretted most of all when he’d last drained Poppy’s blood was the fact that he’d fallen asleep. Like a child after consuming a hot drink in the middle of winter, or a blind-drunk university boy who’d found himself tumbling into bed with someone, Dorian had slipped into unconsciousness. Yes, he’d gotten the blood he craved. But he had entered Poppy’s room wanting far more than that.

  For whatever reason, part of him was certain
that – had he stayed conscious – Poppy would have been inclined to go along with his desires. Dorian had felt her maddeningly quick heart beat when he whispered in her ear, after all. He’d heard her accelerated breathing, and saw the blood that rushed to her face in direct contradiction of the fact he’d been draining it from her.

  Whether Poppy would admit to it or not (Dorian assumed not), at least in a physical capacity she clearly liked him. This wasn’t news to him, though Dorian had had to work for weeks to get rid of the terror that blindly overwrote Poppy’s attraction to him. He didn’t want to destroy all that effort by messing up now. Ultimately, Poppy was going to be spending the rest of her long life with him. Though it had appealed to him at first in a sick, twisted way, Dorian didn’t want her to hate and fear him for the duration of that life.

  To that end he knew he needed some kind of impetus to encourage Poppy to lose her inhibitions and forget that Dorian was an eight foot monster responsible for her club mates being devoured alive.

  Crawling into her bed at night was out. He needed something new.

  And then it hit him – the solution to his problem was so human and basic in nature that it had completely escaped him until now.

  Alcohol.

  But he knew Poppy would never willingly get drunk with only him. No, Dorian had to rope in her entire society. He could only laugh out loud at the thought; something told him that it wouldn’t be hard to convince them to get drunk at all.

  Stifling a yawn, Dorian threw on a grey, button-down top and a pair of jogging pants, running a hand through his dishevelled hair before making his way down the stairs and through to the kitchen in the central building.

  He was surprised when he spied Nate and Poppy by the fridge. Nate was hugging her from behind, his arms slung over her shoulders whilst Poppy looked like she was barely awake.

  “Rather early for you, Poppy,” Dorian said with false brightness as he made his presence known. “Morning, Nate.”

  The other man nodded in hello, then glanced behind Dorian when Casey, Fred and Rachelle swung open the door to the kitchen.