Deceased Dora

by Claire Chilton

  “So it’s probable that when Carissa didn’t get your notes, you exiled yourself in a coffin because you’re a total emo?”

  “Well, yes. No wait, it was for love! What’s an emo?”

  “Was it worth missing a hundred and forty plus years of living? And you are an emo!”

  “Um, I dunno? What did I miss?” He peered around the garden. “It seems the world is a far more barren place now.”

  She grinned as an idea came to her. “How I about I show you the world?”

  “Oh, that sounds lovely. Should we pack for a journey?”

  “No need,” she said. “The mall is just down the street.”

  Kieron Lascher silently watched the three men through the holes in his dark cage. He’d woken in darkness with his body encased in some kind of cold stone. He couldn’t move an inch or make a sound, and his eyes were pinned open. He was only able to see through two small holes in his suit of rock. He found himself staring out into a shadowy room lit only by the glow of the moon from an open balcony.

  The sound of people whispering around him had awoken him, but when he tried to move, he realised that he couldn’t even close his eyes.

  What the hell is going on?

  Looking through the holes, he could just make out that he was in some kind of palace adorned with golden statues and red velvet upholstery. It seemed familiar to him. But with just one angle of view, all he could make out was some ornate furniture and a window that led to a balcony. Standing in front of the balcony were three men in odd costumes.

  Two of the men had giant pointy hats on their heads, which to Kieron looked like elongated cardboard crowns. The shortest man wore a long pointy crown, which was brightly coloured in red, gold and white with gems embedded in it. The second tallest man wore a simple black tower on his head.

  What the fuck, did I land on an alien spaceship?

  He had never seen anything like this before. Both men wore robes that matched their hats and appeared to have ballerina slippers on their feet.

  Kieron wasn’t a master of fashion, but he was pretty sure these were the stupidest costumes he’d ever seen.

  He examined the third man. He wore a stylish black suit and sunglasses. He looked like a bodyguard of some kind.

  Is this the hotel room of a rock star?

  Barring the height of the silly looking hats, the two men in dresses were quite short and appeared to be very old.

  Grandpa rock?

  He would have shaken his head if he could move it.

  He tried to hear their words as the two men whispered to each other while the bodyguard stood resolute and silent beside them. The big hats banged against each other a couple of times when both men nodded, and then the men turned to leave the room. All three men made their way past him, none glancing in his direction.

  “Bishop, this is quite concerning,” the more colourfully dressed man said to his sombre dressed companion.

  “I agree, Stuart. We should send in PISS,” the man named Bishop replied.

  Send in what? Eww!

  Images of a guy pissing in a post box jumped into Kieron's mind.

  Stuart sighed while adjusting his sparkling cardboard crown.

  “I suppose we must. If this is going to be an issue, then I’ll leave it in your capable hands.” He turned to the larger man in the suit. “And Johnson’s, of course.”

  “Thank you, Stuart. You won’t regret it,” Bishop replied, and Kieron noticed an evil smile spread across his face after Stuart turned and left the room.

  “Do you wish me to organise PISS, sir?” Johnson asked Bishop.

  Bishop’s sharp beady eyes narrowed at Johnson. “I will organise PISS. You will follow my commands.” He snapped at the younger man.

  “Yes, Black Bishop.” Johnson cast his eyes downwards in shame.

  Bishop’s scowl deepened, then he turned away from the man and followed Stuart out of the room.

  Kieron heard Johnson sigh before he too followed the others out of the room.

  The Black Bishop, am I some kind of messed up chess game?

  After they had gone, he helplessly peered around the empty room.

  What am I supposed to do now?

  After a few moments, he felt an itch on his left ass cheek and tried to scratch it against the plaster. He stopped wriggling and froze when he noticed shadows moving across the room.

  Oh fuck, what now?

  The shadows swiftly moved from the dark corners of the room. As they passed through the beam of moonlight from the open window, they became visible as people dressed in black. They moved stealthily and quickly slipped past his line of vision.

  Ninjas, is this a fancy dress party?

  His heart jumped into his throat as a strange face, mostly covered by a black mask, appeared directly in front of his and menacingly stared at him.

  Oh, fuck.

  The man’s wolfish eyes frowned at him from beneath the black mask.

  “Jerry, what the fuck are you doing?” Kieron heard a woman hiss.

  “This one’s freaky.” The gravelly voice of wolfish man replied. “Its eyes follow you,” he added, moving his head left and right in front of Kieron as if testing the theory.

  “Fucking amateurs.” The woman let out a loud sigh.

  “No really, look into his eyes! I swear they move.”

  Kieron crossed his eyes in an attempt try to communicate with the man.

  “Agh!” Jerry fell backwards onto his ass and stared at him in horror.

  Jerry was a heavy-set man, who was wearing black sweats, a mask over his face and leather gloves on his large hands.

  “Jesus fucking Christ, Jerry! You’ll wake up the whole city. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” The female voice snapped.

  “It crossed its fucking eyes. I swear it did!”

  “Just for that, we’re taking this one,” the woman said. “Because Jerry, if you don’t get your shit sorted out soon, you’re out. Do you understand me?”

  Jerry nodded, refusing to look at Kieron again as he pushed himself up off the floor.

  Kieron felt disappointed that he’d failed in communicating with Jerry and began to worry that he’d be stuck here forever. He realised that was about to change as it became clear that these thieves were intent on stealing him.

  “Pick it up,” the woman commanded.

  He stared at the woman as she walked past him. For a moment, he thought it was Dora, and his instinct was to call her name. The stone around his mouth made it impossible to move his lips, and he only managed to expel a low moan.

  She frowned and glanced at him, and then shook her head.

  After closer inspection, he realised it wasn’t Dora. The same long ebony hair flowed down her back in glossy curls. Her slim figure, which was clad in skin-tight black jeans and a t-shirt, was similar to Dora’s, but she didn’t move the same way as Dora. She was more fluid, like a panther. Even with the black mask over her eyes, her face didn’t seem the right shape. It was more angular.

  “It’s too heavy.” Jerry moaned close to Kieron’s ear.

  “I’m not dicking around, Jerry. Pick up the fucking statue. You were only hired for your strength. If you botch this job, you’ll never work with us again,” the woman snapped.

  Jerry growled. “Fine, but don’t blame me if you have claw marks up your back later.”

  “You wish.” The woman shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Chris, help him before he wolfs out and wakes up the old man.”

  Wolfs out, what the fuck does that mean?

  Kieron realised he was being lifted when his stomach dropped to somewhere near his knees. Gravity flattened his face against the cold stone as his encasing tipped forwards, and the rough plaster rubbed against his skin when he was jolted around inside it.

  He realised he was helpless in this cage when the view changed from being that of a hot cat burglar, to seeing some guy’s groin that was clad in a pair of black jeans.

  Great, I’m staring at Chris’s
junk.

  “Okay, move it,” the woman said. “We’ve got five minutes before the guard change. We need to get this into the van, and then out of here before that happens.”

  “His wings will never fit through that doorway.” Kieron heard a second male voice. It was a higher pitch than the other guy, so he assumed it was Chris.

  “Yes they will if you turn it as you go through,” the woman muttered.

  The stone encasing Kieron shook. His head bounced off it a few times while his body spun around with the stone.

  What happens if I throw up in here?

  He tried not to think about being stuck in here with his own sick, but his stomach churned at the thought anyway.

  The spinning finally stopped with a jolt, and he was suspended face down. He could see the floor through the holes in his suit of plaster. The area was unlit, but from what he could make out, the floor was made of decorative marble and ceramic tiles. As he was carried through the building, he noticed that some areas were carpeted in red and others had golden rugs.

  Where the hell am I?

  He was jolted several times and banged against things by the incompetent thieves. Each time he hit something, cracks appeared around the holes, and he could see a little more.

  “Don’t dint the fucking statue!” the woman hissed.

  Is that what I’m stuck in, a fucking statue?

  After some jostling and a lot of bitching from the thieves, he realised they had taken him out of the building. He felt fresh air blowing through the cracks, and inhaled with a sigh. It was a relief to breathe fresh air.

  His stomach dropped to his feet again as he was turned upwards, but he could finally see the front of the building he’d been stored in. It had an ornate stone entrance, and there was a sign carved above it. He tried to read the sign:

  MVSEI VATICANI

  The Vatican, where have I heard that word before?

  “Stop messing around, and put it in the fucking van.” The woman’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

  The crack in the thick stone splintered downwards as he was thrown into the back of a dark van. He tried to flex his way out of the statue, but it didn’t budge.

  “Don’t fucking break it,” the woman said. “Idiots!” she muttered, and then he heard the van doors slam shut. The vehicle shook for a moment, and he assumed the thieves had got into it.

  He heard the van’s engine purr, and then it began moving over what felt like a bumpy road.

  He rolled around inside the van, banging against the walls as the vehicle turned sharp corners. He realised that the more things he hit, the longer the cracks in the statue around him grew.

  He started rolling into the jolts, trying to make the statue bang harder against the vehicle’s interior.

  More cracks appeared in the plaster, and he began to feel an inkling of hope.

  I might escape this nightmare after all.

  He flexed his muscles, trying to expand inside the statue to break out of it. More cracks were appearing, and he could hear splintering noises coming from the stone.

  Come on, come on, I’m nearly there.

  The van came to an abrupt halt, and he slammed into the doors of it. They must have been unlocked because upon impact, the doors flew open, and he shot out of the van like a rocket before crashing into something solid.

  He moved his arms, feeling a rush of relief when he discovered they were free. He could feel his toes moving too and his wings.

  I still have wings?

  “What the fuck?” He heard the woman shout.

  He sat up and lifted the broken statue’s head off his own.

  Glancing around, he noticed an underground garage surrounding him with only a few parked cars inside it. On the floor around him were broken pieces of statue.

  He turned to face the woman. Her heart-shaped face was framed by long dark hair, and her bright green eyes glittered at him with interest.

  She must have removed her mask during the journey. She was quite beautiful.

  “You appear to have freed me,” he said. He wasn’t entirely sure what he’d gotten himself into, but it was better than being trapped inside a statue.

  “I should have fucking known it wasn’t real gold.” The woman kicked a piece of broken statue, and he noticed that the plaster had been painted gold. “I bet the real one isn’t even on display.”

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’m glad to be out of it though.”

  The woman glanced at him, and then did a double take. Her eyes widened in horror.

  “You’re an angel!”

  “I am not.” He narrowed his eyes at her.

  “You’ve got wings.”

  “And horns,” he replied, checking with his hands that his horns were still in place. He sighed with relief when he felt the small, pointy spikes on his head.

  The woman leaned closer. “Oh yeah, they’re so small, I didn’t notice them.”

  He scowled. “They’re of average size for a demon my age.”

  The woman laughed. “Well, whatever you are, you’re lucky we found you before the Vatican did.”

  He glanced back at his massive white wings and flexed them, causing the peppered black and white feathers to stretch out.

  “I suppose I’m going to have to find some way to hide these things. Would it be too much trouble to ask for your assistance? I need to find my friends, and I appear to be in a bit of trouble.”

  The woman studied him and appeared to be contemplating his request. After a moment, she offered him her hand.

  “Okay, I’ll help you, but only because I’ve never seen something like you before.”

  “My name is Kieron, nice to meet you,” he said as he took her hand, and she pulled him up off the ground.

  “Nice to meet you, Kieron. My name is Carissa, and I’m a bit different too.” She flashed a pair of fangs at him, and her eyes glowed yellow.

  “Where are your friends?”

  He pondered the question. He didn’t know where Dora and Pooey were, but he knew where Dora used to live.

  “Have you ever been to Berkville?” he asked.

  “Does it suit me?” Terrance posed in front of Dora while wearing a gold lamé suit.

  She sighed. Of all the stores in the mall, it was the costume shop that had appealed to him the most.

  She’d ended up sitting on a stool in the Elvis section, eyeing up a packet of fake sideburns with a sense of foreboding.

  “Um, yeah?” She didn’t really know what else to say. It looked awful. He just wasn’t built for the Elvis-look. He was pale and sombre in appearance with a vibe that screamed ‘People Are Strange’, rather than ‘Viva Las Vegas’.

  “I wonder if it comes in red.” He peered down at the jacket, running his fingers over the glittery material.

  “Oh, shopkeeper.” He called out to the bored-looking shop assistant, who was busy filing her long purple fingernails.

  The girl scowled at him.

  “What kind of silk is this lining?”

  “The cheap plastic kind,” the girl replied.

  “Plastic? I have not heard of this before. It is quite wondrous.” He stroked the lapel of his jacket in awe. “You say it isn’t costly. How many shillings per yard is it?”

  The girl rolled her eyes and pointed to the back of the store. “The Steampunk section is in the back.”

  He frowned, and then turned to face Dora. “Does she not understand the Queen’s English?”

  “Er, no. There is more than one kind of English nowadays,” Dora said while trying to work out how to explain modern slang to a Victorian.

  He laughed. “You mock me again, witty girl. More than one English, hah! Did the French bastardise it again?”

  “Something like that,” she muttered. “This is the Americas, so they speak differently.”

  “Strange. You may have to translate this new world for me. What material is Steampunk?”

  She pondered the question for a moment. “It’s not material. It is people fro
m my era, dressing like people from your era and obsessing over machinery.”

  “How very odd,” he muttered, and then he stared at himself in the mirror for some time. “I look quite dashing in this, don’t I?”

  She eyed him up and down. “Er, sure …” Her mind was busy going over her conversation with him earlier.

  What supernatural powers?

  “Perhaps I need a hat? A nice top hat or—”

  “What supernatural powers?” She interrupted.

  “Pardon?”

  “You said I had supernatural powers earlier. What kind?” She still wasn’t convinced that she was the same as Terrance, or undead for that matter. She needed to work it all out before she went to find Kieron. The last thing she wanted to do was bite her boyfriend when she found him.

  “Mind-reading, necromancy and some sorcery abilities, although not as many as a witch may be endowed with,” he said while trying on different hats. “Oh, and of course, supernatural strength and immortality.”

  “So, if I’m like you, I should be able to read your mind?” she asked.

  “No, no. I’m far too powerful. You’re early in your youth. At best, you’ll be able to read the shopkeeper’s mind. Try it.”

  She eyed the shop girl, who was staring in a hand mirror with her mouth wide open. She appeared to be trying to stick a gem onto her front tooth.

  Dora heard Terrance let out an appalled gasp behind her, which she suspected was his reaction a woman baring her naked tonsils in public.

  She shook her head and stared at the girl, trying to concentrate on reading her mind. The girl continued poking a gem onto her right canine with some tweezers.

  Dora frowned and tried again. She stared at the girl and willed something to happen. When nothing changed, she let out a frustrated sigh and wondered if the girl simply didn’t have many thoughts.

  Come on! Her mind can’t be that blank.

  She focused all her energy on the shop assistant and felt something shift inside her. The girl’s hair changed from purple to white.

  Terrance dropped the hat he was holding. “How did you do that?”

  “I dunno. You told me to do it.” She attempted to restore the purple hair, but it remained white.

  Crap!