Victorian Tale (Victorian Tales Book 1)

by K. L. Somniate

  The voice hisses with laughter.

  She frowns.

  “Come on, Tori, don’t look so glum!” Larissa laughs.

  She waves her pride flag.

  Victoria grimaces.

  It’s not that she’s homophobic.

  She just doesn’t like…crowds.

  Especially not…crowds this eager.

  Excitement and anticipation seem to swell like a great wave from the collective of human bodies pressed together on either side of the street.

  Pride flags are everywhere.

  LGBT positive banners and posters are held or strung from everywhere the eye can see.

  Same sex couples hold hands as the parade begins.

  Victoria is with friends from school, from the dance team mostly, so she’s not alone, but she feels a little…vulnerable.

  People are friendly, but it’s the kind of friendliness that makes her a little paranoid, a little claustrophobic.

  too many people. no easy escape routes.

  don’t touch me, you bitch.

  “Oh, sorry…”

  A girl with short bubblegum pink hair (shaved on one side) smiles at her.

  “Do you mind if I squeeze in with you?”

  Victoria blinks.

  “Of course. I mean. Not at all.”

  The uncharacteristic rage burns into something else, something that sets her skin ablaze when it comes in contact with the girl’s skinny shoulders. They bump against hers as she squeezes next to Victoria, the both of them pressed up against the metal dividers that keep the crowds and the performers separate.

  As uneasy as Victoria is, she is hyper aware of the fact that it is not just her unease.

  She’s always been uncomfortable around enthusiastic crowds, but this other discomfort is nervous, twitchy. It notices everyone and everything and doesn’t trust any unexpected movement. She almost punched a man in the stomach for reaching into his bag for his phone. Luckily, she was able to pull her arm back and act as though she were just aggressively reaching down to tie her shoes.

  Everything feels wrong.

  She just wants to go home.

  But.

  She smiles.

  Pretends to be happy and laughs obligingly when Larissa tells jokes. She even smiles at the new friends Larissa makes as they watch the parade progress.

  But there’s an aching fear in her gut, a visceral hatred for the people around her, for the situation she’s placed herself in.

  It only abates when the pink-haired girl brushes against her.

  But the feeling she receives when this happens is even more baffling than the unpleasant anxiety.

  “What’s your-?” the girl tries to ask.

  “Tori!” Larissa interrupts her. “Her name is Tori.” She winks at Victoria, who frowns at her.

  “Pretty name,” the girl says.

  “Uh…thank you,” Victoria says shyly.

  The girl smiles awkwardly. “My name is Reina. It means-”

  “Queen,” Victoria purrs.

  Reina quirks an eyebrow at her.

  Victoria flushes, shocked that such a lecherous-sounding voice had come out of her own throat. She turns away, unable to make eye contact with this stranger again.

  16

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  Victoria, if it’s possible, flushes even redder.

  The crowd is still clapping and patting her on the back. Larissa had sauntered off, but she’s still within visual range.

  She smirks in her direction and waves. Victoria looks away, feeling like dying would be better than this humiliation.

  “I-I-”

  “Don’t be ashamed! LGBT pride!” the man says enthusiastically.

  “I-I don’t…I don’t know what came over me, I’m not-I’m not-” Victoria stammers, her entire body tingling with a mess of embarrassment and shock. Reina is smiling as she pats her shoulder and disappears into the crowd. Guys are staring at her interestedly. The dance team is giving her the thumbs up, smiling so wide she hopes their stupid faces cramp.

  “Young love is a beautiful thing!” he says.

  “I…I didn’t even know her.”

  “Ah, heat of the moment!” the man says. “Just as beautiful. Tell me, what’s your name?”

  “It’s Tori.”

  “Tori. What a lovely name. Oh dear,” the man says, suddenly concerned. “Have you not…come out to your parents yet? Is that it?”

  “I just- I just was caught up in the moment, I-”

  The voice is cackling. Her throat hardens all of a sudden, seething rage steadying her heart a tad.

  “It just seemed like she really wanted to do it, and I thought maybe she wanted to be on TV or something, so…I just…”

  “Kissed her?” The man smiles.

  The teenager loses the small semblance of confidence she’d spontaneously gained.

  She has no idea what happened.

  One second she’d been cheering alongside Reina, getting goosebumps from jostling elbows with her.

  The next second, Reina was looking at her and she was looking back and her body was moving before she could even register the crazy impulse that had suddenly sprouted in her chest.

  And then she was on the big screen on one of the buildings, the audience cam.

  Kissing a beautiful girl, who seemed surprised, but not terribly concerned.

  The crowd went wild.

  Victoria went beet red.

  She stares at the man, feeling trapped by the crowd’s attention, by his attention.

  “Uh-uh…I guess…I guess so.”

  “Well, Tori…” The man slips his hand into his jacket. Something in Victoria recoils. She tenses and inexplicably bends her knees. But he withdraws a badge.

  “I work for the Post.”

  “Oh…oh.” Victoria looks at his badge curiously. It seems legitimate. And his full name is printed on the laminated card.

  “Well, Tori… I’m doing a piece on gender roles, the evolution of feminism, and how people’s views of the gender binary have changed through generations. I would love to get a…younger perspective on…gender, sexuality, and marriage equality. I’ve interviewed two fifty year olds, three thirty year olds, and one seventy year old, but I haven’t really spoken to anyone in your age demographic. What do you say? Do you mind?”

  “Uh…”

  you liked the way he looked at you. all earnest and admiring and warm. he was so smart and suave wasn’t he? inquisitive eyes, dreamy smile, the kind that makes you feel like that person would never dream of hurting you, nerdy glasses perched on the edge of his nose, almost like they were going to fall off of his handsome, polished face? no one had ever looked at you like that. no one had ever laughed the way he did when you blushed and said sure, of course you’d help him.

  he was so charming.

  oh, but we demons always are, aren’t we

  17

  leave me alone. don’t touch me.

  who are you?

  get away from me.

  …

  you’re…not really here?

  …are you?

  …nod if you can…

  …come back.

  whoever you are.

  please don’t leave me. not here.

  not here.

  18

  He was handsome, Victoria realizes at dinner.

  Her family had thankfully not seen her unexpected, televised kiss. Her cousin hadn’t wanted to go, and her parents would never go to such a thing unless their daughter was going.

  Now she sits at the table, thinking about the journalist (and that kiss, maybe just a little).

  He is much too old for her, of course.

  But a strong chin, gentle eyes, chivalrous manner?

  No harm in fantasizing.

  Maybe when she’s older, she’ll meet someone as mature and good-looking and kind, with eyes that shine with the same thoughtful intelligence.

  He had scowled sternly at the boys who attempted to get close to
her. He’d taken her politely by the hand in order to pull her through the crowd and safely away. He’d given her his number, gotten hers in exchange, and told her that he would call.

  She’d never had a man promise to call her before.

  fucking creep.

  She tugs at her hair agitatedly. Not white, but it’s been aggravating her more than usual lately. Falling into her plate at dinner, getting in her face when she tilts ever so slightly, always in her line of vision…

  She stares at the scissors on her desk, a tempting, but dangerous idea brewing in her head. But only for a moment. She blinks and the crazy impulse dies. She flops back on her bed with a groan.

  Handsome…so handsome…and polite…and not like those gross high school boys with their acne and poop jokes and innuendos…

  and Reina.

  And Reina.

  She had been pretty too.

  imagine if you got her number.

  She seemed nice.

  oh i’ll bet. imagine if she’d come home with you.

  Why…?

  maybe she thinks you’re cool. does it matter?

  No…

  imagine she wanted to be friends, but also imagine that she was interested in more than that.

  More…?

  didn’t it feel good, didn’t it feel nice, you liked it, didn’t you, when you kissed her?

  A rush of heat floods her face and lower belly. She squirms a little, re-settling in her bed, suddenly uncomfortable with lying on her stomach.

  imagine your family wasn’t home and you were all alone and you showed her around, you know, the kitchen, the living room, and then you show her your bedroom, and she smiles with those lovely brown eyes and she touches your shoulder with that lovely brown skin, and she pulls you close, and asks you if you want to try it again-

  She can see it so vividly in her mind’s eye, the scene, standing in the room with her, Reina’s hands on her shoulders, her own hands falling to her hips, their bodies pressed up against one another, and-

  she seemed like a passionate one, didn’t she? she’d push you back and you’d sink into the mattress and she’d kiss you, and it would be just like that moment, out there, in front of all of those eyes, except it’s just the two of you now, and you can do whatever you want, whatever-

  Where would her hands be, where would her lips-?

  Victoria feels like she’s smoking, like there’s steam erupting from the pores of her skin, and there’s fire in her blood. It’s exhilarating, but unbearable, she has to relieve the pressure somehow, has to-

  Her hand falls onto the drawstring of her sweatpants, then slides underneath the fabric, and-

  imagine-

  No!

  19

  Who the hell are you?

  The voice pauses.

  But she knows that it’s pausing.

  She knows that it isn’t her voice.

  It does not sound like her.

  It does not act like her.

  It’s an entirely separate mind from her own, and she hadn’t been sure before, couldn’t quite place the difference in their mental voices, but finally, in this moment, she’d been able to hear just how different it is.

  Now she knows for sure.

  It startles her by laughing.

  Laughing long and hard, piercingly, in her ears, reverberating off the walls of her skull and echoing through out her entire body like a bad PA system.

  i’m sorry. but can’t i get anything? it chortles.

  Wha-what?

  Victoria is utterly flabbergasted.

  come on, i thought teenagers were supposed to run on pure hormonal urges, sneak out, be rebellious, fall in with the wrong crowd. man. did i get the dud? the one teenager in the entire world who’s never beat their meat?

  Victoria’s mouth falls open.

  You’re disgusting. Girls don’t do that!

  oh please. girls absolutely do.

  What…no, they don’t! I haven’t! And I’ve never even wanted to!

  like i said, you’re the dud. which is a goddamn shame, because come ON. i’m so bored. you never do anything fun.

  Who the hell even are you? How did you get in here?

  Victoria slaps her head with her hand, her eyes blinking rapidly.

  She can sense it now, the person, whoever or whatever it is, shifting about, its presence more distinct now. It’s in her arm, pulling her to the small mirror on her desk.

  She picks it up.

  And there it is.

  The pale face. The red eyes.

  A young man in his early twenties, white hair, narrow nose, high cheekbones.

  When she blinks, when she moves her head a little, she can see his face flashing over her face, his features sliding seamlessly over hers, his cold eyes staring at her from within the mirror. Unbidden, her lips form a smile, all-teeth like a wolf baring its fangs.

  No, she decides. It’s not a smile. It’s a smirk.

  it’s a real story, it says. i won’t bore you with the details.

  What the hell are you? Who are you? What are you doing in my head?

  it’s a long story on my end, a short story on yours.

  I have time.

  my name is Malek.

  Where are you from?

  born and raised here, in Res.

  But where are you from, as in, why am I hearing you right now?

  ah. you want to know the short story?

  Just tell me something.

  something? well. i guess, the voice sighs. have you ever heard of a revenant?

  Immediately, Victoria staggers back, dropping the mirror on the desk with a clunk.

  She grips her own throat, which is tight with abrupt fear.

  No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

  hey, hey, hey, the voice begins to say, sounding slightly alarmed, but she’s too overwhelmed with fright to hear him.

  No, no, no, I’m not dead, I can’t be dead, I can’t be, I would’ve-I would’ve remembered-

  easy, easy, oh Tori, knock it off, you’re going to hyperventilate-

  Shut up, I’m-I’m not a Revenant, am I, oh god, when did that-

  And suddenly she remembers.

  Larissa, throwing her book.

  Going in to get it.

  A loud noise.

  A tumble down stairs.

  And then…

  She’d thought it was a dream.

  She had remembered it, but it hadn’t made any sense, so she’d dismissed it as a false memory, or just an odd daydream she must’ve had at some point.

  Now she’s all of a sudden aware that it might have actually happened.

  Is that-is that when-?

  looks like you figured out the short story yourself, what a clever girl, the voice, Malek, says. some morons were hiding in the basement. they shot you in a panic and you died down there. but lucky for you, good ol’ malek was there too. i took care of them for you. and i brought you back.

  But-but… I can’t be a Revenant, I…I can’t be.

  what do you know about revenants, my dear?

  They…they’re…people who…died. In…haunted places. And they come back…because the souls of Haunts bring their bodies back to life and…give them strange powers. But…but I don’t have powers! And I…I don’t remember anything, I can’t be a Revenant, I just can’t be!

  you have powers, my dear, you just haven’t used them because there’s been no reason for it. well. not yet, the voice adds deviously.

  You…you’re a dead person. You’re a soul. You’re one of the people who…get out! Get out of my body!

  Victoria can feel the words moving her lips, her conviction so strong that her mental voice almost slips into her physical voice.

  can’t do that.

  Can’t or won’t?

  both. i’m stuck here, tori, i can’t leave, even if i wanted to. that’s how this works, you know. revenants have to live with the memories of the souls they inherit, that’s just how it is. and unfortunately for you, i’m not
even a normal soul.

  What? What kind of soul are you?

  human souls would just integrate with your body and bring you back. normal revenants don’t necessarily hear the souls that brought them back, nor do those souls have their own agency. revenants may hallucinate, and believe that their own thoughts, which now reflect the memories of those who have died, are the voices of others, but those souls no longer possess any free will. they aren’t alive. they cannot have new experiences, make new memories, or most importantly, grow and change as people. they are whoever they were at the point of death. and they are a part of the revenant, irreversibly now.

  but i’m different.

  unfortunately for you, i am not a human soul.

  That doesn’t answer the question I asked you.

  He laughs.

  And it’s clear, more distinct than she’d ever heard it before, like a bell ringing on a still, lonely winter’s morning.

  It sends a shiver through her spine.

  Something’s wrong with that laugh.

  She grips her hair tightly in her hands.

  “You’re real. You’re in my head,” she says aloud. To no one.

  To him.

  i’m in every part of you, not just your head, the voice says amusedly.

  Oh god, oh god, oh god, I’m-I’m a monster! I need to-I need to tell someone-

  what? no, don’t do that.

  I have to!

  no you don’t, the voice says, losing some of its cocky edge, trying to sound more soothing. She can sense its sudden change in attitude, a swift realization, and some subsequent rapid calculations, made in a split second, somewhere deep in her consciousness where she can’t see.

  It’s extremely unnerving, having parts of your own mind walled off from you.

  And knowing that something dwells within those walls.

  Keeping secrets.

  But the moment she closes her eyes, focuses, and tries to reach the source, the place where the voice is coming from, she meets…resistance.

  She probes at it, but comes up with nothing.

  She can sense a smile somewhere, not from herself, but her unwanted guest.

  It tickles her lips, causing them to twitch slightly.