by Amy Cross
He spins around and – I know this sounds strange – but for a moment he seems to growl at me. There's a look in his eyes, just for a fraction of a second, that seems darker than anything I've ever seen before.
“I -” I start to say.
“Don't touch me,” he hisses.
I back away. “What were you doing here anyway?” I ask.
“Same as you,” he replies. “Looking for somewhere to sleep. I guess I'll have to keep looking”.
A drip comes through the ceiling and lands on the top of my head. “We could look together,” I suggest. I've only been on the streets for a few hours, but it's clear that I'm going to need to make some friends – some reliable friends – pretty quickly. “You know, pool our skills...”
“What are your skills?” he asks.
“Well, I can...” Pausing, I realize I don't have much to offer. “I'm a fast learner.”
“Go home,” he replies.
“Can't,” I say.
“You don't have a family?” he asks.
I think about my answer for a moment. “I can't go home,” I tell him.
“If you have a family,” he says, “go to them. You can't live like this”.
I take a deep breath and sigh. “Can you help me find somewhere? Please?”
“No,” he says. “Go home, or you'll end up like her”. He indicates the dead girl on the floor, and I look down at her. She seems to be staring up at the window, moonlight reflecting in her dead eyes.
“I'll go down to the river,” I say after a moment, turning back to the stranger. “There's probably someone down there who can...” I don't finish the sentence. It's a stupid sentence. Hell, it's a stupid idea. I don't know what I'll do when I get down to the river. I guess I'll... Damn it. I turn and walk over to the stairs. “Thanks again,” I say, hoping he'll offer to let me stay.
“Leave,” he says firmly.
“Whatever,” I say before noisily walking down to the ground floor.
As I'm about to go out the door, I start hearing a strange noise from upstairs. It sounds like... like someone doing something on the floor, dragging something along. I sneak back to the stairs and carefully creep back to the upper floor. When I'm halfway up, I stand on tip-toes and glance between the wooden slats.
In the moonlight, the stranger is kneeling by the dead girl. He's leaning over her, and he's doing something, but I can't quite work out... It's almost like he's... My eyes widen in horror as I suddenly realize what's happening. He's eating her! As I watch, he's literally biting on her flesh and ripping huge chunks off with his mouth, then chewing the chunks.
I open my mouth and let out a little gasp, which causes the stranger to notice me. We make eye contact for a moment before I turn and run down the stairs and out the door. I almost collide with a bunch of drunken party-goers on the pavement outside, but I just bounce off one of them, out into the street, and I don't stop running until I reach the river three miles away.
Duncan
I go after her, of course.
She runs fast, for a human. In the busy streets of London, it is not always possible to keep sight of her. Fortunately, as we weave in and out of the noisy crowds, I am guided more by her scent than by anything else. London is full of smells, and when I first arrived in this cacophonous city I was bewildered, unable to pick out anything from the mess. But I have learned how to operate even in this terrain, and now I can untangle the thread of any scent even in the most crowded of locations. So, amidst the stink of other humans, their food, their drinks, their cigarettes and drugs, their perfumes and their clothes, I can still follow the girl's scent perfectly.
She stops running when she reaches the road that runs along the side of the Thames. She glances back, to see if I have followed. I stay in the shadows, of course, and she doesn't see me. I didn't come after her with the intention of making myself known; I simply wanted to see where she would go, and to learn a little about her. Most of all, perhaps, I was bored. I wanted the thrill of chasing someone, even if she didn't really know she was being chased, and even if at the end of the chase I have chosen not to go for the kill.
She walks along the banks of the river for a while. She doesn't seem to have anywhere to go, and I feel sorry for her. There's not much that I can do, but I wonder why she has no home. Her scent is complex and indicates the sustained presence of other people. I have a feeling that she was recently somewhere very different, somewhere like a home. But now she is here, and she is alone on a cold night.
The truth is, I protected her once but I cannot be there to protect her again. I'm no-one's guardian angel, and I have no interest in making friends. Far too many young people die in this city every night, I have no chance of doing anything about that. The only reason I saved this girl was that I happened to stumble across what was happening to her. There have been many times since I came to London that I have seen such things and simply turned away, allowing the victim to die at the hands of a tormentor. So why did I choose to save this girl?
The bells of Big Ben ring nearby. I stop following the girl and watch as she walks off into the dark distance. Part of me would like to follow her all night, to protect her, to help her. But I do not have that freedom. I have to get back, my master will be wondering where I am and I do not want to anger him. His mood of late has not been good, and the last thing I need is more scars.
Jess
Soho, London, 3 months later.
“How old are you?” I ask, staring at her across the cafe table. It's a Tuesday afternoon and somehow we've managed to scrape together enough money for a couple of cups of hot tea in plastic cups. With cold rain falling outside, we have to make these drinks last as long as possible, even though the cafe owner is already eying us suspiciously.
“Old enough,” she says, eying me suspiciously. She reminds me of myself, back when I first arrived in London. I didn't know anyone, didn't know where to go, didn't know who to trust. I made plenty of mistakes, and paid for them too. Things could have been very different if only there had been someone to help me back then. Maybe I can help this girl avoid making the same mistakes I made.
“What's your name?” I ask.
“What's yours?” she shoots back.
Good. She's already pretty smart, already aware of the need to keep her guard up.
“Jess,” I say. “Jessica. Whatever”.
The girl stares at me. She's clearly trying to work me out, trying to decide whether she can trust me. She probably wants to trust me very much, but there's an edge to her, an edge that suggests she's learned the hard way that trusting strangers can get you into a whole lot of trouble. “Sam,” she says eventually, with a non-committal voice that suggests she might be lying.
“You've got to be careful on the streets, Sam,” I say. “You've got to be really careful”.
She smiles. “Lots of murderers and cannibals out there, are there?”
The mention of the word 'cannibal' unnerves me. “I'm just telling you to be careful,” I say. “There's bad stuff out there. Bad people. Dangerous people. And... weird things, things you can't explain. I'm gonna tell you a story”. I take a deep breath. “When I first came to London, at the start of the year, I ended up in this room with these three guys. And they were ready to cut my throat. They'd already killed one girl, and I was next. And then -”
“Shut up,” says Sam, glancing at something behind me. “There's a guy watching us”.
“What?” I ask, carefully not turning to look.
“Sorry,” Sam continues, “I didn't mean to sound so abrupt. But there's a guy a few tables away, and he's totally watching us. In a creepy way”.
“Relax,” I say. “We're in a cafe. What's he gonna do? He's probably just perving. Can you see both his hands? Are they on the table, or under it?”
Sam shrugs. “I don't think he cares that I've spotted him. He's just staring at us. I should lure him into the toilets and cut his balls off”.
“Yeah, maybe,” I say, turning to
look at the guy. Jesus, he really is just staring straight at us, without caring whether we notice. He's older than I expected, looks like he's in his 50s and though he's dressed fairly casually, in what appears to be a hunting jacket, I don't think he's 'one of us'. I don't think he's homeless. I wink at him and turn back to Sam. The truth is, whenever I find someone acting strangely around me, there's a part of me that wonders if it's 'him', the guy from the building, the guy who was eating the dead body of that girl. I just feel like he must be around still, somewhere. He's definitely not the kind of guy I ever want to see again.
“Can we go?” Sam says. “I don't like having some guy mentally masturbating over me”.
We stand up, grab our cups of tea and head out the door into the busy Soho street. People are rushing past in the rain, and there's nowhere in particular for Sam and me to go.
“What now?” I say, shrugging. “You got any plans?”
She stares at me blankly, then she seems to get an idea. “I know a guy,” she says. “Come on”. As the rain gets heavier, she leads me along the street and down into an alley. “Wait here,” she says, heading off toward a gate that seems to lead into a small yard.
“Fuck this,” I mutter under my breath. I'm already soaking wet.
“I need to talk to you,” says a voice from behind. I turn to find the guy from the cafe is standing there. Up close, it's clear to see that he's an older man, with a big dark gray beard and worry lines all over his face. As he talks, it becomes clear that he has a thick Scottish accent. “Will you let me buy you a drink so I can ask you about something?”
I back away. “No thanks,” I say. “Leave me alone”.
“It's important,” he says, almost pleading with me.
“Go away,” I say. “Fuck off or I'll scream”.
“I'm trying to track someone down,” he says, a sense of urgency in his voice. “Someone dangerous, someone I have good reason to believe you've seen”.
“I don't know what you're talking about,” I say, trying to turn away, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back with surprising strength.
“He's a killer,” the man insists. “You've seen him. I...” He looks around to see if anyone's listening in on our conversation. “I can smell him on you. You've definitely seen him. Not recently, maybe, but you've seen him. You have to take me to him”.
I think about it for a moment. “If I did see this guy you're after,” I say slowly, “it was months ago, and I have no idea where he is now”.
“Where was it?” he asks. “You have to take me there”.
“It was a black building near Dean Street,” I say. “But I'm not going back”.
“Who did he kill?” the man asks.
I sigh. “He killed this guy who was threatening me. And there was another girl there, she was dead when I arrived but I don't think he killed her, I think the other guy killed her”.
“Maybe, maybe not,” the man says. “But this isn't a game, this isn't a joke. He's dangerous. When he's hungry, he kills to eat”.
“I know,” I say. “I saw”.
He stares at me. “What did you see?”
“He started...” I pause. It gives me a shiver just to think about it. “He started eating the girl's body. Just bits of it, but I saw him eating from it”.
The man nods. “You see why I have to track him down? The idea of a creature like that loose in London. Can you imagine how many other people he's killed in the three months since you saw him? You have to help me”.
“Jess!” shouts Sam. I turn to see that she has emerged from the gate and is waving me over. She looks concerned at the sight of the man who's bothering me.
“I have to go,” I tell the man, but he grabs my arm.
“You can't avoid him. I can smell him on you. He'll be back for you”.
“Don't follow me,” I say, pulling my arm away from him. “My friends in there wouldn't like it”. With that, I turn and walk away, and I'm relieved when I realize I can't hear him pursuing me.
“What did he want?” Sam hisses when I reach her.
“Nothing. Keep moving,” I say, and we head through the gate into a small yard. I turn and push the gate shut, making sure to slide the bolt across. I've spent enough time on the streets to know that men don't pursue you down alleys because they're worried about your well-being.
Duncan
Frank Marshall, you old fool.
I knew you'd come to London eventually. I knew you'd pick up on my scent, and that you'd try to track me down. Perhaps I thought it'd take you a little longer, though. I have to admit, I'm quite impressed that you seem to be so close. Then again, your kind have always been good at capturing werewolves. Capturing, torturing, killing...
I recognize the girl instantly, of course. Her scent reminds me of that night down by the river, when I longed to follow her. I have thought of her often since then, and I do not know why. I encounter many humans every day, and most of them are forgettable. But this girl seems different. There is something very beautiful about her face, her eyes, her skin, her lips, the way she walks and the way she talks...
Beautiful for a human, I mean.
Frank Marshall is a dangerous man, and I don't like the fact that he is sniffing around. I should have killed him when I had the chance, but I was persuaded to hold back. I thought that I could warn him off, and that he would not need to die the same way that his father died. I guess I was wrong. Like a zombie, he continues on his quest to capture me. I don't think it has ever occurred to him to turn to his employer and announce that he no longer wishes to do this job.
Ah, well. He has a tough master. I know how that feels.
I follow Frank as he walks away down the street. Eventually he goes into a pub, and I decide not to follow him inside. Those places stink to high heaven, and I swear they dull my senses. Last time I went into a pub, I ended up almost losing my sense of smell for a week. No, I don't need to follow him inside. I know full well what he will be doing, and I can wait outside until he emerges.
I know Frank Marshall too well. He's planning something, and he seems to have fixated on this one particular girl for some reason. I'll have to watch out for her, but at the same time I think this is something I should not discuss with my master. He would undoubtedly tell me to simply kill Frank and either forget the girl or rip her throat out. I prefer taking a more subtle approach, holding back and waiting to see what others do before I make my move. So I'll just keep an eye on Frank and try to make sure he doesn't do anything too stupid. If things get bad, I can always step in and tidy up. I'm sure my master wouldn't mind me doing a little work in my own personal time.
As I turn to walk away, a couple of humans approach. One of them, a woman who has clearly been drinking, gives a shriek of delight, rushes over, kneels down and strokes my head. I let her, mainly because I can see that her companion – an equally drunk male – doesn't particularly like me. He's suspicious and, to be fair, he has every right to wonder why a wolf is out alone on the streets of London.
“Watch out for fleas,” he says to the woman as she continues to pet me.
“He hasn't got fleas!” she shouts back at him. “He's lovely, aren't you?” She grins at me. “Yes you are!”
I turn and run off. There's no point getting used to humans. They're strange, dangerous creatures and if they knew the truth about me, they would try to kill me or worse. As my master reminds me every day, I am destined to be alone, and there is no point in pretending otherwise.
Jess
Sam's friends turn out to be okay. There are half a dozen of them, all male, living in a squat in a little building nestled well away from the street in Soho. Everyone's pretty young, no-one seems keen to talk too much and Sam and I move about without anyone bothering us.
“Where's your friend?” I ask.
“I thought he'd be here,” she says, staring into the darkness.
“Can we stay?”
“Yeah,” she says. “It's okay. It's cool here”. She leads me over t
o a small fire that has been left burning in a metal bin near a window. “Everyone's friendly”.
“I doubt that,” I say, warming my hands.
“Trust me,” she says, smiling. “Tom'll be here”.
“Who's Tom?” I ask.
She almost seems to blush for a moment. “He's this guy, I kind of came to London to look for him. He's living on the streets, but I can't find him. I was sure he'd be here”.
I smile for a moment. “Keep looking,” I say.
“I'll go and see if he's here”.
I take off my coat and give it to her. “I'll stay by the fire,” I say.
She nods, grinning. “Thanks,” she says, putting my coat on. “Hey, back in a moment”. And with that, she heads off out of the room. She seems so keen, almost desperate. It's fun to remember, just for a moment, a time when I was like that.
I sit and warm my hands by the fire for a few minutes, and eventually a guy comes and sits next to me. “New around here?” he asks.
I nod. I'm not in the mood to be chatted up, but I don't mind the company. “You?”
“No,” he replies. “I've been here a while. Just getting my shit together, you know?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Me too. I won't be here too long”.
“Don't be,” he says. “There's some fucked up shit round here”.
I take my socks off and put my feet next to the fire to warm them up. “Like what?” I ask.
He coughs. He doesn't sound particularly healthy. “I'm just warning you, that's all,” he says. “While you're here, don't go out alone. There's things out there, things most people don't see”.
I feel my feet finally starting to warm up. “What if I said I've seen something,” I say.
He seems interested. “Like what?”
“No,” I say. “You tell me first, then I'll tell you”.
He nods, apparently amused by my refusal to play the game according to his rules. “I've seen something that eats people,” he says.
