Demonic Dora

by Claire Chilton

  She shook her head.

  My dad, the hero .

  She struggled to pull herself out of her grave. She clawed at the earth around her and hauled her body out of the muddy hole.

  Once free of the earth, she stood up and took a deep breath of fresh air. Her lungs didn’t seem to ache for it any more. They didn’t seem to do anything at all. She slowly exhaled. Air whooshed out, but she didn’t feel the need to inhale again afterwards.

  What the hell?

  She frowned and stood completely still, not breathing or moving. Something weird was going on. Her lungs should be burning by now, shouldn’t they?

  She stared around the graveyard and winced. It seemed so bright outside of her grave. It was night time. She could tell because the moon was high in the sky.

  Why is it so bright?

  She covered her eyes with her hands.

  What the fuck? Is Dad using floodlights in here now?

  She rubbed her eyes, and then slowly opened them again, trying to focus on her own feet. It was hazy at first, and then her focus seemed to sharpen. She could see a pair of cute white slippers on her feet. They were made of silk, but tarnished with streaks of mud. On her legs, she wore white tights that were ripped and muddy after her escape from her final resting place.

  She groaned as she peered at her dress. A white high-necked dress ended at her knees. It would have been the perfect outfit for little girl.

  She plucked some of the skirt material between her fingers and stared at it in distaste.

  “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

  Then she stared at her wrist and nearly flipped out when she saw a pearl bracelet hanging around it, and worse—the sleeve of a fluffy white cardigan!

  “Back demon!”

  She glanced up to see her father standing before her. He was trembling and cowering behind his crucifix.

  “Pearls?” She angrily shook her wrist at him, “A fucking cardigan and pearls! What did you do to me? I swear to Sata—” She paused as she felt something brush against her face.

  “Oh no, you didn’t.” She cautiously ran her fingers over her hair, encountering an array of ringlets and bows. “Fucking ringlets!” she shouted while pulling bows out of her hair.

  “Agh! B-back, get back d-demon.” Her father backed away from her, his body trembling.

  She purposefully strode towards him. She was fuming with anger. It was bad enough being buried alive, but being dressed like a China doll in her final hours—that was the limit.

  “No.” He squeaked as she neared him, and he stumbled backwards.

  “Demon!” he cried before he turned and fled.

  “Yeah, so what?” she shouted as she ran after him.

  He stumbled and fell as he ran from her, quickly scrambling to his feet before taking off running again.

  For some reason the more he ran, the more she wanted to chase him.

  “Rawrrr!” she cried and raised her hands in the air as she ran after him.

  He flung himself over the perimeter fence and fell face-forward into the adjoining field, which unfortunately for him was farmland that smelled as if it had been recently fertilised with manure.

  “Brainsssss!” she cried. She didn’t really want his brains. She just wanted to make him shit his pants.

  “Ohmigod!” She heard her father cry out in panic when he glanced back and realised she was still chasing him. He turned and sprinted across the field.

  She finally stopped following her father and bent over laughing as he scrambled through horse shit to get away from her. When the laughter subsided, she wiped a stray tear from her eye.

  That was just great!

  Once her father was gone, her laughter subsided. She sat on the fence that bordered the graveyard, staring up at the moon and trying to figure out what to do next.

  As she scanned the rows of gravestones and the ancient family crypts behind them, she realised that Kieron and Pooey could be anywhere, but this was as good a place as any to start looking.

  She eyed the graves.

  How am I going to find Kieron and Pooey if they are buried here?

  GO TO CHAPTER TWO

  “Grave robber!” Dora heard someone shout behind her, and she paused trying to dig up the grave.

  Shit!

  She glanced back, overcome with a strange feeling of déjà vu when she saw a group of angry townsfolk glaring at her. Some were carrying torches, others halogen lanterns. Most were wearing their nightwear. A small cluster from the rambler’s club were kitted out in outdoor wear, breathable jackets and fleeces.

  She released the clump of mud she held in her hands.

  “I can explain this.” She told them.

  “Zombie!” one woman cried, and she waved her Maglite in outrage.

  “Are you calling me brain dead?” Dora scowled at her.

  “Kill the vampire bitch.” An angry farmer shook his pitchfork at her.

  “Do I look fucking sparkly to you?” she snapped. She knew she looked a mess. She’d been wandering around the graveyard for hours trying to figure out if Kieron or Pooey were there. She’d called their names over and over again and even listened to the ground to try and hear them. But in the end, the only option had been to start digging up graves.

  She’d only managed to start on one and hadn’t gotten very far by using her hands to dig it up.

  I’m sure I heard a sound coming from this one though.

  “Only the good and sexy vampires are sparkly.” A pre-pubescent girl interrupted her thoughts.

  “And they call me a bitch,” Dora muttered.

  “Kill the vampire!” The group of ramblers cried in unison.

  “I’m not a bloody vampire.”

  “Bloodless fiend!” She recognised the old lady who had shouted that. It was Alice Wainwright from her mother’s sewing circle.

  “Hey Alice, have you seen my mom?”

  “Out damn demon!”

  Dora groaned as she recognised her father’s voice. “I’m not a fucki—”

  Someone threw a Molotov cocktail into the hole she was standing in, and she stared down at the burning bottle.

  “What the he—” The material wick burned into the bottle of gasoline, and then the bottle exploded in a burst of fire. Hot air whooshed past her face, and she panicked before she realised she couldn’t feel anything burning.

  She shrugged and climbed out of the fiery hole, untouched by the flames and brushing soil off her dress.

  “What the hell was that for?”

  “Oh my God, she won’t burn!” one of the ramblers cried. He dropped his torch and spun on his heel before fleeing towards the gates of the graveyard.

  She wondered why she hadn’t burned, but it didn’t seem as important as dealing with the angry mob in front of her, so she put the thought to the back of her mind.

  “Cut her head off,” a voice cried.

  She blinked.

  They wouldn’t really try to cut my head off would they?

  But given her past experiences with the stupidity of the townspeople of Berkville, she realised that they probably would try cutting her head off.

  She held up her hands as two men rushed towards her, both carrying axes.

  “Wait!”

  They paused and stared at her with blank expressions.

  Okay, stupid I can handle. This is good.

  “Have those been certified?” She nodded at the axes.

  “Huh?” One of them managed, displaying a blank expression.

  “Well, what I mean to say is that cutting something’s head off is listed as inhumane under the farming regulations isn’t it?”

  The first man, who was a farmer judging by his rather unattractive dungarees and the straw hat he was wearing, peered at his axe in contemplation.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded.

  “So has that axe been certified as a humane culling implement?” She knew she was spewing out bullshit, but whatever kept her head attached to her neck was good in
her book.

  “Er?” The farmer blankly stared at the axe again, appearing to contemplate the question.

  “Well Doug, has it been certified?” She heard Police Chief Dawson ask.

  Doug shook his head. “No, Sir. We have to shoot the pigs with a stunner for them there humane laws.”

  He turned to face Dora. “Although I think the pigs don’t much give a shit. Dead is dead, right?” he said in a confidential tone.

  She nodded with as much fake sympathy as she could muster towards Doug. “It’s a shame everything is so regulated these days.”

  “I know, right?” he replied. “If you want happy pigs, don’t kill ‘em. I dunno why everything has to be so complicated.”

  “I totally agree with you, Doug. Just save yourself the hassle and don’t kill any pigs,” she said.

  “But then who’s going to bring home the bacon?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “You ever tried Quorn?”

  Doug seemed to consider her suggestion before nodding. “You know, you might be right. I’ll look into having one of them there Quorn farms, instead.”

  “I’m sure the pigs will be much happier if you do.” She smiled at him.

  “Let’s shoot her then.” Police Chief Dawson suggested as he pulled his gun out of the holster at his hip.

  Aww shit.

  “I’ll have to go get my bolt gun, Chief. You can’t just shoot her with any old gun. It’s in the regulations,” Doug said before he turned to Dora with sympathetic smile. “You won’t feel a thing, honey.”

  She smiled brightly and nodded at him.

  Too fucking right I won’t. I won’t be here when you get back, idiot!

  She watched Doug sprint off towards the gates of the graveyard to get his bolt gun while she considered her options.

  Who else was stupid enough to go and get something? If she could thin the group, she could probably make a run for it.

  While thinking about graveyard regulations, she heard a weird noise coming from the nearby grave.

  “What’s that noise?” Chief Dawson asked.

  “You can hear it too?” She glanced down at the grave.

  “Yeah, it’s like …” He paused as he holstered his gun, and then scratched his head. “Is that singing?”

  She listened closely and realised he was right. It was muffled and grossly out of tune, but it was singing, and it was coming from the grave.

  “Kieron!” she cried. It must be Kieron. Who else would be singing in a grave.

  She leapt into the hole and began digging with her hands again.

  “Hey, stop doing that!” the chief cried.

  She glanced over her shoulder to see him drawing his gun again.

  “No, listen. There’s someone in here.”

  The police chief holstered the weapon and drummed his fingers on the handle of it, appearing deep in thought. After a few minutes of contemplation, he turned to the crowd of townspeople.

  “She’s right. There is someone singing in there. Hal, go fetch some spades. We need to dig this guy out of here.”

  Hal turned out to be the overweight grounds keeper of the graveyard. He nodded before dashing towards his hut behind the family crypts.

  “Step out of there, little lady. We’ll sort this out.” The chief told her, offering her his hand and stepping towards the grave.

  “Don’t go running off anywhere though. We still need to shoot you in the head,” he added sternly.

  She took the offered hand, allowing the chief pull her out of the pit. She stood near the edge of it, nodding in awe of ridiculousness of the situation.

  These people are fucking idiots.

  Hal came back panting, and both he and the chief jumped down into the pit, brandishing spades. The chief took off his jacket, rolling his sleeves up his muscular arms before beginning to dig up the singing coffin below them.

  She peered around. Everyone was staring into the pit.

  I could just make a run for it, but what if it is Kieron inside the coffin.

  She realised she would have to wait to find out, shaking her head at her own stupidity.

  The deeper the two men dug, the clearer it became that the singer was not Kieron. The voice was high-pitched.

  “Come into the garden, Maud.” The voice trilled. It sounded like an old music hall song.

  Even Kieron isn’t that old.

  After several minutes, the unearthed grave revealed an ancient-looking coffin. The casket was made of smooth dark wood, which had begun to rot. A symbol of a fang was carved into the top of it.

  “I don’t think you should open that,” Dora said.

  “Don’t be foolish, girl! There’s a man trapped in there.” The chief snapped at her before turning and calling out to the occupant of the coffin. “Don’t worry. We’re here to help.”

  “Oh, that’d be lovely.” A cheerful British accent called out from within the coffin.

  She knew she should take this opportunity to escape, but she couldn’t. She really wanted to know what was in the coffin. Also, her father was here. If the coffin held what she thought it did, someone had to save his dumb ass.

  The police chief used his spade to smash through the lid of the coffin. He and Hal ripped it open to reveal a pale man wearing a Victorian-style velvet suit.

  The man sat up and languidly stretched.

  “Oh, that’s so much better. It’s a tight fit in there.”

  Dora studied him. His skin was pale even in the dimly lit graveyard. His ebony hair was slicked back, and his lips were blood red.

  The chief offered him a hand to help him out of the coffin.

  “Don’t!” She shouted on instinct.

  The man’s head snapped scarily fast in her direction, and his black eyes glittered over her for a moment before his glare softened with surprise.

  “Mon amour, mon désir, ma Carissa!” he cried.

  “What?” She glanced behind her to try to find the person the coffin-guy was talking to.

  The old man standing behind her in flannel dressing gown shrugged at her. “I think he means you.”

  She turned back towards the coffin as the pale man stood up in it.

  “My love, my desire, my Carissa. Sweetie, I knew you’d wait for me.” He repeated his words in English to her.

  He clambered out of the grave, heading towards her with glint of love in his eyes and his arms outstretched.

  “Oh fuck!” She backed up and bumped into the man behind her, trying to avoid the imminent hug.

  The man in the velvet suit tightly hugged her against him.

  “It’s Terrance. Don’t you remember me? It’s been so long, my love, but I’d recognise those glossy ringlets anywhere, my sweet, sweet passion.”

  “Oh fuck, get off me!” She struggled to push Terrance away from her.

  “My name is Dora, not Carissa.”

  He released her as quickly as he’d embraced her, and he stepped back with a bow.

  “Of course. Forgive me, my dear. I forgot myself in a moment of tumultuous passion. Please forgive my deviant behaviour. I did not mean to defile you with my touch so soon.” He stared at her for a moment, but then a glint of amusement lit up his dark eyes. “Ah ha! You play with my emotions as always, my virginal vixen. For what would Paris have been without your dark passionate embrace? You don’t fool me, my snookums. We’ll be so happy together in this new world, daring to go beyond villainous kisses and to break in new horizons.” He hugged her to his chest, and she smelled something musty and old.

  She scowled before kicking him in the shins as hard as she could.

  “Okay, Pepe Le Pew, back the fuck off before I break you.”

  He backed off a little, but judging by the dopey grin on his face, it was clear he wasn’t listening to a word she said.

  “You know I love it when you break me, my little love bug.” He winked at her, nervously placing an arm around her waist.

  She tried to remove the arm, but it was like trying to bend iron. His grip
was scarily solid and immovable.

  “Isn’t he a dream?” The pre-pubescent girl breathed, staring at Terrance with adoration.

  “More like a nightmare.” Dora tried to push him away from her and struggled to escape his iron grip, but he didn’t appear to notice as he turned to face the group of townspeople.

  “My good friends, I am so grateful to you. You have not only freed me on this night, but you have brought my love back to me too. A debt I may never be able to repay, but for which I offer my hand of friendship for a lifetime, perhaps even two,” he declared, beaming happily at the crowd.

  “No, she’s not your love. She’s a putrid, skanky, vampire whore.” One of the ramblers pointed out.

  “Ah, she is both, and so much more.” Terrence smiled. “Farewell, my new-found friends.” He bowed at the group and then snapped his fingers.

  The graveyard spun around her, and all she could feel was Terrence’s hand around her waist. After some sickening spinning, the world blurred and reformed before her eyes.

  She was no longer in a graveyard. They had been transported inside of what appeared to be a stately mansion.

  She blinked several times to gain some focus before shoving Terrance away from her, which only worked because he was releasing his grip on her anyway.

  “What the fuck just happened?”

  “I brought you home, my love. After all, no matter how long I have slept for, time will never change the fact that the peasants are always revolting in some way or another. The view is much more pleasant here.”

  “Where are we?” She scanned the room. It was a large parlour decorated with Victorian chic, including a grand piano and chaise longue.

  “This is my townhouse, my love.” He attempted to stroke her hair, and she slapped his hand away as she backed up.

  She studied him. He stood almost to attention under her gaze, one hand resting on a grand piano and the other smoothing back his dark hair. He appeared to be around twenty years old, but she was certain he was much older.

  He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes in reply before glancing around the room and pausing at the large bay window.

  She ran to the window, thinking only of escaping. She sighed with relief when she recognised the streets outside.

  For a while there, she thought he’d transported her back in time. She breathed easy when she saw Main Street through the window. They were still in modern Berkville, in one of the older gothic houses on the outskirts of town by the looks of it.