The Dark and Shadowy Places

by Caitlin McColl

  Amethyst Auburn & World’s End

  Amethyst hated her name. Why on earth would her parents name her Amethyst when their last name was Auburn? Of course, her parents had normal names. As normal as you could get: Mary and John.

  But that wasn’t why Amethyst was sitting in The World’s End, a well known pub on an ancient cobblestoned street in Edinburgh, Scotland. Though thinking about her name did make her order a second beer. But then she changed her mind and opted for a tea. She needed to be clear headed for this. She laughed quietly to herself, but as she sat at the bar, even that garnered her a few sideways glances. She shook her dark hair (glad it wasn’t actually auburn, or even worse, fire-red, standing out would be dangerous), and took a sip of the scalding hot tea that landed in front of her.

  She smiled wistfully. This is probably the last time I’ll ever have tea, she thought sadly before pushing back the stool she sat on and standing up. She turned around toward the large windows that showed the busy High Street, even though it was on the verge of night.

  She patted her clothes, taking comfort when she felt the long knives that were hidden underneath, or stuffed into her boots.

  She needed to do this. If she didn’t…she shook her head again, causing a chunk of dark hair to swing forward over her face. She brushed it back impatiently. She didn’t want to think about that. Her gaze focused on the people walking back and forth outside the window, minding their own business, chatting, laughing. If she wasn’t successful, she worried that those people enjoying themselves on the town wouldn’t be enjoying themselves for much longer. But of course they didn’t know that. No one did. Or hardly anyone. Just people like her, and there wasn’t too many of them. But there was even less of what would be causing the end of the world if Amethyst didn’t stop it. She watched the last streak of light drain from the sky behind the tall buildings on the opposite side of the street. She stepped outside, breathing in the coolness of the air as the sun departed.

  Amethyst muffled another laugh thinking about how, if people knew what she was, they would find nothing funny about it. She was a vampire, and she was leaving the safety of indoors at night. People naively thought that vampires couldn’t come out in day time. How ridiculous! But thanks to human misperceptions, it’s what caused her prey to come out at this time, to look for people like her.

  She sighed. She wasn’t a night person. Just because you were a vampire, there was no need to sleep your day away, and be up all night. How could you buy things when all the stores were closed? Vampires liked their comforts too, after all.

  She walked with purpose down the high street and suddenly burst out laughing. She just realized what she was doing. She was hunting the vampire hunter!

  But she had no choice. They were being reckless. They had been playing with magic in hopes of defeating Amethyst and the few other vampires that still existed in today’s world. But they just didn’t know what they were doing. And humans that don’t know what they’re doing….well, it will eventually be the cause of the end of the world.

  At least they were easy to destroy. Easier than it was to destroy her, and the rest of her kind. Amethyst looked to be in her thirties, but in reality was almost five hundred and eighty seven. Her cell phone rang in the pocket of her cropped spring jacket. She withdrew it and fumbled with it a moment before turning it on. Despite living for so long, this new technology was hard to get the hang of. She knew most other vampires felt the same way. Thousands of years of relative technologically simple times… and then smartphones.

  “What?” she snapped irritably into the phone. “Yes, I’m on my way.” She mumbled. “Uh huh.” She paused a moment, listening, and then looked up at the sky in the distance above the extinct volcano that looked down over the city, Arthur’s Seat. The sun hadn’t fully set, but there was no reason that the sky should be the frightening blood red colour that it currently was.

  “Shit!” Amethyst shouted. She started to run, and almost forgot about her phone until she heard the voice on the other end asking if she was still there.

  “Yes, I’m still here!” she said, annoyed, but not out of breath. This was one reason she liked being a vampire. They didn’t tire. “Where are you?”

  She listened and then turned sharply down an alley, cutting across the city and heading towards the Roman ruins perched on top of the mountain that was shrouded in a sky smeared red.

  Amethyst’s hands started to tingle, and the feeling slithered up her arms. This wasn’t a good thing. This was a very bad thing. It was the vampire’s warning system that…well, everything was going to hell in a hand basket.

  Her feet pounded against the ground, her hands slicing through the air moving her faster, farther.

  She reached the crumbling columns to find a small blond woman surrounded by three vampires, two holding her arms and the third who had a long, slim sword pointed at her chest.

  “What happened,’ Amethyst asked, though looking around she could gather what had gone on. There was an alter and some odd items, including the ubiquitous wooden stake.

  Three pairs of eyes slid in her direction.

  “You’re late,” the one holding the sword said with a voice like marble, cold and smooth.

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  The vampire shook his head, and a scowl turned his lips.

  “I mean you’re too late. It’s over.”

  Amethyst’s dark eyes widened. “It’s the end?”

  The three vampires nodded but only the sword man spoke. “Again.”

  Places, Camera, Action!

  “Action!” The disembodied voice yelled, hidden from view behind the large camera. I ran down the street, my legs pumping hard, coming closer to the cluster of abandoned cars that were arranged haphazardly on the long empty street that was cleared with barricades to stop any people from walking onto set.

  I launched myself onto the trunk of one of the cars, using the bumper as a step, and jumped up onto the roof, and slid down the windshield onto the hood, and then jumped onto the car next to it. I heard a loud crack of gun shot. It made me jump, but I knew it wasn’t real. I rolled off the hood of the car and landed on the ground in a crouch just as something swooshed past me at high velocity.

  Was that a real bullet? I stood and tried to look over the group of cars, wondering what was going on. “Hey!” I shouted. “What’s-“ but before I could finish my wondering aloud, another bullet zoomed past me, just grazing my shoulder and causing it to sting like a sonofabitch. “What?” I said, confused. Another crack and I jumped like a jack rabbit, and did what any frightened creature would do. I ran.

  This time I ran with intent. This wasn’t for the show. This was real. I was running down the middle of the empty street again, heading towards the barricades a few blocks further down. And then I realized how stupid it was. I was right out in the open. Another shot and another bullet flew past dangerously close. I ducked as I continued to run, swerving off the street and ran in between trees that lined a park on one side. I leapt over a park bench, stumbled and fell. I stood, disoriented. This wasn’t part of the script! There was supposed to be a fight scene that I was to get into when I got to the end of the street.

  But suddenly, somehow the fight was here. In the middle of a children’s playground. Two men dressed entirely in black, with balaclavas pulled down over their faces, despite it being a warm June day, vaulted from somewhere on the outskirts of the play park and over little rocking horses, and what looked like a rocking octopus. They landed silently, stealthily, like ninjas.

  And then hands were slicing through the air, legs were kicking and fists were flying. I pulled out all of my best stunt-man moves, ducking, swerving, tumbling, sliding to avoid the mass of body parts that were intent, for some reason, on me alone.

  I was out of breath, but managed a weak, “what’s going on?” when I found myself on the opposite side of a jungle gym, the three masked men on the other of the honey comb of climbing bars.

  From
somewhere to the left of the park, gun shots rang out again. I didn’t wait for an answer. I turned and continued sprinting across the small park, the size of a city block. After a few seconds I chanced a glance over my shoulder, and breathed a sigh of relief when I didn’t see the ninja men following me.

  I left the tree-lined protection of the park and found myself back on the street. I ran half a block and then stopped, waiting, watching, listening. Everything was quiet. Somewhere behind me was the movie set I had just been forced to flee. I was wondering what to do next when a small black car screeched to a halt beside me on the road and the passenger door swung open. “Get inside!” a voice demanded from the driver’s side. It was a girl, dressed in jeans and a plain white t-shirt, blond hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She seemed harmless enough. I shrugged and climbed in. Being in a car was a lot safer with people shooting at you.

  As soon as I closed the door, the girl slammed her foot down on the gas and the car tires squealed, trying to get a grip, and then we were flying down the street at almost 100 miles an hour. Thankfully, it was still early and the streets were still relatively quiet.

  I gripped the handle of the passenger door with one hand, and my seat with the other. My knuckles turned white.

  “What’s going on?” I said at the exact same time as the girl that was causing us to hurtle at break neck speeds down the streets of Portland – a dangerous enough feat normally, with the one-way road system.

  The girl looked at me, shocked. “You don’t know?”

  “No, don’t you?” My knuckles turned whiter.

  “Well, a bit, but not all of it. I’m on the resistance. I thought you were too, that’s why those blaggards were after you, and the Coalition were shooting at you.”

  Blaggards? Coalition? Resistance? I spoke my wondered questions aloud.

  “Why else would you be running away from the guards?” she asked again.

  “Running from them? They attacked me! They have the wrong guy. You have the wrong guy. I’m not part of any resistance. I have no idea what you’re talking about or who was shooting at me, and who those ninja guys are.”

  The girl turned the corner sharply onto NW Everett Street, toward the parkway and across the bridge towards the Eastbank.

  “Where are we going?” I asked, but I had an idea.

  “The train station. We need to get out of here.”

  “But, the movie-” I said lamely.

  “Movie?” my rescuer said, confused.

  “I’m…just an actor. That’s what I was doing when people started shooting at me.”

  “An actor? How can you help me if you’re just an actor?” She screeched, suddenly stopping the car, reaching across me and throwing my door open. “Get out!” she yelled, anger barely contained.

  “But-“

  “Get out!” she repeated.

  I had barely unbuckled my belt when I was left standing alone on the side of the street, wondering if it was all a dream.

  500 Words

  Do you know what it feels like to think you are about to die? Everything slows down and then stops. All the life, all the colours drain out of everything. It’s like you’re trying to conserve every last bit of energy into just keeping yourself alive, to keep your heart pumping and your mind thinking. You go into survival mode: sounds disappear until all you hear is your heart and your breath as loud as a hurricane in your ears.

  Trust me, I know. I’ve been almost dead more times than I have fingers and toes. And I don’t recommend it. It’s not as if I try to get into situations that get me almost dead, it’s just... I guess you could say it’s my hobb-.

  I hear a familiar click right next to my left ear; the small sound that has such a huge meaning - the sound of a gun’s safety being pulled back. Slowly, calmly, I put down my pen. Without turning my head, I begin to stand from the Adirondack chair where I’d been enjoying a rare peaceful morning on my deck devoid of any life – I do not have a green thumb – above the Pacific.

  “Don’t move,” the voice says quiet but firm. At first I’m surprised. It’s not any voice I was expecting, going through my mental rolodex of the long list of people who want me dead.

  I try not to sound like I’m on the verge of a laugh. I swallow once, hoping to quash the offending sound, and try to sound serious and even as I stop in a squat, half sitting, half standing.

  “What do you want me to do?” I ask, plainly, removing all traces of amusement from my voice.

  The voice behind me makes an exasperated noise. “Okay, you can move, but only do what I say.”

  I try to suppress a smile, grateful my face is turned away from my captor. She sounds unsure, nervous. I don’t recognize her voice – I’m usually good with recognizing who it is that wants to hurt me.

  “Okay,” I say agreeably. “Can I at least stand up?”

  There is a pause. I can almost sense eyes being rolled. “Yes.”

  I straighten slowly. “Now what?”

  Another pause, longer this time. “Take us to the library.”

  Us? A shiver races down my spine. I mentally shake my head. I hadn’t been on alert. I’d been too busy writing.

  “The library?” I repeat, confused.

  “Your library,” the woman says, irritation and impatience tingeing her words.

  “Why?”

  “That’s not important. All you need to know is you have a gun to your head.”

  I laugh, short and sharp. “That’s nothing new to me.”

  I hear the another small click that causes the hair on my arms to rise involuntarily and I raise my hands defensively. “Okay, okay,” I say, leading the way into the kitchen and down the hall.

  The double doors to the library already stand open. I stop and gesture inside. “Ladies first.”

  A Stranger Calls

  It was only after I opened the door at seven fifteen that I remembered Mum’s catchphrase sounding all my life: “Don’t open the door to anyone after seven.” She didn’t say it that night, before she went to work her night shift. But that’s no excuse.

  I’d asked the obvious question when I was much younger, “If it’s so dangerous to let anyone in then why is it okay for you to go out at night?”

  The answer was as bizarre as the instruction itself. “Because Tamara, the Grim Reaper comes to get you, not the other way around.” Then, whispering a prayer, she left for her night’s excursions.

  The stranger standing on the doorstep looked as wild and woolly as the night itself. His thick, curly, black hair stood in wet spikes, so I didn’t notice the peaks at each side of his forehead. Not then. The light coming from the hallway behind me was too pale to see his face clearly.

  The wind was whooshing like a drunken ghost, and there was so much rain that I could hardly see the other side of the road. None of our street lights have worked for as long as I can remember. I know this ‘cause I do look out the windows, like a prisoner behind bars.

  Although the unknown quantity didn’t look much older than me, I felt the need to protect Tonkin. He’s only sixteen. I didn’t want the guy to think I was afraid or that we were alone at home. Obviously I couldn’t shut the door in his face, so I barred the entrance and started to angle the door slowly shut.

  “Play with them,” Dad used to joke. “Then hit them with it when they’re least expecting it.” Of course he was halfway across the world, doing exactly what he preached.

  “Sorry, we’re going out,” I mumbled, keeping my voice as low as possible so I sounded older.

  “I just want directions,” he said in a teenage twang I recognised. “My GPS says I’m on the corner of Blackthorn and Wildling Streets. But if I go either way I hit a dead end.”

  “Then go back the way you came.” I stated the obvious.

  “That’s the funny thing. Every way I go from the intersection hits a blind alley.” He was sounder higher pitched.

  Then what I had been dreading. “Who’s at the door?” Tonkin call
ed out.

  I wouldn’t have minded so much if Tonkin’s voice was deeper, more like Dad’s.

  “He’s just leaving,” I called back, trying to remember what Mum did when she opened the door at night.

  Then I turned to the guy. “Turn your GPS off. GPS signals go kaput in this part of town. Then drive back the way you came. If you come to a kerb, do a U turn. Try this on all the streets until you find a way out. Who are you?”

  I was surprised to see the Grim Reaper looking frightened.