Bad Blood

You were interested, I think, in this item. An iron maiden torture cabinet, Germanic, possibly. Six feet high, and I’d wager over two hundred years old. There are signs it has been put to sinister use recently, however, and I can still smell the sweat and fear of the last poor soul to be locked inside. Rather them than me!

An old house surrounded by dark forest. The night animals keep their distance, sensing perhaps that something is very wrong about the house’s two human occupants.

The first – Clara - is a thin, serious brunette in her early twenties. She is focused on an arts and crafts project she is pursuing – sewing the words ‘home sweet home’ into white cloth with the aim of framing it on the living room wall once complete. 

The tranquil scene is shattered by a  desperate howl of pain and anguish, coming up from the basement. Clara does not react to it with fear, instead, her face displays something more like annoyance. She sighs, and unpicks her last, mistaken stitch. 

‘I wish she’d shut up,’ Clara sighs, resuming her sewing.  She glances up at an ornate clock. ‘It’s a long time until morning.’

In the basement beneath, is the other resident of the house. This is Sadie. Not much can be seen of poor Sadie, as she is locked inside a large medieval iron maiden, only a small square of her face is visible through a tiny hatched window at the front of the torture device. She is clearly in great distress. What we see of her eyes are wild, her forehead covered in sweat. The poor girl cannot move an inch, or she’ll impale herself on the rusty spikes enclosing her whole body inside the terrible structure. Sadie has a very limited view of the basement that is her prison, but she can see a small clock which has been placed on a stool in front of her. This single allowance from her captor, is also another form of torture, as time has never seemed to move so slowly.

She cries out once more. ‘Clara,’ she wails. ‘Please! You have to let me out of here!’

She sobs gently after waiting for a response that doesn’t come.

‘Clara! Clara! I know you can hear me. You have to let me out of this thing!’

She hears the stomp of footsteps and her heart leaps for joy – Finally, Clara has taken notice of her pain and is coming downstairs. Sadie sniffs up the mucus dripping from her nose and readies herself for the conversation that is about to take place when –

The heavy door to the basement opens and Clara enters, her face like thunder.

‘Thank you,’ Sadie shouts, hoping a show of gratitude will grease the wheels. ‘Thank you for coming.’

‘This noise has to stop,’ Clara says without emotion. ‘Don’t make me close the hatch on you.’

‘No! No please don’t close the hatch,’ Sadie begs, the tiny square window the only thing keeping her sane. ‘Please, Clara, you have to let me out of here. I won’t be bad again, I promise!’

Clara shakes her head having heard all this before. ‘Unfortunately,’ she says eventually, ‘Your promises aren’t worth very much, are they? Especially when you’re being like this.’

She turns to leave, and Sadie panics. ‘Wait! Can’t we just talk about this? It’s so horrible being stuck in this thing. Have you any idea what it’s like? Clara? Please!’

Clara thinks it over for just a second and smiles. ‘Alright, I’m just going to go and get something, okay? I’ll be right back.’ She resists the temptation to add the words don’t go anywhere.

Sadie waits impatiently, adjusting her aching body to try to hold off the creeping cramp in every limb. Clara is gone for a minute, then two, and eventually any hope that Sadie had that Clara was about to return and let her out is drained away until….

Footsteps on the stairs again. She’s coming back!

Sadie spots that she has a portable virtual assistant with her this time. ‘What?’ Sadie does not hide her surprise and anger. ‘Why have you brought that thing down here?’

Clara grins as she plugs the device into a wall socket. ‘Thought you’d like some music,’ she answers. ‘Might make the time go by a bit faster, you know?’

‘You’re joking!’ Sadie spits at Clara through the tiny window. ‘You f**king bitch!’

Clara ignores the insult. ‘Assistant. Play Taylor Swift.’

Welcome to New York, from the 1989 album fills the air.

‘I f**king hate you.’

‘No, you don’t,’ Clara mumbles as she walks away. ‘We have to go through this for your own good, remember.’

Sadie screams at her until she’s back up the stairs.  As the track finishes and Blank Space begins, a thought occurs to her. She mulls it over then laughs out loud at her own audacity.

‘Assistant,’ she calls out to the device. ‘Call Tom!’.

She prays that the device is still hands-free connected to her mobile phone upstairs in her room. After a few anxious seconds, the call connects, and the dial tone echoes through the basement over the speaker.

Ring ring.

Upstairs, Clara’s ears prick up, alerted by the end of Taylor Swift’s singing and then she gulps in horror when she overhears the personal assistant connecting the. How could she have been so stupid to plug the bloody thing in down there?

Ring ring.

She throws down her sewing and bolts to the stairs. She curses herself for making that mistake. It was a moment of weakness, she decides. She won’t make that mistake again.

Ring ring.

She flies down the stone steps, almost tripping over her slippers on the way.

‘Please,’  Sadie wishes aloud, knowing she hasn’t got much time. ‘Come on, pick up.’

Clara enters the basement, skidding to a halt by the device.

‘Hello? Sadie, that you?’ Tom’s voice comes through the speaker.

‘Tom! Tom! You have to help me!’ Sadie shouts quickly. ‘You’re the only other person I can trust! Help me, please!’

Clara’s face is twisted in anger and in a violent rage, she swipes the device to the floor. The call disconnects, the device is broken.

There is an awkward silence as Sadie steels herself for Clara’s reaction.

‘Who the hell is Tom?’ she eventually speaks. 

Sadie tells her about the amazing guy she’s met. The truth spills out of her. The secret dates, the stolen kisses. 

Clara just stands there, arms crossed defensively. ‘When were you going to tell me, then?’

Sadie finds herself in the weird position of having to apologise to her captor. ‘I didn’t want you to find out like this, I’m sorry.’

Clara steps closer to the iron maiden, and Sadie can now see the tears forming at the corners of her eyes. ‘You don’t sound sorry.’

‘Just let me out. Please.’

Clara leans forward and places her hand on the cold metal surrounding Sadie’s enclosed face. 

She’s about to give in, Sadie understands. The confession has weakened her resolve. Any minute now…

But Clara slides closed the hatch that had been granting Sadie a tiny amount of vision and breathing space. She turns quickly and leaves the basement, so she doesn’t have to face the shame of her actions. Doesn’t have to hear the muffled shouts and screams.

Back upstairs, she recovers her ‘home sweet home’ embroidery and rips it to shreds before jumping up and down on it.

Whatever is now happening inside the Iron Maiden – we have no understanding. Occasionally there is a scream, occasionally an animal snarl, but mostly a gentle sob.

At two thirty-eight am. Tom arrives at the house.

Clara hasn’t slept – no chance of that – so at once answers the door when the bell rings.

‘Yes?’ she snaps at the unwelcome visitor.

Tom looks panicked. ‘Is Sadie there? I think this is her house, right?’

‘Our house.’ Clara corrects. Another mistake, she realises later. She should have denied all knowledge, sent him packing.

‘You must be Clara, right? I need to come in,’ Tom puts his foot in the door. ‘I think Sadie’s in some kind of trouble.’

‘She’s fine. Sadie is fine,’ she states. ‘If anything, if you come in here, it’s you that’s in danger.’

Tom ignores her and pushes past. ‘Sadie?’ he calls into the grand house. ‘Sadie?’

First, he checks upstairs, followed by Clara. ‘She’s not here,’ she announces behind him. Then Tom checks the ground floor, room by room, but can’t find what he seeks.

‘You see,’ Clara huffs. ‘Not here. I told you.’

But Tom is not satisfied. ‘Basement,’ he says quietly. ‘A place like this must have a basement, right?’

Clara doesn’t stop him investigating, doesn’t stand in his way as he runs down the steps. She only follows behind, trying to think of the best course of action, given this predicament.

Tom is stunned by the sight of the iron maiden in the basement, it’s like something from Edgar Allen Poe or an old horror film. He turns to Clara, incredulous. ‘Oh God, she’s not in there, is she?’

He already knows the answer. ‘We’ve got to let her out!’

Clara shakes her head. ‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you…’

He paws at the instrument of torture. ‘Are you in there? Sadie, are you in there?’

Frustrated, he gives up. ‘Open it,’ he commands. ‘Come on, Clara, open it. Let her out!’

‘The key is over on the side there.’ Clara covers her mouth to try and stop the words from escaping but does not try hard enough.

Tom quickly retrieves the key and takes it over to the maiden. ‘Did you put her in there, Clara?’ he accuses. ‘You must be sick!’

Clara sniggers involuntarily. He doesn’t know the half of it. ‘I’m warning you not to open that,’ she eventually says. But her eyes are keen, anticipatory.

Tom finds the lock at the side of the structure and puts the key inside. He pauses before turning it. ‘What the f**k is wrong with you?’ he hisses. ‘How could you do something like this to your own sister?’

He unlocks the maiden, and the great hinges squeal as the front half swings open. Tom has prepared himself for an unpleasant sight but couldn’t possibly have expected what happens next. An upright wolf, with shaggy brown fur, long sinewy limbs ending in sharp claws erupts from confinement and sets upon him, tearing at him angrily, scratching him furiously with both fingernails and toes. Together they knock over the little stool with the clock on it, and it explodes into its component pieces. The terrible mouth splits open and bites down firmly on his neck, ripping him to shreds, shaking his head back and forth like a broken rag doll. Within seconds, it is all over. He is dead.

The carnage is reflected in the panting werewolf’s cold black eyes. Suddenly the animal rage is gone and the creature slumps down slightly, an oddly guilty expression on her long face. She then turns her attention to Clara and growls, revealing bloodied teeth.

Clara takes a step backwards but otherwise doesn’t recoil. ‘It’s me,’ she says quietly to the werewolf. ‘It’s only me. Get control of yourself.’

The werewolf leaps at her, but by the time physical contact is made she is Sadie again. Naked and shivering. Eyes filled with guilt and pain. ‘What did you make me do?’ Sadie croaks. ‘I killed him! You just let it happen!’

Clara takes on an expression of sorrow, but it is not entirely genuine. ‘Just getting you back for doing the dirty on me,’ she explains. ‘Don’t worry about the body, I’ll clear up the mess later.’

She was always the one who cleared up the mess.

‘I hate you,’ Sadie stammers as the two sisters embrace.

‘No, you don’t,’ Clara strokes her face. ‘You love me really. You know, you really are unbearable when it’s this time of the month. Who else would put up with this but me?’

Sadie glances at the broken body leaking all over the stone floor. ‘He might have.’

‘Bullsh*t,’ is Clara’s considered response. ‘It’s just the two of us, remember?’

She reminds Sadie of their deep, unnatural connection with a long, lingering kiss. Then she pushes her lover back into the embrace of the iron maiden and swings it shut. She picks up the broken personal assistant, sadder about its loss than the dead man next to it, and tosses it back down again. ‘No more Taylor Swift for you, my love.’

I wonder how many lunar cycles saw the Maiden deployed in this manner – to cage a werewolf. Or to perpetuate that twisted relationship. Little wonder it’s now positively brimming with supernatural energy and so I had to spirit it away to the Scarlet Vault. As for what became of Sadie the Werewolf, well, that’s a story for another day. Perhaps I’ll introduce you to her?

Time again for you to leave me. Goodbye, my friend. Sweet dreams.

The Male Gaze

Maria glanced at her own naked body in the bathroom mirror as she slipped into some expensive black underwear. Not too bad, considering, she appraised her thirty-year-old form. She smoothed a pair of tights over her long legs and checked herself again. Her bra strap was twisted, so she slipped the whole thing off and put back it on again. Then she turned her attention to her hair. Steven liked it tied up, so he could kiss her neck. She was going to a lot of effort tonight, more than she had for a while, but it would be worth it, she told herself. That baby isn’t going to make itself.

Steven quickly turned off the television set as the connecting door opened and Maria entered their grimy hotel room. Drinking up the vision of her beauty, he smiled at what he saw so she knew he was appreciative and stepped forward to embrace her.

‘Do you think it’ll happen tonight?’ she asked as he kissed her shoulder. ‘It’s bang on the right part of my cycle.’

Steven stepped back, annoyed. ‘I remember when we made love for fun, seems a long time ago now. Now it’s just straight to business!’

‘Don’t be like that,’ she wailed, any built-up romantic desire rapidly fading. ‘You know how much having a baby means to me.’

He sighed, calmed slightly by the proximity of her body. ‘Yeah, I know.’ He sat down on the rickety bed which creaked loudly – even before they’d started putting to other, more vigorous use. ‘I’d like a little loving as well – it’s not all just about the act itself!’

Here we go again, thought Maria.

He continued. ‘I’d like to think you enjoyed the process, rather than just seeing every shag as a potential fertilization event.’

She controlled her response and sat next to him. The bed springs creaked again. ‘I do see it as more than that! This is romantic isn’t it? Just the two of us, gone away for the weekend…’

‘In this so-called luxury hotel,’ he deadpanned, waving at the faded décor. ‘It’s horrible, this place, isn’t it? Sort of seedy, don’t you think?’

Maria flushed slightly. ‘That’s why I picked it. I thought it might inspire you.’

‘Filthy cow.’

‘You love it,’ she grinned, putting her hand on his knee. 

The blood rushed to his groin. ‘Yeah, you’re right, I’ve got to be honest,’ he laughed. ‘Although I’m not sure about having Hitler over there watching us while we’re doing it.’

He indicated a portrait hung over the bed of a stern, moustached middle-aged man with penetrating eyes. Unlike the rest of the room, it was clear that the picture had been cleaned recently.

‘Oh god,’ she giggled. ‘Yeah, he’s really creepy isn’t he? Do his eyes follow you around the room, or is it just me?’

‘It’s not just you.’

‘Well,’ she moved her hand higher up his leg. ‘Shall we give him something to watch? Put on a show?’ She bit him on the ear and he let desire take over for the next few minutes.

…

‘Enjoy your stay, did you ducky?’ the gap-toothed landlady crowed next morning. ‘Certainly sounded like you did.’

Steven and Maria looked across the breakfast table at each other guiltily.

‘Don’t be shy,’ the old woman crooned. ‘It’s natural, ain’t it? A man and a woman. Not like some of the stuff folks get up to these days.’

Steven coughed awkwardly, then focused on his finishing his complimentary fry-up.

Maria returned to their room before they left to give it one last check-over to ensure they’d left nothing of theirs behind. She looked at the ruffled, stained bedsheets with a little shame and wondered whether she ought to strip the bed, then dismissed the notion – the old woman could do it – that was her job, after all. She cheekily waved goodbye to the Hitler on the wall then dropped her suitcase in shock when he winked back at her. Too stunned to do anything but stare for a moment, she blinked and when her vision cleared, the man in the portrait again looked as he had done so before – the serious staring eyes. Of course, it hadn’t winked at her. She shrugged and picked up the bags. Must be imagining things.

…

‘What’s wrong, love?’ Steven rolled off her body and sunk back into his side of the bed. They’d returned home that afternoon, and as soon as the suitcases were unpacked, Maria had insisted upon them having another go at it. Straight to the act again. Yet to Steven, she seemed strangely distracted. ‘You’re heart’s not in it, even less than usual!’

He framed it as a joke, but they both aware that it wasn’t.

Maria exploded. ‘Oh, it’s that bloody painting back at the hotel! I can’t get it out of my head!’

Steven deliberately misunderstood. ‘I’m sure that old bag would have sold it to us, if we’d asked.’

‘That’s not what I mean,’ she snapped, mostly angry at herself for not being able to express to him that she’d been sure the man had winked at her for fear of looking foolish. ‘Didn’t you feel it was sort of.. watching us?’

‘Well, I thought you liked that,’ Steven took a sip from a glass of water – staying hydrated was vital for fertility, he had been instructed, several times.

They lay in silence for a moment. ‘I keep seeing his eyes, Steven,’ she confessed quietly. Especially when we’re… you know…’

‘Getting it on?’ he suggested, sniggering.

‘I can’t shake the feeling that dirty old man is watching me, even now.’

‘You’re letting your imagination run away with you, love.’

‘I don’t think so. He’s watching us. Me. I’m sure of it.’

He turned to face her and gently circled his index finger around her nipple, watching it stiffen. ‘Let me take your mind off it?’ he suggested.

They tried again that night, but it didn’t work for Maria, who eventually pushed him aside, frustrated. Both stared at the ceiling for a while, until the curtain of sleep pulled them even further apart.

...

One week later, and after several unsuccessful attempts at the process of baby-making, Maria finally lost patience.

‘I’m not going mad, Steven!’ she cried. ‘I can see his eyes, all the time. Watching! This time I’m sure I saw his whole head appear out of thin air! Just sort of floating there!’

‘It’s all in your mind,’ he grumbled.

‘No it isn’t. You can’t see it? You really can’t?’

Steven made a show of examining the four walls. ‘All I see are photos of babies and ovulation charts.’

‘I’m sure he’s in the room with us. Like he’s got out of the painting and has followed us home. I’m being haunted by a pervy ghost! This is no good, we’ve got to do something about this!’

Steven laughed without humour. ‘Like what? See a psychologist? An exorcist? Do you realise how nuts you sound, Maria?’

She made a decision and hurriedly got off the bed and pulled on her clothes. ‘Each time I see him, he’s getting stronger, more physical. I’m going back to that hotel, Steven. I’ve got to see the picture, make sure he’s still in it!’

‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ Steven erupted, pulling the sheet over his naked body. 

‘This is interfering with my fertility plans,’ she announced. ‘It can’t go on.’

There she goes again, Steven thought, nothing was more important than getting pregnant. It was never about his needs. All he wanted was a little loving, and it was being denied him. ‘You do whatever you want to, love, but I’m staying right here in bed!’

…

She drove all night back to that dingy hotel, charged with a kind of steely resolve to get to the bottom of things. It was only when the old woman answered the door that she started to lose her nerve.

‘Oh, hello again, ducky,’ the Landlady blew a puff of cigarette smoke at her. ‘Back again so soon? What ya doing coming here at this time of night? I don’t do refunds, if that’s what you're after?’

Maria shook her head. ‘I… this is going to sound foolish, but I just had to come back here. I want to talk to you about the painting. I need to see it, actually. Will you let me in?’

‘Don’t know what you mean, ducks,’ she replied, but it was clear from her twisted rubbery face that she was being evasive.

‘There’s a portrait in the room we stayed in – of a man with a moustache and these piercing eyes…’

‘Oh yes, dear, that’s our Charlie.’

Maria pushed the old woman aside and started up the stairs. ‘I want to look at it again, is that alright?’ though she was already nearly at the door to the room, unstoppable.

The Landlady looked flustered, but as no guests were currently occupying that particular room – as business was slow – she happily allowed the younger woman to go inside.

The portrait was still on the wall, unchanged. Charlie still iside the borders of the frame. Of course he was. What else could he be?

‘So, he’s Charlie?’ Maria asked, not taking her eyes off the man in the painting.

‘That’s right, dear. That’s our Charlie. Died fifteen years ago, so he did. My husband, he was.’

‘Your husband?’ Maria exclaimed. She wasn’t about to accuse this woman’s deceased partner of being a spirit pervert, was she? She talked around that central issue as her mind raced. ‘I know this will sound crazy, but I keep seeing his eyes, watching me – whenever I’m… well.. naked. Sometimes, it’s almost like he’s in the room with us.’

Improbably, the Landlady just nodded. ‘Oh, he likes to watch, does our Charlie,’

‘Oh God,’ Maria murmured, her worst fears being realised. She fought down a sick feeling that was pushing itself up from her stomach. The horrible sensation of being leered over by a dirty old man.

‘Though you’ve got nothing to worry about, ducky,’ the old woman continued.

Maria snapped back to attention. ‘I’m sorry? I don’t know what you mean?’

‘Not interested in women, our Charlie.’

‘What? What does that mean?’

‘Oh, it’s no secret, ducky. We just kept up the pretence of marriage, you know. I loved him, of course, even if he didn’t love me back. He was always out with the boys, gallivanting. The young boys. I’m just saying, it’s probably not you he was… you know… looking at.’

This was all so confusing. How could the damn woman be so blase about all of this? She stared into her watery eyes, looking for answers.

‘Well, then what was he looking at?’ As the words left her mouth she suddenly realised with abject horror that Charlie was no longer a figure in his own portrait. The picture showed the background only. Charlie had got out. Gallivanting, again, perhaps?

The Landlady crossed her arms but seemed to take it all in her stride. ‘If anything, I’d say he was more interested in that fella of yours…’

…

Back at home, Steven was sleeping soundly until a creaking floor board stirred him to the edge of wakefulness. He kept his head safely under the duvet to avoid the harsh light of dawn and mumbled ‘Is that you, love? Back already?’

The bed shook as the weight of another body joined him. 

‘Got it all sorted out have you?’ he patronised, still half-asleep. ‘I hope you’ve got it out of your system. I could do with a little loving.’

The bottom half of the duvet was gently moved to one side and a cold hand took a firm hold on his manhood, which was then fed greedily in to a hungry wet mouth.

Steven moaned quietly, his eyes tightly shut, his face taking on a blissful expression as he concentrated only on his own pleasure. At last, he thought. A little loving at last.

WLTM

 Shall we take a look at one of the smallest items in this unnatural collection?

Here it is in the palm of my hand – a spent bullet, crumpled and useless, having served its singular purpose to kill. I removed this item myself from the heart of its victim, post-mortem. But I am getting ahead of myself. This story very aptly demonstrates at least two things of significance. Firstly, that Love is always surprising, secondly, that death is always inevitable...

Before going over and introducing himself, Jacob took the opportunity to get a good look at the girl he was about to meet. She sat alone in an alcove of the busy bar, nursing two drinks. He liked what he could see of her - Short, raven black hair cut in the pixie style. Pale skin and dimples. Glasses that make her look both cute and over-serious. A leather mini-skirt short enough to greatly accentuate two slender crossed legs. Just a little cleavage on display. Yes, she’d do very nicely, he thought. He wondered briefly what she’d think of him. Well, it hardly mattered, he decided. Nothing really mattered, in the end. 

Little did he know how she’d change his perspective on things.

He breezed alongside her and took the empty seat opposite, his flapping long leather coat having the intended dramatic effect. ‘Hannah? Is that you?’ he smiled, making an effort to be charming. ‘I really hope it’s you.’

She looked slightly startled for a moment before nodding, slipping her mobile phone away to give her full attention. ‘Jacob?’

He fixed her with a direct stare. Confident. ‘Jacob Dubicki, at your service. But please, call me Jake. I haven’t been Jacob for years.’

‘Jake,’ she parroted, liking the name. ‘Thanks for coming.’

‘It’s my pleasure. Can I get you a drink?’

She shook her head gently. ‘Already got you one,’ she grinned, emphasizing the cute little dimples on either side of her pretty face. She pushed one the drinks across the table towards him. ‘Thought you might appreciate this.’

‘A bloody mary?’

‘What else would you drink, right? Am I right?!’

He laughed at that, for the first time in what seemed like centuries. ‘You clearly have a great sense of humour.’

For the first time since they’d been introduced her smile dropped for a few moments as she considered the compliment. ‘I’ve had to develop it, it’s all that’s kept me going, to be honest.’

He put his finger to her lips. ‘Shhhh. Don’t give in to misery. You are comfortable, are you? With what we are going to do, I mean?’

‘Oh, more than comfortable!’

‘I don’t… disappoint you? I was what you were expecting?’ He was vain and felt oddly unburdened about showing it.

She let him wait for an answer. He was no Robert Pattison, but he’d do very nicely. ‘Oh yes,’ she eventually replied. ‘And I hope I don’t disappoint you?’

‘You really don’t disappoint me. Shall we go now, do you want to get this over with?’

‘Get it over with?’ she queried. ‘You make it sound like a chore.’

‘It won’t be a chore for me,’ he said quickly. ‘But I must confess, I wonder what it is that you think you’ll take from the experience? I must admit, I’ve never encountered someone quite so… willing before.’

She uncrossed her legs at the word ‘willing’. ‘And as we’re being honest, I didn’t expect you to be so considerate.’

Neither did he, if he was honest. ‘Your dating profile listed some pretty wild things that you’re looking for. I couldn’t quite believe what a perfect match we were. Too perfect, in fact.’ Jake broke his visual lock on this intriguing girl and glanced at the other clientele in the bar. ‘I… must admit I’m a little suspicious that this could be some kind of trap.’

She looked confused. ‘Sorry, what? Me trapping you?’ The idea seemed ridiculous to her. 

Jake finished his scan of the room, seemingly satisfied there was no threat contained within, only ordinary people doing ordinary things.  ‘You’d be surprised. There’s lot of people out to get me.’

She was sweetly incredulous. ‘What have you got to be afraid of?’

‘You’d be surprised.’ He put his hand over hers, and she didn’t recoil. ‘But I don’t want to talk about me. I’m finding myself more interested in you.’

She felt herself getting lost in his blue eyes. Drowning. Perhaps he was right about one thing - this was too perfect. ‘Well, what do you want to know, exactly?’

He broke physical contact with her and leaned back on his chair. ‘I didn’t expect to give a damn about this, but I would like to understand exactly why you want me to kill you.’

…

They walked and talked along the canal-side, mostly alone and unobserved, as few people were around at that time of night.

Jake instinctively gripped hold of Hannah’s hand where the towpath narrowed. When he became consciously aware they were holding hands he let it drop to her side. She tilted her head towards him, strangely disappointed.

‘I’m just so bored of life, you know?’ she continued speaking, pretending the sudden gain and loss of intimacy didn’t hurt her. ‘I just feel like I’ve done everything I’m going to.’

‘How are old are you?’ 

‘I’m 23.’

‘Only 23, and you feel like that?’

‘I’ve never been what you’d call a happy person.’

‘But you’re so funny. And you were smiling earlier – when we first met?’

She stopped walking. A conflicted look crossed her face, then she regained control of herself.  ‘That’s because I’m pleased that everything’s going to end soon.’

He chuckled. ‘Well, you’re a bundle of laughs, aren’t you?’

She stiffened. ‘And the whole idea of dying this way really turns me on, if I’m honest. Makes me feel alive, in a weird way. Shall we do it now? Like you said – get it over with?’

She drew him forward along the path to the relative privacy afforded under a bridge over the canal.

‘Are you sure you want to go through with this?’ he found himself checking. He’d never checked before.

‘Yes,’ she whispered.

That was all the invitation he needed. He growled and pushed her up against the brick wall. 

She gasped as he pressed firmly against her. ‘Take me,’ she murmured. ‘Please, take me now.’

The scent of her was almost overpowering. The familiar drumming in his head announced that his animal instinct was about to  take over and Jake reached out and grabbed her head and yanked it to the right. Two glistening fangs extended from his widening mouth…

He shouldn’t have looked into her eyes before biting down, before tasting her warm, delicious blood. But he did and got lost in those eyes and suddenly the need to feed on her simply dropped away. His extended teeth retracted into his gums and he broke free of the deadly embrace and punched the wall behind her in sudden rage.

‘What is it?’ Hannah eventually asked, massively disappointed. ‘I thought we had an arrangement?’

Jake roared in impotent anger, his voice echoing under the bridge. Why was he feeling like this? What was it he was feeling, exactly? It had been so long since…

‘Is it me?’ she offered, unaware of his line of thought. ‘You don’t… like me?’

‘I do like you!’ he shouted, the words echoing under the bridge. ‘That’s the f**king problem! Who the hell are you, Hannah?’

She wanted to help him with the answer but couldn’t as she didn’t know it. ‘I’m just… me. I don’t get what the problem is?’

Jake took three slow breaths to steady himself. ‘I can’t bring myself to do it, Hannah. I thought I’d be able to pick you up and use you and cast you aside like all the rest.’

As she came to understand and accept what he had said, just a little of that initial smile he’d been warmed by returned to her face. ‘What do you want then? Have you fallen in love with me? Is that it? You couldn’t love me – I’m unlovable. And besides, we’ve only just met!’

He ran over to her again, pressing her against the wall, even harder this time. Brick dust fell on her shoulders. Again, she did not resist. But the intent behind his actions was different this time. His mouth found her ear. ‘I just want to f**k you, Hannah,’ he hissed. ‘Can I f**k you?’

She loosened the belt of her mini-skirt and let it drop to the dirty concrete. ‘Oh God, yes,’ she surrendered. ‘Do it now!’

They didn’t care if anyone saw or heard them. Nothing else really mattered apart from their most basic of needs. She moaned as he entered her, lightheaded all of a sudden, and he ground against her with an almost frightening ferocity. After several minutes of pure pleasure he came to a glorious climax, enjoying the sensation more than he had for decades - since he was human. As he filled her with his warm seed, Hannah came to a shuddering orgasm and threw back her head and laughed deliriously. This rapture they enjoyed came from more than just sex. A happy existence suddenly seemed available for the both of them, and in that one moment they both independently came to the blatant and obvious conclusion that, in fact, life was worth living after all.

‘I must be going soft in my old age,’ Jake panted between kisses.

‘Oh no,’ she deadpanned as she squeezed his behind. ‘We can’t have you going soft, can we?’

They basked in a mutual glow for a while before Hannah admitted, ‘We make an odd couple, don’t we?’

A couple? His cold dead heart almost jumped for joy. ‘Are you happy now, Hannah? Do I make you happy?’

‘No,’ she answered immediately, ‘But, I really think you could, you know.’ Not a doubt in the world about it, she kissed him full on the lips.

It was then that the sound of a gun being cocked broke the magic. A little old man had joined them, his features obscured by darkness. An old-fashioned revolver shook in his right hand. Hannah, and Jake, even with his sharpened senses, didn’t notice it at first. ‘Leave us alone, old man,’ Jake warned. ‘We’re not doing anything you didn’t get up to, back in the day.’

Hannah scrambled to get dressed, deeply embarrassed. ‘Jesus, he’s got a gun!’

‘I doubt that’ll worry a monster like him,’ the old fella croaked. ‘It should worry him, though.’

‘What do you mean, grandad?’ Jake spat. ‘Why don’t you just piss off.’

The old man took an old photo from the pocket of his dirty raincoat and held it out with his free hand. A faded black and white photograph of a smiling girl. Judging by the fashion of the clothes and hairstyle, it was taken in World War Two or just after.

Jake froze. The man placed the photo back in his pocket and patted it affectionately.

‘What’s wrong, Jake?’ Hannah asked, suddenly reminded of how little she actually knew this creature of the night, and how little she could ever fully understand him. ‘Do you know that girl?’

‘Do you even remember her name?’ the old man crowed.

The slightly guilty expression confirmed he did not. Yet he hadn’t forgotten her face. Or the taste of her blood.

‘My little sister. I’ve been looking for you for a very long time, Jacob Dubicki.’

‘If you know what he is,’ Hannah found herself defending him, ‘You’ll know bullets can’t kill him.’

The old man grinned toothlessly. ‘Silver bullets can. Step aside, darling, I’ve only got one shot. Silver’s bloody expensive these days.’

She refused to move so Jake pushed her gently to one side. ‘This is my problem,’ he told her. ‘Let me deal with it. I should face the consequences of my actions. Funnily enough, I hadn’t realised that until I met you.’

A wrinkled finger curled around the trigger. ‘Time to die.’

In a fluid movement, Hannah positioned herself between the gun and the target without even thinking. The gunshot split the night and echoed in the darkness. Jake looked down at his chest, expecting to see a hole, expecting blood, but there was nothing. Beside him, Hannah groaned, dropped down on her knees and sank forward, face down onto the towpath. Jake tried to help her up, but it was useless. Her body slumped back down immediately. Her blood coated his pale hands. Blood that had once looked appetizing now appeared absolutely revolting.

‘You stupid girl,’ the old man snapped. ‘That bullet wasn’t meant for you. What were you thinking?’

He didn’t live long after that. The Police recovered his mutilated corpse from the canal three weeks later. His eyeballs had been forced back into his brain before he drowned.

The last thing Hannah saw was Jake leaning over her.  ‘Why?’ he said quietly. ‘Why did you do that for me?’

She smiled back up at him, dreamily, and closed her eyes.

So, that’s the tale of the spent bullet. A beautiful life was ended by this small piece of metal, but it is steeped in more than just blood. All that unfulfilled potential remains held inside it. An undying love, cut short before it’s time. An eternity of Jacob’s pain and loss. Forever is a very long time when you’re immortal. Take my word for it.

Welcome!

'This is the Scarlet Vault. Hidden in a secret realm. Only I have the key.

Stored away here, in the rust-red rooms, are items too powerful, too dangerous to exist.

You may consider me the protector and curator of this abominable museum of terrors.

Every item stored within is drenched in horror. 

Every item, a weapon in the wrong hands. 

Every item has a story. 

Perhaps you would like to hear one? Oh good. Shall we begin?'

Tales from the Scarlet Vault is a new 'talking book' style show available for free from podcast stores. It's weird and unsettling, so expect some sexual references, bad language and mature themes in this British anthology written and directed by Jason Malvern.

Ways to listen