Dead Night

by Tim O'Rourke

  Sitting on the edge of the bed that I had once shared with Marty, I took the lid from the old shoebox and peered inside. As I feared, the box was full of those envelopes, with the address smeared in black ink across the front of each of them. But I had destroyed these letters over and over again. Had more arrived since I’d left?

  Taking one of the letters from the box, the smell of stale tobacco smoke wafted from the dog-eared sheets of paper inside. I looked down at the untidy scrawl and the letter was identical to the one that I had been sent so many times before – the same letter I had ripped up, burnt, and flushed down the toilet a hundred times. I didn’t need to read the letter. I knew whole passages by heart. Turning it over in my hands, I looked down at the signature and wondered if I would ever find out who the sender really was. He always signed the letters “Potter.”

  The song by Rizzel Kicks finished, and I could hear the sound of water sloshing into the bath tub. “Shit!” I gasped, hoping that the water hadn’t overflowed onto the bathroom floor. I placed the letters back into the box and hurried down the landing. The water lapped around the edge of the bath, and I turned off the taps just in time. Releasing some of the water, I lowered myself into the tub and laid back. Closing my eyes, I thought of those letters again and wondered who “Potter” was. Maybe they were intended for another Sophie, that’s what I had always told myself and Marty during the arguments that we’d had over them. Marty had become convinced that I’d been having an affair with this Potter. It didn’t matter how many times I tried to convince him that I’d never even known anyone with that name, let alone could have slept with him, Marty never really believed me. I could see the suspicion in his eyes as he peered at me through the smoke that curled up from the tip of his cigarette. And sometimes in that smoke, it was like someone was staring back at me. Whoever it was scared me.

  His eyes were jet-black and it was like they were boring right into me.

  Then, just after Christmas, Marty got drunk and slept with someone else. He cried when he told me, and said that he had wanted to get his own back on me – he had wanted to hurt me like those letters had hurt him. I had left that night, taking Archie with me. I had gone back to my parents. And in some way, even though I didn’t know this Potter, there was a small part of me that blamed him for mine and Marty’s break–up. Why had he sent me those letters? I had never been in love with him.

  With my head sinking beneath the bath water, I wondered why those letters had still kept coming – the same letters saying the same thing.

  They were old and tatty-looking, as if they had been written hundreds of years ago. Suddenly, a hand gripped my shoulders and pulled me from beneath the water.

  “Where did this come from?” Marty shouted at me, holding the vial of blood that I had given him the night before.

  Even though we had once been lovers, I folded my arms across my breasts and shook the water from my hair. “Hand me a towel,” I said.

  Marty threw one at me. Holding the glass tube of blood just inches from my face, he hissed, “Where did this blood come from?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked him, stepping out of the bath and wrapping the towel around me.

  “Don’t act dumb, Sophie,” Marty snapped, and there was a look about him that I had never seen before. Marty looked scared.

  “From a corpse that was brought into....”

  I started.

  “Was it human?” he shouted, coming towards me, the tube still gripped in his fist.

  “Of course the blood came from a human,” I told him, thinking of how it had regrown its face and fingers, then sat up and walked out of the mortuary. I didn’t tell him that though; maybe when he calmed down a bit.

  “Don’t lie to me, Sophie!” he yelled, his eyes growing dark. “This isn’t human blood – not any human that I’ve ever examined.”

  “What are you talking about?” I said, brushing past him and heading back to his bedroom where I had taken the clean clothes from the wardrobe.

  “This blood isn’t like any other species that I’ve come across,” he shouted, following me into the bedroom. “I ran some tests on it and the closest species of animal I could find is the Desmodus Rotundus.”

  “Speak English, please,” I said back, tugging on my jeans and pulling the sweater over my head.

  Then, almost seeming to shove the tube of blood into my face, he said, “This blood has come from something very similar in species to a bat – a vampire bat, to be precise.”

  Dragging my hair into a ponytail, I looked at him, then at the blood and said, “You must be mistaken, it came from a young woman...”

  “What woman?” he breathed.

  “She was murdered...”

  “I want to examine the body,” he said, gripping my arm.

  “Ouch!” I gasped, snapping my arm away. “You’re hurting me, Marty!”

  “I want to see the body that this blood came from...” he started.

  “You can’t,” I said, rubbing my arm.

  “Why not?” he barked at me.

  “Because she sat bolt upright on the slab then did a disappearing act out the door with some guy holding a crossbow and a young girl with red hair.”

  “Stop taking the piss, Sophie and just tell me...”

  “Who’s taking the piss?” I snapped back.

  “It’s you who’s standing there telling me that the blood I gave you has come from a vampire bat.”

  “Something close to a vampire bat,” he corrected me. “It’s like whoever this girl was, she was half-human and half...”

  Then, before he’d had the chance to finish what he had started to say, there was a thumping sound on the front door below.

  “Who’s that?” I gasped, the sudden sound shocking me.

  “Take the blood,” he said, shoving it into my hands. “Whatever you do, keep it hidden – keep it safe! ”

  “Marty!” I called after him, as he headed down the stairs.

  The thumping sound came again.

  “Who is it?” I heard Marty call out.

  “Open up!” I heard someone shout from the other side of the door.

  “What do you want?” I heard Marty yell, his voice wavering as if full of fear.

  Then the air filled with a crashing sound as the front door was torn from its hinges.

  “Get out of here!” Marty screeched.

  “Where’s the girl?” A deep-throated voice boomed.

  Not knowing what to do with the tube of blood, I placed it into the box with the letters and replaced the lid. On tiptoe, I crept onto the landing and peered over the edge of the banister. All I could see was a long, drawn-out shadow cast against the hall wall. It towered over Marty, who stood looking up, as if whoever the shadow belonged to was a giant.

  “Sophie Harrison,” the voice roared.

  “Where is Sophie Harrison?”

  Hearing my name being spoken, my heart began to race and the hairs at the base of my neck started to prickle.

  “I don’t know anyone called Sophie...”

  Marty started.

  “You lie,” the voice cut over him.

  Crouching, I peered through the banisters, desperate to see who or what was searching for me. The shadow, which stretched up the hall wall, bent forward, as if leaning over Marty. Then, the hallway seemed to burn yellow with a warm glow.

  Skin-walker? I wondered. I knew that they could control you with their eyes. I’d heard that their eyes could glow with such intensity that they could set alight the eyes of another, just by staring at them.

  There was silence from downstairs. It was so quiet that I could hear my own heartbeat.

  Then, I heard Marty speak and I froze.

  “Sophie’s here,” he said, his voice so flat and emotionless, he sounded as if he were dreaming. “Sophie is upstairs,” he added. Then he began to scream.

  The shadow I had seen spill across the hallway moved and headed towards the foot of the stairs. I crawled backwards and into the bedroom
.

  As quietly as I could, I pushed the door closed and stood up.

  Where was I going to hide? I screamed inside as I scanned the room for any possible hiding place. I could always hide under the bed.

  The Wardrobe? But whoever was climbing the stairs in search of me knew I was up here and it would only be a matter of time before they found me. No, I had to get away from the house. I raced around the edge of the bed, my legs feeling as if I were running in quicksand. With my hands shaking, I fumbled at the window lock. From behind me, I heard the bedroom door swing open.

  Glancing over my shoulder at the figure in the doorway, I screamed at the sight of Marty.

  His eyes burnt yellow in their sockets as if they had been set on fire. But he didn’t seem to be in any pain as he smiled at me. I stared at him as he slowly closed the bedroom door and turned to face me.

  “Marty?” I murmured, now so scared that I could hardly speak. “What’s happened to you?

  Your eyes...”

  Smiling, he came towards me, his eyes fixed on mine. “My eyes are fine,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.”

  “Who was at the door?” I asked him, sensing that everything wasn’t fine and there was something very wrong.

  “Oh, don’t worry about him, he’s gone now,” Marty said, loosening his shirt as if he were planning on getting undressed.

  “What are you doing?” I asked him, edging away.

  “Don’t look so scared,” he said, slowly closing the gap between us. “You have nothing to fear. We used to be lovers once.”

  “Piss off!” I shouted, pressing myself against the wall, I had nowhere else to go. “That was a long time ago.”

  “Oh, Sophie,” he smiled and ran his tongue over his lips. “Don’t be like that. I’m not going to hurt you.”

  “Keep away from me,” I whispered as he came within an inch of me. Although I knew that I was making a big mistake, I couldn’t help but look up into his eyes. Why had they changed colour?

  Why were they yellow?

  “Who was the girl that woke up in the morgue?” he asked me, his voice soft – almost caring.

  “I didn’t know her name,” I tried to lie, but as I looked into his eyes, I felt my fear ebbing away. And although deep inside of me I knew that I was in danger, I couldn’t help but want to trust him somehow. He was Marty after all.

  6

  Sophie

  He ran a finger down the length of my face and then slowly dragged it over my bottom lip, the nail slipping into my mouth and brushing over the tip of my tongue. Part of me wanted to bite down on that finger and tear it off, but another part of me wanted to take his hand and cover it in soft, sensual kisses.

  “See, I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispered in my ear, and I could feel him slip one hand into my hair and pull me close, his eyes never breaking free of mine. Then, in his bright yellow eyes, I saw us – like we had been before – before the letters, the distrust, and his affair. We were making love on the bed and I was crying out. His naked muscular body was pressed over mine as I pulled him into me. Those memories reminded me of how good we had been together; how sweet the sex had been. I watched us make love in his eyes; I wanted to feel like that again. I wanted to feel that ecstasy once more.

  As I stared into his eyes, I could feel Marty leading me across the room towards the bed. “Who was the girl that came awake in the morgue?” he whispered again, his breath hot against my neck.

  I wanted to say her name and even though I now wanted Marty more than I‘d ever had, there was a voice screaming inside of me: Don’t tell him her name! Don’t tell him her name!

  Then, as Marty lowered me onto the bed and began to kiss my mouth, I sighed and closed my eyes. In the darkness I saw someone else and it wasn’t Marty. Part of me was scared of him, but another part of me loved him. He was handsome – like a god. But it was too dark to see him clearly and in the fleeting glimpses, I was sure that he had wings. They weren’t white like that of an angel, but black like some prehistoric bird of prey. His hands were strong as they cupped my breasts and his teeth felt sharp as they brushed up against my neck. His chest and stomach were as hard as stone as he lowered himself on top of me.

  My heart raced with fear but my body, my soul, exploded with pleasure as he made love to me.

  Then he was gone in a flutter of shadows and Marty was whispering in my ear again. “What was her name?”

  I opened my eyes, and the yellow light streaming from Marty’s eyes was almost blinding.

  And I knew that it wasn’t him I wanted – it was the other – the one I had seen in the darkness – the winged man, the smoker, the letter writer, Pott....

  “Her name?” Marty asked again, and this time the softness had gone out of his voice, he had started to sound frustrated with me. I didn’t want Marty to touch me anymore. I just wanted him to be away from me. His touch repulsed me, made me want to gag.

  “Hudson,” I whispered, in his ear. “She told me her name was Kiera Hudson and that she was one of the Dead Flesh.”

  Hearing this, Marty began to chuckle. I’d never heard him laugh like that before, it sounded old and rasping like an old man coughing on a throat full of pipe smoke. As if waking from a dream to find my ex-boyfriend taking advantage of me, I pushed him away. He didn’t resist. Marty climbed to the edge of the bed where he sat and laughed.

  “So at last she has come back,” he grinned to himself, his eyes spinning in their sockets. “Kiera Hudson has returned.”

  “You knew her?” I asked, moving away from him up the bed, feeling confused and furious that Marty had been kissing me.

  Then, turning to face me, he said, “I knew Kiera Hudson. Of course I did. I was the person who murdered her.”

  “You’re scaring me, Marty,” I murmured, scrambling off the bed. “What do you mean you murdered her?”

  But before he’d had the chance to say anything, someone started to scream from below.

  “I’m blind!” the voice screeched. “He’s made me blind!”

  Even though the voice was high-pitched and terrified, I knew it was Marty’s I heard. But that was impossible, right? Marty was sitting at the end of the bed. Then, Marty started screaming from outside.

  “What’s going on in here?” I breathed, racing towards the window. I looked out onto the street below to see Marty stumbling into the road.

  His hands were outstretched as he clutched blindly at the air.

  “Help me!” he screamed. “He’s burnt my eyes out!”

  Not being able to comprehend what I was seeing, I glanced back over my shoulder to Marty – the other Marty – sitting and grinning back at me from the edge of the bed.

  “Marty?” I whispered at him.

  Chuckling to himself, he looked at me, his eyes spinning like two Catherine Wheels in his face. “Oh, Sophie,” he smiled and clapped his hands together.

  The sound of screeching brakes from outside made me turn back to the window. With my hands clasped to my face, I watched the blind Marty corkscrew into the air as an oncoming car smashed into him. With his arms flapping like wings on either side of him, Marty seemed to float in the air forever, until he hit the road with a sickening thud. I span around and looked back into the room, but Marty had gone, and in his place stood a giant. Standing at least seven foot tall, he was nothing more than a thin sheet of flesh wrapped around a pile of bones. His face was long and pointed, his cheeks and eye sockets sunk deep into his face. He wore a blue denim shirt, loose-fitting jeans, and a navy blue baseball cap on his head. A red bandanna was tied about his scrawny throat. His lips looked cracked and dry, and as he smiled at me, I could see a black set of fleshy gums and a row of smashed teeth that looked as if he had been chewing on a mouthful of toffees. But it was his eyes. They almost seemed to spin in their sockets like fireworks on bonfire night.

  “Who are you?” I whispered.

  “It doesn’t matter,” he smiled as he headed for the door. “You won’t remember me.”r />
  Looking at his freaky form, I said, “I won’t forget you.”

  At the door, he turned back, and with his lips looking so thin that they looked like a crack in a plate, and his seething eyes boring into mine, he said, “Sophie, you seemed to have forgotten so much already.”

  Then, he was gone, and I was standing alone in the bedroom that I had once shared with...

  “Marty?” I gasped. He had been trying to get it on with me – kissing me – and I’d told him to piss off. Then what had happened? I looked at the dishevelled bed. I’d pushed him off me and he had run from the room.

  “What a pig!” I snapped, taking a small holdall from the bottom of the wardrobe. Not really knowing what I was doing or why I was doing it, I snatched up a shoebox that was lying on the floor at the foot of the bed, and along with Marty’s iPod, I placed them into the holdall.

  “I can’t believe it!” I fumed as I headed down the stairs. “How dare Marty think I would just jump straight back into bed with him!”

  At the foot of the stairs, I saw that the front door was hanging from its hinges like a wobbly tooth. “Marty?” I called out. “Where are you?” I was still mad at him for trying to get it on with me, but something told me that there was something wrong with this picture.

  The whoop-whoop sound of approaching sirens filled the air outside. Still clutching the holdall, I made my way from the house and into the street. A small gathering of people were at the kerb. I eased my way amongst them and to my shock, I could see Marty lying in the street, one side of his head popped open like an overripe melon. Blood gushed from the hole and turned the street black. Marty’s eyes were open and they looked blankly up at the sky.

  “Marty!” I cried and went to him, kneeling at his side. “Marty, what happened?” As I leant over him, I couldn’t help but notice what looked like scorch marks around his eyes.