Just Try Not To Die

by Gareth K Pengelly

  But before he could even rise to put the kettle on, let alone boot up PornHub, his phone vibrated. Stowing the ring in his jean pocket, he glanced at the screen. Neil, texting him and asking if he wanted to meet for a commiseratory pint down the pub. He paused for an instant, before reaching a decision, grabbing his keys and striding out of the front door. A pint or ten would help him forget all that had happened today. And he might as well get a few drinks in before he ran out of money once more.

  Neil was already there at the Penzance Wetherspoon’s by the time Brian had arrived, leaning against the bar, one foot up on the brass rail as his blue eyes scanned the crowd, ever on the lookout for totty. Spying Brian, he raised his head curtly in that strange reverse nod all men gave to their friends, before sliding a pint of Doom Bar his way.

  “Got the first one in for you, mate,” he said as Brian drew near.

  “Cheers,” he replied, taking a great swig of his pint and relishing the nectar. But it would take more than one to wash away the memories of this day. “What was Gordon like when I left?”

  “Ranting and raving,” Neil chuckled. “Thinks you’re off your rocker.” He narrowed his eyes conspiratorially. “Now we’re not at work… what really happened on that test drive?”

  Brian shrugged as he took another sip of his beer, wiping the foam from his upper lip as he replied.

  “Exactly what I said. Crazy hot vampire woman tried to rape me. Flaming sword guy appeared. Bullet-time Matrix fight ensued. Ran over vampire in the car. Flashbang. Vampire gone. Dying demon hunter handed me his ring, then vanished in a puff of smoke. Don’t think I left anything out.”

  Neil nodded, pulling a thoughtful face as he took a sip from his own pint.

  “So you’re a vampire hunter now then?”

  “So it seems.”

  “And how’s it going for you?”

  “Well, not really started yet. It’s only been a few hours.”

  “Have you tried the ring on yet? Maybe it changes you? Like wassisface? Captain Marvel? Maybe there’ll be a boom and a flash of light and you’ll become a broody, leather-clad warrior?”

  Brian pondered this for a few moments, before shaking his head.

  “Nah. Cos Helsing would have changed back after he took it off. He still looked the same.”

  “Well you don’t know for sure till you try it.”

  Brian nodded, seeing his point, before reaching into his jean pocket and retrieving the ring. The two stared at it, as though expecting it to glow like the Green Lantern’s, or maybe to flash with ancient runes like Frodo’s. Instead, it simply sat and stayed very much inert and ring-like. Silver, with a wide front like a sovereign, upon which was stamped a simple cross.

  “Well, go on then. I want to see what happens.”

  Brian shrugged, before going to put it on his finger. He hesitated for a moment. What if Neil was right? What if some mystic flash of light did indeed fill the room? What if some godly voice called down, announcing his ascension? That would raise questions from everyone in the pub, questions to which he wasn’t sure he had enough answers. He downed his pint, before throwing a tenner Neil’s way.

  “Get the next round in; I’m gonna try it on in the loo. In case, y’know… Shazam.”

  His friend and former colleague nodded in understanding, before turning back to the barman, Brian sauntering off in the direction of the toilets, throwing the ring and catching it in his hand as he went. Why was he even doing this, he thought? A ring that granted magical demon-hunting powers? Nonsense. And yet how else could he explain the events of the day? Maybe I’m overtired, he thought? Up too late at night, leading raids in WoW, slaughtering noobs in Call of Duty. And yet that might have explained hallucinations, but it wouldn’t have explained the ring in his hand, nor the ruined Mini at work. No, he thought; he needed to get to the bottom of this. But what then? What if the ring did indeed transform him into some supernatural bounty hunter? He needed money for food and heating, not danger and fear.

  And yet even as he thought these things, he made his way to the gents’ door, pushing his way through and traipsing through puddles of ill-aimed piss. After a minute’s search, he found a cubicle that didn’t reek of the dead and made his way inside, locking the door behind him. He unfurled his fingers and looked down at the ring in his palm, so small, so normal-seeming. Why, if it looked so mundane, was he so anxious about putting it on his finger? Just do it, he thought. Just try it on for size. Yet was it his own voice that was goading him on, he wondered? With a deep breath and a shiver of dread premonition, as if knowing that his life was about to be changed forever, just as Helsing had told him, he screwed his eyes shut and slid the ring firmly onto his finger.

  Moments passed, long and tense, before he finally opened one eye, gazing about. No lightning, no godly voices, no choir of angels. Not even a cape. Did he feel different? Nope, not at all; he still felt tall, reedy. Could still hear the booming beats of shite dance music from the pub’s speakers. Could still smell that subtle aroma of fermenting piss that rose up from the tiled floor. Nothing had happened. Was the ring a dud? Were the events of the day merely the imaginings of an over-stressed, underpaid mind? He didn’t know; all he knew was this had been a pointless exercise. A large part of him was glad, for how would he fare as a demon-hunter extraordinaire? He knew nothing apart from what he’d gleaned watching Buffy as a child and he felt sure that at least some parts of that show had been poetic licence. And yet a small part of him seemed almost… disappointed. Why, he wondered? Wasn’t he happy with his mundane, boring life? He enjoyed having all of his free time to himself to waste away as he saw fit. Did some tiny part of him really crave action and adventure? If it did, he resolved never to listen to it. With a sniff, instantly regretted as ammonia lashed his nostrils, he made to remove the ring from his finger to be forgotten.

  It wouldn’t budge.

  He strained, pulling and heaving at the metal, but it remained resolutely fastened to his digit. What the…? His hands couldn’t have swollen, surely? It wasn’t that warm in here and he had notoriously poor circulation. He gave the ring another tug, wincing. Nope, stuck fast. Perhaps at home he could try some washing up liquid. That technique had gotten him out of some lonely misadventures before, experiments that would never be heard of by the ears of any man, and hopefully it would work again.

  With a shrug, he made his way through the cloying haze of recycled beer and from the toilets towards the bar. Neil was waiting there, fresh pint in hand, an expectant look on his face.

  “Ring’s on, I see,” he remarked. “Any super-powers? Heat vision? Adamantium claws?”

  “Not yet,” Brian admitted. “Think it’s a dud.”

  “A dud?” Neil raised an eyebrow. “Don’t think that’s how magic works.”

  “Well it’s either that or I’m just mental,” he replied. “And I’m not insane; I have a certificate to prove it.” He had, in fact, tucked away somewhere in a drawer at home, signed by his counsellor. “Besides, I’m glad. I mean, could you imagine me as a vampire hunter? They’d laugh their heads off.”

  “Well that would make it an easy job, to be fair.”

  Brian bit his lip and nodded, seeing the logic there, before taking a sip of his pint.

  “So now that’s out of the way, what next? Shots? I’m feeling jaeger bombs…”

  “Nah mate,” Neil grinned, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing a flash of white kept close that only Brian could see. “I brought a friend with me.”

  Brian smiled, eyebrows raised.

  “Is that our good lady Gangela Lansbury?”

  “Nope. Younger model; Gangelina Jolie.”

  “Well, let us away to the beer garden,” Brian said, feeling now the numbing effects of the beer and longing to plunge further down the rabbit hole of inebriation. “And partake.”

  Chapter Four:

  SHAZAM!

  The weed was potent stuff, but then it always was, the shit that Neil managed to get a hold of. It n
ever looked like much, often looking to Brian’s eye as though cut with pencil shavings. But after only his third puff, blowing the acrid smoke into the bushes at the edge of the beer garden so as to not give away their game, he was already buzzing and he grinned at the fact.

  Things always seemed a bit easier when high and drunk, he mused. Life seemed a little less intimidating. The shadows not quite so filled with fears, the stares of strangers not so full of contempt and threat.

  “So,” Neil ventured, reaching for the blunt, his eyes already red-rimmed, voice beginning to drawl. “What’re you gonna do for a… y’know… an, erm… a job?”

  Brian shrugged, staring into his pint as though it held the meaning of life. Perhaps it did, if he reached the bottom.

  “Not sure,” he replied. “I’ve got the ‘ped still. I could probably do something with that. Deliver pizzas? Dunno. Maybe be one of them kangaroo riders with the big blue box on my back?

  Neil stared at him for a moment, before his mouth slowly spread wide in a grin.

  “Gaaaaay….” He intoned.

  “You’re gay,” Brian replied with a frown. “And so’s your mum.”

  Neil nodded.

  “Well, yeah. She is. That’s kind of why her and dad split up. And why she’s now married to Beverly.”

  “Well, I… yeah, I suppose so,” Brian admitted with a shrug.

  A group passed them by, chatting as they made their way to the smoking shelter at the end of the beer garden. Brian sniffed, smelling a familiar fragrance, the hairs on the nape of his neck rising in recognition despite the mind-numbing influence of the weed. As he turned, a woman amidst the trio that walked by, her form clouded by the cloying scent of sweet perfume; the very same perfume that Cassandra herself had been wearing that very morning. The woman, short, with pale skin and blonde hair tied back into a pony-tail, looked nothing more than a young student on a night out, glass of prosecco to hand. And yet as Brian’s eyes followed her, some strange sixth sense made itself known in the back of his mind. The ring on his finger tingled.

  “Wassup with you?” Neil asked.

  “That… that girl,” Brian replied haltingly. “There’s something about her.”

  Neil followed his gaze and nodded.

  “She’s hot, mate,” he agreed. “But she’s young, dude. Eighteen maybe? Not far off jail-bait…”

  Brian shook his head.

  “I think it’s more than that.” He gazed down at the ring on his finger, puzzled. “My ring’s vibrating.”

  “Some people pay good money for that,” his friend remarked with a sage nod.

  “No. I mean… I think she’s a vampire.”

  Neil laughed, taking another drag on his blunt.

  “I think the Gangelina Ballerina might be too dank for you,” he chuckled. “What makes you think she’s a vampire?”

  “I… well… I dunno. I’ve just got a feeling. Her perfume; same as the woman’s earlier. Really strong and sweet. Her skin’s the same colour too. And the ring… it’s like it’s trying to warn me.”

  “Well, go ask her then.”

  Brian stared at his friend, non-plussed.

  “You what?”

  “You heard; go ask her.”

  “You can’t just go up to a vampire and ask if they’re a vampire,” Brian retorted. “That’s, well… Surely there’s rules?”

  “Well how you supposed to know if you don’t ask?” Neil shrugged. “Can’t lunge at her with a stake. If you get it wrong and she’s not, what you gonna do when she’s dead on the floor with a piece of wood through her heart? Apologise?”

  Brian took a swig of his beer, gazing at the blonde woman. Neil had a point. Besides, if she wasn’t, what was the worst she could do? Think him a weirdo? Most girls did anyway. Wait, he thought suddenly. What the hell was he thinking? What if she was a vampire? He’d seen earlier what such creatures could do. If she was – impossible though it was, he reminded himself – then he’d be in a world of trouble, surely? But then, the weed reminded him, he was in a pub beer garden; she wouldn’t lunge at him all fangs and claws and sexiness in the middle of a crowd, would she?

  No, he thought. No, she wouldn’t.

  “Hold my beer,” he told Neil, thrusting the glass his way. “I’m going in.”

  Slowly, wobblingly, he made his way across the beer garden slabs towards the little trio. One of them, a short Asian lad with thick glasses, looked up, literally, at his approach.

  “Can we help you, mate?”

  Brian raised a finger to bid him shush.

  “One second, short stuff,” he told the youth, the mixture of cannabis and alcohol lending him a forthrightness his sober self lacked. “I’ve a question for the lady.” He turned to blonde haired girl, who looked up at him with a curious expression. “This might sound crazy.” He asked her. “But are you, or are you not, a vampire?”

  The girl’s two friends laughed at his ridiculous question, fully aware now that he was hammered, even if the rank scent of weed clinging about him hadn’t already forewarned them. The girl in question, however, didn’t laugh. Instead, she took a step back, eyes wide in surprise.

  “Why, whatever do you mean?” she asked. Her face and body had the appearance of a young university student, but her words had a strange sound, her tones and cadence those of a dowager countess from the nineteenth century.

  “Well,” Brian began, swaying slightly. “You see, your perfume; I met someone this morning who was wearing something similar. And my ring is vibrating, so there’s that,” he added, lifting his hand before him. The woman stared at him, confused, before glancing at the ring on his finger.

  And hissing like a scalded cat.

  “I thought so,” Brian murmured, smiling to himself, before the consequences of the revelation finally hammered their way into his drug-addled mind. “Oh,” he whispered. “Shit.”

  The pretty young girl bared her teeth, her until-now normal canines now long and razor sharp.

  “Beth…?” the Asian lad ventured, mouth gawping like a goldfish. “What’s…?”

  “Oh fuck off, Sanjay,” the girl spat. “You always knew I was out of your league. Now you know why.”

  The crowd began to disperse about the little group, leaving only Brian and the vampire in the little circle, lit only by the orange glow from the patio heaters. Brian gulped.

  “I was only curious,” he told her, holding his hands up as if to placate her. “No need for things to get ugly. Want me to buy you another drink? Prosecco wasn’t it?”

  “A drink?” she spat, laughing in contempt, a reaction to which he was already strangely inured. “You’re the new Helsing!”

  “How the…?” he started, bewildered. “I only found out myself five minutes ago!”

  “Then ten minutes shall make you the shortest serving Helsing yet,” she smiled evilly. He stared at her, confused, so she continued, rolling her eyes. “Because you’ll be dead in five?”

  “Oh. Well… I’d rather I wasn’t.”

  “I’m sure,” she cackled. “And if ‘ifs’ and ‘buts’ were candy and nuts, we’d all have a merry Christmas…”

  “That… I’m not sure I actually set you up for that,” Brian told her, his heart pounding in his chest.

  “Do I look like I give a crap?” the vampire asked him, before lunging forwards, her nails now grown long and knife-sharp, soaring through the air towards his throat. Out of sheer, panic-fuelled instinct, he leant backwards, those razor-nails just missing his exposed Adam’s apple. Staggering, he righted himself just in time to see her foot swinging towards him, a Primark high-heel aiming straight for his temple. Half-closing his eyes, he raised an arm to fend the attack away. Her long, slim leg rebounded away from his forearm. For some reason, the blow didn’t hurt as much as he’d been expecting. The girl, however, staggered backwards, unbalanced, limping as if in pain.

  “You’re strong,” she snarled.

  Brian stared down at his forearm.

  “Erm… I am?�
�

  The vampiress spat on the beer garden floor.

  “You mock me? I’ve lived for centuries,” she hissed. “You are but a child, ring or no. And your first day as Helsing shall be your last!”

  With that last scathing cry, she launched herself forwards, teeth bared and aimed for his neck. With a whimper, he flailed his arms once more, this time, out of luck more than anything, catching her across the face with one fist. A sharp crack filled the air as his hand connected and, as if filled with helium, the girl flew backwards through the air to crash upon a table. Brian opened his eyes, surprised to find his neck blissfully un-punctured and the girl struggling upon the wreckage of the table. From her chest, a spike of broken, splintered table leg, covered in black, stringy blood. Her wide eyes gleamed with hatred as her hands clutched pathetically at the length of wood that transfixed her to the floor.

  “How…?” she whispered as dark gushes of blood spilled from her mouth to trail down to her ridiculously-ample-given-the-horrific-situation cleavage. “You’re such an… idiot…”

  With that, her struggles ceased. And dark fire erupted to reclaim her soulless body and return its desecrated form to the Earth, where it could once more be remade into something wholesome and less offensive to nature.

  Silence descended upon Penzance Wetherspoon’s. The Asian lad, Sanjay, stared first at the dark, burnt outline that was all the remained of his friend, then finally dragged his eyes up to Brian. The other drinkers, too, regarded him with stares, at once disbelieving and afraid. After several long, awkward moments, Brian turned his own gaze to his friend, Neil, the man stood there, exhaling a long cloud of pent up marijuana smoke into the night air.

  “Shazam!” Neil called out, with a fist pump to the air and a grin on his face.

  Chapter Five:

  Oh.

  Thankfully, the police had been less than interested in the fracas in the beer garden. Sanjay and others had detained Brian, surrounding him in an angry ring of drunkards until the coppers had arrived. He murdered a girl, they’d told the police. And yet the distinct lack of a body had called their collective integrity into question. And after hearing the affirmations that her corpse had vanished in a cloud of black flames, the cops had merely glanced side-long at each other, eyebrows raised. The smell of Neil’s weed smoke had hung heavy over the beer garden and the coppers had resigned themselves to the fact that they’d been called out to deal with a group of very high, very bizarre merry-makers, who’d clearly all suffered from some strange mass-hallucination.