Ghost Electricity

by Sean Cunningham

  Kevin smiled, which was a weird look for Kevin. “The fridge is open and food is within your field of view. A bus could sneak up behind you.”

  Rob brandished the bottle of rotten milk. “What the fuck, man? This just about jumped out at me when I opened it.”

  “Yeah sorry,” Kevin said. “Had a lot on my mind lately. There won’t be any more off food in the fridge, I promise.”

  “You all right? You look sort of pale and feverish.”

  “Never better, Rob.”

  Rob really looked at him. He was much paler than usual and his eyes were wrong. Rob hadn’t spent any length of time staring into Kevin’s eyes, but he was fairly sure they didn’t used to be such a bright blue. Kevin’s fingers drummed on the kitchen counter and he looked at Rob in a way that was awfully familiar, but which Rob couldn’t place straight away.

  “How are things, anyway?” He’d got a promise out of Kevin. Might as well mend fences. “Been a few days since we saw each other. You were out all weekend.”

  “Went to a great party Friday night,” Kevin said. “And you know how it goes, next thing you know it’s Sunday.” He eased a couple more steps into the room.

  “Yeah.” Rob felt the urge to step back. He noticed Kevin’s teeth looked different.

  And then he remembered the signs he’d been told to look for and that clicked together with the look on Kevin’s face. Rob knew that look. He’d felt it himself. It was the anticipation of the hunt.

  “Kevin, you’re a vampire.”

  Kevin’s eyes widened. “What?”

  Rob tossed the milk bottle into the sink, where it vomited corruption down the drain hole. “When did this happen?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Come on. How long have you been a vampire? And stop looking at me like I’m food or you’ll find yourself in a world of hurt. Do not try to eat me. I’m in no mood for that shit.”

  Kevin’s smile widened. “If you did know what you were talking about, if you really did, you’d be more afraid.”

  Rob took the iron chain off his wrist, because it looked like it was going that way. He put it carefully on the kitchen bench so he could find it later.

  The change in Kevin’s scent hit him then. It made the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up. He felt a black anger boil up inside him, just as he’d been warned. He took a deep breath to hold it in check and tried not to gag at the smell coming from the sink.

  Kevin hissed as he caught Rob’s true scent. His hands curled into claws and he bared his fangs.

  Rob made one last effort. “We’ve known each other for a year. Can we not just talk about this?”

  Chapter 3 – Fiona and Jessica, Monday Night

  Fiona played her part in the lie.

  “I’m glad to see you doing so well,” she said over dinner at a restaurant in Leicester Square.

  Becky wasn’t such a good actor that her answering smile didn’t look brittle. “I’ve had my family with me the whole way. I couldn’t have got through it without my mother.” She laughed. “I suppose we’ll be back to fighting all the time in six months.”

  Fiona thought it likely that Becky’s mother would still be bringing her tea and chocolate biscuits in six months, but she was expected to play along and so she did. “Don’t worry, you’ll be off to college by then. You can only fight when you go home for holidays and weekends.”

  Becky looked panicked at the idea of being away from home, but she covered it as best she could with another laugh. Fiona sipped her coffee.

  Becky was the last of Fiona’s school friends. The previous summer, Becky and her boyfriend had spent three weeks on a sailing holiday off the coast of Croatia, which Becky had raved about afterwards as the trip of a lifetime.

  In autumn, Becky’s boyfriend woke up one day remembering nothing of their holiday. His mind unravelled rapidly after that and he became incoherent, ranting about shining crystals and tubes burrowed into his skull. He found his way out just after New Year’s with a rope tied to a banister.

  Fiona changed the subject: she was still living at home, having dropped out of her language studies degree after concluding she was no academic. But a cool, detached part of her watched Becky at the same time.

  She had known Becky all the way through high school and though they had kept in touch since, they had been drifting apart even before tragedy took all sense from Becky’s life. Fiona didn’t think they would have many more dinner meet-ups like this.

  You could at least pretend you’re sad about it, one part of her mind said to the other.

  School had felt so transitory. She’d gone to the same girl’s school all the way through, but at the end the people felt like strangers. It was as easy to say goodbye to them as if they’d just met. College had evoked the same feeling: it was just a place where she had paused for a short time.

  It made her wonder if she was a horrible person, in her less confident moments.

  “Where’s the waiter?” Fiona brushed her long black hair behind her ear and craned her head around. “He’s not cute enough to get away with being inconvenient.”

  The waiter came out from behind the counter and Fiona fixed her gaze on him. He looked up as though he’d heard his name. Fiona raised her hand and mouthed bill.

  “Any thoughts on the future then?” Becky asked. The bill paid, they pulled their coats on and left the restaurant. Fiona still wore the same heavy black coat she’d worn through her last year of high school and ever since. Becky had branched out into brown leather. Another hint they were parting ways.

  “I’m waiting for inspiration to speak up.” They joined the flow of city diners and made their way towards a main street. “I could say a few things about inspiration’s conversational skills.”

  Becky grinned. “So, bored with it all, are we?”

  “It’s not like that,” Fiona said. “I don’t know. I just feel like I’m waiting for something.”

  “Here’s hoping it finds you. Or you find it.” Becky stopped and turned. They were close to a Tube station. “This is me. Where are you headed?”

  “I think there’s a bus near here that takes me straight home,” Fiona said.

  “In that case, it was lovely to see you. Let’s not leave it so long next time.”

  She lied and said she wouldn’t. Even the quick hug they exchanged was a deception, a ‘see you later’ instead of a ‘farewell’. Fiona watched Becky merge into the press of people funnelling into the Tube station stairwell. The last she saw of her was her straw-coloured hair.

  Fiona took her phone from her pocket and started searching for directions. She oriented herself and set off.

  She didn’t notice the hunter who dropped onto her trail.

  Billy spotted Fiona’s tail ten minutes earlier. Her pursuer was a ragged, foul-smelling apparition named Harold who had absolved himself of all human hygienic constraints. That happened sometimes when one of Billy’s kind went off the rails.

  Billy kept his distance, because he didn’t want Harold to catch either a whiff or a glimpse of him. Even stinking as he did, Harold’s sense of smell was a fine hunting instrument. Keeping out of sight wasn’t too hard either. Billy looked like a twelve year old boy and there were taller adults everywhere.

  He reached out with his mind. Guess who I’ve found?

  Alice’s thoughts came back imbued with the texture of paper against her fingertips, by which Billy surmised she was in the house library. Are you out alone?

  I’m in central London, Billy said. I’m hardly conspicuous here, as you well know. He couldn’t keep the news to himself any longer. I’ve found Harold Bradshaw.

  He had Alice’s full attention. Let me see.

  He pulled Alice’s mind towards his and let her ride his eyes. It was one of his little gifts and it worked best with her, out of all the members of their group.

  That’s him, Alice said. Has he chosen his prey yet?

  No, but look at him. The fool cou
ldn’t be more obviously hunting if he was shouting ‘Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Hobo Harold on the Hunt!’

  If you catch him in the act, Nathaniel will lose his place on the council, Alice said.

  Don’t worry, I’m on him.

  Harold Bradshaw was a new vampire. When still human he had stumbled into Billy’s and Alice’s world, a lost soul looking for something he couldn’t name. Like so many before him, he had fallen hard for the lifestyle of the forever-young. He had spent years making himself useful to a small group of vampires, eventually earning the favour of an old one named Nathaniel. When the time came and Nathaniel was granted licence to turn a human, he chose Harold.

  But the thirst had overwhelmed Harold and Nathaniel, for unknown reasons, had failed to rein him in. Four were dead for sure though no proof could be found. If he could be caught in the act, it would be too great a violation of London’s tenuous truce. Harold would be destroyed and Nathaniel humiliated.

  He’s picked that girl with the black hair and the black coat, Billy said. Do you see?

  Harold paced in straight lines through the crowded evening streets. Such was his dishevelled appearance that most people walked around him. Those who didn’t, such as gawking tourists and people staring at their phones, were brushed aside by his supernatural strength. Harold wasn’t walking fast. He wanted to prolong the hunt.

  Billy knew that feeling quite well.

  I see her, Alice said. Don’t lose them.

  The girl paused on a corner, peered at her phone and crossed the street. Billy eased up to a shop front because she was coming over to his side.

  He didn’t want to get close enough to keep Harold from killing the girl.

  Fiona stopped on a corner and consulted her phone. She had lived in London all her life, but as familiar as the city centre should have been, she still needed a map to get around in it. She was of the opinion that she should not need to look at a map more than once or twice to remember it, but central London stubbornly slipped out of her mind time and again.

  She crossed a street without waiting for the lights to change and continued uphill away from the Thames. A rack of books caught her eye as she passed a newsagent, but she didn’t go inside. The book in her coat pocket would see her home.

  At a bus stop she walked around the sign listing the different buses that pulled up there. Satisfied, she took her book out, found her place and waited for a bus to arrive.

  The nearest street light cast her shadow behind and to one side of her. Between the attention she paid her book and her occasional glances the other way for a bus, she didn’t notice the beggar-like revenant as he stole up behind her.

  The fool is moving in, Billy said. He took cover in a doorway. A line of buttons glowed on an intercom right beside him and he crouched down to remove their light from the corner of his vision.

  I can see that, Alice said. You aren’t going to interfere, are you?

  Billy’s brow wrinkled. Why would I do that?

  Good, Alice said. We need him to make the kill.

  Harold slipped in behind the girl. He was silent and smooth, a knife in the dark. The girl’s dull mortal senses stood no chance of warning her.

  Harold cut in close enough to stand beside the girl’s shadow. Billy could see the smile stretching his mouth wide. He could see the fangs gleaming in Harold’s mouth. Harold lifted both of his hands and held them palms-up for a moment as if to say ‘How can I not?’ He reached for the girl.

  A long arm, blacker than night, surged upwards from the girl’s shadow. Its spade-like hand wrapped around Harold’s head and yanked him downwards. He vanished into the girl’s shadow as though falling into a black lake.

  Billy’s mouth fell open.

  Alice said, Did you just see —?

  I saw.

  The girl glanced behind her, as though she’d heard a sound. When she saw nothing she checked to see if a bus was coming, then returned to her book.

  Follow her, Alice said.

  Are you out of your mind?

  Follow her, Billy. Alice’s curiosity was fully roused. He could feel her hands pressed flat against the table in front of her, her books forgotten. I want to know who she is.

  Billy swallowed and looked hard at the solid concrete pavement where Harold had disappeared.

  Fiona’s ten year old sister Jessica lifted a twenty pound note to the girl behind the cinema counter and said, “One child for Infinity Girl, please.” Jessica was a skinny girl in jeans and trainers, with her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She wore a backpack on her back, filled with things she found useful to have with her.

  The girl behind the counter was named Prani, according to the badge on her shirt, and she was about Fiona’s age. With the kind of irritated look Jessica’s sister was just as good at, she said, “If you’re under the age of twelve you have to be accompanied by an adult to see this movie.”

  Jessica lifted the device in her other hand, which looked like a small flashlight. She flicked the switch and shone it directly in Prani’s face. Later, if asked, Prani would have said the light was “Yellow. No, like the voices of roses. I don’t know.” But that would only have been if she remembered it, which she didn’t.

  Prani took Jessica’s money, printed a ticket and handed both it and her change back. She did it with the general air of being annoyed at the interruption that was characteristic of London customer service.

  Jessica bought a packet of chocolates at the concession stand and gave her ticket to the attendant guarding the hallway that led to the individual cinema screens. His badge displayed the name Mo. Mo didn’t question that an unaccompanied ten year old had a ticket for a 12A movie because as far as he was concerned that was someone else’s job.

  Jessica found the screen showing Infinity Girl 3: Infinity Burning, picked a good seat, set her backpack down, crackled her packet of chocolates open and got busy ramping up to a sugar rush.

  She waited patiently through the irrelevant, quirky British ads and then through the trailers for other action movies just as mindlessly violent as the one she had come to see. She did nothing at all about the three boys who were two rows back and half the theatre over and who chattered in the crude way of disgusting teenage boys everywhere. But when the opening credits for the movie started, she decided she’d had enough.

  She took her flashlight from her pocket, played with the dials set in the side, left her seat and moved to stand in front of the three boys.

  “Hey, get out of the way,” one of them said in a warbling voice.

  Jessica zapped him with her flashlight. She had to hold the beam on each of them for about two seconds, so by the time she got to the third one he was halfway out of his seat.

  The three boys sat there, or in the case of the third one half-stood, staring blankly ahead of them. If they had been asked, and if they had been able to remember, they’d have described the light as “Orange, innit? Or like a bell swimming? I dunno?”

  She took pity on the third one and said, “Sit down.” He sat down. Had he not, he’d have come to in a couple of hours still partway upright with legs burning from the strain.

  Jessica returned to her seat and enjoyed her movie. She could have watched the movie for free, of course, by zapping Mo and telling him she had a ticket, but to Jessica’s mind there was a difference between stealing and cheating. Stealing took from people, but cheating just got her around rules that she was convinced didn’t apply to her in the first place.

  She caught a bus home after the movie. She had the passing thought that she’d have liked to have a chat with someone about it.

  Halfway home from the bus stop, on a quiet Ealing street, Jessica took a pair of sunglasses from her pocket. They had hot pink plastic rims and a button-sized swirling pattern in the top corners. She had replaced the lenses with special ones her friend Mr Shell had helped her design.

  With the glasses on she could see the line of faint light that arced across the sky like a bleached rainbow. She and Mr S
hell had taken readings and confirmed it had the properties of ghost electricity, but they didn’t know what it was for.

  Home was Flat 2, Hawthorn House, the right-hand side of a two-storey house much like the ones all along the street. She was vaguely aware that two guys lived next door in Flat 1, but she paid them little attention.

  Jessica’s mother wasn’t home. She worked most nights and Jessica hardly saw her. Jessica looked into Fiona’s room and found her curled up on the sill of the bay window of her room, earphones playing some no doubt morose music while she stared at the night.

  Jessica took her sunglasses out again. When she looked at Fiona through them, she saw the invisible monster perched on her head that covered both her eyes and ears. Fiona’s shadow crawled across the floor of her room like black water, but only because it didn’t realise someone was watching.

  Jessica sighed, put her glasses away and left her big sister to her sombre thoughts.

  She went upstairs to the loft. She had crafted a psychic field around the stairs that worked like a Do Not Disturb sign, another thing Mr Shell had helped her with, and now she was the only person in the house who even remembered the loft, let alone went up there.

  The loft was a converted storage space. Half of it was filled with boxes, most of them belonging to Jessica’s family but a few predating their tenancy. A couch and a work bench shared the other end of the loft, along with a coffee table bearing her pink laptop decorated with silver stars. A window looked out onto the street. A photo of her family hung above the work bench, but it was different from the photos in the rest of the house in one important detail.

  Mr Shell waited for her beside the coffee table. He was a tortoise, as big as the ones on Galapagos Island that Jessica had seen pictures of, but he was made of a metal that looked like bronze. Flowing writing rimmed his shell, writing that had not been seen on Earth for millennia, and there were doors all over his shell from which sensors and manipulators could unfold. His eyes were green gemstones and his voice sounded like a gruff old man inside a big tin.