Dangerous, Diabolical

Creepy little human man flippantly crossed my line of thought as I headed home for the night. The metallic tang of the city filled my throat. The odd beggars sat in secret corners; groups of youths laughed as they sauntered the streets. As with all British cities, the tall buildings eventually gave way to the housing estates on the outskirts that dispersed between roads not quite planned for such a large population, winding higgledy-piggledy paths snaked sharply into others.

The council had assigned me a small bungalow, built at the bottom of a steep drive, of which a car would never be able to get off. My home consisted of a cosy little living room; the main feature was a beaten-up two-seater sofa, which had lived in numerous homes before its liberation from the local charity store, the land of many forgotten treasures.

The cottage was infested top and bottom with dust, convincing me it was one of their more forgotten dwellings. The only saving grace, and why I’d accepted the offer, was the woodland it bordered. The sprawling trees compensated more than enough for the crumbling features of the abode. Despite my inhabitation, it still could do with a tad of DIY.

Every time I walked through the threshold, it was a stark reminder that the bushes needed a trim. However, it seemed that the more derelict and abandoned the place looked, the stronger of a natural deterrent to visitors it became.

A hapless visitor had once managed to traverse through the inconvenient pond that had appeared suddenly, continued to avoid the rose thorn bushes overgrowing the pathway, and missed a spiking on the forgotten rusty fence sticking out as if it once belonged in a Viking village. I’d helpfully propped a ‘no visitors allowed’ sign in the front window and enjoyed watching him struggle back.

My main worry was whether to let my new stalker attempt to follow me in my front door or if the best option was to chase him off beforehand.

The streetlights flickered in answer, the dull electric hum growing intense as the absence of human chatter died away. Traffic had thinned until only the rustle of browning leaves skittered across the pavements. The slap of my trainers became mirrored by the footsteps behind me, his pace exact to each of my steps. His shallow breathing slowed to match my own until almost every inhale was timed to a lifting from my chest.

Such precision gave me pause and lost in curiosity, I grew slower. Not even a toe from my follower landed out of sync.

That was ...Odd.

Taking a deep breath, I filled my lungs as much as possible and held, alternating between speeding and slowing footfalls. An average human could hold their breath for anywhere between thirty to ninety seconds. I could boast just shy of the three-minute mark and intended to be difficult, counting the seconds to myself.

At the one-fifty mark, curiosity got the better of me, and beginning to burst, I glanced over my shoulder, convinced that I had imagined anyone following me.

His dark, beady eyes met mine, unblinking, and he didn’t miss a single step. Whoa. With a whoosh, I let the breath curl out into the night air, and with a sharp precision, he mirrored the movement exactly.

Even though his chest moved and lips opened, his breath didn’t cloud into the crisp air as mine did. Interesting. Had I been wrong? Was he an other? Turning and slowing to a stop, we stood a couple of metres apart. I took another deep breath, inhaling through my mouth to get as much of his scent as possible.

This time, he did not copy.

Furthermore, he was nothing more than an ordinary human. He stank as if he’d just had the pleasure of being dug up from a grave, but boringly just an average Joe.

Putrid meat. Came the stray thought.

A hiss escaped me as I felt my real eyes break through the facade, cutting into the dark shadows to get a good look at the specimen, and seeing nothing more than someone I might find getting their groceries at work.

“Get lost ass-hat.” I snapped. Creepy average Joe remained still. Unblinking. “Are you deaf?” Miming towards my ears like a loon, he again remained unmoving. What happened to him being so chatty at the club?

All-righty then.

I guess he could follow me home so I could bury him in the pond or something.

Suddenly, as clear as day, he asked, “Celandine Doukas?” There was no hint of his earlier drunken slur. That gave me pause. Had I met him before?

That brief moment passed where you tried to fit the random face through every memory to see which one they belonged to. Slowly, the man’s arm lifted until it came to rest at the inside of his coat pocket.

The urge to snicker almost made its way to the surface. It was like one of those action movies where there was about to be a massive gunfight. ‘Pow-pow,’ I muttered, resisting making finger guns. Where would someone in England even get a gun? Especially good old average Joe here, who looked like he had gotten lost on the way to the office.

“Yeah, Celandine’s my name.” Smirking, I threw an eyebrow up. Was he going to pull a gun out?

As it turned out, he was.

Except he did so way faster than I’d give him credit for. In a blur of speed that I’d expect from a pixie, his hand already aimed directly at me, gun raised and a flash following. It took longer for the sound to reach my ears; it was as if the gun were spell dampened as the sound seemed to suck into the barrel instead of triggering outwards.

Instincts took over. Knowing I’d never dodge a bullet in time, I pushed magic into my skin, hardening it into a thick layer. Only a sharp sting grazed my shoulder as the bullet attempted impact. My patience snapped, and the control I usually held slid further away as my face began morphing. Pushing the change faster, drawing blood as the bone structure morphed faster than the skin could stretch, I launched forward, gun barrel pressing into my chest. Grasping the man by the neck with clawed hands, he gave a small gasp, staggering with the force but unable to escape.

“I shall enjoy pulling your bones from underneath your skin.” My tongue ran over my lips at the promise of his hot blood. The thought of snapping bones and the sweet richness running out sent a shiver down my spine. The itch under my fabricated skin became unbearable. I wanted to be free. I wasn’t meant to be contained in this tiny form!

Abruptly, the gun slid from shaking fingers as he gripped his chest, a strangled cough left his throat, flecks of saliva splattering my face.

I’d had some oddballs, but he was reaching new levels. A new evasion technique? My grip loosened slightly, and with the extra support gone, he dropped to his knees.

The man continued to wheeze, gun discarded next to him. Suddenly the creepy little man seemed to freeze as if someone had pressed an off switch, before he slumped forward, face down.

I didn’t move. Would he grab the gun and shoot at me again? Time passed as I watched for movement; birds began calling for sunrise, and crickets chirped from the hedgerows. A streetlight flickered above before deciding to remain on.

Beginning to pout, I waited for him to get up. Then I waited some more, the sharp points of my anatomy retreating as a sense of disappointment emerged. That must have been the most boring gunfight in film history.

“Excuse you?” I shrieked at his corpse. His heart remained silent in his chest. I threw up my hands to the universe. Did Creepy average Joe just get even creepier and manage to kill himself unaided? I’d been robbed! He’d shot me... and then died? Was that even allowed? I’d wanted to kill him!

Now, the body just looked all awkward, face-planted on the pavement. Maybe I should kick it into the bush? What if someone wanted to get past with a pushchair? Humans were funny about pavement access.

Scratch that. Humans were quite bizarre over dead bodies. Maybe I should call an ambulance?

For the first time since he’d collapsed, I surveyed for humans. Luckily, it was pedestrian-free. No cars had driven by. Plus, I didn’t have a mobile to call for help. How ridiculous it all was. I’d only touched him by the neck!

Giving his neck skin a quick smudge around with my sleeve to wipe away any evidence, I concluded it was probably best to leave him there. Human police would probably say it was a natural death as opposed to if I began carrying him down the street. Of course, the SPCC would probably tie me to it somehow.

Why would a supernatural be at the scene of a dead body unless they did it? It was haunting 101. “Urgh!” I groaned. This whole thing was so annoying! I hadn’t even killed him! At least there wasn’t any traceable magic I’d used, leaving no residue in the air.

Creepy average Joe was no longer alive to prey on the girls of Members Only. I’d done the world a favour, and it was without magic. No one would ever know. Ironic really. If my boss, David, were here to see what a service I did for my community, he might even give me a raise! Now wouldn’t that be something?

With a little clap to myself, I stepped over the body to head home, promising my grumbling stomach a steak.