Archive for the ‘Angela Slatter’ Category
Brisneyland by Night – Part Four
Thursday, June 4th, 2009
Most folk, Normal or Weyrd, are law-abiding. But there’s a market for everything: some tables demand the tenderest of flesh. It was a particular taste indulged in by the very few, a leftover from the past. Someone had to source and butcher that flesh.
Kinderfresser. All those fairytales and it turns out my father was the monster.
He got sloppy and didn’t take the hunt far enough from home. Grigor lasted precisely how long you think a child killer would in prison. The people he’d been supplying just faded into the background without trace, and the flow of child disappearances seemed to stop for a long, long time – at least, those connected to Brisneyland’s Weyrd.
Now, though, something was changing and there was a new product out there. Not child flesh, but something almost as bad. Wine made from children’s tears.
‘How many kids now?’ I asked.
‘About forty in the last few months.’
They were being sucked dry of all the tears they might ever cry, taking their ability to feel joy, compassion, pain, their ability to care, and ultimately their lives. Those tears were bottled and offered for sale very quietly by someone who disappeared too easily. All we had were stories from Weyrd who’d heard it from a friend of a friend – and a lot of missing children.
‘I’ll seek what I can find about that house,’ said Bella.
‘Houses generally don’t get registered under “super villain”.’
I was exhausted. I’d been awake for a long time.
‘Bela, I have to sleep. I’ve got nothing left.’
He nodded and rose, then he pushed me towards my bedroom. I lay down and felt him pulling my shoes off. There was a gentle kiss in the middle of my forehead and I thought I heard the front door snick shut, but wasn’t sure.
The knocking woke me. I felt sick and groggy. Swearing about Ziggi and drivers in general, I stumbled to the door.
There was a distinct lack of Ziggi. Lizzie’s mother stood there, pale and shaky against the late afternoon.
‘Mel. What?’ I managed. She looked at me with desperate hope and I just knew I was going to disappoint her.
‘Is Lizzie here? She said she was coming over to read with you.’
Little bugger.
Her voice rose, seeing my blank expression. ‘Is Lizzie here?!’
Aeaea Street
Monday, May 25th, 2009
They ran on all fours, pausing only to sniff the air and howl.
Sometimes they were men, sometimes wolves, always grey though, always hungry. The moon lit their way as they slipped like shadows along the streets. Sometimes they got distracted by trash cans ripe with enticing rot, but the other pulled them on, so they didn’t stop for long. Nipper, Gnasher, Grinder and Bob.
They had her scent, warm on the cool night air.
Some way after 5th Avenue they caught the sound of footsteps, the click of her heels on the pavement. Familiar and strange, enticing. They followed, kept her in sight, but hung back and stayed in the deep shadows the tall buildings dropped in their wake. She moved from the expensive cantons of the city to the less well-kempt, and finally crossed that invisible barrier into the place where slumlords held sway.
Whenever she passed beneath a streetlamp, they could see the red hair and pale skin she flaunted. Long-legged and slim, she was graceful and unaware. The building she approached was dilapidated, seeming to decay before the eye.
A man sat on the stoop, huddled, wrapped in stinking garments as if the stench might keep the cold away. She smiled and he looked at her, surprised. The woman did not belong.
‘Soup,’ she said, handing him a thermos she’d fished out of her coat pocket. ‘That will warm the back of your soul.’
He sniffed at the opening suspiciously. Rich, meaty odours wafted up and made him salivate. He’d have preferred booze, but figured he’d take whatever he could. Lifting the container in toast to her, he took a mouthful. It was delicious and he made short work of the contents.
The pack crept close. Surely she could hear rush of their breathing, but she gave no sign. One of them gathered his strength and sprang.
She ducked and the wolf sailed over her head.
‘Gnasher!’ Her voice was stern. ‘All of you. Sit!’
All four of them sat shamefaced at her feet and whimpered. Each one gave a contented sigh when she scratched behind their ears.
‘That’s better.’ They pressed themselves against her legs, vying for attention. ‘Now, say hello to your brother.’
On the stoop, a sleek wolf sprawled, looking bewildered. He gave a burp and a rich meaty scent thickened the air.
‘Come, Ulysses. Time for home.’