Okay, so, I’m knee deep in sewer drain water and the stench is vile, I’ve a flaming torch in one hand and a bonafide demon slaying dagger in the other while a horde of wild, red eyed beasts charge myself and my equally sodden, sword wielding companion…and two thoughts occur.
One, my mum is going to kill me. These are brand new jeans.
Two…THIS IS NOT MY LIFE!
A warning would have been nice. A sign, or a premonition even, that a night out for some under the table overtime cash could turn out so deadly. Hell, my mum tells me her ladies group prays for me…Why didn’t they foresee this?
Just for the record, seeing as I’m about to be pulled apart by three inch fangs, I never wanted to work in a dusty, smelly, forgotten bookstore in a cul-de-sac.
I’m into tech, smart phones, terabytes, touch screens, Bluetooth, blogging, social aping, programming… I wanted to study IT. My application is in for mid-year enrolment at Canterbury University. What’ll my mum tell them when I don’t rock up?
Sorry so ‘n’ so, but my precious child decided to earn a little on the side and ended up a mauled, bloodied mess in the sewers. Or worse! That she would not know where I was. That my face would appear all over newscasts and on milk bottles (do they even do that anymore?) with the heading, ‘Sam Baker, gone but not forgotten.’ And in twenty years an ageing woman weeps on a current affair program about the unsolved disappearance of her child, the two hour interview cut and edited down into a twelve minute time slot.
I hope she remembers, when she is considering the cost of the reward for any new information regarding my whereabouts, that it was her idea…and therefore, at least in part, her fault!
“It’s a job in a bookstore Sam, not torture. And you’re telling me that they snapped you up, no interview or anything? They must have liked the look of you…even in those old jeans…”
“Mum…it could just mean they were desperate. I don’t think I’m that desperate yet…”
“I know it’s not the shiny office that you wanted. But it is a real job with a wage…and I need help with the rent. So pull up that bottom lip before you trip over it.”
To my knowledge no one has ever tripped over their bottom lip…but it is possible I might have been sulking a little. Books, the kind with spines and pages and dust are not my thing. Even if they are in electronic format, I struggle to get past the first ten pages.
I only opened the door of the bookstore and handed my resume to the owner, Miss Weiss, because I needed another business on my job search form to collect unemployment benefits. I had no interest in working. I just had to survive a few more months before my course started.
I should have known it wasn’t a good idea I guess. I mean, what legitimate business advertises ‘help wanted’ on a dusty sign in an even dustier window?
It was part of a line of three buildings that had been built one hundred years ago. I think they had been two storey houses, plus attics, to start with but had been divided down their middles, turning the three decent sized houses into six narrow business spaces. There were small half moon steps in the middle of the buildings that led to two doors somewhat facing each other. Three sets of steps, six doors and six businesses…well…what was left of them.
The one on the far left had a ‘condemned’ notice plastered on it. Its pair was a pizza parlour, Papa Guiseppe’s, that had long gone out of business or moved to a more commercially viable district. The next pair was a laundromat and Merret’s Chicken and Chips. Best chips in the suburb I’m told. I wouldn’t know. It, like Guiseppe’s, was closed and had been for years. You could still smell the charred chicken flesh though and the front window had a layer of grease plastered on it, probably permanently. The laundromat was still open, which seemed to be somewhat of a miracle.
The last pairing was the oddest but, if you read on far enough, you’ll agree that they were the most logical. On the end was the office of a private detective, E John, and from the grime on the window, the tarnished brass name plate and the landline phone number missing two digits, it was so old it looked like it belonged in the pages of a Dick Tracy novel.
Squashed between the detective and the closed chicken shop, was the bookstore. All around this strange little collection of unwanted time capsules to a long past era were buildings, not as old as the set of six but certainly not recent constructs. However, none of them were too close as though there was an invisible line saying, ‘you shall not pass’. Nearby there was an overpass, built to withstand the infrequent seismic shocks we sometimes experienced, part of the great freeway network where cars screamed by in the blink of an eye. Beneath the overpass was the neglected intersection which, I discovered later on, flooded because of the backed up storm drains quite frequently, hence the overpass. The quickest route to civilisation from the housing commission blocks where I reside was a path between two buildings, under the overpass and then a ten minute walk into the next suburb.
I had walked that route countless times in the past and to be honest, I’d never taken any notice of the buildings or their outdated, dusty facades. I was too distracted by the rising titanium and bullet proof glass sky scrapers that filled the landscape beyond, imagining myself making the walk one last time from the suburb where I was born and raised to the future.
The only reason I looked at the businesses, the three that were still open that is, was because I had one final resume in my hand. I hadn’t printed it, or the others I’d originally had with me, willingly. No one accepts printed applications anymore. It’s all online and the businesses I had applied to that day, half heartedly I’ll admit, had looked at me like I was insane. But mum insisted. She can’t fathom a world without paper and scolds me for my atrocious penmanship. To please her I printed off three resumes and, after swallowing my pride, had ended up with only one left on that humid, cloudy afternoon.
The ‘Help Wanted’ sign was one of those with the fake sign writer’s flair, brought over in its thousands in a shipping container and sold for a buck a piece in an office supply store. The sign was propped up in a corner of the bay window so as not to obscure the gold lettering which looked like a it had been painted by an authentic sign writer.
‘Beyond The Page’ was written in matchless calligraphy in an arch above the Times New Roman straight line font of ‘Bookstore’. Beneath that was the owner’s name, an A. Weiss and beneath that was a phone number.
With resume in hand I stepped up to the door and, after noting that while the rest of the shopfront looked deserted, the doorknob was clean and shiny. I turned and pushed it in and heard a bell tinkle. Not one of those electronic chimes. This was an actual bell hanging from a wooden carved hand that emerged from the wall above the door. Each time the door opened, it knocked the little bell so that it tinkled like a fairy.
It was dim and cool in the shop, the dust on the window filtering out all the harsh light. Almost immediately I was nearly killed as I tripped over a pile of books left near the doorway. The counter, set back from the door, was a long, polished wood top on a base of book. Crammed together solidly, their spines faced the customer as I ventured further in.
“Hello?” The sound of my voice was dead. There was no echo. Thousands of books which lined the walls swallowed my ‘hello’ and refused to return it. The weak sunlight, whatever made it through the clouds, the window glass and the inch of dust, illuminated countless sparkles drifting slowly through the air.
I looked around, prepared to leave my resume on the counter, when a figure approached through the gloom. She peered at me through spectacles as thick as glass coke bottle bottoms, greyish lank hair tied back messily from her face in a style that was neither up nor down. She was quite tall and her clothes were baggy. She shuffled down the carpet, her fingers twitching.
“Ah...hi....” I blurted, wondering if this gangly librarian had been dragged from cataloguing just to serve me.
She leaned real close and looked with keen interest at my face. “Name?” She asked.
“Uh, Sam Baker.”
She frowned. “It is not familiar to me.”
“No, I wouldn’t think...”
“Which book?”
“Huh?”
“Do you know which book?”
It dawned on me that she thought I was after a book. I felt a little bad as I could not imagine this forgotten little shop would get many customers. “No, I, ah, I don’t want a book.” I held out my resume. “I saw the sign in the window.”
She half snatched the pages out of my hand and looked them over with her dull grey eyes. After a moment she looked up. “You want a job?”
“Well...I...” It would have been rude to say, not in this dump, but I could not think of what else to reply with and, with my mum’s stern glare keeping me from saying it, I clamped my teeth shut.
She looked back at the pages. “You are over eighteen?”
“Yes.”
“Do you read?”
Did I look like an illiterate?
What would one even look like?
“I can read and write and do maths...stuff...”
She shook her head. “No. Do you read?” She flung her arm wide, encompassing her small dusty book riddled world.
“Oh!” I floundered. “I, ah, not...not extensively...” I certainly wasn’t telling her that if I needed to do a book report, I Googled the synopsis.
She pulled a face which could have been annoyance...or doubt...or wind...then she said three words that would change my life.
“You are hired.”
My mouth dropped open. “I’m what?”
“You are hired. The store opens at ten and closes at five. Half an hour for lunch.”
“But...I...”
“Eighteen dollars an hour, paid on Fridays.”
“Yeah, great but...”
She looked up. “You do not approve of the hours?”
“No, I mean yes...but...”
“Wage?”
What could I say to those ogling frog eyes that looked at me so keenly? That the wage was bare minimum? That I had no interest in working in a dark, pokey bookstore? That my dream job was in a brand new office with shiny computers, touch screens and high speed internet?
But my words stuck in my throat culminating in a strange gurgle that she took as an affirmative.
“I will see you tomorrow at ten.”
I was deflated.
Mum was overjoyed. “About time you got a job and started investing your life rather than wasting it.”
“I’m not wasting it.” I stirred my peas, carrots and corn around in a soup of gravy. Mum believed that all culinary disasters could be fixed with gravy. I’m not saying she’s a bad cook...but it’s a good thing I like gravy.
“What do you call staying up until three in the morning and sleeping past noon then?”
“Shift work.”
“Was that a smart arse remark?”
I flinched but had learnt that honesty up front was far less painful than a lie uncovered later...and mum always uncovered lies.
“Yes.”
Mum sighed and put her knife and fork down. At least she was no longer armed. “Sam, I know you’re disappointed that the job your father promised was a sure thing fell through.” Disappointed? Try crushed beyond repair. “I did try to warn you that your father’s promises aren’t to be trusted.”
“Mum, could we please leave the dad bashing out of it for the moment?”
Mum sucked in her words with difficulty and I felt her pain. It was hard not to rant and rave about a man who left on a ‘business trip’ when I was eight to never return. To her credit she only slipped up now and then...and usually because of a freshly failed promise.
We were both a little bruised by it all. It doesn’t matter that the statistics say divorce and broken families are common as if we should almost expect marital disaster and parental upheaval, or even prepare for it. When it happens to you...there’s no way to prepare. The fact that there are millions like you in the same boat does nothing to make you feel comforted. The fact that they teach these statistics like some kind of warning doesn’t soothe the fury inside. It dulls overtime but I’d be lying if I said it didn’t hurt like hell sometimes...like it did recently.
I hadn’t accepted a position in a coveted IT course because of a job I had been promised by dad through one of his business contacts. It didn’t seem to matter that a history of broken promises meant that this one wasn’t to be trusted and my mum’s warnings and cautions only seemed like she was holding me back from a future she couldn’t comprehend. I knew better now. But I knew better after a promised trip to New Zealand and the money I wasted on getting my passport and on insisting I needed cold weather gear fell through two years ago. I always knew better...until the next promise came along.
The silence had grown uncomfortable. My fork scratched the melamine surface of the plate.
“You’ve got months to burn until your course begins. It’ll fill in the hours and give you a little spending money.”
I still felt she didn’t understand the situation. “It’s a dank, dusty, smelling building with a million airborne diseases floating amongst the dust particles and a boss who looks like a cross between a giraffe and a frog.”
“It’s a job in a bookstore Sam, not torture. And you’re telling me that they snapped you up, no interview or anything? They must have liked...”
...oh wait...we did this part of the conversation. Well, it’s pretty obvious I did what I was told. Mum is always right. Even when she’s wrong, she’s right. Arguing with her would have been like standing in front of an enraged bull dressed entirely in red and trying to convince it that you are actually wearing blue.
So I sucked down my protests and indignation and tried to go to bed at a reasonable hour.
One in the morning is reasonable, yeah?
Mum banged on my door at nine as she returned from her early morning shift cleaning floors. I rolled over and went back to sleep.
Nine thirty I woke up in a panic, flung on some clothes and did a poor job of trying to get my hair to lie flat. I was out of the door at five to ten, sprinting down the stairwell that was covered in graffiti, to the ground level, running towards my fate and my doom.
The closer I got, the slower I became and when I saw that the ‘Help Wanted’ sign had disappeared from the bay window, leaving a clean rectangle of glass, I nearly kept walking past. But my mum’s words, and ‘soul piercing’ gaze forced me up the little steps and made me put my hand on the doorknob.
It was after ten that I opened the door to the bookstore and was greeted by Miss Googly Eyes.
“You are late.”
A thousand excuses died on my lips. “Yeah...”
“This way.” She led me around the counter and pointed to a stood. “This is your place.”
I sat on the stool and swivelled around stiffly. “Um...there’s no computer...”
“No.”
I tried not to grimace. There was a phone connection but no phone. There was a lamp with the shades made out of stained glass panels on the counter top but nothing else.
“So...what do I do?”
“You are a presence in the store when I am not available. If someone arrives asking for me, direct them to sit and wait.” She pointed to the low red leather window seats that ran around the curve of the bay window. They were hidden from the outside by panels of polished wood. The red leather was pinned with tarnished brass tacks to red boards that were then set atop more packed books just like the counter.
I blinked. “Is that all?”
“You will also sign for deliveries, catalogue, sort then shelve.” She waggled a long finger at me and we walked further into the bookstore abyss. It was far bigger than I’d credited it with. The initial gloom lifted as my eyes adjusted and suddenly what seemed to be a pokey little store lengthened to encompass almost the full length of the building. The first story was narrow, barely five metres wide but was possibly six times that in length. The narrowness might have been claustrophobic except that the walls were nearly four metres high! In the flat where my mum and I lived, there would have been two flats built into that amount of space, one on top of the other. My mum cursed dusting. I have no idea how she would have been able to reach the corners of twelve foot high walls!
Shelves lined every conceivable space. I saw there were ladders with castors on the bottom and attached to railings at the top so you could slide along, able to reach the books at the very top of the walls.
Down the middle of the room were two rows of those tiny filing cabinet drawers. Not metal ones. They would have been gaudy and out of place. These were vintage wooden cabinets with brass handles. They were all identical and as such, all the same height so it was like a long table stretched down the middle of the room. The cabinets were back to back so that half could be accessed from one side and half could be accessed from the other. I leaned down to read some of the handwritten labels. It seemed to be a typical alphabetical system but the letter ‘Z’ was halfway down the first side. Then there were different categories. Animals Benign, Animals Aggressive, Evil Lords, Minions, Respawners, Mythological Benign, Mythological Aggressive, Traitors, Flora Benign, Flora Aggressive, Heroes, Villains, Travelling Companions, Best Friends, Expendables etc... Some of the categories were spread across several drawers, the letters that were included in the individual drawers written beneath the category. This seemed to show that while this was a category filing system, it was still in alphabetical order.
“Ok,” I mused, “that’s not like any filing system I’ve ever seen. Is this a library?”
The owner, who I should mention at this stage was the one whose name was written in neat gold lettering on the front window, A Weiss, looked at me. “A library?”
“Yeah, where people borrow books?”
“No.”
“Then why the filing system?”
She blinked through those spectacles made of inch thick glass and wondered if it was possible to be fired on the first day...not that I would mind.
“So I can find what I am looking for.”
I looked around the room. “I know there are a lot of books in here but...the filing system could be big enough for thousands, tens of thousands, of books.”
Her eyes blinked slowly then she looked up. I followed her gaze...and nearly fell over.
The ceiling of the bookstore only lasted three metres from the front door. After that the ceiling opened up to expose the second story and even the gabled roof of the attic. And lining every conceivable inch of wall were bookshelves, most of which were filled with books. It would have been as dark as the rafters in an abandoned church up there except for a large chandelier suspended from the peak of the attic gable to hang in the second storey. I suspect it was originally designed for candles but in this environment ‘fire hazard’ just did not seem to highlight the dangers of an open flame. The lights were teardrop bulbs and they glowed yellow, tinting everything unlike those energy efficient bulbs that everyone has these days.
The higher levels of shelves were even more obscured by a strange tangle of wires, pulleys and railings. The wires used the chain of the chandelier as a focal point but steered clear of the actual light bulbs. It was bizarre in the extreme.
I became quite giddy. “That’s a lot of books...” I stammered, looking down at my feet, feeling my empty stomach cramp.
“And they all have their place.” She drew me to a drawer of the filing cabinets labelled ‘Mythological Aggressive’ and opened it. Inside were those index cards that I thought had gone out with the dinosaurs...or that only public speaking teachers in primary schools insisted on using...same thing really.
The index cards were labelled and she pulled one out from the middle of the file, keeping her long fingers in the spot it came out of. She whipped out a metal blade from nowhere, making me jump and slid it into the spot the card came from. She was then free to remove her fingers.
“Bandersnatch.” She put it on the countertop. I came close to read it.
“Ok...so the Bandersnatch is an aggressive mythological creature. First recorded in Lewis Carroll’s, ‘Through The Looking-Glass’, published in 1871 in a poem about the Jabberwocky. Also recorded as a remark in conversation with the White King and Queen. Second record is in the poem, ‘The Hunting Of The Snark’, published in 1874.”
“Find the book.” She instructed.
I fumbled about. “Um...okay...so it’s in the book ‘Through The Looking-Glass’...but the author is Lewis Carroll...how does the system work? By author or by book title?”
“Both.” She pulled out the drawer labelled ‘C’ and I flicked along until I came across Lewis Carroll’s card.
“So...Lewis Carroll, pen name of Charles Lutwidge Dodgson. Born 27th January, 1832. Died 14th January, 1898. Writer, mathematician, photographer, logician...he was logical? I remember the movies...there was nothing logical in those.” I heard Miss Weiss clear her throat and went back to finding this book. “Um...ok so list of books he wrote. ‘Through The Looking-Glass’...” I looked up. “That still doesn’t help me find the book.”
Miss Weiss opened the ‘T’ drawer and indicated I keep searching. I finally found the correct card.
“’Through The Looking-Glass’ and ‘What Alice Found There’. Written by Lewis Carroll. Published in 1871 as a sequel to ‘Alice In Wonderland’...subsequent editions...alterations...I don’t understand how this helps.”
She gripped my shoulder with a bony grasp and propelled me to a section of wall where there was a switchboard. It had a six number dial like the kind you get on 80s brief cases or bike locks. There was a seventh dial to one side but it was separated from the other dials by a lock. Beneath the dials was a lever that could be changed to up or down. Up had the word ‘Return’ engraved in a brass plate while down had the word ‘Retrieve’. Beneath that there was a single shelf, as wide as my hand and empty.
Miss Weiss handed me the card and jabbed her finger to a six digit code. 714394. I turned to the switchboard and rolled the dials around, each one clicking into place. Then I put my hand on the lever and looked at Miss Weiss to see if I was doing the right thing. She nodded and I pulled the lever down.
Immediately the cables far above my head began to twitch, like a spider’s web when a fly is caught in it. A series of pulleys and wires caused a metal hand to run through the air, skidding along the cables in a jerking, mad dance as it climbed higher and higher. It stopped before the attic level but only just before. It grabbed a book from the shelf then went skidding across the wires again, used the focal point of the chandelier to change direction so that it travelled quickly down a single wire that disappeared into the wall just above the switchboard. The hand extended and gently put the book down onto the shelf before retracting and then everything became still.
I picked the book up. “’Through The Looking-Glass’ by Lewis Carroll...” I looked around. “Ok, that was kind of cool. How do you put it back?”
Miss Weiss pulled the return lever and the hand dropped, making me jump, and opened its fingers like a freaky steampunk spider. “Book closed, cover forwards on the shelf.”
I did so. Nothing happened for a few seconds then a little chime sounded and the hand grabbed the book and raced away with it, through the air, across its network of wires, higher and higher until it returned the volume to its rightful place.
I whistled. “I bet that never gets old.”
“The passage of time affects all that were born on this earth.” She said as if I was an idiot.
“No, I mean...that...” I pointed up. “That couldn’t become boring. I’d be tempted to punch numbers in all day at random.”
“If you wish. But you MUST return each book to its location.” She eyed me sharply. “It is important.”
I don’t know how she did it, but her conviction cut right into my soul. I was convinced in that moment that nothing else in the world was more crucial than the return of any one book to its numbered location.
Miss Weiss, in her gangly way, led me to the back of the building where the ceiling started again. There were two doors to choose from, each surrounded by more shelves and more books. I was taken into the right one where there was a surprisingly homey kitchen. Sure it looked like it belonged to a era long gone by but it was clean, far cleaner than most kitchens supplied for workers I imagine.
“You may make hot beverages and store lunch.”
Damn. I’d forgotten about lunch.
“Toilet?” I asked, imagining how hungry I was going to be.
The toilet was located at the back of the kitchen in the same room as a claw foot bath. You had to edge around the bath to get to the toilet. Fun times.
When I took another look around the kitchen I saw a wooden trapdoor with a brass ring half hidden beneath a threadbare circular rug.
“What’s that?”
“It leads to the basement which is almost always flooded. Keep the trapdoor closed or else you will let in vermin.”
We left the kitchen and I pointed to the second door.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Is that the backdoor?”
“That is my office. You may not go in there.”
The bell tinkled. Miss Weiss looked up. “Delivery.” She clicked her fingers which I took as a command to follow and trotted after her.
A man in a fluro vest waited for us. He had a trolley with him and on it was a box.
“Miss Weiss.” He looked up from his little digital signing device. “Got someone to help you?”
“Sam Baker.”
“Do you give authority for Sam to sign for your deliveries?”
“Yes.”
“Excellent Miss Weiss.” He held out the device to me and I made an attempt to sign my name on it. The delivery man slid the box off the trolley and onto the floor before tipping his hat and returning to his van, taking his trolley with him.
“You will sign for all deliveries and unbox the books.” Miss Weiss reproduced her blade in the blink of an eye and broke the tape seal carefully. She opened the box. There were over a dozen books in the box. We set about laying them out on the counter. There was a quite a mix, drama, romance and a horror but all within the realm of fantasy. I did note that there was only one of each volume. No duplicates.
Miss Weiss, after telling me to man the counter, picked up several and went to her office, unlocked the door and slipped inside.
I looked around and drummed my fingers on the countertop.
Within thirty seconds I was bored.
I whipped out my phone. A dozen messages. Friends were freaking out that I was online but hadn’t responded to messages. I let everyone know I wasn’t dead and took some pics of the bookstore...but I didn’t send them. I didn’t feel like copping their flack for getting a job in such a dingy, out of the way, forgotten bookstore.
I got up and went for a wander. There wasn’t much to amuse or entertain. I wanted to try out the dials and call down another book or two but was too freaked that the intimidating Miss Weiss might chew me out. So I poked and prodded things that weren’t books. There wasn’t much to choose from. There were a few lamps on the filing cabinets, their shades were like stained glass windows and their distinctly yellow glow was changed into different hues from the coloured glass. There was the till which opened with an almighty clang and was frighteningly empty. Only two more days until Friday. What was she going to pay me with?
The only other thing of any interest was a wooden box. The base was swollen and sat on four gold feet. The lid was edged with gold as well. Inset into the lid was white shell with an opalescent shine in the shape of flowers. On the front was another white shell flower with a keyhole with a gold key within its caress. If I had picked the box up it would have sat comfortably in my hands pressed together.
I looked it over then gingerly touched the lid, waited to be told off and when there was reassuring silence, raised the lid. A tiny porcelain figure in a flowing white gown sprung up on a spring, poised to perform. Her miniature feet were bare, her toes hovering just above the clear base of glass. I could see the gears and cogs beneath and it dawned on me that it was a music box.
“How quaint.” I remarked then glanced to the office door where Miss Weiss had hidden herself. It was shut firmly. I clucked my tongue then gripped the key and turned. I could hear it winding up on the inside and then I let go. The gears whirred into life and the tiny porcelain dancer twirled around and around in a set pattern, feet forever planted, arms reaching out for someone who wasn’t there.
The tune was familiar but I couldn’t place it. It was played out with delicate chimes that were hidden beneath the gears and cogs. For some reason I felt quite sad as I played it. I shut the lid and returned to my stool behind the counter.
I was so bored.
Unbelievably bored.
Stupendously bored.
No computer, no wifi, not great reception so while I could text people I couldn’t do anything internet related or else I’d chew through my battery.
And there were no customers...not one.
Apart from the delivery guy no one passed through those doors until I left at five on the dot, not a second later. Miss Weiss locked the door tightly behind me and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Surely it couldn’t have been that bad Sam.”
I glared at mum as sharply as I dared. My fringe obscured it a little. Mum didn’t flinch.
It was casserole night...which is kind of meat and veg in gravy on potato.
“It was torture.” I retorted.
“Because you couldn’t plug yourself in to technology?”
“Not just that.” I insisted...but that was the biggest reason...and the hardest for mum to understand. “There wasn’t a single customer.”
“Every store has bad days. I’m sure people will buy books tomorrow.”
“No, you don’t understand.” I put my fork down. “No one came it...at all!”
“Oh,” now she understood, “but it’s still a job.” No...no she didn’t.
I sighed. “Today felt like a million years long. I’m going to go crazy. There’s nothing to do.”
Mum picked up her plate. “It’s a bookstore Sam. Read a book.”
That was her solution? Read!
Mum just couldn’t understand the modern age. She claimed she had always been behind the eight ball with technology. Computers were a novelty when she was young, a rare privilege. She had adapted a little over the years and could use a computer...well...she could turn it on and play solitaire. She had even conceded to owning a smart phone. Sure it was five years behind the times, my very first actually, but whenever I suggested she upgrade to my previous phone once I upgraded, she would refuse bluntly and waggle that poor, cracked phone at me and declare it was more than sufficient.
She didn’t understand the immediate connection, the way the world had shrunk...the way I had over a thousand friends on Facebook all over the world and could order two dollar items from China with free shipping!
Read a book?
Read a book!
I was angry at her inability to comprehend but I loved her too much to lash out at her...so I stayed up far later than I should have reading online manga, drooling over five pages of things on my eBay wish list and generally surfing the web.
I was bleary eyed and more than a little resentful when I arrived the next morning to my personal hell.
Miss Weiss was waiting. “Come. You have work to do.”
All the books that had arrived the day before were laid out on the top of the filing cabinets. Next to each book were sheets of lined paper with notes scribbled down in sections. Her handwriting was worse than mine!
“Notes on the books.”
“Ok...”
She pulled out a filing cabinet drawer labelled ‘blank codes’. They were cards completely empty except for dialling codes in bold, black print, every card having a different code.
“New book, new card.” She explained and took out a random card from a drawer to use as a template, sliding in a divider to keep its place. “Title. Author. First Published Date. Characters. Beasts.”
“Oh...” I took the black pen she offered (it weighed a tonne!) and began to write. “Title. Whispers In The Dark. Author. Elliot Hoffmann. First Published Date. April 16th, 2022...”
“Neatly!”
I tried not to gulp and pushed down the sensation of being ten and hopelessly intimidated by my teacher. Neatly meant I printed everything and with fingers that were slick with sweat it wasn’t an easy task. Miss Weiss was patient though and when I was done she inspected it.
“Details must be exact.” She warned me.
Her tone was so exaggeratingly dramatic that I heard myself replying in a deep voice,
“Or someone could hurt.”
“Or worse.” She added without batting an eyelid as though I was completely serious.
I blinked. “Is the card done?”
She shook her head. “Cross referencing.” That was a big word for a while lot of fiddly details. The main characters all had their own cards, which didn’t have a dial up number until I wrote the same one that was on the book’s card on theirs. There was a description about them, a list of weaknesses, strengths, any weapons, love interests and whether or not they died in the book.
‘Whispers In The Dark’ dealt with vampires. There was already a vampire card...actually there were eight. The vampires, if they were a character, had to be listed individually on the card.
It took an hour to cross reference everything under Miss Weiss’ watchful gaze.
There was a delivery in that time but still no customers.
“You may now use the book’s dialling code to ‘return’ it to its place.” She ordered.
The clockwork steampunk hand reached down, gripped the book and went flying up to the upside down chasm of books.
“Now file.”
She was meticulous. All the cards went into their exact positions, tucked away. I wrote the author, ‘Elliot Hoffmann’ on a fresh card. Had he been published previously he would have already had an author card started Miss Weiss explained. I wrote ‘Whispers In The Dark’ on the line beneath his name.
“A one hit wonder.” Miss Weiss remarked.
“You don’t think he’ll write a second?” She shook her head. I tapped my teeth together. “So...did you google all that information?”
She looked at me. She was very ‘googly’ through those lenses.
“Is that a modern word for ‘reading’?”
“No...but...you can’t possible have read that book already. We only got it yesterday.”
“I read all of them.” She insisted, pointing at all of the books and their notes.
“All?!” My jaw dropped as the books swallowed up my exclamation. After a second I realised my mouth was wide open but the sound was gone and snapped it shut. It was clearly an impossible feat. A dozen books, all their titles, authors and details scrawled out onto lined sheets of paper...she had to have had access to a website to get all that information.
While Miss Weiss opened the new delivery I went about transposing her notes to the lecture cards of the rest of the books. Knowing the system made the next cards easier but I was still relieved that she checked everything.
Heaven forbid if I should miss an important detail out!
At one that afternoon (believe me I kept a close eye on the time) the bell chimed. As I was going cross eyed with all the writing, I went to answer it but Miss Weiss swept past me, pushing me down as she do so.
A man and a woman entered. The woman wore a cream shapeless dress, a little capped sleeve cardigan and, of all things, a bonnet.
“Miss Bennett, I have been expecting you.” Miss Weiss gestured for her to come further in. While she opened a drawer, found a card and pulled the lever to ‘retrieve’ a book, I glanced at the customer, curious at the presence of what I believed was the first and only customer I’d seen. The first thing I saw were the woman’s boots. They were covered in mud. So was her hem. I risked a peek up. Dark eyes with fine lashes were looking about as though the bookstore was terrifying. A couple of dark curls hung past the frame of her bonnet. As she went to brush them aside she caught my stare. Her fear evaporated and she raised her chin.
I gulped and turned away just as a book descended into Miss Weiss’ hand.
“This way.” She led the customer through the store and into the kitchen. Why would Miss Weiss do that? Did she need the toilet?
I was staring after them when I felt a presence move closer. I turned to see the man who had come in with the woman. He was dressed in worn jeans, muddy boots and a short sleeve shirt over the top of a long sleeved tshirt. He was eyeballing me with a less than pleasant eye.
“You’re the new help?”
His tone had all the warmth of a frozen coke.
“I’m Sam Baker.”
“Is it.” He thrust his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans and tilted his head. “They get younger every year.”
“Technically people age every year...unless you’re Benjamin Button.”
“Who?”
“You don’t know the Curious Case of Benjamin Button?”
“I haven’t Weiss’ ability to read prolifically.”
I blinked. “It’s a movie...about a man born old and ages backwards...” The man looked at me blankly. “Brad Pitt? Cate Blanchett?” Still nothing. “Well...that answers that.”
“Are you sure it’s not a book?” He moved over to the filing cabinet.
“It was a movie.” I reiterated as he opened the cabinet marked ‘C’ and started flicking through. “Miss Weiss wouldn’t like people going through...”
“Her drawers?” He raised an eyebrow at me and my jaw clenched. “Weiss and I have an understanding.”
“I doubt that...”
“‘The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button’. Written by F. Scott Fitzgerald.” My mouth dropped open as he handed me the card. I noticed that he slid a marker into the spot the card came from. It wasn’t a blade secreted on his person but a handkerchief (how quaint). So he knew Miss Weiss’ protocol. Maybe he was as scared of her googly eyes as I was. I looked down at the card. There it was, printed in a neat hand that wasn’t at all like Miss Weiss’ handwriting.
I went to the control panel and dialled up the book. It came whizzing down to land in front of me and I picked it up.
“Huh...” I frowned. “So they wrote a book after the movie came out. That’s nothing new. Who’d want to read the book when they could watch the movie?”
“You sure the movie came out first?”
“Ye...sss...” I paused and picked up the card. Below the author’s name was the date it was first published. I felt the burn of embarrassment when I saw the date. Published on May 27th, 1922. I put it back on the stand and switched the lever to ‘return’. I didn’t meet the man’s gaze as I took up my place and kept writing out Miss Weiss’ notes.
“How can you work in a bookstore and know so little about books?”
“Ask my boss...” I grunted then glanced back to the kitchen. “...wherever she went...”
“When Weiss returns, tell her the camera on Fourth and Harris pinged while I was escorting Miss Bennett here and I’ve gone to check it out.”
“Sure.”
I was very pleased when the man finally left. It was another twenty minutes before Miss Weiss emerged from the kitchen...alone.
“Where has E.J. gone?” She asked before I could say anything.
“Um...a camera on Harris and...somewhere or other...” I really should have written it down. Thank goodness she seemed to know what I was trying to say and waved her hand at me.
“Of course.”
I bit my bottom lip. “Um...where did the customer go?”
“Who?”
“The woman, Bennett...did she fall down the toilet?”
Miss Weiss looked at me like I was insane then blinked. “Miss Bennett has returned home.”
“Without buying anything?” Where the heck was my wage coming from?
“Indeed. How are you proceeding?”
By the end of the day I’d finally finished all the cards. Some I had to begin as brand new entries and others were already established. I was going cross eyed and had a headache when five o’clock finally arrived. I did not have the energy to tell mum just how weird my day was. I ate my dinner quietly and crawled into bed at the hideous hour of eleven. I dreamed of endless pages of notes needing to be written on cards over and over again. And they were all about the same book. The Curious Case Of Benjamin Button.
Friday rolled around with painful slowness and increasing anxiety. Not only was I desperate for the weekend, I was desperate to see whether or not I would actually have any funds in my hand with which to enjoy it. Goodness knows what I was going to be paid with. Apart from the single customer who disappeared out the back door without buying anything and the daily delivery of new books, no one entered the bookstore.
I would have died of boredom if it had not been for the cards and referencing Miss Weiss had each day for me to complete. It was not the most stimulating stuff, downright dull most of it, but at least it was a task to do and I did it. Miss Weiss checked over everything before it was either filed or ‘returned’ in between reading the next day’s books. I could not understand how she was able to read and take notes on every book that came into the store. In truth, I did not believe it was possible. Surely there was a website that she used to get all her details. But then, if there was a website, why go through the elaborate medieval filing system? And even if she was telling the truth, who was she impressing with her mad readership skills? Me? A random walk in off the street? Hardly a captivated audience.
For the last two hours on Friday I was left alone to complete the filing. I honestly began to suspect that Miss Weiss had done a runner so she would not have to pay me when the time ticked over to five. Her office door opened and she strode out, a shapeless mass in a large grey jumper and equally baggy pants.
“Come.” She ordered and I followed her out the store and into the private detective’s next door.
Compared to ‘Beyond The Page’, which was crammed to the rafters, this house turned business was empty. It did not lack detail. On the contrary, the walls were coated in wallpaper, a sort of damask print tone on tone look. There were thick architraves where the walls met the ceiling and a hefty ceiling rose clung to the middle of the ceiling above our heads. Where the bookstore had ripped out the upper floors to house more books and the retrieval system, the detective agency looked as though it had not changed anything. There was a wall about halfway down the length of the building with a shut door. In front of the wall was a pair of worn leather chairs on top of badly restored floorboards. And that was it. There was no way of knowing what was upstairs or beyond...and what was in the room could be taken in, in a quick glance.
I looked at Miss Weiss and raised my eyebrow. “So...”
“Sorry I’m late.” The door opened behind us and the man I now know to be E.J. strode in. “I was following up a lead. Cameras went dead so I had to check it out personally.”
“Sam requires payment.” Miss Weiss announced.
“Has Sam done anything worth payment?” E.J. asked, shrugging out of his coat and slinging it over the back of one of the chairs.
I cringed. I had not exactly been gushing with politeness to the, now I am aware, man who was to pay me. Hope he wouldn’t hold that against me.
“Yes.” Miss Weiss replied simply and held out a card. “Times and amounts are here.”
“And they will be meticulous as always...” E.J. took the card and disappeared into the back of the business. He was gone about three minutes before returning with a piece of rectangular paper and handed it to me.
I took it, aghast. Was he serious? He paid me by cheque?
“What’s this?” I demanded, feeling a little frazzled.
“Your wage as agreed with Weiss.” He replied firmly.
“No. What...” I waved the piece of paper about. “...is this?”
“A cheque. A perfectly legal form of payment.”
“Twenty years ago maybe.” I barked. “Come on, who does this anymore?”
“What is the problem?”
“The problem? The problem is even if the bank wasn’t ten minutes walk away or even if it hadn’t closed at five, a cheque takes three days to clear. Three working days.” I looked down at the useless scrap of paper. “What am I going to do in the meantime?”
“Not really my problem.” E.J. replied. If I had not needed the funds, however belated they may be, I would have screwed up the piece of paper, thrown it at him and stormed out.
I looked down at the stupid thing. “You could have at least made it out to cash and let me leave half an hour early so I could cash it.” I folded the note and stuffed it in my pocket.
E.J. looked at Miss Weiss. “Seriously?”
“I needed the help.” She replied.
Now I felt really loved and appreciated.
“Well I need yours.” E.J. pulled a phone, a smart phone, out of his coat pocket. It was big and not just because the phone was one of those cross between phones and tablets that companies tried to push every five years or so. It was encased in a military grade, heavy duty case that would probably protect it from the blast of a nuclear weapon. “The leads to three cameras have gone dead in the past week. I’m blind for an entire city block and I suspect we have visitors.”
“What kind of visitors?”
“The kind that only like to come out at night. And I know where.”
“The warehouse on 4th?”
“Exactly. I’ve blocked off the other passages but that warehouse is huge and has two exits. I need another pair of eyes.”
“I cannot help. I have an auction tonight.”
“Can’t it wait?”
“No. It ends at nine thirty. I can come after.”
“The sun will have set by then. That’s too late Weiss. If I don’t pick them up tonight, they’ll pull down my blockades and disappear.”
I was still in the room. Stunned by the payment method I had not thought to move. The conversation between Miss Weiss and E.J. happened right near me and while I heard everything they said, I was not really paying attention to it.
“What about Sam?”
My name said out loud caught my attention and I looked up. “Huh?”
“No. Not a kid.” E.J.’s condescending tone was really starting to annoy me.
“I’ve got a license to drive, I can drink, I have to vote and pay rent. I’m not a kid.”
E.J. did not look impressed with my list of credentials. Between you and me, they weren’t all that brilliant, but I met his look without flinching. Well...maybe I flinched a little.
“You just need a pair of eyes at the South end of the warehouse? On top of the water tank? Hardly a dangerous position. Sam can be the eyes you need.”
E.J. stopped glaring and started thinking hard.
“Hang on.” I put up my hand. “Sam doesn’t have to do anything. In fact Sam has plans of Sam’s own.” Yeah, yeah, it sounded better in my head...
E.J. closed his eyes. He had dark curly hair laced with silver and a firm mouth.
“Meet here at eight which will give us fifteen minutes to get to the warehouse and take up position. Two hours minimum.”
“What?”
“Don’t wear anything conspicuous. Dark colours are best.”
“Wait a second...”
“Fifty bucks an hour...in cash.”
My next protestation died on my lips as dollar signs caught my attention. Two hours minimum, a hundred bucks...I could get my jeans off layby tomorrow and still have enough money for a decent Saturday night...
The silence had extended past anything comfortable as Miss Weiss and E.J. stared at me.
Some drop of common sense still nagged at my conscience. “Is this...dangerous?”
“Not usually.”
I tapped my teeth together then heard myself say those fateful words. “I’ll do it.”
I walked home with a folded cheque in my pocket and a promise of cash later that night. I had to text a couple of friends to say I could not meet up with them like I promised. Lucas was a bit put out and kept asking what I was up to. In the end I told him I was working overtime and that I would catch up everyone tomorrow.
I do not know if he was satisfied with my answer or just so offended he put my messages on mute. He was a bit like that.
I gave a shout out to my mum when I opened the door and headed straight to my room to hunt around for some dark clothes that were clean and stopped in my tracks. Lying on the mound of bedding that was my definition of ‘making my bed’ was a pair of brand new jeans. The jeans I had on layby. The jeans I had hoped to get off layby tomorrow...were lying on my bed...
“What the...” I picked them up, the tag dangling from the string.
“You’ve been going on and on about these jeans...” Mum said from the doorway. I looked up. “I had a little spare cash so I finalised it.”
“But...” I was aghast. “Why?”
“For sticking it out at your new job, even though I know you hate it.” She walked into the room and took up position on one side of the bed. I dutifully went to the other, instinctively knowing I was about to get a lesson in how to make beds...one I should have picked up years ago. “The help with the rent is appreciated.”
“So you spent your extra cash on my jeans?” I asked in shock, pulling the covers straight. Mum used to clean hotel rooms. You could bounce a coin on the tightly tucked sheets. She was amazing.
“To say thank you.” She smiled. “You didn’t have that much left to go on it. But I did see the price tag. Take care of them.”
The protector, the child of a single mum instinct, immediately decided then and there that mum would be the first beneficiary of my under the table overtime cash. Deep down I knew that come tomorrow I would lash out and buy something and be left with nothing to honour the promise my conscience made. But the way she was, the way she kept doing the best for me with so little, never failed to amaze me.
“I promise mum.” I said firmly.
She smiled and all the years of heartache and broken promises faded away to reveal a much younger woman. “Do you have plans tonight?”
“I’m going out. Meeting people at eight.”
“Nice people?”
“Sure.”
“Make sure you’re home by midnight.”
No, I wouldn’t turn into a pumpkin. Mum couldn’t sleep until she knew I was home. The deal was when I had my own place I could come and go as I pleased by when I was under her roof, I had a midnight curfew. It hadn’t put much of a restraint on my social life. Most of it was online anyhow and I could do that from the comfort of my room.
I had forgotten about that with E.J. Still, he said that it would most likely be two hours, tops. And Miss Weiss had promised to come so surely I could get out of there at a reasonable hour.
I ate dinner, which was, as always on a Friday night, leftovers. There wasn’t much time left to kill before heading out so I tried on my new jeans. They were a very dark blue, almost black. I checked them out in the mirror and decided that I loved them so much I had to wear them tonight. A black tshirt and my black canvas shoes finished off the look.
After reassuring mum yet again that I would not stay out past midnight I headed out the door at seven thirty. We were heading towards summer so while the sun had definitely sunk in the sky, there was still plenty of low light to cast long shadows. The three houses/six businesses looked eerie in the dying light, their facades like long, demented faces with the bay windows yawning over the small stretch of street they faced.
I headed to the detective agency side and opened the door. It was not locked. E.J. was in the front room, dressed in dark clothes, military style black boots and packing a bag. He looked up.
“You’re on time. That’s a nice change.”
Miss Weiss been snitching to him about my less than stellar punctuality of a morning? I wondered briefly again about what E.J. had meant when he said he and the googly eyed bookstore owner had an ‘understanding’...then shivered and tried to bury that thought way down low.
“Let’s get going.”
He led me through the previously shut door that allowed us to access the rest of the building. The rooms beyond were pokey, even by council housing standards and the kitchen was very basic. One room looked like every scene in a heist movie where the underpaid, fat security guards watch a wall of TVs, each one transmitting a live feed from somewhere or other. I didn’t get a good look at any of the monitors as E.J. opened the backdoor which revealed a garage where a car, that matched the Dick Tracy detective agency vibe, rested in the shadows. I knew nothing about cars but even I could see that this vehicle belonged to a bygone era of gangsters, pinstripe suits, wide ties and machine guns hidden in trombone cases. It would have been a classic if it had been pristinely maintained but its dark green paint job was faded and had some decent sized scrapes along its body.
“Open the garage door for me.”
“A please wouldn’t go amiss.” I said. It was a direct quote from my mother, and I am proud to say I even got her tone and intonation perfect.
Fortunately, E.J. had not heard me. He had climbed into the driver’s seat as I rolled up the door. The car, though it looked ancient and might fall to pieces at any second, grumbled into life like someone had woken a cave troll. It rumbled out of the garage and I pulled the door down. E.J. leaned over and opened the passenger door. I sat on the leather that was splitting and I could see the padding beneath. It was so old that it did not have individual seats but rather, two long leather seats, one in front and one in back. I was surprised it actually had seatbelts.
He put his foot down and we drove out the tiny lane at the back of the houses and pulled around in front. I glanced at E.J. a couple of times during the drive. His eyes were set forward and his mouth was grim. I did not think he saw me looking until he said,
“What?”
“Oh. Nothing.” Then I paused. “Actually, something. Where are we going?”
“To an abandoned warehouse district.”
“Oh that place.” I knew it. As a kid I’d spent time with my friends after school chucking stones at the remaining unbroken windows and spraying slogans and happy faces on the walls. What? I’m not a saint. “I’ve been there before…but then they got fed up with kids playing there, as if we were hurting anything, and put up fences and gates with locks…you aren’t going to be able to get in.”
“We’ll see.”
I clucked my tongue. “So…what are we doing when we get there, to the place we can’t get in?”
“The less you know, the better.”
Now I was getting nervous. You might have thought I should have been nervous prior to this moment but I was just thinking off the payday at the end of it. Now I was starting to wonder if I should have cashed the cheque on Monday and suffered in poverty over the weekend.
The Dick Tracy car stayed in the slow lane on the highway before taking a turn off and then doubling back towards the warehouse district. It had been touted as being the next big super shopping centre, to bring finance into the lower socioeconomic suburbs that surrounded it. All the warehouses were going to be levelled to make space for it. But then covid happened, the Spanish flu of my time and all the businesses pulled out, the banks too…it was a ghost town of big buildings now.
E.J. pulled up to the locked gates of the district. A determined person would be able to get over the fence or just bring wire cutters to juvenile delinquent their way in. E.J. didn’t strike me as the athletic or the rule breaker sort.
“Here.” He said, handing me a key. “Open the gates.”
I took the key and to my surprise, the key unlocked the padlock. I gave the gates a push and they swung open, E.J. driving through.
“Lock them again and get back in.”
I did so and turned to him. “How did you end up with a key to the gates?”
“Who do you think is the ‘they’ that locked the district up in the first place?” He asked dryly and I clamped my lips shut. “We’ll drive to the water tank.”
It was a giant concrete round tank that was five metres high. E.J. parked near the ladder that was fastened to one side. We both got out and he handed me a walkie talkie.
“Go to the top of the water tank and watch that,” he pointed to a warehouse, “like a hawk. All exits you can see, including windows. You see movement, you press the button and tell me.”
“For real? What is this? A stakeout?”
“Yeah.” He replied bluntly. “Well…it’s a form of pest control. I’ll handle the dangerous stuff, you just watch for any movement. Probably nothing will happen but I’m not paying you double an hour just for your time. You keep your eyes open.”
“Yes sir.” At in that moment, I meant it.
Five minutes later, I was bored.
I sat on top of the water tank, legs dangling over the side, glancing back and forth at the building I was assigned to watch over. There was a half moon so I could see quite a bit of the warehouse without having to strain my eyes. However, there was only so long I could muster the sincere enthusiasm to continue to watch. Afterwards, I looked up from my phone now and then, reassured that, in the space of time it took to play a few rounds of Candy Crush, nothing had happened.
I really should have kept my eyes open.
In retrospect…I doubt it would have changed anything.
A little over halfway I heard a creak. I looked up from my phone, prepared to go back to my game when I saw that the one door that was visible on my side of the warehouse, was shifting. Or was it? Was it a trick of the light? Was it me trying to see something that was not really happening?
I slid my phone into my pocket and leaned forward.
There was another creak and the door looked like it had moved. I whipped up the walkie talkie, my heart racing in the blink of an eye.
“Movement! I see movement! Something is at the door I can see. Is it you?”
The walkie talkie was silent.
Everything was silent. Not even the door was moving or creaking.
I got to my feet, my whole body shaking.
Before I had the chance to reassure myself that it was all in my head, the interior of the warehouse light up brightly and a split second later, the boom that accompanied the explosion shook the walls of the warehouse. I staggered backwards, staring at the building that was leaking smoke from every orifice. Abruptly the windows I was responsible for watching shattered outwards and a legion of three foot tall, dark, disfigured creatures, scrambled out of the warehouse, snarling and snapping, some climbing over their own kind, shoving them out of the way. There were at least a dozen now, chittering wildly, their hands hooked like talons.
I gave a yelp.
I did not mean to.
It just came out, like a bizarre, fear induced burp.
Unfortunately, it was all it took to alert the creatures to my presence. And once they saw me, they didn’t hesitate, running towards the water tank and climbing up the side of it, using each other as a ladder, unaware of the manmade ladder on the other side.
I was aware of it and when I finally got my feet moving, I was down it so fast I nearly twisted my ankle. I yanked on the car door but couldn’t get it open. When I heard a hiss next to me, I started sprinting in the opposite direction.
“E.J.! Help!” I screamed into the walkie talkie then flung it aside as the creatures, who appeared to be faster than they were intelligent, snapped at my heels.
I’m not runner. I hate running. I’d rather miss upcoming attractions at the cinema than be on time, sweaty and out of breath.
However, in this moment, there was no human on earth who was faster than me.
I had no idea if my legs hurt or if my lungs were on fire.
I was running for my life.
I bolted past the side of a building when a hand grabbed me. I screamed (yes, screamed…and let’s see if you are capable of a less pathetic noise in such a moment) and swatted away the hand.
“This way!” E.J. commanded.
I nearly wept when I saw him and did as he said, never mind the fact that he had gotten me into this mess in the first place. To my horror, he stopped at a manhole cover.
“Hold this.” He said, thrusting, of all things, a sword into my hands.
“Shouldn’t we be running?” I demanded, not even questioning the presence of a sword that did not feel like a cheap cosplay knock off.
“Running will only get us killed at this point.”
E.J. heaved the cover up. I looked over my shoulder. The creatures were running straight, not aware that we had turned.
“Oh good…” I breathed. “They haven’t seen us.”
“Hey!” I jumped out of my skin as E.J. took the sword from me and banged on the manhole, making the most offensive, terrifying racket he could. “This way you bad excuses for mythical cannon fodder!”
“What are you doing!” I yelled as the creatures surged on our position.
“Climb down.”
“But…”
“Climb down now!”
I did so, slipping the last couple of rungs to land, knee deep, in sewer water. The smell was so bad it was covering up my fear sweat.
E.J. landed next to me.
“What the hell are you thinking?” I demanded as he fumbled about in the darkness, doing something I could not see. “They didn’t see us! We could have escaped!”
“And unleash them on an unsuspecting city?”
To be brutally honest, had I the time to respond, I would have said yes.
Self-preservation is a selfish instinct and at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to survive this apparent apocalypse that I had wandered into.
I did not have the time and so I was saved from making a selfish, albeit honest, declaration. Sparks and flame erupted in front of me. E.J. had, somehow miraculously, Macgyvered torches out of thin air. He thrust one at me.
“Use it against anything that isn’t human!”
Again, before I could reply, E.J. grabbed me by the scruff and forced me to start running down the drain. It was easier to see what was ahead with the light of the torches but even the bright golden flames could not penetrate the opaque water I was sloshing through. I stumbled a couple of times, fear taking hold as the creatures began to tumble through the hole, splashing into the water, their numbers increasing exponentially.
With our brightly lit torches, we made tempting targets.
And they could move faster than us.
One of them grabbed my ankle with a grip that felt like it was stabbing through skin and bone. I cried out, stumbling forward, belly flopping into the sewer water, dropping my torch. I twisted, trying to scramble backwards from it as claws scrabbled at me and a face, contorted and unnatural with eyes that burned with instinctual hate, loomed in front of me.
You know they say that, just before you die, your life flashes before your eyes?
Well, either my life just had not been all that memorable or the fact that I didn’t die prevented this well documented occurrence from happening.
E.J. stabbed downwards with the sword, impaling the creature that spat and snarled, thrashing wildly as he flung it back towards its other companions that had filled the entire circumference of the drain with their bodies. They stepped on their dead companion with little heed to its ended life, leering at us as they inched forwards.
“Your torch?” E.J. demanded, holding the sword in front of him.
“Gone.” He thrust his at me and then, when it could not get any weirder, he pulled a dagger out of his boot.
“A knife?” I whimpered, edging backwards. “You get a sword and I get a light and a knife?”
“Demon slaying knife now shut up and…” E.J. paused, concentrating. Then, very calmly, he sheathed the sword.
For a moment the creatures looked as confused as I felt when he grabbed me by the shirt and yelled.
“Deep breath!”
I barely managed to comprehend his words, let alone breathe deeply because the next thing I knew, I was pushed under the sewer water with him as a split second later, a contained roar filled my ears despite the presence of murky water and the air above us lit up with gold and red fire.
It lasted only for a few seconds but it felt like an hour.
When I came up for air, the first thing I got was a lungful of smoke. It burned my lungs. I saw E.J. hold his shirt over his nose and did the same, stumbling forward. I thought I would come across bodies, at least, of the creatures that had attacked us but amazingly, there was nothing left of them.
However, there was a figure standing in the sewer, removing a tank from her back and pulling her arms out of a suit that looked like it had been made from several fire blankets.
“Weiss?” I gasped.
She looked at me with her bug eyes, her face revealing none of the normal emotions one would associate with facing demonic creatures. She simply blinked then turned to ogle E.J.
“So…not according to plan?”
“You could say that.” He coughed and wiped water from his face.
She looked at the both of us without a drop of empathy.
“Come on then.”