There were a few things that forgive the pun flew through my mind, one of which was with Hildi’s strength and speed alone, if she had wanted to kill me, I would have been dead. She could have probably knocked my head clean from my shoulders or punched my heart out of my chest, the other was that she hadn’t, so she just wanted to send me on a potentially fatal trip. I wasn’t looking forward to landing.

If this was how they wanted to see the proof that I could occasionally do some weird shit, then so be it. I had a bit of a wicked idea. I imagined myself anchored, I pictured it vividly in my head, my ankles both of them tethered to something. Preventing me from going further, but my head began to throb at the amount of effort I was putting into it, I had already felt tapped beforehand, and this was really kicking my ass. Exhaustion took over as I felt my ankles strain, I was vaguely aware of a yelp and oomph of impact as I landed on the floor. Having the lethargy and wind knocked out of me, I just lay there, yoga pants still on, but I had lost my hoodie somewhere. I felt hands on my face, and I tried to blink away tears as I looked up to find Freyja inches from me, studying me. She poked and prodded my torso as my chest rose and fell trying to get air in, she looked at my feet and gasped. I looked down and they seemed all sorts of fucked. But hey I wasn’t in pain. Yet. That was going to come.

“Wh- happened.” I mumbled I felt my eyes starting to roll back in my head, and Freyja shook me. She knelt in close and pressed her forehead to mine, her hair curtaining my face. Her rapid shower had her now smelling like strawberries and marshmallows. Honestly, a little too sweet for me.

She looked to the spectators nearby as issued a command of some sort.

“Hawoath-Lawthaw Hawee-mawn” Other hands were upon me then, and I realized they were holding me down. I began to scrape the bottom of my mental barrel to do something to get me out of there when the pain rocked, and I found a deep scream and grunt bellowing forth. I flopped back like a dead fish and hoped and prayed that I didn’t just piss myself in front of a bunch of hippies and vampires. Everything faded in and out.

***

The next thing I knew I was sat in the back of a four by four, head swimming, having my seatbelt undone and carried like a child I tried opening my eyes and only caught glimpses of red crimson hair, pale skin holding me tight. Dreams came at me, like waves washing ashore, I saw glimpses of fire, cauldrons bubbling, people cowering, death, a lot of death, everyone I met and had tried to help, everyone I had somehow missed, I understood it all. Life. Death, I saw glimpses of what felt close. I saw Freyja a lot, she was all over my dreams, smiling, watching, laying inches from me, with an amused expression. Visions of her with her back to me. Crying. Laughing. Dead. She was someone I felt like I should get to know, even knowing how dangerous she was. And not just because she was stupid hot. I woke up in a rush. My heart jackhammering in my chest, my new dreams drowned with the memories of old ones, of childhood growing up with different families in different foster homes, of looking after my little sister… I sat up, head rocking. A shout building in my chest, and my throat dry. I looked about and saw I was alone, back in my caravan. Well, okay it was a static home, but I was happy to be somewhere familiar. Was this another aspect of my curse? Had I imagined the whole ordeal? I looked to my bedside and saw my phone and my wallet. Was it really all a dream? Fucking weird as dream. Why couldn’t It have been that vivid dream I had where I was helping the Swedish womens volleyball team when their bus broke down, I fixed it somehow and became a driver and was passed around from player to player as their own little good-lick charm… Now that was a fucking awesome dream. Not this Urban fantasy, vampires are real malarkey. If other things like that existed, I would have totally known, so would everyone else. Besides I broke my legs or something. No way has it all healed over night from anything that bad. In fact. I felt better than ever. I felt like I could forgo a can of energy drink and hit the gym before work! I have been paying for a membership after all, might as well get my money’s worth! I stood up finding myself nude, I normally slept in boxers, but I had been known to lose them if I was having bad dreams. Last night constituted as such so it was not weird in the slightest. Then I saw it. And my stomach dropped. On the dresser by the vanity mirror was the yoga pants I had worn. Along with a sheet of paper…

Fuck me. Now I was annoyed, I had almost convinced myself that it had only been a dream and not another chapter in my life. Chapter 56 In Jack Strifes cursed life: “and now there are vampires.” Well, there was a chance that the yoga pants were someone else’s and I simply forgot that they were here then built an elaborate dream world or fantasy about them involving me wearing them after saving a red headed Vampress… just as believable as a world full of spookies instead of the random shite I contend with.

I pick my phone up and have quite a few unread notifications. I groan. Quite a few from Sylvia, Paul, people I chat to on my discord. I ignore them all because I am a terrible bastard that likes to leave people unread and am about to open imgur when there is a little puff and putter and my cheap ass smartphone died. Great. Well. I had better get the sim out before it melts into slag or some shit. I head over to the bag of unused handsets and pull one out, as much as it was a pain that I rarely had a phone last more than three days because of gosh darn cursed self, there was an upside. I got the satisfying unwrapping of mobile phone cases and slow peel of screen protectors. Just thinking about it gives me the Hrnnn happy wiggles. Genuinely tickles my brain. I am one of those who can watch someone pulling plastic wrap off a TV and scream at them to: “Do it slower you slut!?” I don’t actually know if it’s a sex thing or not, while it tickles my brain, I don’t recall ever sitting there with anything more than a half chub. Perhaps when I find Mrs Strife, or the right ideal candidate for my life companion she will wear a plastic wrap costume? Actually, no that sounds gross it just sounds like I have a thing for getting rid of bodies. Like I am damn necrophiliac or something. Or its some sort of political message about plastic pollution. It isn’t. Right well, I head to the shower. It’s actually quite good for a caravan. Not one of internal piddly pumps like you got going on holiday with the family to Skegness in the nineties oh no, this bad boy was plumbed proper. Sometimes I shit you not the boiler worked too, and I could get a hot shower. I glanced at the clock and saw that it was time to head out for work. Oh, the joys of a mundane life and work at a call center. Getting screamed at for hours on end while I apologized for faulty headsets. I pulled out my Ciro Citero suit that I bought for myself almost ten years ago, put on some deodorant, the suit itself was pretty nice, it had an Asian influenced collar and no shoulder pads. White cotton shirt with blue checks. Black braces, five pound dress shoes from Amazon, I folded my collar over the short hem of my jacket and boom. I look like shit. A few liberal pumps of Mont blanc and I am ready to face the day. No Lynx body spray for me, I ain’t no basic bitch. My hair is. Fine. My beard can do with a bit of a trim but it’s just a bit longer than I normally like, and that is fine for now. I like having an undercut. Back and sides shaved to grade one, and stuff to play around with on top.

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I pick up and plug in the old sim to the new handset, grab my bike jacket and look for my helmet which seems to be missing. I part a blind and take a look at the sky, it seems blue. So, I shouldn’t need my wet weather gear, out comes the leather baby. I love my leather jacket. My sister got it for me when I turned nineteen. I call it my lucky coat, a lot of things happened to me in that coat, courtesy of my way of life. I have been hit by cars and survived. Into violent fights where I had been pitched through bus shelter windows. I got thrown through a Blockbuster door wearing this jacket. Mugged three times. And stabbed non lethally… It’s my lucky jacket because I survived each and every time baby. Woot woot. Also, because I got laid a lot while wearing this bad boy. So long as I they didn’t see my hog. My baby. But not everyone can handle it. It was a 1970 Yamaha Enduro AT1. One hundred and twenty five *coughs* three cc’s of horse power top speed of about sixty miles per hour. I can get over sixty going downhill sometimes. I knew my little Japanese shrine maiden like the back of my hand. Every nut and bolt. Just the past year I had re-built the engine, replaced bearings and all the oil seals, got new pistons and rings, and replaced the rear dampers. Also, the chain, gaskets, tyres and tubes. She was a commitment. But I loved her.

The morning air was gorgeous and fresh, I was going to get some breakfast on the way in to work. My stomach felt fine too, and considering what I had consumed, or dreamed I ate, I should have been doubled over screaming at the bathroom wall, but I felt awesome. My scuffed black helmet had one ear on top, the other had broken off, not during an accident so it didn’t compromise the structural integrity of the helmet. Nope. It broke off in some freak accident involving a briefcase and my bosses Subway lunch. He didn’t care, and though it upset me at the time, it was fine, the duct tape added a well-used quality and just added character. The roads were packed as per usual as I headed into Bournemouth but the advantage of having a bike was the wonderful ability to nip in between the stationary cars on their morning commutes. I got a pretty good idea of the pitfalls to avoid when riding, the overly aggressive types leaning out their windows trying to snag my keys or punch my mirrors. I pulled in at some traffic lights as the heavy put-puttering of a larger bike, or in this case bikes pulled in either side of me. I nodded in the brother biker way, and they just looked at me, with my learners plate on and shook their head.

That’s not very nice. Another bike pulled up. With a hulking guy in a viking helmet and a bandanna. He avoided looking to me. I started to get that uneasy feeling of something being out of whack.

Were they up to some shady shit? Should I follow? But that would mean I would be chewed out by my manager. Again. And he would do the “We’re like a family” Speech which that feckless wonder couldn’t believe for a second considering the dicking he was giving to his team leader Laura and secretary Cassie. Neither was aware of the other, but pretty much everyone else in the staff new. Dude was dog with two tails. Nah, it wasn’t worth it.

“Eyetea hawee’mawn?” I recognized that style of speech. They made no attempt to disguise it either. I looked to the viking bro, then to the red light. Then to the other biker. Then closed my eyes and let Jeebuz take the wheel as I dropped my bike into gear, pulled back on the throttle and took off into oncoming traffic.

Come on then biker boys. I wish my mental playlist was playing some classic rock, something mean and high tempo to get my pulse racing but for some cursed or accursed reason the only song playing in my head was the theme from the TV show I used to watch as a child growing up after school of Biker grove. And it only made loose sense because they were on bikes… fuck sake.