A Foggy Day
by Angie Hulme
(owned,
written, and copyrighted by Angie Hulme, used by permission)
Tatum
looked outside for the umpteenth time as she spoke into the microphone.
“Yep, definitely foggy out there. Drive careful in that snow if you’re mad
enough or unlucky enough to be out there! Next up, we got a bit of Stevie
Wonder - adding just a smidgen of romance to your night.”
The song faded and Tatum laced
her arms behind her head, glancing at the
LCD screen showing text messages sent in by her listeners. She
stiffened when she saw the name.
Hi tatum steve here again.
God you sound sexy 2nite. Im here all alone doing nite shift and damn im
horny. Just keep talking that sexy voice of urs darling. Makes me hard like
a rock. Xxxx
She leant forward,
resting her chest on the desk, arms tightly crossed around her stomach. She
crossed her legs tightly and rested her forearms on them.
From the corner of her eye she
saw the text, the latest in an ever-growing line, all from the same guy.
The music began to play in the
studio, warning of an impending link; glancing at the computer monitor she
saw just 15 seconds left. Wrenching her eyes away, she flicked on the mic
and opened her mouth.
An image flashed unbidden into
her mind. A shadowy figure in a security uniform, concealed comfortably in a
corner. Looking closer, she saw he was gripping himself with one hand and
masturbating furiously, the other hand splayed against the wall, peaked hat
knocked crooked by the movement of his head.
“Yes, so-” she said, jerking
herself back to reality and suppressing a revolted cry. “That was Stevie
Wonder, I believe. Hope you’re all feeling nicely loved up now-” the image
flashed again. “On next, a classic
little ditty from the, uh, pint-sized aussie herself, uh, that would be
Kylie, of course, and ‘Better the Devil You Know’.”
She faded in the track and
glanced at the texts again. More had arrived, pushing his words out of sight
for now - but not out of mind.
*****
Tatum’s feeling of unease did
not fade as the morning marched on and her shift came to a close.
She handed over the studio to
the breakfast crew with a cheery smile and tried to think of something to do
to prevent leaving the building before the sun was properly risen and
beginning to cut through the thick fog. But there was nothing. She had read
emails, and planned tomorrow’s show to distract her mind while on the air.
At 6 am there was no-one else to chat to. And no way would she admit being
so afraid because of what really only amounted to a few mildly perverted
texts.
Outside was still dark as
Tatum stepped cautiously out into the fog, which seemed to rise up from the
ground to envelop her within it’s clammy grip. She knew her car was
somewhere in the car park, but she could see barely a foot in front of her
face in the misty darkness.
Breathing harder, the damp,
cold haze mingling with the fearful sweat that broke out on her forehead,
Tatum tried to picture her arrival. Driving in through the snow, parking,
leaving the warmth of the car, crunching through the sleeting ice to the
right -
Tatum turned left, squinting
for a flash of red that might signal the whereabouts of her car. She fumbled
in the pocket of her fleece and found keys. Pressing the button, she heard
the double-click of opening locks, saw a flash of headlights in front of
her.
Something made a noise behind
and she whirled around, slipping on the ice. “Who’s there?” she croaked.
Another movement, unmistakably
a footstep, carried through the GLOOM.
Tatum turned and pressed the
‘lock’ button on her car key, saw the lights, heard the warning bleep, then
unlocked it again and hurried in the right direction.
“Tatum…” a voice drifted to
her ears and slithered through her mind like a snake. “Taaatuuum…don’t run…”
She could see her car now, a
red silhouette, seeming to shine beacon-like against the miasma surrounding
her. She took a deep breath and tried to run the last few steps. But her
foot sought purchase on a slick of ice and she flew forwards, hitting her
head on the car door and sliding dazedly to the ground, face-down and
moaning in pain.
“Taaatuuum…” whispered the
voice again, right by her ear.
She gasped and forced her
vision to clear. Her hands slid under her and she pushed upwards to her
knees, reaching for the door handle. As she pulled and the door swung open,
she felt and icy hand on the back of her neck, freezing her blood in it’s
pounding, tremulous rushing.
“Tatum…it’s Steeeve…don’t you
want to…plaaay…?”
She turned her head and stared
into feral-yellow eyes. Saw the glint of razor-sharp teeth. Felt them fasten
onto her neck. Screamed as they pierced skin, then vein. Gasped as he began
to drink.
When she fainted, he bared his
wrist and bit into it, dropping the blood into her mouth, massaging her neck
until she swallowed it down. When he was done, he concentrated a moment, and
smiled as the wound healed up and disappeared.
He lifted her gently into the
back seat of the her car, rooting her pocket for the keys, and drove away.
Dropping the car off a hill
was easy. Steve smiled as the flames rolled upwards, and carried the
still-unconscious body to his black car and driving home.
Once there, he parked the car
in his garage and carried the unconscious girl through the adjoining door
and into the house. Reaching the living room, he flipped on the light and
gently deposited his load onto the sofa.
He had three days before she
would awake, but he must watch over her until then, just in case. Stripping
off his Security Guard’s uniform, he pulled on a pair of faded jeans and a
plain, black t-shirt with a hole in one shoulder. Then he relaxed in the
armchair, idly playing with the stuffing hanging out of one arm, and watched
the tv without interest.
His caution was well advised.
Two and a half days later, Tatum came slowly to her senses, then bolted to
her feet as memory flooded back. She swayed, moaned, and Steve caught her as
she fell, placing her wordlessly back on the sofa.
For a moment she let herself
rest, then screamed and forced herself to her feet again. “Y-y-you!” she
cried.
“Me.” he agreed amiably and
caught her badly-thrown punch with ease. “Bad idea, babe.”
“Let me go.” she demanded.
He shrugged. “Go ahead. See
how far you get.”
She looked around quickly and
went to the door, braced at every step to be pulled back. But Steve remained
still, and she turned the key, opened the door and stepped out into the
sunlight.
A moment passed. Two. And then
she screamed.
Steve pulled her back inside,
his cool hands patting and soothing the smoking parts of bare flesh on her
hands and face.
Tatum squealed and punched at
him weakly, but he caught her wrists in one hand and held her down. Stop
fighting you stupid cow, and let me explain.”
“Explain what! What the fuck
did you do to me!”
He smiled but said nothing.
Tatum scowled and struggled,
but he held her down with ease and waited. Eventually, the lack of blood
overcame her and she fainted.
Steve sighed and carried her,
once again, to the sofa, where he arranged her comfortably and waited,
thankful he had the foresight to take time off work for himself, and call in
sick for his victim.
Tatum awoke this time with
horrific pains in her head and stomach. A stabbing, cramping pain that broke
her into hot and cold sweats and made her cry out in agony.
She saw Steve standing by her,
holding something out, and screamed louder.
“Drink!” he ordered loudly,
then again when she stopped to draw breath.
He held the cup to her parched
lips and she sipped, the thick, warm liquid slipping easily down her throat
and immediately cooling the pain. She gulped more greedily, gasping for
breath as the pains subsided, until the cup was empty.
“Better?” Steve asked, handing
a cool cloth to wipe her face.
She nodded suspiciously. What
was that? And why did I need it? Who the fuck are you and what the fuck have
you done to me!”
Steve perched on the coffee
table. “Will you listen and let me explain?”
Tatum nodded meekly.
“I chose you carefully, Tatum.
Not everybody is worthy if what you have become. I chose you because you are
kindred - one of us before you ever knew it. I watched you. I tested you,
your reactions to fear, discomfort, emotional turmoil. And then…I changed
you.”
“Into…into w-what?”
“Into what you are now.
Something…other. Something that cannot abide sunlight. That needs a very
special food to prevent the bodily deoxygenation pains that crippled you
just now…” he trailed off and waited.
Tatum shook her head. “You’re
crazy.” she looked at her cup. Empty, but stained red inside. “No…” the
coppery smell of blood hit her senses like a truck.
“You’re a vampire, Tatum.”
“Is it night yet?” she asked.
Steve nodded.
“Are you still willing to let
me go?”
He nodded again. “But you’ll
be back. You can’t escape what you’ve become. Also, I dropped your car off a
cliff.”
“What you made me.” she
corrected him. “And that car was a pile of junk anyway.”
This time when she stepped
outside, it was into darkness. She closed the door behind her and walked
down the path to the street, eyeing the weeded flowerbed, lifting the broken
gate and wincing as it squealed open and shut again.
Tatum studied the street. The
night was somehow bright, brighter than the streetlights explain - it
was…almost light.
A young couple passed by,
watching her carefully, fearfully, hurrying. She could hear their blood
pulsing, warm and fresh; she could smell the fear, sense their combined
thought ‘Red eyes…looks so ill…crazy…’
She turned and looked after
them. ‘Do I look so bad?’ she wondered idly. The smell of their blood
still lingered temptingly in her nostrils, and the taste of the cupful in
her mouth, the memory of the excruciating pain in her memory.
There was a weakness in her
limbs that told her she still needed food, sustenance, that she was burning
her reserves with each moment that passed, each movement she made. But what
could she take? Blood? Their blood?
“No. No. No!” she cried and
set off at a brisk, foot-pounding walk. Away form Steve. Away from his
house, from what she had drunk, from her preternatural senses - all six of
them!
She walked until she smelled a
tangy, cool, dewy scent that she instinctively knew to be dawn.
“Home.” she gasped, standing
still and searching the horizon. From behind a row of houses, the sky had
begun to lighten.
Tatum still wore her fleece.
Feeling in the pockets, she was surprised to find everything still there.
She found her phone and
searched for a street-sign, meaning to call a taxi. But the battery was dead
after so long. “Shit!” she cursed as a car drew up beside her.
“Get in.” Steve said.
Tatum glared.
“Get in, or stand around till
the sun turns you into a small pile of dust.” he expanded the choices.
Tatum growled and climbed,
still glaring. She squashed herself into the farthest corner of the
passenger seat and glared out of the window at the road.
Steve turned the key in the
ignition and scowled as the engine coughed and failed. “Come on bitch.” he
muttered, trying again. This time the engine coughed and caught. “Yes.” he
grinned and gunned the engine, screeched a u-turn and jammed the accelerator
furiously to the ground, dodging the early-morning traffic from both sides
of the road.
“Jesus! You’re going to get us
killed!”
Steve chuckled. “We’re already
undead - what more d’you want? The sun will kill us if we’re not in by the
time it rises. A car crash, however - very unlikely.”
The sun was almost risen as
they ran back inside Steve’s house, the first rays beginning to peep over
the rooftops.
Tatum sat down on the sofa
once more and waited.
Steve went into the kitchen
and prepared them both a cup of blood.
“I-I don’t want-”
“It’s not human. Not yours.
Not until you’re ready.”
“And yours?” Tatum asked,
already knowing the answer.
In reply, Steve simply bared
his fangs and began to guzzle.
“I’ll never be a killer.
Teach, tell me what I need to know. Then I’ll go, and I’ll find my own way.
I’ll buy from butchers, I’ll hunt mice in alleys if I have to! But I’ll
never be a killer like you.”
Steve flashed her a devilish
smile, all the more so for it’s bloodied fangs. “Whatever you say, Tatum.
Whatever you say.”
