| Copyright 2008 by Nils Durban |
| Fiction |
| June 2008 |
| Shadows of London |
| By: Nils Durban |
Sleet staggered through the back door of O’Mara’s and aimed himself towards the two chairs
that he saw before him. He reached for the nonexistent one which sent him crashing forwards
into the real one, leaving it obliterated and him a bloody mess on Helen’s clean quarry tile
floor.
After what could have been either one or ten minutes he made the effort to force himself into
a slumped position against a base unit and there he remained until she arrived.
It was the smashing crockery that started him into an abrupt wakefulness but his aching
muscles refused to come to his aid in preparation against any attack. Instead he strained his
eyes into some kind of useful focus and there was her anxious face before him, her hands
now clutching his shoulders, trying to shake him.
“It’s okay…” he managed, “I’m alright, I’m alright Helen.”
“Alright!” she exclaimed, “Sleet James, will you look at the state you’re in? Why do you put
yourself through it? Why?”
He stifled his laughter before it caused his shattered ribs to send another explosion of pain
through his body, feeling instead a bubbling of blood on his lips. “Believe it or not, I didn’t do
this to myself!”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she scolded.
Her rising pitch rang through his skull, causing him to clutch at his temple. “Shhhhh……please
Helen, I’ve taken enough of a battering for one night.”
“You go looking for trouble, to be sure, and more oft than not find it to, you know you do,” she
said, reverting to an urgent whisper that served only to accentuate her Celtic origins.
Memory started to flood back into his brain as it returned from an involuntary temporary
shutdown and a glimmer came into his eyes as he recalled the earlier events of the evening.
“But I almost had him tonight Helen!” he said, “I was this close you know!” he forced his arm
to raise his hand before his face, his thumb and finger a fraction apart, “so bloody close. He
was lucky alright, really lucky.” He brought his hands together into an encircling shape, “I’ve
had these around his scrawny neck you know, had him in my grasp.” He banged his head
back against the cupboard door in frustration, “Shit, I mightn’t have another chance like that,
not ever!”
“Quiet now, quiet. Worry about it later. Do you think you can get up?”
“No, but I will, if you help me.” He coughed, spitting blood onto her clean white apron.
“Come on then, let’s get you cleaned up,” she stood and leaned down to try and lever him off
the floor. Even in his current condition the smell of her was intoxicating, as it always had been.
Another time, another life, and maybe there could have been something between them. “And
then you can tell me all about it.”
Three hours earlier…….
Sleet waited, crouched in a confined position between the cold church wall and the rusty waste
skip in a back street of Highgate. His muscles, although well enough developed, were
unaccustomed to this prolonged compression and were on the verge of cramping up in
rebellion.
He knew this to be one of their major haunts, had tracked them around the environs of London
for years now in ever decreasing circles that centred upon no more than half a dozen
locations, one of which this was.
Shadows, is what they were, no more than that. They slipped in and out of existence as they
glided along in their purposeful fashion. Ghosts, he knew, they were not. Not spirits,
wandering amongst the reminders of their lost lives. No, these things, these Shadows, were
something else, something otherworldly.
Where they had come from he did not know. When they had arrived in his life he knew well,
very well, for they had taken the life of his brother. And not simply killed him, murdered him,
no. They had drained him, the eyes of the largest one, whom appeared to be master to the
others, glowing a devilish crimson as his brother’s body turned into a greying husk, literally
into a shell.
And then they had turned upon him as he cowered unbelievingly into the corner of the living
room where only moments before the confrontation had been between the two of them only,
two angry young men on the brink of coming to blows, his brother’s fiancé the bone of
contention.
The intervention of the Shadows had been startling, numbing. Not fear alone paralysed the
pair of them, there was something else, something in the air that arrested their muscles and
also their minds. And then the demons had fallen upon Sky, his brother.
When their attentions had turned upon Sleet, his unlikely saviour had been the headlamps and
chugging engine of a night bus as it turned into the road outside. The ill creatures had fled,
except for the larger one that had remained a moment longer to glower at him, opening its
jaws to cackle horrifically before it turned to follow its brethren, winking out of existence before
it reached the opposite wall of the room.
Since then he had traced their movements, plotting the locations of their foul acts upon an old
OS map pinned to the bedroom wall. On numerous occasions he had gotten too close, but by
luck more than judgment he had found several methods of fending them off. Shadows was his
name for them, he did not care to think up anything more creative, did not feel them deserving
of the effort. For the most part they appeared as no more than shadows and so let them be
known.
He was startled from his reverie by a young woman who walked silently into the street before
him. Silently, he realised, because she was barefoot. Even from some distance he could see
the terror upon her face, the unvoiced scream, but he could sense that her movement was
impelled, her choices no longer her own. He had seen it before.
And they came. Gliding down amongst the streetlights to circle their chosen prey like an
ethereal wolf pack. One by one they snapped forwards, the temptation to accost this girl
obviously proving too great, but upon each occasion they restrained themselves and returned
to their circling motion.
Sleet felt that he could wait no longer and was mentally preparing himself for the effort he
would require to propel himself forward against the wishes of his aching muscles, but at the
last moment something happened that stalled him, stopped him dead. Another figure was
sweeping down from the dark night sky, a larger figure.
He waited, disbelieving, but as the Shadow came closer he felt that there could be no doubt.
Only once before had he seen a creature of this size, only once, and that event was burned
into his memory. This was that one, he was certain of it! He reached for his nearby rucksack
and retrieved the items that formed his unlikely arsenal, assembled as a result of several
experimental Shadow encounters.
One, two, three……he counted slowly to twenty, time enough for the Shadow Master to enter
the circle, and then rose, ignoring the protests of his cramped body, and stepped out into what
little light was afforded by the street lamp above. No attention was paid to him, their focus
appeared to be centred solely upon their selected victim. The Master was now approaching
the girl and Sleet could see the blood red glow beginning to emanate from the pits of its
eyeless sockets.
“Stop!” Sleet shouted with as much command as he could muster. It had the desired effect,
the creatures halted their circling motion and, as one, their hellish faces turned in his direction,
an evil cacophony arising from their throats tauntingly. But they did not move towards him and
Sleet was surprised by this unexpected behaviour.
The Master meanwhile remained focused upon the young woman, as if needing to ensure that
the spell cast over her remained effective. Once it was certain of this, however, it also turned
to face Sleet’s challenge.
Christ, he thought, this is it!
He reached up and pulled the ski mask down over his eyes, nervously fingered the dog whistle
held in his left hand whilst his right hand squeezed the handle of the hefty ultraviolet torch, his
thumb caressing its on-switch.
The next moment was a blur. The Shadow Master was instantly gone. For a split second Sleet
thought that it had simply vanished but he soon realised his error as the creature came
plummeting out of the sky to make a perfect catlike landing on the pavement not six feet in
front of him, then hollered at him, it’s jaw dropping inhumanly far down it’s muscular chest.
Sleet knew that he could not risk being entranced at this point and prayed to God that his
numerous encounters with these devils had built some kind of resistance within him. Without
further thought he launched himself into action, flicking the torch’s switch whilst simultaneously
raising the whistle to his lips and blew with all his might. The creature lurched back suddenly,
stumbling to one bony knee. Sleet, not wanting to miss the opportunity, fell upon the Shadow,
pummelling it with his one free fist whilst forcing the head of the torch into the creatures gut. It
screamed and this alone would have been enough to paralyse, but in this moment there was a
pure clarity within Sleet’s mind. He dare not waver, he could not. It would mean his death and
worst still it would leave Sky un-revenged (or rather would leave his own guilt un-cleansed).
The Shadow’s eyes fixed upon him now, their boiling rage seeming to reach a frenzy. Even
through the mask Sleet could feel them burning into him. He dropped the torch and reached
both hands for the creature’s throat, gouging his fingers into its leathery gullet. The response
was instantaneous, razor-like claws slashed at his face and body followed by a fierce kick into
his chest which Sleet felt must have fractured more than a single rib, but still he clung onto the
Master’s neck.
It was at this point that the girl screamed out, a shrill piercing terror filled shriek that must have
sent the other beasts scattering. The Master flinched at the sound, yet still continued its
assault. Sleet fell back, gasping, and looked up at the creature that was about to descend
upon him, about to finish him. His fingers searched frantically across the flagstones and then
fastened upon the torch.
The Shadow leapt at him and in the same instant Sleet brought the substantial bulk of the
torch up in a swinging arc which terminated against the side of the monster’s head with a
satisfying crack. It fell to the side, hissing in what Sleet hoped was agony. It rolled, then turned
to face him once more, but the burning fire of its eyes was gone. It uttered its awful cackle and
then launched itself into the air and was away.
Sleet watched it vanish into the night sky, half grateful, half saddened.
His breaths came in jagged gasps as the pain in his chest finally registered. He spat blood
and turned to face the street but there was nothing to see. The Shadows had gone. The girl
had gone. I don’t blame her neither! He thought.
Eventually he crawled to the wall of the church which he used to gain his feet before stumbling
off in the direction of O’Mara’s place, where he knew succour could be found.
“Next time!” he shouted into the sky, each word paining him greatly, “I’ll have you next time,
you bastard!”
that he saw before him. He reached for the nonexistent one which sent him crashing forwards
into the real one, leaving it obliterated and him a bloody mess on Helen’s clean quarry tile
floor.
After what could have been either one or ten minutes he made the effort to force himself into
a slumped position against a base unit and there he remained until she arrived.
It was the smashing crockery that started him into an abrupt wakefulness but his aching
muscles refused to come to his aid in preparation against any attack. Instead he strained his
eyes into some kind of useful focus and there was her anxious face before him, her hands
now clutching his shoulders, trying to shake him.
“It’s okay…” he managed, “I’m alright, I’m alright Helen.”
“Alright!” she exclaimed, “Sleet James, will you look at the state you’re in? Why do you put
yourself through it? Why?”
He stifled his laughter before it caused his shattered ribs to send another explosion of pain
through his body, feeling instead a bubbling of blood on his lips. “Believe it or not, I didn’t do
this to myself!”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she scolded.
Her rising pitch rang through his skull, causing him to clutch at his temple. “Shhhhh……please
Helen, I’ve taken enough of a battering for one night.”
“You go looking for trouble, to be sure, and more oft than not find it to, you know you do,” she
said, reverting to an urgent whisper that served only to accentuate her Celtic origins.
Memory started to flood back into his brain as it returned from an involuntary temporary
shutdown and a glimmer came into his eyes as he recalled the earlier events of the evening.
“But I almost had him tonight Helen!” he said, “I was this close you know!” he forced his arm
to raise his hand before his face, his thumb and finger a fraction apart, “so bloody close. He
was lucky alright, really lucky.” He brought his hands together into an encircling shape, “I’ve
had these around his scrawny neck you know, had him in my grasp.” He banged his head
back against the cupboard door in frustration, “Shit, I mightn’t have another chance like that,
not ever!”
“Quiet now, quiet. Worry about it later. Do you think you can get up?”
“No, but I will, if you help me.” He coughed, spitting blood onto her clean white apron.
“Come on then, let’s get you cleaned up,” she stood and leaned down to try and lever him off
the floor. Even in his current condition the smell of her was intoxicating, as it always had been.
Another time, another life, and maybe there could have been something between them. “And
then you can tell me all about it.”
Three hours earlier…….
Sleet waited, crouched in a confined position between the cold church wall and the rusty waste
skip in a back street of Highgate. His muscles, although well enough developed, were
unaccustomed to this prolonged compression and were on the verge of cramping up in
rebellion.
He knew this to be one of their major haunts, had tracked them around the environs of London
for years now in ever decreasing circles that centred upon no more than half a dozen
locations, one of which this was.
Shadows, is what they were, no more than that. They slipped in and out of existence as they
glided along in their purposeful fashion. Ghosts, he knew, they were not. Not spirits,
wandering amongst the reminders of their lost lives. No, these things, these Shadows, were
something else, something otherworldly.
Where they had come from he did not know. When they had arrived in his life he knew well,
very well, for they had taken the life of his brother. And not simply killed him, murdered him,
no. They had drained him, the eyes of the largest one, whom appeared to be master to the
others, glowing a devilish crimson as his brother’s body turned into a greying husk, literally
into a shell.
And then they had turned upon him as he cowered unbelievingly into the corner of the living
room where only moments before the confrontation had been between the two of them only,
two angry young men on the brink of coming to blows, his brother’s fiancé the bone of
contention.
The intervention of the Shadows had been startling, numbing. Not fear alone paralysed the
pair of them, there was something else, something in the air that arrested their muscles and
also their minds. And then the demons had fallen upon Sky, his brother.
When their attentions had turned upon Sleet, his unlikely saviour had been the headlamps and
chugging engine of a night bus as it turned into the road outside. The ill creatures had fled,
except for the larger one that had remained a moment longer to glower at him, opening its
jaws to cackle horrifically before it turned to follow its brethren, winking out of existence before
it reached the opposite wall of the room.
Since then he had traced their movements, plotting the locations of their foul acts upon an old
OS map pinned to the bedroom wall. On numerous occasions he had gotten too close, but by
luck more than judgment he had found several methods of fending them off. Shadows was his
name for them, he did not care to think up anything more creative, did not feel them deserving
of the effort. For the most part they appeared as no more than shadows and so let them be
known.
He was startled from his reverie by a young woman who walked silently into the street before
him. Silently, he realised, because she was barefoot. Even from some distance he could see
the terror upon her face, the unvoiced scream, but he could sense that her movement was
impelled, her choices no longer her own. He had seen it before.
And they came. Gliding down amongst the streetlights to circle their chosen prey like an
ethereal wolf pack. One by one they snapped forwards, the temptation to accost this girl
obviously proving too great, but upon each occasion they restrained themselves and returned
to their circling motion.
Sleet felt that he could wait no longer and was mentally preparing himself for the effort he
would require to propel himself forward against the wishes of his aching muscles, but at the
last moment something happened that stalled him, stopped him dead. Another figure was
sweeping down from the dark night sky, a larger figure.
He waited, disbelieving, but as the Shadow came closer he felt that there could be no doubt.
Only once before had he seen a creature of this size, only once, and that event was burned
into his memory. This was that one, he was certain of it! He reached for his nearby rucksack
and retrieved the items that formed his unlikely arsenal, assembled as a result of several
experimental Shadow encounters.
One, two, three……he counted slowly to twenty, time enough for the Shadow Master to enter
the circle, and then rose, ignoring the protests of his cramped body, and stepped out into what
little light was afforded by the street lamp above. No attention was paid to him, their focus
appeared to be centred solely upon their selected victim. The Master was now approaching
the girl and Sleet could see the blood red glow beginning to emanate from the pits of its
eyeless sockets.
“Stop!” Sleet shouted with as much command as he could muster. It had the desired effect,
the creatures halted their circling motion and, as one, their hellish faces turned in his direction,
an evil cacophony arising from their throats tauntingly. But they did not move towards him and
Sleet was surprised by this unexpected behaviour.
The Master meanwhile remained focused upon the young woman, as if needing to ensure that
the spell cast over her remained effective. Once it was certain of this, however, it also turned
to face Sleet’s challenge.
Christ, he thought, this is it!
He reached up and pulled the ski mask down over his eyes, nervously fingered the dog whistle
held in his left hand whilst his right hand squeezed the handle of the hefty ultraviolet torch, his
thumb caressing its on-switch.
The next moment was a blur. The Shadow Master was instantly gone. For a split second Sleet
thought that it had simply vanished but he soon realised his error as the creature came
plummeting out of the sky to make a perfect catlike landing on the pavement not six feet in
front of him, then hollered at him, it’s jaw dropping inhumanly far down it’s muscular chest.
Sleet knew that he could not risk being entranced at this point and prayed to God that his
numerous encounters with these devils had built some kind of resistance within him. Without
further thought he launched himself into action, flicking the torch’s switch whilst simultaneously
raising the whistle to his lips and blew with all his might. The creature lurched back suddenly,
stumbling to one bony knee. Sleet, not wanting to miss the opportunity, fell upon the Shadow,
pummelling it with his one free fist whilst forcing the head of the torch into the creatures gut. It
screamed and this alone would have been enough to paralyse, but in this moment there was a
pure clarity within Sleet’s mind. He dare not waver, he could not. It would mean his death and
worst still it would leave Sky un-revenged (or rather would leave his own guilt un-cleansed).
The Shadow’s eyes fixed upon him now, their boiling rage seeming to reach a frenzy. Even
through the mask Sleet could feel them burning into him. He dropped the torch and reached
both hands for the creature’s throat, gouging his fingers into its leathery gullet. The response
was instantaneous, razor-like claws slashed at his face and body followed by a fierce kick into
his chest which Sleet felt must have fractured more than a single rib, but still he clung onto the
Master’s neck.
It was at this point that the girl screamed out, a shrill piercing terror filled shriek that must have
sent the other beasts scattering. The Master flinched at the sound, yet still continued its
assault. Sleet fell back, gasping, and looked up at the creature that was about to descend
upon him, about to finish him. His fingers searched frantically across the flagstones and then
fastened upon the torch.
The Shadow leapt at him and in the same instant Sleet brought the substantial bulk of the
torch up in a swinging arc which terminated against the side of the monster’s head with a
satisfying crack. It fell to the side, hissing in what Sleet hoped was agony. It rolled, then turned
to face him once more, but the burning fire of its eyes was gone. It uttered its awful cackle and
then launched itself into the air and was away.
Sleet watched it vanish into the night sky, half grateful, half saddened.
His breaths came in jagged gasps as the pain in his chest finally registered. He spat blood
and turned to face the street but there was nothing to see. The Shadows had gone. The girl
had gone. I don’t blame her neither! He thought.
Eventually he crawled to the wall of the church which he used to gain his feet before stumbling
off in the direction of O’Mara’s place, where he knew succour could be found.
“Next time!” he shouted into the sky, each word paining him greatly, “I’ll have you next time,
you bastard!”
About Nils Durban:
Location: Worcestershire, UK
Bio/Info: currently writing for it's own rewards and have posted a number of pieces on the Internet forums.
Location: Worcestershire, UK
Bio/Info: currently writing for it's own rewards and have posted a number of pieces on the Internet forums.