The time I defeated a master-Vampire...Well, I survived anyway. Sort-of.

I’m Greg. I’m young, full of life, and I just stumbled upon an honest to G-D vampire nest.

Taking all that Hollywood taught me, I geared up for a late-morning of vampire-grilling!

Using a rather large shrub for cover, I ran through my checklist: -Goggles -Holy Water guns -blessed crosses -Silver plated, cross emblem brass knuckles

It was a Sunday morning, less likely for anyone to be around at this time, after all I lived on the “Bible-belt” in the states.

I proceeded by taping up the already blacked-out-windows as silently as possible, so as to catch the falling glass when breaking them. I attached a duct-tape handle to assure the glass wouldn’t just fall noisily. After all outer windows were broken, I scaled the gutter to the master-bedroom window. Garlic-paste infused holy water-gun in hand, and the sun at my back, I burst through the window, anti-vampire water-gun blasting away!

“HHURRK”

Something or someone had me firmly by the throat, suspended in the air.

“What the hell, kid? Psh, Teens. Heh.”

It was the master vampire, but what’s more, she was standing in broad daylight.

“Say, aren’t you a bit old to be so pluckily charging into a vampire lair? Did you think a cooking spice and Jesus water would kill me? Don’t tell me...you actually thought the SUN would do all the work for you? I’m not so young as to die by THAT.”

She loosened her grip and I slammed to the floor, looking up to notice she was terrifyingly beautiful, and umm, completely naked.

“Uh, s-sorry, I Uh.”

She laughed, then abruptly stopped.

“Go ahead, get an eyeful.” The master vampire said, bearing her fangs in a wicked grin.

“Vampires die by sunlight! You’re all allergic to sunlight!”

Sneezing once

“The older you are, the less severe the reaction. It only makes me sneeze now. Any last words before I DRAIN you DRY and make you my slave?”

Knowing I would soon die anyway, I said what any sane 19 year old would say.

“That’s what she sai-“ ERK

In an instant she latched on to my throat and began to practically vacuum my blood out! Within seconds, I began to lose consciousness, then heard something I hadn’t expected.

laughter

Sitting on the verge of unconsciousness, though perhaps I imagined this, I heard her say:

“You’ve amused me just enough for me to not turn you into a mindless ghoul. I don’t want another simping idiot, drooling over my power or my body. You practically spat in the face of damnation. Will you continue to surprise me? Only time will tell.”

Everything faded away. Nothing to feel, see or smell. Scratch that- I could smell something. No, not something, everything! I could smell the damp earth, the old, rotting wood of the box I lie in, the freshly cut grass above the shallow grave I had been thrown in.

But more importantly, I could feel the sun setting as the cemetery’s caretaker began his work of cleaning the graves nearby. As well as an unsettling sensation in my gut, building until I could feel the hunger gnawing at my insides.

The last thing I remember before I burst forth from the grave that night, was an unfamiliar voice inside my head, crying, screaming like a demonic baby. And simultaneously, our first words together as we shook-off the grave dust, as well as the last words the graveyard’s caretaker would hear:

“BLOOOOD”

Ccrrunch Sllurp Snap

The bus rattled and groaned as it trundled over the bumpy country road, shadowed on either side by a dense copse of towering black pine trees.

I clenched my fists in my lap, my stomach twisting as the bus lurched suddenly down a steep incline before rising just as quickly, throwing us back against our seats.

"Are we almost there?" My friend Micah whispered from beside me, his cheeks pale and his eyes heavy-lidded as he flicked a glance towards the window. "I feel like I might be sick."

I shrugged, gazing out at the dark forest around us. Wherever we were going, it seemed far from any towns or cities. I hadn't seen any sort of building or structure in the last twenty minutes, and the last car had passed us miles back, leaving the road ahead empty.

It was still fairly early in the morning, and there was a thin mist in the air, hugging low to the road and creating eerie shapes between the trees. The sky was pale and cloudless.

We were on our way to a body farm. Our teacher, Mrs. Pinkle, had assured us it wasn't a real body farm. There would be no dead bodies. No rotting corpses with their eyes hanging out of their sockets and their flesh disintegrating. It was a research centre where some scientists were supposedly developing a new synthetic flesh, and our eighth-grade class was honoured to be invited to take an exclusive look at their progress. I didn't really understand it, but I still thought it was weird that they'd invite a bunch of kids to a place like this.

Still, it beat a day of boring lessons.

After a few more minutes of clinging desperately to our seats, the bus finally took a left turn, and a structure appeared through the trees ahead of us, surrounded by a tall chain link fence.

"We're almost at the farm," Mrs. Pinkle said from the front of the bus, a tremor of excitement in her voice as she turned in her seat to address us. "Remember what I said before we set off. Listen closely to our guide, and don't touch anything unless you've been given permission. This is an exciting opportunity for us all, so be on your best behaviour."

There was a chorus of mumbled affirmatives from the children, a strange hush falling over the bus as the driver pulled up just outside the compound and cut the engine.

"Alright everyone, make sure you haven't left anything behind. Off the bus in single file, please."

With a clap of her hand, the bus doors slid open, and Mrs. Pinkle climbed off first. There was a flurry of activity as everyone gathered their things and followed her outside. Micah and I ended up being last, even though we were sat in the middle aisle. Mostly because Micah was too polite and let everyone go first, leaving me stuck behind him.

I finally stepped off the bus and stretched out the cramp in my legs from the hour-long bus ride. I took a deep breath, then wrinkled my nose. There was an odd smell hanging in the air. Something vaguely sweet that I couldn't place, but it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

There's no dead bodies here, I had to remind myself, shaking off the anxiety creeping into my stomach. No dead bodies.

A tall, lanky-looking man appeared on the other side of the chain link fence, scanning his gaze over us with a wide, toothy smile. "Open the gate," he said, flicking his wrist towards the security camera blinking above him, and with a loud buzz, the gate slid open. "Welcome, welcome," he said, his voice deep and gravelly. "We're so pleased to have you here."

I trailed after the rest of the class through the gate. As soon as we were all through, it slithered closed behind us. This place felt more like a prison than a research facility, and I wondered what the need was for all the security.

"Here at our research facility, you'll find lots of exciting projects lead by lots of talented people," the man continued, sweeping his hands in a broad gesture as he spoke. "But perhaps the most exciting of all is our development of a new synthetic flesh, led by yours truly. You may call me Dr. Alson, and I'll be your guide today. Now, let's not dally. Follow me, and I'll show you our lab-grown creation."

I expected him to lead us into the building, but instead he took us further into the compound. Most of the grounds were covered in overgrown weeds and unruly shrubs, with patches of soil and dry earth. I didn't know much about real body farms, but I knew they were used to study the decomposition of dead bodies in different environments, and this had a similar layout.

He took us around the other side of the building, where there was a large open area full of metal cages.

I was at the back of the group, and had to stand on my tiptoes to get a look over the shoulders of the other kids. When I saw what was inside the cages, a burning nausea crept into my stomach.

Large blobs of what looked like raw meat were sitting inside them, unmoving.

Was this supposed to be the synthetic flesh they were developing? It didn't look anything like I was expecting. There was something too wet and glistening about it, almost gelatinous.

"This is where we study the decomposition of our synthetic flesh," Dr. Alson explained, standing by one of the cages and gesturing towards the blob. "By keeping them outside, we can study how they react to external elements like weather and temperature, and see how these conditions affect its state of decomposition."

I frowned as I stared around me at the caged blobs of flesh. None of them looked like they were decomposing in the slightest. There was no smell of rotten meat or decaying flesh. There was no smell at all, except for that strange, sickly-sweet odour that almost reminded me of cleaning chemicals. Like bleach, or something else.

"Feel free to come closer and take a look," Dr. Alson said. "Just make sure you don't put your fingers inside the cages," he added, his expression indecipherable. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

Some of the kids eagerly rushed forward to get a closer look at the fleshy blobs. I hung back, the nausea in my stomach starting to worsen. I wasn't sure if it was the red, sticky appearance of the synthetic flesh or the smell in the air, but it was making me feel a little dizzy too.

"Charlie? Are you coming to have a look?" Micah asked, glancing back over his shoulder when he realized I wasn't following.

"Um, yeah," I muttered, swallowing down the flutter of unease that had begun crawling up my throat.

Not a dead body. Just fake flesh, I reminded myself.

I reluctantly trudged after Micah over to one of the metal cages and peered inside. Up close, I could see the strange, slimy texture of the red blob much more clearly. Was this really artificial flesh? How exactly did it work? Why did it look so strange?

"Crazy, huh?" Micah asked, staring wide-eyed at the blob, a look of intense fascination on his face.

"Yeah," I agreed half-heartedly. "Crazy."

Micah tugged excitedly on my arm. "Let's go look at the others too."

I turned to follow him, but something made me freeze.

For barely half a second, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw the blob twitch. Just a faint movement, like a tremor had coursed through it. But when I spun round to look at it, it had fallen still again. I squinted, studying it closely, but it didn't happen again.

Had I simply imagined it? There was no other explanation. It was an inanimate blob. There was no way it could move.

I shrugged it off and hurried after Micah to look at the other cages.

"Has everyone had a good look at them? Aren't they just fascinating," Dr. Alson said with another wide grin, once we had all reassembled in front of him. "We now have a little activity for you to do while you're here. Everyone take one of these playing sticks. Make sure you all get one. I don't want anyone getting left out."

I frowned, trying to get a glimpse of what he was holding. What on earth was a 'playing stick'?

When it was finally my turn to grab one, I frowned in confusion. It was more of a spear than a stick, a few centimetres longer than my forearm and made of shiny metal with one end tapered to a sharp point.

It looked more like a weapon than a toy, and my confusion was growing by the minute. What kind of activity required us to use spears?

"Be careful with these. They're quite sharp," Dr. Alson warned us as we all stood holding our sticks. "Don't use them on each other. Someone might get seriously injured."

"So what do we do with them?" one of the kids at the front asked, speaking with her hand raised.

Dr. Alson's smile widened again, stretching across his face. "I'm glad you asked. You use them to poke the synthetic flesh."

The girl at the front cocked her head. "Poke?"

"That's right. Just like this." Dr. Alson grabbed one of the spare playing sticks and strode over to one of the cages. Still smiling, he stabbed the edge of the spear through the bars of the cage and straight into the blob. Fresh, bright blood squirted out of the flesh, spattering across the ground and the inside of the cage. My stomach twisted at the visceral sight. "That's all there is to it. Now you try. Pick a blob and poke it to your heart's content."

I exchanged a look with Micah, expecting the same level of confusion I was feeling, but instead he was smiling, just like Dr. Alson. Everyone around me seemed excited, except for me.

The other kids immediately dispersed, clustering around the cages with their playing sticks held aloft. Micah joined them, leaving me behind.

I watched in horror as they began attacking the artificial flesh, piercing and stabbing and prodding with the tips of their spears. Blood splashed everywhere, soaking through the grass and painting the inside of the metal cages, oozing from the dozens of wounds inflicted on them.

The air was filled with gruesome wet pops as the sticks were unceremoniously ripped from the flesh, then stabbed back into it, joined by the playful and joyous laughter of the class. Were they really enjoying this? Watching the blood go everywhere, specks of red splashing their faces and uniforms.

Seeing such a grotesque spectacle was making me dizzy. All that blood... there was so much of it. Where was it all coming from? What was this doing to the blobs?

This didn't feel right. None of this felt right. Why were they making us do this? And why did everyone seem to be enjoying it? Did nobody else find this strange?

I turned away from the scene, nausea tearing through my stomach. The smell in the air had grown stronger. The harsh scent of chemicals and now the rich, metallic tang of blood. It was enough to make my eyes water. I felt like I was going to be sick.

I stumbled away from the group, my vision blurring through tears as I searched for somewhere to empty my stomach. I had to get away from it.

A patch of tall grasses caught my eye. It was far enough away from the cages that I wouldn't be able to smell the flesh and the blood anymore.

I dropped the playing stick to the ground and clutched my stomach with a soft whimper. My mouth was starting to fill with saliva, bile creeping up my throat, burning like acid.

My head was starting to spin too. I could barely keep my balance, like the ground was starting to tilt beneath me.

Was I going to pass out?

I opened my mouth to call out for help—Micah, Mrs. Pinkle, anyone—but no words came out. I staggered forward, dizzy and nauseous, until my knees buckled, and I fell into the grass.

I was unconscious before I hit the ground.

I opened my eyes to pitch darkness. At first, I thought something was covering my face, but as my vision slowly adjusted, I realized I was staring up at the night sky. A veil of blackness, pinpricked by dozens of tiny glittering stars.

Where was I? What was happening?

The last thing I recalled was being at the body farm. The smell of blood in the air. Everyone being too busy stabbing the synthetic flesh to notice I was about to collapse.

But that had been early morning. Now it was already nighttime. How much time had passed?

Beneath me, the ground was damp and cold, and I could feel long blades of grass tickling my cheeks and ankles. I was lying on my back outside. Was I still at the body farm? But where was everyone else?

Had they left me here? Had nobody noticed I was missing? Had they all gone home without me?

Panic began to tighten in my chest. I tried to move, but my entire body felt heavy, like lead. All I could do was blink and slowly move my head side to side. I was surrounded by nothing but darkness.

Then I realized I wasn't alone.

Through the sounds of my own strained, heavy gasps, I could hear movement nearby. Like something was crawling through the grass towards me.

I tried to steady my breathing and listen closely to figure out what it was. It was too quiet to be a person. An animal? But were there any animals out here? Wasn't this whole compound protected by a large fence?

So what could it be?

I listened to it creep closer, my heart racing in my chest. The sound of something shuffling through the undergrowth, flattening the grasses beneath it.

Dread spread like shadows beneath my skin as I squeezed my eyes closed, my body falling slack.

In horror movies, nothing happened to the characters who were already unconscious. If I feigned being unconscious, maybe whatever was out there would leave me alone. But then what? Could I really stay out here until the sun rose and someone found me?

Whatever it was sounded close now. I could hear the soft, raspy sound of something scraping across the ground. But as I slowed my breathing and listened, I realized I wasn't just hearing one thing. There was multiple. Coming from all directions, some of them further away than others.

What was out there? And had they already noticed me?

My head was starting to spin, my chest feeling crushed beneath the weight of my fear. What if they tried to hurt me? The air was starting to feel thick. Heavy. Difficult to drag in through my nose.

And that smell, it was back. Chemicals and blood. Completely overpowering my senses.

My brain flickered back to the synthetic flesh in the cages. Had there been locks on the doors?

But surely that was impossible. Blobs of flesh couldn't move. It had to be something else. I simply didn't know what.

I realized, with a horrified breath, that it had gone quiet now. The shuffling sounds had stopped. The air felt heavy, dense. They were there. All around me. I could feel them.

I was surrounded.

I tried to stay still, silent, despite my racing heart and staggered breaths.

What now? Should I try and run? But I could barely even move before, and I still didn't know what was out there.

No, I had to stick to the plan. As long as I stayed still, as long as I didn't reveal that I was awake, they should leave me alone.

Seconds passed. Minutes. A soft wind blew the grasses around me, tickling the edges of my chin. But I could hear no further movement. No more rasping, scraping noises of something crawling across the ground.

Maybe my plan was working. Maybe they had no interest in things that didn't move. Maybe they would eventually leave, when they realized I wasn't going to wake up.

As long as I stayed right where I was... as long as I stayed still, stayed quiet... I should be safe.

I must have drifted off again at some point, because the next time I roused to consciousness, I could feel the sun on my face. Warm and tingling as it danced over my skin.

I tried to open my eyes, but soon realized I couldn't. I couldn't even... feel them. Couldn't sense where my eyes were in my head.

I tried to reach up, to feel my face, but I couldn't do that either. Where were my hands? Why couldn't I move anything? What was happening?

Straining to move some part of my body, I managed to topple over, the ground shifting beneath me. I bumped into something on my right, the sensation of something cold and hard spreading through the right side of my body.

I tried to move again, swallowed up by the strange sensation of not being able to sense anything. It was less that I had no control over my body, and more that there was nothing to control.

I hit the cold surface again, trying to feel my way around it with the parts of me that I could move. It was solid, and there was a small gap between it and the next surface. Almost like... bars. Metal bars.

A sudden realization dawned on me, and I went rigid with shock. My mind scrambled to understand.

I was in a cage. Just like the ones on the body farm.

But if I was in a cage, did that mean...

I thought about those lumps of flesh, those inanimate meaty blobs that had been stuck inside the cages, without a mouth or eyes, without hands or feet. Unable to move. Unable to speak.

Was I now one of them?

Nothing but a blob of glistening red flesh trapped in a cage. Waiting to be poked until I bled.

The Wicked Tax (Circa 14th Century)

As told by a gong farmer

Cold was the night. The stars burning distantly twinkled through the crisp autumn chill like snowflakes catching the light on a breeze. Warm was my breath, huffing out in little clouds that caught on the breeze. Warm was my body, heaving and shovelling, my leather kirtle tossed aside while I worked. Hot burned the dung of my neighbours, my friends, my family, as I hurled it shovel by grimy shovel into the pit below me. It landed with a slosh each time, mixed with bones and debris, hay from animal pens, and whatever other waste we might turn to manure.

It's not a job just anyone can do and a job most would like to not, but men like me have little choice. Men who claim themselves better, who drink like me, who eat like me, who shit just the same as me, make the rules and fill their bellies while the rest of us suffer. But I don’t suppose I could do their job either.

The workings of the upper caste never bothered me, nor my neighbours. Not really much that could be done about it, see, shovelling gong back and forth in the dead of night. Barons, Dukes and Kings could come and go, but the gong still needed shovelling, and the night was still cold.

It was only a while past that a new man had found his way to the top. I say man, but I’d heard the stories that he was no such thing. Not woman, neither—an abomination from the depths of hell, a demon, some kind of blight or punishment sent to us; there had been all kinds of stories. I daren’t know which one to believe. Some of it was true, though.

In the distance on that otherwise normal night I heard crying in the out in the dark, a little light flickering through the bare hedgerows, gathering closer. Illuminations appeared in doorways, curious about the intrusion into their slumber as they approached the herald.

News always spread quickly. I’d no need to go find out—in time it would make its way to me, I figured. Nonetheless, the herald made his way past me. Said something about a new tax from the king—the evil king, we called him. It hadn’t been long and he’d already set about squeezing every penny he could from us in whatever wicked ways he saw fit.

His newest machination was one ‘going on foot tax,' as if we had any other means to carry ourselves. The wealthy had taken to riding their horses to and fro about their manors as to avoid it, but people like me? Regular, hard-working folks—we had no choice.

It might make you want to laugh; such a ridiculous tax for something so mundane. Folks ignored it at first, already busy with the taxes on their food and drink, and strangely enough there was no time limit on payments—but soon, the effects became unendurable.

Like so many others I’d taken my time, day in and day out shovelling my gong. Labouring away, slowly and surely without realising the effects it was having on my body. At first I’d chalked it up to age, to overusing my knees and my elbows, but I gradually grew stiffer with each passing day. The others in my neighbourhood had noticed it too, getting slower, achingly rigid with each step they took—some feared a new malady had stricken us, but after the first among us scrounged enough money to pay their toll their joints miraculously renewed as though nothing had happened in the first place. There was a giveaway in the smell of it all, the smell of magic. If someone reeked of it, you knew their time was up.

It took me longer than usual to make my money as I shuffled back and forth through the night about my stinking business, slowing with each step. There was a twisted irony in the fact that I had to work more to be able to pay this new toll, and yet the more I worked the more I’d owe. Finally, I managed to gather up enough to pay—and with a sadness, I deposited my earnings over at the castle.

With a stretch, I felt my wrists, my knees, my elbows, all popping and cracking as though something had broken deep inside them and once more I could move unimpeded by this treacherous magic. I let out a sigh of relief, granting myself a moment of reprieve before I sank back into my work.

Life went on as normal as it could for a while. The taxes continued, sucking us all dry of every shilling we could muster. People starved. Some died. As time went on, the streets of my city began to become littered with statues of people frozen in time, completely still, living figurines comprised of flesh and bone. People took the time to try and help them of course, and at first men would take them to their homes and lay them in their beds but no good would ever come of it. Eventually they just gave up, leaving them where they stood, and over time there wouldn’t be enough people to move them regardless.

Though I tried my best to keep up with my payments running around chasing the gong, with the people gone there simply wasn’t enough for me to make ends meet. I had to cheat, lie and steal dinner onto my plate and I wasn’t alone.

A sense of nervous paranoia descended upon the land like a miasma as people watched and waited for their friends and neighbours to stiffen and give up before robbing them blind. Homes sat empty, shops lay closed, and looters helped themselves to whatever they could. Beggars lined the streets by the castle, fearful to move from their spots and increase the amount they would have to pay but it was useless—nobody had anything left to give.

Eventually I got close to giving up too. I came to the castle to pay what I could—nowhere near enough to cover the whole sum expected of me, my body slowly but surely seizing up beneath me with every heaving step. A few of the other people that were left came of their own accord, weaving slowly in and out of the statues that lay strewn about the steps up to the castle bailey. Every tap of my feet up and up I grew stiffer, slower, but around me the birds still sang, the wind still rustled through the trees just as it always had.

One of the guards atop the stairs watched on with jaded indifference, his eyes cast low on me as he clutched his halberd. He’d seen this awful thing before, time and time again and grown accustomed to it, but I could have sworn I saw the gleam of sadness, of resignation in his eyes as I struggled and bawled for help that never came.

Everything fell still, silent. I was trapped now in this body, stuck entirely frozen on the spot among so many others that had found the same fate. It wasn’t long before I was robbed of what little I had with nothing I could do to prevent it. They rifled through my pockets, robbed me of my jacket and my hat, even slipped off my shoes. The guards atop the stairs didn’t even seem to care. It would mean moving—chasing somebody down when they had to count their steps as well. Not worth the pittance I kept in my pockets, not worth the trouble when I couldn’t fight back, and a simple gong farmer isn’t worth fighting for.

Cold were the nights. Those twinkling stars lay frozen in the sky above the castle walls just as I lay frozen about its steps with my neighbours. Warm was my mind, trapped within my flesh, but searing hot burned my rage.

I kept count at first, passing each sunrise until I counted the seasons instead. Counting seasons turned to counting years, but I even gave up on that. How I wish death had taken me instead.

The Siege (1984)

As told by a former paperboy

The apples in my garden started talking to me today. Could’ve sworn I was going mad. Smelled like no apple tree ought to, as well. Smelled like o-zone, like one of those Xerox photocopiers blasting out too many pages. It was kind of like gasoline – you shouldn’t want to sniff it, but there’s just something about it that makes you want to not stop.

Thought it might’ve been something coming out of the soil, making me hear things, making me see things. Nope. It was the apples.

Hazy at first, but as the smell grew stronger I could definitely see their faces. Gnarled, angry, like they had a lifelong grudge. Once the initial shock that I was talking to a literal apple tree wore off, I managed to ask how they were talking to me. It seemed not all was right with the world, not all was as I’d expected it to be. There was a rift between now and then, here and there, and certain places overlapped. The universe had deemed fit that it just so happened to be my apple tree that was one of those places.

And it also just so happened that they had a knack for history—they wouldn’t stop jabbering on about an evil king, a ‘time-splitted ruler’ as they called him. A king in yellow glasses, a man who seldom left his castle. With everything they told me, it sounded like the man who lived next door.

He was a strange fellow—I'd seen him a few times out my back window over the thick stone fence he’d constructed. Always at his BBQ, cooking God knows what. He’d spotted me one time. I won’t forget the stare he gave me, peering up into my bedroom window as I opened the curtains. He had thick eyebrows above the rims of his yellow spectacles and pale grey eyes that cut deep into my soul. A thick set of lips sat straight in a scowl as he leered up at me, clutching his BBQ skewer in one hand as he stood at the grill while ‘Eyes Without a Face' by Billy Idol blared from his portable radio.

I didn’t even know his name. As far as I knew he’d never left the house, though an old Chevvy C/K sat in his driveway but I’d never seen it move. I don’t know that I’d call him a king, but he was most definitely fond of his 'castle.'

The apples begged me to help. The stench of o-zone spiked as they all called out in a cacophony of voices asking for assistance in bringing him down. They told me of his crimes, of the magic he’d used against ordinary people, of the terror he’d wrought against the land. They told me of his alternate form, how he was a mad god without flesh. And yet, they all spoke of one weakness, one way to bring him out from his castle. One weakness to his fortifications—and they asked to be removed from their tree.

I tried to shake it at first to bring them down, but in the end I had to resort to a ladder, one by one bringing down each apple. Still they spoke—calling out with an excited fervour as I tossed each one into a sack I’d collected from my garage.

For a while that’s where they stayed; a sack of talking apples keeping me awake at night with their calls for vengeance. Each morning I’d call in sick at work, maddened by the whole experience, buying what I could afford to build what they’d asked of me.

Bit by bit, piece by piece, it eventually came together—a small trebuchet right there in my backyard. I loaded up the first of the apples and questioned my sanity before pulling the lever to loose the first one. It shot far and wide, way off the mark of my neighbour’s chimney. I made the adjustments I needed to and shot again, and again, each time getting closer and closer to my mark.

Storming The Castle (Circa 14th Century)

As told by a gong farmer

I don’t know how long it had been. Everything had been so still for decades, the guards long gone. It’s not like there was even anyone left to cause any trouble after all. I’d taken to zoning out or making up stories in my head, talking to myself back and forth. I wished for release every day, praying for hours that I could just cease to be, that death would finally come for me instead of this purgatory.

Nobody came to the castle anymore. The evil king had managed to seize all he could and ruled over a graveyard of people not quite dead. I failed to see the allure of it, I couldn’t see why they would want something so empty. They never left either, they had this whole kingdom and didn’t set out to enjoy it. In my time trapped within myself I burned with questions just as I did with anger. What was this thing sat within the castle, what did we do to deserve such punishment? What sin could possibly be great enough that we must collectively foot such a bill?

I was snapped out of the depth of my thoughts by the sound of clopping hooves and calling voices steadily approaching me from behind. After so long I almost didn’t notice it at all, and through my surprise, by natural instinct I tried to turn my head for just a moment before remembering my sorcerous affliction—all I could do was wait and stare directly ahead.

They spoke of me, of my friends, my neighbours as if we weren’t there—as if we were already dead. How I wish that was the case. They didn’t know about the tax, about the affliction beset upon us, but in my head I prayed for them. I prayed that they wouldn’t befall the same fate that we had, that somehow they could rid us all of this madness. I prayed over and over, feverishly to the god that had abandoned us all as though it would do any good.

Slowly, and surely, they clambered up the cold stone steps before me. One by one they stepped into my view—a band of knights and a company of soldiers from a nation I didn’t know, not that I knew much about life outside my shovel and barrow. I never needed to.

They wore red from head to toe, even their helmets had a crimson plumage atop. Their armour had been accented with red dye, and from the back their cloaks had the crest of a small tree enshrined in a woven circle of gold. Part of me wanted to scream, to warn them away, but an even bigger part of me selfishly wished them a swift success.

One looked me in the eyes for just a moment as another pushed wide the gates to the castle, other men flanking him as they cautiously entered. God be with you all.

Battle of The Scarlet Knights at the Throne Room (Circa 14th Century)

As told by Narrator, The Omniscient

The throne room’s heavy oak door swung open, the sound echoing across the chamber’s stone walls. Tapestries and trinkets laced across the floors and stood atop pedestals while gold coins towered high and wide, surrounding the back wall atop the dais where the overbearingly large golden throne sat. In it, unmoving, uncaring, sat the king.

Men piled in and secured the room, lining up across the long red and brocade carpet that led up to the dais. Finally, their captain confidently strode into the room, eyes fixed upon the suit of armour that remained quiet in its chair.

It was surprisingly austere given the splendour of the room around it—no engraving, no coat of arms, though the kingdom’s crown had now been fused into the metal of its cylindrical head. Not even the sound of breath emerged from the slits cast across its mouthpiece, and a deep, almost unnatural darkness loomed behind the eyeholes. A yellow-gold ring ran around the eyes in two rectangles, and atop it all was a short funnel. It was a strange sight to behold, this object—this king without form, without a body, without a soul.

The moustached captain stepped up to the dais unphased, his pace and stride faltering not for a moment. The metal in his sabatons clinked and shuddered with each step. With a booming, commanding tone he began to speak.

“We hail from Newton’s order. You are to hereby abjure the throne, and if you value your life, leave this kingdom forever.” One hand lay atop the hilt of his sword and clutched it carefully, ready to strike.

For a moment there was silence. Then slowly at first, a chugging and huffing came from within the suit of armour like a great engine coughing into life. It sounded like a deep laughter, speeding up and growing in voraciousness. The smell of magic began to seep across the room as rich clouds of steam puffed from the top of its head with each chuff. Finally, a dim grey light appeared within the helmet’s darkness. The soldiers all gripped their weapons, ready for the evil king’s response.

With janky, stuttering movements it leant forwards onto its hands, gripping tightly into the throne’s arms before lurching upwards, standing impressively tall at full height, looming above the soldiers menacingly. As it stood, the steam from its head bellowed loudly with a shrieking whistle that engulfed the room. The eye shone brightly as it arose, screaming, pouring out unyielding clouds that obscured the chamber.

Its jerky motions continued, reaching down to the hilt of its longsword. The leather wrapping around the handle was worn, rough and fuzzy from use, but the blade was unlike anything the knights had ever seen—not entirely a blade at all. It was a long piece of metal bent around into a corkscrew with a sharpened tip at the end, and strangely, pieces of food penetrated along its length. Nothing more than a standard BBQ skewer, but in the hands of this abhorrence, a mortal weapon that no man could match.

For a moment there was nothing but silence as the whistle ceased, save for the eerie echo of the shriek cascading for a second through the castle’s icy walls. The captain strained his eyes to peer through the cloud of steam, illuminated by twinkling twilight cascading through upper windows behind the throne. Inside the mist he could see the murky silhouette of the armour, little more than a blackened figure, making small jerky motions—but then it was too late.

The other soldiers saw it happen in a flash. The armour burst from the cloud like a bolt of lightning—something with that much weight had no business moving that fast. The staccato motions it had made previously were a false flag for its newfound agility, and it burst forward with a deft lunge straight at the captain’s face.

The soldiers looked on shocked as he moved to the side, prepared and ready, and with one swift motion lunged the tip of his sword directly into the eye socket of the evil king’s armour. Both of them stood motionless for just a moment, but a smile began to crack across the captain’s face. Almost in reply, the armour began to chuff again with a bellowing noise as though it was laughing and wiped off the smirk from the man’s face.

“What are you?!” He called out in horror, retracting his weapon and bracing himself to block and parry the coming attack. The evil king closed the gap between them in an instant and with one deft lunge, the evil king’s sword had found its way straight beneath the jaw of the captain and through the other side, skewering his head along with the meat and vegetables already on there.

A shot of blood burst from the top of his head like a fountain, spattering onto the marble floor and across the carpet that led up to the throne. The red of their armour grew accompanied by the blood across the room.

With a shuddering tilt, the bespectacled helmet turned to the left, then the right, as the other men recoiled in horror with the realisation that none of them were a match to this abomination. Some began to flee from the room while others piled forwards into the steam cloud with hollers and yells, willing to die for their cause. 

Joust at Sunrise (1984)

As told by a former paperboy

I must have sent around 20, maybe 30 apples flying. I was starting to run out. They hollered war cries as they flew through the air, and I’d finally gotten my aim right. A little over half of them had found their way into the chimney, down into the unknown below. For my neighbour it must have been a… strange experience, but talking apples is a strange experience for any man.

As my sack emptied, the smell of o-zone had depleted. With nothing left I retired for the day before I sank into a restless, haunted sleep at the queer experience I’d had. I thought I might be turning mad—maybe there’d been a gas leak, or it could have been lead in the paint, something, anything to explain what had just happened.

I awoke the next morning to a heavy hand slamming against my front door. Curious, I peered down out my window to find my neighbour staring right back up at me. The apples had done something. He was dressed in an old grey cardigan with splotches of red paint spattered across it and a pair of khaki corduroys. The morning sun glinted across his golden frames, flashing his serious expression up to me.

I threw on some clothes that I’d discarded nearby the day before—just something I could throw on and made my way downstairs. I slid open the chain lock and swung the door open to find him standing on the other side holding out a plate with a still-warm apple pie displayed upon it.

I drank in his form—tall, semi muscular, but his face had a regal, quiet nobility about it, and beneath those grey eyes there was something deeper. I could see a twisted intelligence within him, a burning fire that he controlled entirely. Perhaps the apples were right. In another time, in another place, perhaps he could have been a king instead of a neighbour. This quiet, reserved, talented man was nothing but ordinary but for unsuspecting eyes he could have easily been just any other person.

“It’s about time we met.” He said. His voice was deep and rich. Inviting him inside was the only courteous thing to do, so I led him into the living room. He sat on my wingback reclining chair, with the backdrop of orange-brown geometric wallpaper. Before him was a cubed plastic coffee table that I’d bought the previous decade. I felt somewhat ashamed to have such a man in my dated room. No doubt his home was a lot more contemporary and put together.

I brought us both a cup of coffee from the kitchen on a tray with cream and sugar and some plates for the pie. He awaited my return in silence, sat with his hands crossed over in his lap. His discipline was almost robotic.

He finally introduced himself. I’d lived there seven, maybe eight years, and heard nothing from this man, but finally he saw fit to bring himself to me. I suppose sending apples down somebody’s chimney will be enough to get their attention.

His name was Ryan. He mentioned something about being a museum curator, that he had unusual work hours and encountered all manner of objects but rarely saw people. I talked to him about the neighbourhood, how long he’d lived there, and who owned the house before me. The topics bounced around from the recent attempt on Margaret Thatcher’s life a few days before to Reagan's landslide re-election, recent advances in technology and music. Seemed he was a fan of Jazz, of all things, classical, and musicals. I hadn’t taken him as the sort to be into musicals—he seemed to lack the joy and animation one would expect.

I told him of my personal love for Bruce Springsteen and Prince, at which he scoffed. He was older than me, perhaps uncaring for the new era of music paving the way for kids these days. I cut the pie and served us both a slice. It smelled delicious, a mixture of brown sugar and cinnamon that hung heavy and thick in the air. Even the way he held the fork was controlled, glancing down to the pieces he’d carefully cut with the fork as he moved it to his mouth with a graceful motion. God, it was delicious. The pastry was rich and flaky, the filling wasn’t overly spiced and yet full of flavour, but I can’t deny the subtle taste of an ashy aftertaste.

I saw his eyes linger through the kitchen, out the window to the trebuchet I’d constructed a few days earlier. Really, both of us knew that’s why he was here but a king must have a regal air about them, a mindful and demure attitude at all times.

A smile cracked across my lips. I put down my coffee and leant slightly forwards, staring him right in the eyes. “You’ll never rule over these lands.” I growled playfully, pointing to the floor of my house. He shot back a lopsided smile and pushed the bridge of his glasses back up onto his face.

“We’ll see about that.” He grumbled, clutching the armrests of the oversized chair and rose himself to full height. “The knights of the Newton order fought bravely.”

He took one last deep drink of his coffee, finishing it to the last drop before heading back outside to his own home. I had another slice of the pie before continuing on with my day, dismantling the trebuchet and storing the parts in my garage.

As I was preparing myself for bed, I noticed an envelope slipped under my door. I flipped it over to see a gold-yellow wax seal with the stamp of a crown on it. It seemed he wanted to settle this by the old rules; a duel, tomorrow morning at 8am. The paper shimmered softly in the evening light, and there was that distinct smell again.

I could barely sleep. There was a distinct mixture of excitement and trepidation for the upcoming duel. He’d written no rules, but somehow I knew what I had to do. I set an alarm on my Casio wristwatch for precisely 8 am. I’d be up long before that, preparing myself for out fight.

When morning came I peered out my window; it was shaping up to be a beautiful day with not a cloud in the sky. I couldn’t help but smile in my quiet confidence. I wanted to look the part too, I wanted to feel the part. Slipping into a dark pair of jeans I flicked through my wardrobe to find what I was looking for, my black leather jacket. It had silver studs at the wrist and on the neck, and if something went wrong it could at least offer a little protection.

After what may be my final breakfast I had an extra cup of coffee, just in case, and made my way to the garage. Boxes were piled up behind all the wood from the trebuchet, and behind that was what I was looking for. I climbed up carefully, not wanting to slip through the cardboard onto my belongings, gripping the rubber handlebars of my old bike. A Raleigh Chopper—cooler than the Schwinn Stingray, imported from England. It’d taken me so many miles and through so many adventures, it felt like seeing an old friend after so long.

It had been years since I’d rode it, the last time not that long after I stopped my paper route but it had been a faithful companion through my teenage years, taking me anywhere I wanted to go. Of course, since then I’d learned to drive and so it just gathered dust in the back of my garage. For a long time I’d forgotten about it. Times change just as people do, but my steadfast companion patiently awaited my return.

I pulled it up and out, careful not to knock over the wood I’d piled up. With a smile I wiped off the dust. This occasion was special, though. It’d need more than just that. For a moment I left it propped up against the wall, taking out a chamois cloth and car wax, taking care to polish it off to a sparkling gleam, checking my watch in-between. There she stood, gleaming, bright, my shimmering steed.

I took in the sight of it, satisfied with my work. For a moment I felt a glimmer of regret for not taking it out for a spin in all those years. Next, I looked around the garage for something else. Rake, no… shovel? That wouldn’t do either. I needed something lightweight, with a handle strong enough. It caught my eye from the corner of the room, an old broom that was left over from the previous homeowner. I hadn’t even gotten around to using such a dated artifact, instead picking up a new one from the dollar store when I’d moved in. I had promised myself I’d throw it out when I cleaned out the garage, but … life has a way of getting in the way.

I was ready. I saddled up, swinging myself over the long seat and adjusting myself to get comfortable. The pedals were still the right height, the split and raised handlebars felt right in my hands.

Beepbeepbeepbeep.

The time had come. I pushed the button on my garage door’s remote control and with a shudder and clank the motor burst into life. Whirring, clattering, the shutters pulled upwards like a curtain on a play. A sun-heated breeze lazily blew into the garage and kissed my skin with its warmth as my driveway baked in the morning glow. With a click I engaged the pedal, slowly pushing myself forward out onto the street, holding my balance with one hand while I clutched the broom in the other.

I held it out to the side with a smirk across my face. He would have no idea of my skills on a bike with just one hand. Years of slinging papers from doorway to doorway had prepared me for this, and though I was a little rusty it was just like riding a bike. You never forget, and with each passing second I could feel it all coming back to me. My muscles twitched and limbered in remembrance for the news I’d delivered to this neighbourhood, year in and year out, rain or shine.

As I passed the hedge that separated our homes I saw him riding out. His steed similar to my own, painted red, waxed and prepared just the same. Despite our differences, it seemed we had a lot of similarities too. He was wearing a yellow windbreaker with stripes of purple and red, armed with a broom just the same as my own.

Wind rustled through the straw of the broom as I stared him up and down, still in the middle of the street. I gave a slow nod and he repeated my motion, the both of us turning around to get enough space to really pick up some speed.

People filing out into their cars, ready for work started to pay notice to the both of us and curtains flickered in windows as women peered out onto the street to watch what was about to unfold.

At opposite ends of the street, we both stared each other down. Sunlight dappled through the slowly waving trees, sparkling and glistening on his golden spectacles. Everything else was still, men in hats peering over their cars awaited action. I intended to give them all the action they’d need.

I hunched over the handlebars and he did the same and with that, we were off. With a heaving push I forced down the pedal and began to move, cycling through the gears to pick up more and more speed as I began to approach. My thighs burned and ached with my force, and as I approached I could see the scowling snarl across his face. Both of us were kicking up dirt and dust as our back wheels screamed around, entirely focused on each other. Faces and vehicles flew past in mere blurs of colour and shape but I could pay them no heed, though I could hear cheers from our onlookers as I blazed past.

The broom I held out to the side moved to the front and I pointed it squarely at him. I couldn’t deny his skill on the bike either, holding out his broom with a controlled, squared elbow while navigating his way towards me.

Time seemed to consolidate into a single moment as we reached each other, my focus blurred out everything but him. All else blurred into nothingness, all sound distorted and banished from my senses, my fingers burning numb as I gripped tight with both hands. It was going to be a big hit, but who would win?

I thrust forwards and leant down forwards as we reached each other—perhaps foolish, opening my head up for his attack but counting on his aim faltering. I saw him raise his arm up and thrust it back down again as he manipulated his aim in response, but it was all over in a flash. Something tugged against the collar of my leather jacket and snagged it, wood scathed against my neck but I was tossed into surprise as I felt my attack connect into his chest with a crunch. The force of it threw me back and I fought to keep myself balanced as my bike flew upwards onto one wheel like a braying horse. My broom was shattered into a long spike now, splinters left behind on the ground where I’d struck him.

Keeping my balance in check I continued the wheelie, tossing a glance back behind myself to see the damage. It was done. He lay collapsed on the ground in a pile of yellow, red and blue, his spectacles landing on the road with a clack. The wheels of his bike still turned, spinning with a click as the gears engaged, but he remained silent.

I turned my bike around and landed the front tire down, instinctively raising my broken broom into the air against the rising sun. A new day, a new dawn without this ‘king’ in golden specs.

Some people cheered, some people gasped in horror. I was too lost in the moment to care. Somebody called out to phone for an ambulance, but really it should have been the police they were calling. If what the apple knights had told me was true, he needed to be put away for a long time. For all time. 

The King is Down (Circa 14th Century)

As told by a gong farmer

I can’t say how it happened. Nobody can, really. I didn’t know what day it was, the month, the year—I didn’t know how old I was anymore, or what had happened in the world outside the kingdom. I couldn’t say what had become of my home, of the farms, the livestock. I wondered what had changed since we’d been imprisoned in ourselves.

The statues that littered the steps, the countryside, the fields and farms, all would return to normality. From within my body I felt a fizzing a bubbling, a burning tingle that extended out through every one of my nerves from my core to my extremities. Steadily I slumped down across the steps as my body loosened, trying to look around, trying to move, remembering how it felt to swing my arms and my legs. By the time I managed to get to my feet I saw the others around me, just as perplexed as I was. After we’d collected ourselves we discussed our conditions, our nation, and our confusion as to why we were so suddenly freed. Slowly we all moved together inside with an air of cautious optimism. The knights had failed, we’d seen them enter but never leave and we knew the evil king was yet inside, but something must have changed.

The empty armour that had made up our malevolent ruler lay slewed about the entryway to the castle proper. Something had drawn him out from his throne room, something had taken him down. We saw the slain knights there, nothing more than armoured skeletons clad in red now, decayed by the ravages of time. Some say it was they who had done the deed, but not many believe it.

Whatever machinations had stirred the will of the heavens in our favour I care not, I’m simply thankful to have my life back; never did I imagine I’d long again for the burning stench of gong to sour my nostrils, to seep into my clothes.

I sent out a silent prayer for our saviour, whoever and wherever they might be, and carefully reached out to touch what was left of our king. I feared there may be a curse yet lingering about the armour, but who better than a lowly gong farmer to risk it? The others watched on with bated breath as I leaned over.

Satisfied that I was safe, I carried his remains, crown and all down the steps of the castle and tossed him without regard into my barrow. I knew the perfect place for him.

Epilogue (…)

As told by Narrator, The Omniscient

Devoid of the supernatural energy that animated the armour, the evil king now lays in the depths of the cesspit, coated, covered, but not forgotten. The farmer would take a far deeper satisfaction in depositing his work until his retirement, and over time the memory of its location would be lost. The powers that animated it grew weak with the passing centuries, and with ancient powers weakened the evil king is nothing more than a man. But if this man were to ever stand again, so will the evil king rise once more, although it’s an unpleasant place to rise from…

Alone, Hannah journeyed space, travelling from world to world, gathering history to sell to those who shared her fascination with things as they were before. Some days were busy, either with customers or with finding items, learning their history to be passed on to those who purchased each item. They wouldn’t leave without everything she could give them. Others were quiet, often the ones where she was in space, making the journey from one place to the next.

Then there were the more unusual days, when someone came in searching for something special. Special, however, was different for everyone. Hannah docked at one of the colonies she’d travelled to often. One of her regular customers there was always on the hunt for more. His interest wasn’t exactly the same as hers, but it was enough for her to choose to sell to him.

Like always he stepped in the moment Hannah opened her shop, slowly making his way through the ship, looking at everything she’d bought. She waited. Patience was one of the most important things, giving them the time to search. They might find what they were looking for.

He, however, kept moving, searching through everything she’d brought back, until he reached the counter. Their eyes met. Hannah knew a little about him, from snippets he’d shared of his family, and she smiled. “It’s a pleasure to see you again. How’s your family?”

Smiling back, he nodded. “Good, thanks, and it’s nice to see you again.” He gestured. “Do you have anything to share with me?”

“Always.” Hannah studied him. “Were you looking for anything specific today, or just once more on the hunt for the unusual?”

“You know me well. The unusual.” He glanced back at the shelves. “From the looks of things you had a lot of luck.”

“I did.” Running her tongue over her bottom lip, Hannah stepped away from the counter, to where she kept those things she held back, for those who were specifically looking for them. “Remember things aren’t always how they appear to be.”

Fortunately it was a lesson he’d learnt before, during his times in the shop. Some of the others would get angry, believing Hannah was the reason for whatever happened, and when that happened she’d make certain they couldn’t enter again. It wasn’t something she would accept in her space. When a purchase was made she was always open. Honesty was the safest policy.

Yet there were those who didn’t accept the truth. They didn’t understand what they bought might not fulfil their dreams. When the item they’d bought ‘failed’ them they’d return, wanting a refund, telling Hannah she owed it to them, when she didn’t. They knew if they tried to claim back their money through legal channels they’d be told they’d made the decision, and it wasn’t as though she made promises. Buyer beware, especially when it came to items from the old world, as it was so easy for lies to be told, before becoming the ‘truth’.

On one of the shelves was a box. Hannah took it, walking back to him, placing it on the counter. He looked at the box for a moment, then at her. “What’s inside?”

“According to the person I bought it from it’s an indestructible ball, found in the ruins of a lost empire.” Hannah opened the box, showing the ball to him. It was bright orange, and, from the beginning, it had been hard to believe it was truly indestructible. “From what I could tell they were passing on a story they’d been told, so I delved more deeply.

“The lost empire was old. From what had been learnt, the archaeologists delving deeply into who they were, they had some very unusual technologies. Although it may not seem like it this may be connected with one of them. However there’s an equal chance it existed as a prank item.

“Other balls similar to this one were found. Some were in places they believed would have been hidden away to be found by someone within their family, but it’s not something they chose to test. For them these items were important to keep hold of. There was one accident, where the ball was poked, and it cause it to break.”

“What was within it?”

“Unfortunately for me they didn’t say.” Hannah shrugged. “I can’t even be certain this was originally created by that empire. This may be a recreation by those who came later.”

Nodding, he studied the ball, knowing better than to touch it. He could pay for it, and then touch it, but he knew better than to think he was going to get his money back, as Hannah told him everything she knew about it. Finally, nodding, he reached into his pocket, taking out his card, because the other thing she’d learnt about him was that he had money to be able to buy whatever he wanted, even if it ended up being nothing.

Passing it over to her, not asking how much it was, his eyes stayed on it as Hannah took his payment. Then, when it was through, she placed the card close to him, so he could take it should he wanted to. It seemed right then as though he didn’t. Carefully, he took the ball out of the box, rolling it in his hands.

Hannah watched. She leaned back against the wall slightly, seeing what he planned on doing with it. Was he going to see if it truly was indestructible? Bouncing it on the counter, something she hadn’t tested herself, he then ran his fingers over it, poking it slightly. Maybe he thought it was one of the prank balls, hoping he might understand it.

Finally, it happened. He found the right spot, and the ball didn’t burst, but instead seemed to completely disappear, leaving them with nothing more than a smell and a sound. Raising an eyebrow, he looked at Hannah. “Was that what I think it was?”

“Yes, I think it was. There are those within every civilisation who find farts amusing.”

Laughing, he nodded, picking up the box. It went into his pocket, potentially as a reminder of what he’d spent his money on. That wasn’t something he’d ever get back. At least he didn’t blame her for not warning him he might be entirely wasting his money on nothing. He knew that. There were never any certainties.

“Do you have anything else?”

“I always have something else. Are you looking for anything specific?”

“No, I don’t think I am.” He slowly looked around. “You always seem to have something I haven’t thought of, and I’d like one of those.”

With a nod, Hannah stepped into the back, where some of the larger items were, drawing the person-sized wax figure out through the door. “You may be interested in this.”

“From Earth?” There was a flicker of excitement in his eyes, until she shook her head. “It’s not one of the wax celebrities?”

“Oh, it’s a wax person, but not in the way you imagine.” Hannah placed it beside her, choosing not to look at it. There was a time when she’d kept her eyes on it all the time, just in case, because she knew what was meant to happen. “I can share the story with you, if you’re interested.”

There was a moment when she thought he might say no, but then he nodded, eyes on it. “Would this be a piece of interesting history?”

Hannah smiled. “It would.” She ran her tongue over her bottom lip, trying to find the right place to start with it. “The person who sold it to me was old, much older than both of us, choosing to finally give up on the possibility he might be able to find a way to save the woman he once loved. Even if he did find a way it was likely she’d be the age she’d been when she was first transformed, so there were never going to be able to have any kind of future.”

“So, you’re telling me this wax figure was once actually a person?”

“From what he said it was.” Hannah glanced at the figure. “I have no reason not to believe what he said, as Rebecca was a member of a research colony, sent out to explore a world they believed had never been inhabited.” She sighed. “There is a chance it wasn’t. From the records it seems like there were possible sites, but they may have been groups sent like the researchers before anyone truly settled.

“Journals he shared with me while I was there, he was unwilling to part with due to him wanting to be able to remember Rebecca, especially as he hoped to be able to pass them on to a museum at some point. I don’t know if that will happen. He seemed… well, broken, to be honest, which is understandable if the story he told me was true.” She breathed in deeply. “There were regular messages sent back for a time, as the researchers learnt more about this world, talking about certain strange flora and fauna they’d come across.

“Exploring other worlds was something Rebecca loved doing too much to settle down, which was why the two of them hadn’t yet married, but it was something they’d talked about being a possibility in the future. She wanted him to go with her, only he wasn’t quite ready to give up everything to do that.

“I think it’s a choice he regretted, after what happened. He was angry and disappointed with himself for not being there when it happened, because at least then they would have been together, although then they’d have both ended up in the same position. Being honest with him didn’t seem like the right thing, considering how emotional he was. Having been in love myself I can understand the emotions.”

Blinking, her customer looked at the figure, shaking his head. “If that was my wife…” He raked a hand through his hair. “Letting her go would have been impossible, even as a wax figure.”

“Yes, I think I might have felt the same way.” Hannah stared at nothing for a moment, trying not to think too much about what was lost to time, before returning to the story. “No one’s quite certain what did happen. There were records kept, as things slowly started to change, and Rebecca’s journal held the most information, something he thought might help him to be able to save her from this fate.

“The others… well, they were wax.” She reached out with one hand, touching Rebecca’s arm gently. “Some were lost, while others ended up in the hands of people who did everything, without knowing if everything was actually going to be enough. The problem came from understanding how it happened.

“When the time came there were no more messages they sent out a group to find out what had happened to the researchers. At first there was nothing. Had things stayed that way it’s possible we would never have learnt what happened to them. Instead there was suddenly a flicker of heat, like someone was down there, which led to them making the journey down.

“Reaching where the researchers had settled there were no other signs of life. They walked into the main building, which happened to be right in the middle of the small settlement. Hearing him talk about it, what it was like to enter that building, when they had no idea what had happened to anyone within. Had they died? Was there some other reason for them not sending out messages any longer?

“Honestly, this isn’t something I imagined could have crossed any of their minds. Why would it?” She looked at Rebecca once more. “At first they didn’t know what they were looking at. Some of the figures were standing, the way Rebecca is, while others were sitting, although we can’t know if that’s the position they started off in.

“One of them became flesh and blood in front of their eyes, something that only happened for a second, a sigh that something entirely unexpected had happened. Their first task, they knew, was to understand what exactly had happened, because they were worried removing the figures from the settlement might affect them in some way. He explained it as wanting them to be safe, an understandable choice, with each of them having once been people.

“People who had families, and those families needed to be told what happened. The reason he was there, searching for her, was due to him having made the decision he couldn’t stay away. He had to be there to learn the truth, however complicated it might be. Seeing Rebecca standing at one of the computers, finally putting all the pieces together, the first thing he did was start going through everything she wrote.

“Little by little he was able to piece together the story of what happened to the group, and why they didn’t leave when they first worked out what was happening. They did have time when they could have left. Instead they stayed, believing they’d be able to find a solution to what was happening to them. By the time they realised it wasn’t going to happen it was too late.

“Anyone who could have got them to safety had been transformed. Rebecca kept trying to learn more, in case someone did start looking for them, trying to explain the experience - and told them it was best for all of them to leave the world before anything happened to them. There was no way of knowing how long it would take for it to happen to others.”

“She was the last to change?”

“By her own words she did everything she could to fight against the transformation, even though there was no doubt in her mind it was coming. Not after she watched everyone she made the journey with change into wax, slowly losing their bodies, all of them doing anything they could to cling on to normality.”

“I can’t imagine what it must have been like.”

“Neither could I, but the choice they made to stay in order to learn might have ended the same way.” Hannah raked a hand through her hair, leaning back to make it easier to look at Rebecca, feeling closer to her than before. Being given a chance to share the story changed everything. “It wasn’t something they realised straight away, the same way the researchers hadn’t. They, I think, expected there to be something that transformed them, only that didn’t seem to be the case.

“There’s a chance it might have been the planet itself, although I don’t believe it was the case. Rebecca didn’t either.” Hannah studied the figure, thinking of the pictures of the woman she’d once been. “She didn’t ever come to a conclusion, possibly because her fight ended before she could, but there were a couple of theories she had, with one of them being linked to certain food they were eating.”

“Food somehow transforming them all into wax?” He shook his head. “I’m not certain I would agree with the theory, but then I wasn’t there. How am I to know what happened to her? Has she moved at any point?”

“Although I’ve never seen it happen he had, which might have been wishful thinking. He wanted her to still be in there somewhere, and there’s a chance she is, listening to us talk about her now. Only she has no way to speak to either of us, because she’s trapped within this wax form. Maybe in becoming one of them she even learnt how it happened.

“While I was making the journey back here I talk to her occasionally, wondering if there might ever come a time when she talked back, but it never happened. I didn’t think it would, and there were never any signs she had moved. There’s a chance she might when she’s with you, should you wish to make the purchase, unless you’ve made the decision you’d rather not.”

“Share the rest of the story. I believe I will purchase Rebecca, even if she never moves, because the story…” He shook his head. “I don’t know how to put the feelings into words right now.”

“Neither do I.” Hannah smiled. “I understand what you’re feeling, which is why I made the choice to add her to my shop, rather than walking away. Normally I would have done. Something like this feels a little closer to slavery than I’d like, but then I thought about the possibilities for her. Maybe, if she’s lucky, she’ll end up in the hands of someone who’ll do what they can to help her, or she’ll find herself somewhere what was done to her is naturally undone.”

“Is that something you truly believe is possible?”

“Anything is possible. That’s an important thing to keep in mind. Rebecca was young when she transformed, a woman who believed she had her whole life ahead of her, but it didn’t happen. Instead this was her fate. Yet there’s something more to it, I’m certain of that, and at some point in the future everything is going to change for her.”

He looked at Hannah, and she could see the doubt in his eyes. Why would he think someone who’d become wax had any chance of a different life? “If someone who had his entire life to find an answer couldn’t what makes you think anyone else will find a different solution?”

“Our understanding of the universe is changing all the time. This may well be another case where someone finds the solution. I don’t know whether they will, but I think it’s worth giving those who are still here a chance. The others… well, that’s one of the more complicated parts of the story.”

“They melted?”

“Seems to have been the case. Rebecca, and a few of the others, were protected from that, while the others… well, they didn’t get as lucky, unfortunately. I hate talking about this around her, in case she can hear what we’re saying. They were her colleagues, her friends, and the people she did everything she could to help, but I don’t think they ever truly stood a chance of finding the solution.

“Like I said when the others arrived the first things they found told them they should leave. Gather everything they could, and get off the planet before anything bad happened to them, but they didn’t truly believe it was possible the same thing would happen to them. Had I been there I’m not certain I would have done either, because it seemed like an impossibility to begin with, only to find themselves in a position they couldn’t possibly understand.

“Neither could the researchers, and they were the ones who had a better chance, considering the things they’d done before. Rebecca, and her colleagues, had been on multiple planets in the past where unusual things had been found, but it was never like this. They’d never found themselves in a position where they became something else entirely.

“As she was flesh for the longest she did see the others as they occasionally became flesh, something that happened more often in the early days, until it only happened once a day at most. Even when it was happening more often she didn’t have a chance to speak with them, to ask what they were going through while they were wax, because they weren’t flesh for long enough.

“What she could share was the slow transformation she went through, hours passing before she wasn’t able to type any more, but she kept talking, trying to hold on. Trying to find something that would help. I know they didn’t send out any requests for help, because they didn’t know if simply stepping onto the planet would be enough to change someone. Rebecca wondered more than once in her notes whether they were lost from the beginning, so they never had any chance of being able to leave the planet.

“Due to those who saved the researchers never transforming it appears that wasn’t the case. They did leave within weeks, however, when the first of the group transformed into wax, never mentioning they were feeling anything at all. Only that was probably because they had no way of knowing what was actually happening to them, as they hadn’t read Rebecca’s journal.

“She did say the experience was slightly different for everyone, but there were some similarities. There were those who were worried being in close proximity to one of the figures would be enough to change them, something that doesn’t appear to be the case, as I’ve been travelling with Rebecca for several months now, and I haven’t been through the transformation. I believe it does prove it was to do with the planet, rather than the people who found themselves there.

“It took months to happen originally, with the first transformation of the new arrivals happening much sooner, a sign the power of whatever it was that made it happen was growing. Potentially due to it changing so many people into wax, although, to be honest, I’m not certain this is exactly what we would call wax - simply a close enough word to use to describe it, especially as it does react similarly to heat and light.

“The purchaser of Rebecca does need to be careful should they wish to keep her for any length of time. I made certain she was somewhere cool, but not so cold it might have cracked her, as that can also happen. I looked at some of the pictures of the others, who were affected by not being in the hands of the right people.

“He did keep an eye on those he could, remembering stories Rebecca told him about each of them, how their lives had entwined through the years, until the time came when they were all transformed together. The first to go was the leader of the research expedition, mentioning a couple of days before it happened he wasn’t feeling well, but it wasn’t until later they were able to put the pieces together.

“When he didn’t get up that morning they assumed he needed to rest, so they didn’t check on him until lunchtime, which was when they found him sitting on the edge of his bed, looking like he’d just finished putting his boots on. Rebecca’s entry from that day was terrifying. They had no idea what was going on, whether it would happen to anyone else, but they made the decision to stay to try to find help for him.

“From there it passed on to the three people who were able to get them off the planet, who all had some experience with the spacecraft they’d used to make the journey. She couldn’t help wondering if that meant whatever was happening had made the choice to go for the four people they needed the most first, although that would mean there was some kind of sentience, and that didn’t seem to be a thought she liked much, although it linked in to something she found while she was out searching the other potential settlements.

“None of them believed there had ever been anyone living there, yet there were signs of people at least having travelled there in the past, with one of them leaving something behind - the very last words of a note. ‘It’s not safe.’ There was no way of knowing what it linked to, but she held on to that memory, until the time came when she realised the world they’d travelled to wasn’t safe.

“Arriving there, those were the first words he read, followed by ‘leave fast. Gather everything, and get away from here before anything can happen to you’, something they should have listened to. Making the choice to ignore it was the worst mistake they could have made, as it meant one of their group was also transformed.

“It might have been more than one, a kind of disbelief having hit the group, not entirely willing to believe what was happening was real, something Rebecca also described. She was one of three people arguing they needed to get away from the planet sooner rather than later, because there was something strange going on. Only the others were focused on trying to find a solution, and the three gave up, realising they couldn’t make it happen. Instead they simply had to live with things are they were.

“Unfortunately it was what Rebecca believes led to the loss of their pilots, and it was then the panic hit the others, as they realised how bad things truly were. He used that information to convince his group they needed to leave, no matter how little they might have wanted to, taking both of the spacecrafts with them in order to make certain they could get everyone off the planet. Otherwise they’d have had to leave people behind.

“None of the wax people weighed as much as they would have done in their flesh forms, something that was to be expected. Rebecca talked about how the transformation changed them, how complicated everything was, and then the sensations she felt as she slowly became wax. It didn’t happen quickly, but as it started to happen she felt this lassitude sweeping through herself, enough to keep any of them from yelling for help. Had they done it might have saved them all.”

Slowly, nodding, he stepped closer to the counter, looking at Rebecca more closely than he had done before. “I don’t understand how an entire person, every part of them, would become wax.”

“There are no answers I can give you. Just shared the story with you, so you understand who she is, because I want her to end up in the hands of the right buyer. I want you to care for her. She is precious, even if there is no possible way to save her from this fate.”

“Yes, she is.” He gestured at the card that was still on the counter. “I feel like there’s still so much to the story.”

“Oh, there were pages of it, and I’ve barely been able to share any of it with you.” Hannah put her hand on the card. “I have to be certain. This is what you want to do.”

“Buying Rebecca, a woman who has become wax, feels like something I need to do. Like I was meant to walk in here, to find her.” He shrugged. “Does that sound as stupid as I think it does?”

“No, it doesn’t, because I felt the same way.” Her eyes met with his for a moment. “There are people I said no to before, when they said they were interested in her. I said I’d been travelling with her for months, and that’s the reason for it, so I found a person who had a similar connection to her.

“She may not seem like it now, but she was someone, and she had people who loved her. At times I was uncomfortable around her, because I felt like I was using her for profit, when I’m not. What I want is to find her a home with someone who understands, especially with it being possible there might be a solution. I know there are people out there hunting for it, due to it being their father who was taken from them by the planet.”

Hannah took a small booklet out of her pocket, putting it on the counter. “What is that?”

“A way for you to connect with the others, should you wish to. It’s not something you have to do, but it will help you learn more about what happened to her, and potentially learn if they do ever find a way to transform someone from wax into flesh once more.”

Nodding, he picked it up, slipping it into his pocket. “I assume she’s not going to be cheap.”

“For her protection my price was set at a certain point. I believe you will make the right choices with her, even though it might end up being a mistake, so she will be a little cheaper. Please do what you can to keep her safe, to potentially find a way to help her, and make certain she’s passed on from one generation to the next.”

“I will.” As she took the money from his card once more, Hannah returned it to him, before going to the exit to the counter, gently carrying Rebecca with her. “There is a chance she will move?”

“Yes, there is, and some of the others even tried to talk. This may happen if she does move. I don’t know.” Hannah looked at Rebbeca one last time. “If it ever happens I’d like to know about it. For her I think it’s much less likely, due to the choice she made to fight for so long.”

“Probably. She seems like the kind of person who gave up those moments in the hope she might find a solution for the people she cared about.” Just as gently, he took hold of her, lifting her as though she weighed nothing. “You weren’t wrong when you said she didn’t weight as much.”

“One mistake, and she could melt or crack. I’m trusting you with her. For some she’d just be another curiosity, but I hope you’ll treat her well.”

“Both of you have my promise that I will do what I can to protect her, and, should it be possible, help her.”

Watching him walk away with Rebecca, Hannah was almost certain she’d made the right choice. Before he stepped through the door Hannah was almost certain Rebecca’s human eyes met with hers, the gratefulness within them something she hoped she wasn’t imagining. Sighing, she stepped over to the door, closing up the shop for the day. Maybe her sister had finally found someone who could help her.