On her recent post "Seven Deadly Sins" Honour (The Art of Practice) mentioned a competition to write a short piece of fiction based on Creatures of the Night, as well as her recent successful publication (about time too!).
I am still considering my options on this, but thought I would bring you the below as a piece of fun in the meantime (please by no means take it seriously):
The door creaked open and the figure in the alleyway took a step backwards. The woman in the doorway was not what exactly what he had been expecting. True, they had told him that she had a face that had launched a thousand ships: but he hadn’t thought they’d meant it literally, and when they had spoken about mountainous breasts he hadn’t actually thought there would be snow on top.
She was standing in the doorway with more curlers in her hair than seemed feasibly possible. Her arms were dug firmly into her sides and looked in need of a good ironing. As he took a nervous step backwards she raised an eyebrow with all the ominous impact of a seismograph recording a pre-shock, or snow grumbling on a mountainside as the sun starts to melt it.
‘Well?’ she demanded, her gums moving the cigarette around in her mouth with well practised ease.
The figure seemed to regain his composure, adjusting his black velvet waistcoat and cape and offering his best smile, ‘Goot evenink’ he announced in tones as smooth as silk, ‘Eye am a wampire ant eye vant to trink your blut’
The woman sighed, removed the cigarette from her mouth and blew a cloud of smoke into the air, ‘Oh not a-bloody-gain’
The man looked a little shaken at this reaction, but having come this far was determined to keep trying, ‘Qvake in your boots voman!’ he continued, his voice dropping a whole octave until it sounded like someone doing a voice-over for a particularly bad horror film, ‘Eye em a wampire!’
‘And you can stop doin’ the stupid accent as well’ the woman retorted, ‘You’re Elsie Craddock’s eldest son Neville. Known you since you were five year old I ave, and you’ve never been further afield than the next village’
‘Ewe dwo not understandt’ Neville the vampire responded with all the rigidity of wet celery, ‘Eye em eh wampire: eh being of pure ewil: and eye vant to trink your blut’
‘Yeah yeah’ the woman responded, ‘I ‘eard you the first time…only you’re about forty years too late if you’ve come round here lookin’ for virgins. Besides: the girl you’re lookin’ for moved out about a month ago’
‘Oh’ Neville looked suitably abashed at this, ‘So you’re not Delores then?’
‘Do I look like a Delores?’ The woman paused and peered a little closer at her would-be corruptor, ‘Ere, are those fake fangs?’ she asked. Neville just looked shamefacedly at the ground and didn’t respond. The woman tutted loudly, throwing the burnt-out cigarette into a gutter, 'I don't know' she said, 'Ever since that bloody Anne Rice novel you young impressionable types think you can just go around sinking your teeth into anything you like' she sighed again, taking a moment to pity the poor man, who by now was quaking in his immaculately polished shoes, ‘Look: Neville – I can see that this is your first time and you’ve done your best, so it probably won’t help your social standing much if you go back empty handed so…’ she took a deep breath, ‘you can take a pint or so if you must’
‘Really?’ Neville responded, his eyes shining with renewed hope
‘Really’ the woman confirmed, ‘only hurry up about it, cos the news is on in ten minutes’
The woman moved out of the way and gestured for Neville to go inside. He nodded, pausing slightly on the doorstep, ‘Do you think…’ he asked shyly, ‘do you think…you could try and pretend to be afraid?’
‘Don’t push your luck sonny’ the woman replied, ushering him inside. As she pulled the door shut behind her she paused for a second and glared at the moonlight as if defying it to argue with her, then she smiled to herself, the pale glow of the stars reflecting off her nicely polished fangs. It really was better than take-away she thought, and closed the door with a slam.