Night Creatures

PC Hill and PC Moore heard the screaming whilst on patrol that night, its source barely discernible through the fog. When they finally arrived on scene, Moore nearly threw up. A man was sat huddled over the mangled corpse of a young woman, his clothes and skin soaked with blood. Behind him, another body lie still, surrounded by a thick dark puddle. While Moore adjusted himself, Hill slowly crept towards the man, reaching for his handcuffs.

“Sir, put your ‘ands behind you, and don’ move,” he said loudly, moving behind the man and clicking the handcuffs securely to his wrist and dragging him to his feet with painful protest. He dragged him back up the path, pausing by PC Moore, “Run across to the phone box, we’ll need to call it in and get someone out for ‘im,” he nodded his head towards the half-conscious man, “and... that shit.” He nodded, shuffling off with his hand over his mouth, and within half an hour more officers had arrived.

Hill pushed the man into the back of a carriage, climbing into the box seat beside the driver. With a whip of the reigns, they took off down the road, leaving the gory scene behind. Above the trotting of the horses and the rumbling of the carriage, dampened by the fog, he heard muffled sobs from within. Shortly they arrived at the station; an immense four storey building that disappeared far above them. PC Morgan, a broad built ginger man pulled the suspect from the carriage, hauling him into a holding cell until they decided what to do with him.

* * *

Two days later, the man sat uncomfortably in the witness stand of Court, twelve established jurors awaiting his trial. The events of the past few days had left his head dazed; his glossy eyes stared emptily across the dingy room. Suddenly noticing the silence of the room, he zoned back in.

“...repeat the question?” The coroner continued.

“I’m sorry, g-go on,” he muttered, stumbling over the words.

“Can you explain the incident that occurred two nights ago?”

* * *

As a steady pattering of rain fell over the dismal Soho streets, George Braxton stumbled home. The early October evening forced his hands in his pockets, small clouds escaping his lips with each breath as he left a trail of liquor lingering in the air. He had just been to visit the new Kinetoscope Parlour on Oxford Street, and with the sun slipping beneath the horizon, he turned down an alleyway cutting between two closed cafes. Roughly halfway down, he heard a strange clicking sound from behind him. It echoed off the walls, breaking the eerie silence he had only just noticed. He turned his head over his shoulder, seeing nothing but managing to stumble into one of the walls. He grunted, using his hands to balance himself again and continue. As he neared the end of the alley, he heard the noise again. He turned once more, a searing pain burning in his side and catching a glimpse of silvery grey before the world went black.

* * *

When George awoke, he was lying in a dingy room on a cold table. A face was directly above his, a row of jet-black teeth growing from the distorted greyish skin above its mouth. He screamed, struggling on the table when a scorching pain shot along his left side. The face jumped back, seemingly tiny on its large bald head, and opened its mouth to reveal row upon row of fangs.

“Ris, mlac nwod” Its garbled voice began. George swung his fist, feeling a crunch as he connected. The creature let out a gargled cry and another rushed into the light. He looked around, his head in a daze. Through his hazy vision, he saw a scalpel on a tray beside them. He reached for it, jumping from the table despite his pain. The humanoids raised their hands, talons protruding from the end of each finger. They were shouting, though George could not understand what they were saying. His hand went to his side, lifting his shirt feeling the stitches soaked in hot blood. Were they trying to steal my kidney?

He roared, barging through the doorway in a blind panic and stumbling down the hallways of their gruesome facility. More of the creatures were chasing after him now, clad in long grey garbs, the likeness of their skin. He held the scalpel in front of him, running faster and checking over his shoulder constantly. As he turned a corner, he froze. He had entered into a hall lined with beds.

“Dear god...” he whispered hoarsely, eyes wide and panting. Upon each bed lie a human, unconscious. These creatures, what are they – aliens? Are they impersonating us? They stole these bodies, and me, so they could become us! “They’re taking over the town!” He flinched, startling himself as he spoke aloud. Behind him, commotion assured him of their arrival. He slipped further into the room, hiding in the darkness behind a curtain as the assailants neared.

“Erehw si eh? I tnaw mih dnuof, ew tna’c evah a namdam gninnur nduora!” The loud voice sounded close, as footsteps rounded the corner. Ghastly shadows danced across the floor as they passed through the room. From his position, George watched and waited for them all to pass. His heart was racing, his mind spinning as he struggled to comprehend what he had seen, one hand pressed firmly to his side whilst the other gripped the scalpel. As sweat pooled on the back of his neck, he took his chances and resorted to make his escape. If anything, he had to get out, to find his beloved Eleanor. He slipped along the wall back to the doorway, sneaking his way along the dim corridors to an exit.

The cold air engulfed his damp clothes, a thick layer of fog surrounding the building. The rain had stopped, and the night was strangely quiet. George took off down the steps, instinctively turning right and hobbling down the street. Soon he found himself by the Thames, the water gushing noisily far below. A tease of muffled laughter drifted through the air, breaking the eerie silence that had engulfed him – familiar laughter. He paused by a bench, recognising the grooves along the seat and the cracks of the paving below. His mind raced; Eleanor and he habitually walked down here together. Now knowing where he was, he rushed off in the direction of the quiet laughter ahead. It sounded so familiar. My Eleanor, she must be here.

“Eleanor!” He shouted, struggling to keep his pace with his side shooting pain with every step. Ahead the laughter continued, but as he neared, it changed. An ear-piercing scream erupted into the murky night. “Eleanor!” Terror deceiving his words, suffocating him as he ran, “Is that you?” He fought through the pain, thinking back to the strange creatures that held him captive earlier that night. Through the mist, two figures emerged. The screaming resumed as the figures pushed and pulled against each other. “Eleanor!”

“George?” A horrified voice sounded as one of the figures turned, her pale face staring at him with wide eyes. The other figure contorted its body, glaring at him as he approached. It lifted its talons towards her face, slicing her cheek. “George!” Eleanor howled as blood trickled down her face. Remembering the scalpel, he charged the creature. It lashed out at him, snapping a firm foot into his stomach as he wildly slashed at its legs. “Stop, please!” Eleanor pleaded as George collapsed to the ground, succumbing to the pain while the creature towering over him with its hands around Eleanor’s waist.

His head span; the mist that twirled around them adding to his disorientation. Through his confusion, the distant cries of Eleanor pulled him to his feet. “George,” her desperate voice rang all around him as the beast dragged her away, “Don’t leave me alone!” With adrenaline coursing through his body, he sprang back up, his heavy cotton waistcoat now sticky with blood. He sped as fast as he could after them, fear of Eleanor’s safety driving him along. He caught up with them; Eleanor screamed, pleading for help as he neared.

“Get off of her!” George growled, spluttering the words.

“Ehs sevol em, evael su enola!” Its grating voice replied, turning to him.

He advanced, eyes darting between its blood-speckled talons and Eleanor’s terrified face. “George-” Her voice cut off as the creature tore its talons through her throat. Her head lulled back as her body fell limp to the floor.

In a rage-fuelled frenzy, he was upon the creature. He drove the scalpel into its side, his hand warming as the thick liquid oozed over it. The creature snarled, reaching its hand around and slashing George’s arm awkwardly. Four shallow cuts appeared on his forearm, the pain going unnoticed as he proceeded to strike out wildly.

“You... Killed... Her!” He grunted each word as he brought the scalpel down into its chest, tearing through the black velvet jacket of its disguise. It fell back screeching, the fog encroaching them both as George clambered on top. “You... Killed... My... Love!” With each word, he plunged the blade down, driving the final blow through the creature’s eye. The night fell silent; the only sounds were the river churning over George’s heavy breath. He rolled off its chest, crawling desperately along the pavement to Eleanor’s blood-soaked body. He cradled her head, staring deep into her lifeless blue eyes. “El... Eleanor pl... Please wake up darling...” He panted, his words barely a whisper.

* * *

The courtroom remained silent as George finished his retelling, nervously breaking down and sobbing throughout. The sun shone brightly through the windows, illuminating the stained floor.

“And these, creatures Mr Braxton...” A jury member clad in the black woollen jacket of a doctor said, clearing his throat and leaning forward an inch, “are any of them here with us today?”

George’s eyes frantically darted around the room, resting shortly upon the moustachioed face of bald man; his eye’s black with bruises, before moving on.

“No y-your honour. But they could be anywhere!”

“The female victim, Eleanor Moreau. You knew her?” The doctor questioned after several seconds.

“Yes your honour, we have – had been together, for almost 6 months now...” He stifled a cough as he struggled to hold back the tears that streamed down his face. “I was... going to propose in... the next few weeks...”

Before he could break into another fit of uncontrollable sobbing, the coroner inquired further. “The other victim, Edwin Colt, did you also know him?”

Braxton lifted his head, his brow scrunched tight as he wiped his tears on his sleeve. “Edwin... wha-who are you talking about?” The words trickled from his lips while he stared at them, confusion flooding his tormented mind. “There was no other victim, just that creature!”

The jury mumbled amongst themselves, threatening eyes pouring over him from all around the room.

“I see,” the coroner went on, “and so you had no idea of Miss Moreau’s courtship to Mr Colt?”

“How, dare you... How dare you disrespect her name!” George rose from his seat, slamming his fists on the desk as his voice climbed louder. “Don’t you see? These creatures want to take over!” An officer stepped forward, forcing his sore wrists back into the handcuffs. George protested to no avail, screaming, “They’re here already, don’t you see that?” The officer lugged him down the central aisle as he went on. “They’re living among us; they will have killed half the- The door closed behind them as the officer escorted him out.

The coroner and his 11 peers debated quietly amongst themselves before turning to Braxton’s barrister. “Mr Syke, on behalf of your client, on the charges of assault of a Doctor, and the murders of both Eleanor Moreau and Edwin Colt, how do you plead?”

A weight seemed to press down on the room as William Syke sat in front of the collective. He cleared his throat as he rose to his feet, adjusting the top hat perching upon his head. “Your honour, members of the jury, my client pleads not guilty on account of insanity,” the room buzzed with nervous chatter, “I think my client has just proven that he meets the M’Naghten standard. I move that he begin immediate treatment to prevent this from occurring again.”

After minimal discussion, the jury agreed to the insanity plea, committing Braxton to a lunatic asylum until doctors saw fit to release him.