By Crystal Crawford
The tall stranger sauntered through the dark alleyway. His long fingers trailed across the rough brick of the buildings on either side of him, and his arm span filled the alley. He moved at a lazy pace, no hurry to be anywhere. His stroll this evening wasn’t about destination but discovery—about finding someone, finding the one, the perfect specimen to assuage tonight’s hunger.
Something scuffled in the shadows ahead, and the stranger stopped, listening. The shadows fell silent. The stranger’s lips curled up into a smirk, and he pulled his arms in, smoothing his black suit jacket. He walked, eyes on the ground, feigning distraction, then flipped his face up at the man cowering against the wall at the corner of the building.
“Oh! Hello, friend. And who might you be?”
A middle-aged man gaped up at him, dropping his freshly lit cigarette on the pavement. “My, you’re tall,” he said.
“I hear that often,” the stranger said, stepping closer. He tilted his head, and his smile deepened. “But friend, who are you? I must know.”
The man’s eyes widened, and he staggered back against the building, fingers scrabbling at the brick. “No. You’re… no. No, please.”
“You’re being rather impolite,” the stranger said, his smile holding. “I really must know who you are.”
“Danny,” the man said, then blinked as though surprised. “A plumber.”
“A… plumber,” the stranger said, testing the word out. “I’ve never tried one of those.”
The man’s screams echoed through the empty streets.
The stranger stood and stretched his aching limbs. He despised sleeping on the hard ground here, but still—better than where he’d come from. At least here, no one actively tried to kill him. The disappointment of the night’s harvest still rankled. He shuddered, sifting out the unpleasant memories of the plumber and how he spent his days. Disgusting. A useful calling, perhaps… but of no use to the stranger. The stench of excrement and sour pipes still lingered in his nose as if he’d been there.
He peered down at the man on the pavement. The man’s eyes stared blankly at the night sky. The stranger let out a low growl of frustration. Daylight would soon break, another night spent harvesting with nothing useful to show for it. Memories were supposed to be the key to everything, not only understanding the workings of humanity and how to become one of them. The memories he’d assimilated so far had made him better at blending in, but he was still no closer to completing his true mission.
A rough laugh escaped the stranger. The scraps of memories he salvaged had given him insight on humanity, on what drives them… but his real task was to find the Gatekeepers and the passage he’d been sent to open. He needed memories of substance, from a human who knew something. Instead, he got sewage and soggy pants. At least it was better than the butcher’s memories he’d harvested the night before. That one had made him gag.
He still had nothing useful, and he was running out of time.
A thump in the shadows down the alley made the stranger turn. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be wasted, after all. He smoothed his suit jacket and strode for the shadows, lips curling back into a grin.
A man stood in the shadows, hands folded behind his back. He was tall, though not as tall as the stranger.
He wasn’t cowering. How odd.
If his confident stance was any indication, this human might have memories worth taking. The stranger stepped forward, still smiling.
“Hello, friend. And who might you be?”
“You should not have come here,” the man said.
The stranger tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over the man. He was different, somehow. Beneath his human odor lay something… else.
“Who are you, friend?” the stranger asked again. “I must know.”
“Earth is unavailable to you,” the man said, his mouth drawing into a thin line. “As is Arameth.”
One who knows of worlds beyond. That was rare among humans. Perhaps he had finally found a Gatekeeper, one whose memories could unlock the passage. He stepped forward, his smile widening. “No harm meant.”
“I doubt that,” the man retorted.
The stranger grinned. “I admire your spirit, friend. So tell me… who are you?” He stepped closer, peering into the man’s eyes. “I really must know.”
The man did not smile back. He raised one hand out in front of him, fingers splayed. “I am the Watchman of the Veil,” he said. “Return to Deepside, where you belong.”
The stranger’s grin contorted into a sneer. “Impossible,” he hissed. “You can’t—“
The air of the alleyway split open and sucked the stranger inward, then snapped shut again.
The stranger tumbled through blackness, through nothingness. The Void. He looked down, and fear snaked through his chest. The Dark King would be furious. Failure was always punished.
Something shimmered to the stranger’s left and he turned, grasping for it. He could not return to Deepside yet. He needed more time.
The thing shimmered again, and he lunged for it. His fingers closed over something solid, invisible in the darkness. Warm—soft. Like flesh. What was it? But no matter—whatever it was, it was headed somewhere, and he would travel with it. Anywhere was better than Deepside. The Dark King would find him—but he only needed time. There were many paths to Arameth.
He failed on Earth, so he must find another way. Another, or the unpleasant human memories he’d taken would seem like paradise compared to his future.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
The worldbuilding here is interesting. I’d like to find out more.
Thank you! I’m glad you found it interesting! This is a very small piece of a larger world I’ve written several other stories in as well.
Your main character freaks me out, but he intrigues me a lot too! It looks like you’ve got a FASCINATING fantasy world here!
Thank you! I’m really glad he was intriguing and not ONLY freaky. ;)
I really liked the sense of mystery around the main character and the man at the end. It would be interesting to see how each of their adventures continue.
Thank you! I may consider writing a follow-up sometime. :)
Good work