On Monday mornings, I send out a story via email: ultra-brief tales of 1,000 words or more, usually in genres including horror, science fiction, and the supernatural. Those stories collectively are called Once Upon A Time. I’ve also published several ebooks and compendium volumes of those stories so far.

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Here's story 260, of 266 so far.

Dogma

“It was a dark and stormy night, eh?”

Anwen looked up from her book, cautiously eyeing the man who was sitting opposite her on the bus. There were only five people on board, including the driver, and the final stop was approaching.

She glanced out the window at the winter evening, knowing it was almost ten o’clock. Orange streetlights drifted past, bounced by the big vehicle’s overly springy suspension. It was cloudy but dry, with no signs of rain, much less a storm.

My book, she thought. He’s just talking about the book. The old clichéd opening sentence.

She smiled slightly, and briefly. There was something slightly off about the way the man was looking at her, but perhaps she was misjudging him. It was late and she was tired, after all. Both of those factors tended to make her jumpy.

The man didn’t say anything more, and Anwen saw that they were only a minute away from the last stop now. She put her book into her handbag, taking longer than necessary so it wouldn’t seem like an opening for a conversation. The man glanced at her briefly, but still didn’t speak again.

She got up first, moving to the front of the bus as it drew in towards the kerb. When the doors opened, she thanked the driver and stepped out, moving quickly. She told herself that her haste was just because of the cold, but her pulse became elevated when she heard footsteps not too far behind her. Heavy footsteps, like those made by a man’s shoes.

Pull yourself together, she thought. There are only three ways you can go from the bus stop, and this is one of them.

Anwen continued on down the road, deserted at this hour, and she tried very hard not to hurry along even more; to give in to the sense of threat that was a daily companion for women walking alone, especially at night.

She kept her pace steady, even though the road passed under a railway bridge just ahead, and the streetlight just before it was always broken because teenagers liked to skulk around under there and smoke. She hoped there would be teenagers there tonight, but she could already see that there weren’t.

The footsteps behind her quickened now. Anwen almost tripped over her own feet as her brain at first registered the change, and then confirmed it. She was nearly at the broken streetlight, and fear overtook her. Against the urging of her rational mind to run or to call out, she stopped and turned, every muscle in her body tense with fright.

It was indeed the man from the bus, and he reached out and gripped her upper arm, pushing her partly into the shadow of the bridge.

“Leave me alone,” she said, but her voice was barely audible. Panic blurred the edges of her vision, and she could smell both the remnants of his aftershave and the stale reek of alcohol on his breath that she hadn’t noticed on the bus. He was looking at her like she was something less than a person.

He moved closer to her, the pressure of his large hand painful around her arm. Anwen’s mind went blank. Only her subconscious registered the movement in her peripheral vision.

Sparks. Embers. Like fireflies.

A breath of wind, on a still night.

A glint of something dark.

The man grunted in surprise, stumbling backwards, and he reached instinctively up to touch his fingers against his own cheeks. There was blood there now, visible even in the gloom. His eyes locked on Anwen’s, rage and disbelief in them, and she shrank back against the bricks.

Sparks.

A jagged gash across his forehead. Another, higher up at his hairline, where the parting was.

They both became aware of the other woman at the same moment. The newcomer stood in the middle of the road itself, just within the edge of the bridge’s shadow. She was of average height, dressed in a long, dark, nondescript coat. Her hair was of some unusual colour, but the shade was untrustworthy in the dim light. Her left arm was raised.

Her outstretched hand was curled into a strange shape. It was reminiscent of the universal gesture for “OK”, but more complex. It looked almost uncomfortable. Her eyes were black orbs, barely catching the light from the rest of the street.

Another spark, this time clearly from her fingertips, and the man cried out in pain. Anwen looked at him again, and now there was blood flowing from his right eyebrow, dripping down onto his cheekbone. And at last, he turned and ran off, his gait unsteady and desperate.

Anwen felt her hands begin to shake, watching the man go. The other woman came closer now, peering at her appraisingly. After a moment, she nodded and turned to walk away, but Anwen reached out towards her.

“Wait,” she said. “I mean, thank you. What you did… what did you do? How?”

The woman turned back, standing side on, then met Anwen’s eyes. When she spoke, there was a hint of some exotic accent that Anwen couldn’t place. Her tone was a little weary, as if this were a conversation she’d had before.

“That’s up to you,” the woman replied. “You already know. But I doubt you’ll accept it, so just decide on something to tell yourself instead. That’s what most people do.”

“But I saw… I saw, from your hands.”

The woman’s expression was almost amused now, but also with a hint of sadness. “You saw, you saw. But did you see? Let me ask you this: what do you do for a living, my dear?”

Anwen blinked and then swallowed, thrown by the question. “I, uh, I’m a scientist, I suppose,” she replied, and then she huffed in exasperation with herself. “No, not I suppose; I am a scientist. Materials engineering, like heatproofing or corrosion resistance, or…”

She tailed off awkwardly, lowering her gaze for a moment before hesitantly looking back up at the other woman. The expression which met her was one of even greater amusement than before, as if she’d told a most wonderful joke.

The woman nodded thoughtfully, and then again, more decisively. Anwen could see that it was a goodbye, and sure enough the woman turned away once more and strolled back towards the edge of the bridge’s shadow.

“I don’t believe in anything like that,” Anwen called out, suddenly annoyed now. The adrenaline was fading, and for some reason she was furious with herself, and with the man, and with all men, and with this strange woman too. “I’m a rational person.”

My only dogma is of science, she thought but didn’t say.

The woman came to a stop, but she didn’t turn around. She raised her hand again, and for a brief moment Anwen felt a spike of apprehension, but her fingers were in a different position from before.

The woman drew in a breath, and she spoke as she moved her hand just a few millimetres. Anwen’s eyes closed involuntarily.

“The Fabric doesn’t care what you believe,” the woman said, and then Anwen’s ears popped painfully.

When she opened her eyes again, she was alone, and the streetlight was on.

JINX

KESTREL face a new and terrifying enemy: an all-seeing mastermind who already knows exactly who they are, and many of their deepest secrets. Nothing stays hidden forever, and the line between privacy and liberty is razor-thin…

Book 3 in the KESTREL action-thriller series.

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