We Dance Among Our Shadows

REGINA

“Okay, honey,” the kindly owner of the bed and breakfast smiled welcomingly at Regina as she held out some keys. “Your room is up the stairs; second door on the left. It has an en suite bathroom, just like you asked. You’ve got the room for one week, okay?”

Regina nodded and thanked the woman. “Can I ask if there are any evening meals here?”

“Oh, yes,” the woman said. “At around six. That’s the dining room.” She pointed to a door, and Regina thanked her once more and headed for the threadbare staircase, lugging her suitcase behind her. She finally made it to the top of the staircase, by which time her arms ached and her heart was throbbing in her chest. She wasn’t the most active of girls. She located the correct door, jammed the key into the lock and turned it.

The room she’d been given for the next week was plain, simple, except for the oddly extravagant (and extremely ugly) wallpaper. There was a double bed, a small wardrobe, and a door leading onto the en suite. The window looked out over the village green, but she didn’t pause to look out. Instead, Regina locked the door, left her suitcase by the door and flopped down on the bed. It creaked with the sudden weight and dipped worryingly in the middle. It was a comfy bed, but almost too comfy.

After a few moments of lying there, letting her mind wander, she jumped off the bed and walked over to the floor-length mirror, to see if she should freshen up before she headed down to dinner. She decided she’d better. A day of travelling had left her clothes – jeans, a slogan T-shirt and a denim jacket – a bit creased and crumpled, and her curly dark brown hair was escaping from the loose ponytail she’d swept it up in earlier on in the morning. Regina hadn’t put any make up on that morning, so her pale, round face looked oddly bear and exhausted.

Turning, Regina pulled her suitcase to the bed, opened it and pulled out a fresh top, a pair of leggings and some more socks. Pulling her hair out of it’s elastic; she unpacked her toiletries and wandered through to the en suite for a quick wash. When she returned to the bedroom, she pulled on her change of clothing and dragged a brush through her thick mane of curls. Just as she was about to put on some make up, there was a knock at the door.

“Miss Hartley?” she heard the landlady say. “There’s someone on the phone for you. He didn’t give a name, but he says it’s urgent...”

“Oh – thank you – can you tell him I won’t be a moment?” Regina called back.

There was no reply, and then the woman said, “the phone is in the main lobby, just pick it up when you get down there.” Regina dropped her make up on the bed and exited her room, trotting down the stairs (which no longer seemed to take forever to climb) and picked up the phone.

“Regina.” It was the clear, emotionless, androgynous, anonymous voice.

“Yes?” she said nervously.

“I’m glad you decided to go to Epityville,” the voice said. “I always knew you would, but of course it’s good to see you can follow orders.” There was a pause, and then:

“I want you to watch very carefully in Epityville while you’re researching. Look for a girl.”

“A girl?” Regina repeated.

“Yes; she’ll be about sixteen. You may not realise who the correct one is straightaway, but you’ll soon realise...” There was another pause. “And then there are three men. These will be easier for you to locate, but they will come to you, not you to them. For the girl, you must go to her. The girl is the key: she will bring you all together.”

“How will I know it’s the right people?” Regina asked, confused.

“You will know.” The voice sounded momentarily amused. “I will make sure you find the right sixteen year old.”

Regina nodded, and then said yes to the person.

“I’m going to hang up now,” the voice said. “If anyone asks, it’s your editor on the phone.”

“Okay...”

The line went dead.

MELANIE

The motor home came to a halt with a big jolt. Melanie felt it in her stomach, and the sensation made her feel sick; she made a face of distaste and hurried to open the door and leap out.

“Mel? Are you okay?” she heard her father’s voice, low in her ear, as she bent over her hands on her knees as she breathed heavily.

“Yes,” Melanie replied. “I just felt a little sick. I’m okay now.”

She looked at her father. His face was creased with worry, but the creases eased out as he looked at her face. “Okay...” He turned back to the motor home. “I’m going unpack my stuff,” he said over his shoulder. “You can do yours later, or tomorrow, if you want? I was going to say you could have a lie down, but that might make things awkward, while I’m making tea –”

Melanie looked at her father, frowning. “You didn’t get anything for tea,” she pointed out. “At the supermarket.”

“Oh, shi – cra – SUGAR!” her father snapped. She snorted at his attempt to not swear around her, even though he probably knew full well that she swore.

“Dad, crap isn’t really a swear word,” she told him.

He glared at her.

“If you want,” Melanie offered, “I could go into the village and by some stuff. I’m sure I could find the way.”

Her father frowned again. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble. I can just take the motor home...”

“No, I’ll walk.” Melanie’s voice was firm. “Can I have some money?” she added.

He rolled his eyes. “Hang on, and I’ll get my wallet from the motor home,” he said. “Trust you to think of the money first...”

While her father got his wallet, Melanie reached into the front seat for her jacket and slipped it on. She took the notes that her father was holding out to her and kissed him on the cheek. “I won’t be long,” she promised and set off for the campsite’s exit.

It wasn’t long before Melanie regretted suggesting she would walk into the village. She’d been attempting to come across as something other than moody, as she knew it was upsetting her father. She also reckoned she could find a payphone in the village and she could call her friends, or her mother. Anyone.

It wasn’t a cold day, but the wind wasn’t exactly warm, and it chilled her slightly. She stuffed her hands in her pockets and sped up a bit. She was away from the campsite now and everywhere just looked so lonely, except for the odd farmhouse.

She felt in her jeans pocket for her mobile phone. She found it, pulled it out and flipped it open – but no signal.

Melanie continued walking in silence, except for a loud shriek when she was nearly run over by a red car at a crossroads; she figured that people drove like maniacs around here because they thought the roads would be quiet so they wouldn’t run anyone over or get pulled over by police.

It seemed like hours – and it probably was hours, she thought in her mind – before she saw the first houses of Epityville.

“Thank God,” she muttered darkly and sped up a bit more. It wasn’t going dark yet, but she knew it wouldn’t be long, and she didn’t fancy walking back in the dark (not after she’d seen how some people drove. Or how quiet it was).

The village was so quiet, and virtually empty; she walked past the village green, where a large bus was parked. It was painted with a band’s name, and the name gave her a flicker of recognition in her mind, but she pressed on, keeping her head down. She turned a street corner when she heard a voice.

“Hello?” A man. “Hey, do you know where the local garage is?” She saw a man with brown eyes and brown hair that looked familiar; she knew it was one of the men from the café earlier.

“Er, no,” Melanie replied. “I’m not local. I’m here ... with my dad.”

“Oh. Oh, okay...” the man hurried off before she could offer to walk with him, so she continued.

It didn’t take her long to locate a shop selling food. Inside the shop, she said hello to the woman behind the counter, grabbed a basket and began to pile food into it – eggs, milk, butter, bread, some sausages, bacon; she threw in a box of éclairs and a chocolate bar, as well as some teabags and a bottle of orange juice and paid for it all.

“You here on holiday, love?” the woman behind the counter asked. “Or have you just moved down here?”

“I’m on holiday,” Melanie replied. “We’re staying on the camping site.”

“How nice. How long are you staying for?”

“Oh, only about a week or two...” She put the last item in the bag and smiled at the woman, before exiting the shop with a muttered ‘goodbye.’

Outside, the sky was darkening. Melanie swallowed. At home, she’d walked alone in the dark all the time, but that was different. She lived in a city, full of streetlamps and people, none of which were likely to give her any bother. But here, in the middle of nowhere, with no streetlamps, and complete strangers? This town reminded her of a horror movie. The idea of walking back to the campsite was more than just uninviting.

She turned around on the spot a few times, almost helplessly. Melanie considered ringing her father, but then decided against it, but then decided that maybe she’d better. Then she decided not to, and started walking hurriedly.

It began to rain. Very sudden, and very heavily; when she’d last looked, there were no rain clouds in the sky. She turned and ran into the first shop she saw, and decided she would ring her father in the shop and ask him to come and pick her up.

In the shop, she was greeted by Halloween witches capes and hats, spells written on handmade paper, models of witches, broomsticks, a brightly painted coffin, books on the Legends of Epityville, pictures of witches, a few toy cauldrons, all stacked on high shelves that reached the ceiling. The shop was like a maze; the products on sale never seemed to end. There was much more than what she first saw, and she began to wonder what on Earth this store was.

“This is Epityville’s souvenir store,” a soft, androgynous voice said behind her. “The owner is very proud of the whole witch legends in this village, you see...”

She whipped her head round to see at all, pale boy stood there; he had brown eyes and curly black hair, and a long face with a few freckles across his cheeks and nose. He wore a black jacket over a black T-shirt and black trousers. He was smiling at her.

“I’m Nicholas... Nicholas Angel.”

MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE

“Right,” Gavin said in his firm voice that took over when something big was happening, “Everyone off the bus.” They all did as he said. Off the bus, they arranged themselves on the village green, trying to get comfortable while they waited for Gavin.

“My mobile signal is dead,” he announced when he came back into view. “There is a garage around here, so, I suppose we could go there. Frank?”

Frank looked up. His arms were locked around his knees, and his chin rested on top of his kneecaps. “Yes?”

“Could you do me a huge favour and run and find the garage and tell them that we’ve broken down?” he asked.

“Why me?” Frank complained, standing.

“You’re a fast runner,” Gavin said shortly.

“I’m not running.”

“Yes, you are. Go!” Frank set off, walking as slow as possible.

“Frank,” he heard Gerard complain, “Hurry up!” Frank rolled his eyes and sped up a little bit.

It wasn’t long, however, before he was completely confused. This town was meant to be small, he thought, but he was completely lost. Every house looked the same, and he couldn’t find any garage.

Frank decided he’d better ask for directions, so he went to the first person he saw next, a slim young girl with pale skin and big blue eyes, with dark brown hair pulled off her face in pigtails.

“Hello? Hey, do you know where the local garage is?” Frank approached the girl. She turned to face him, her big blue eyes seeming to go right through him until she focused properly. He recognised her from the café they’d been in earlier; the girl that looked upset...

“Er, no,” she replied in a slightly nervous voice. “I’m not local. I’m here ... with my dad.”

“Oh. Oh, okay...” The girl smiled apologetically and he turned away, walking fast down a side street. It wasn’t a street he recognised, so he felt hopeful he could find the garage up here.

And he did. Frank really hoped it wasn’t closed. Most of it did seem closed up, except for the small office on the side of the workshop. He approached it and opened the glass door. Inside a man was sat behind a cluttered desk, smoking a cigarette and scribbling something down on a piece of paper, occasionally looking up to the TV.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the man said rudely, but then seemed to compose himself and stubbed out his cigarette. “Sorry, you gave me a fright, lad. How can I help you?”

“I’m in a band – and our tour bus has broken down.”

The man leapt to his feet, suddenly business-like and switching off the TV and tucking his paper and pen into a drawer. “I’m not actually open,” he informed Frank, “but this sounds like an emergency. I’m Derek.”

“Frank.”

“C’mon. Where is this bus of yours?” The man paused outside a blue door, but shook his head, muttering, “it’s too late to work on it now so I’ll leave my stuff here...”

“I think it’s on the village green?” Frank shrugged. “I’ve really no idea.”

“Is it a big piece of grass with a few trees and flowers and a wall around it?” Derek enquired.

Frank nodded.

“Aye, that’s the village green.” They left the office, and the man locked up with some keys he pulled from the pocket of his overalls.

Frank realised how close they actually were, and felt slightly annoyed with himself for not finding the garage first. He dropped to the floor next to Gerard and let Derek talk to Gavin. The pair were in conversation for a few moments before they both went round to look at the engine. Gavin pulled away and came over to them, and said, “Derek reckons that if there’s anything wrong with the engine, then it’ll be until tomorrow before he can get any work done. He also suggests we go to the local bed and breakfast and get some rooms.”

Suddenly, they heard Derek swearing loudly. They all looked at him. He looked a bit freaked out, Frank thought; his face was pale and his eyes were wide.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin asked urgently as the band leapt to their feet.

“The engine,” Derek murmured. “You’ve got no engine.”

“What?”

“Your engine,” Derek repeated. “It’s vanished...”