Just Try Not To Die Read online

  Vampire.

  He slowly, haltingly, read the description. A demon of the night, feeding upon the blood of the living. If they leave their victims alive, which is rare, the victim then shares the curse, becoming such a creature themselves, doomed to live forever, with a hunger in their bellies that can only be sated by still-warm human blood. Weaknesses: sunlight, impalement through the heart with wood. Total decapitation. Strengths: supernatural speed, strength and hypnotic charm. Almost invulnerable to harm bar the previous methods described. Rating: Speed 4/5, Durability 4/5, Strength 4/5, Magic 4/5, Overall 4/5. Considered extremely dangerous. Exterminate upon sight.

  Brian blinked. Four out of five? Four? He slumped back into his sofa. If a vampire was a four, what the hell constituted a five? And how big was the jump between ratings? Was a five merely slightly stronger than a common or garden vampire? Or was it Cthulu? He hoped that whatever a five might be, he would never have to bump into it. However, some cynical part of him knew that, given his luck, he inevitably would.

  A buzzing from his pocket took him by surprise and he fumbled for his phone. Unknown Number. He frowned and answered, almost spitting into his phone.

  “Look,” he growled, exasperated. “I’ve had enough of these calls. I don’t have and never will have PPI. So stop wasting your time.”

  The voice on the other end of the line laughed.

  “Good morning to you, too, Helsing.” It was Heimlich, his voice as ever rich and full of mirth. “I trust you’ve been reading the Welcome Pack as I told you? And you’ve not been getting into any trouble with your new wheels?”

  “I… err… yes, I’ve been reading the Pack. Got it in front of me right now. And no, no trouble.”

  “Good. Because I heard tell of an incident near Sainsbury’s last night. Sounds like a car lost control, smashed through a barrier. Caused quite the scene, or so I’ve been told. I’m glad I can relax, knowing that you had nothing to do with it.” Brian could feel the sarcasm like a wet finger in his ear. “Anyway, if you’ve nothing better to do – and I’m sure you haven’t – then now would be a good time to make your way to the Mount. There’s more training to do, and no time to waste; your first mission is waiting for your attention.”

  Brian gulped, face paling, as his mind recalled the myriad and terrible entries he’d just read in that bestiary of things that shouldn’t be.

  “Already?” he croaked out.

  “Time and duty wait for no man, a Helsing no exception. And if you don’t want to end your first mission dead, then a tad more training should be top of your list of priorities. Don’t you agree?”

  Once more, the island of his imagination called. He could be sat on a beach, strawberry daiquiri to hand, a beautiful maid ready to massage away his troubles beneath the tropical sun. But he knew that was but a pipe-dream; no doubt the Order would track him down, bring him back by force, ring or no. Maybe Helsings got holiday entitlement, he thought hopefully? He’d have to read further into the Welcome Pack.

  “I’ll be leaving in ten,” he squeaked, defeated.

  “Make it five.”

  Chapter Thirteen:

  Once More Unto The Breach

  Half an hour later, after a painstakingly slow and careful drive through the morning rush hour, all the while keeping an eye out for blue flashing lights in his rear view mirror, Brian was nearly back at the Mount. As the Long Rock garage door closed behind him, he drove down the tunnel that led to the Sanctum garage, the burble of Bertha’s V8 echoing loudly from the concrete walls and causing his hung-over brain to rattle in his skull. After a less than a minute, he’d arrived at the garage itself, figures already waiting to greet him.

  “Good morning,” Heimlich said cheerfully, eyeing with amusement the bags under Brian’s eyes and the way he winced at the loudness of slam as he closed the car door behind him. “Glad to see you looking so refreshed.”

  “Had a restful night’s sleep,” he mumbled in return.

  “Too restful if you ask me.” It was Friedrick, eyeing him with a whirr and a click from his hissing chair. “You been up all night drinking? Knowing full well you had training today?” He took a great swig from his bottle, a curious glint in his eye. “You need to get your priorities straight, lad.”

  “It was a long day,” Brian retorted. And no doubt it would prove just as much so today. “I needed a couple to get me off to sleep.”

  “Indeed,” Heimlich mused. “Either way, you’re here, and that’s more than some of us expected. Now come; we’ve matters to attend to.”

  Brian followed them from the garage, up through the corridor to the Sanctum beyond. As usual, the central chamber was busy with workers. This time, looks of surprise greeted him. Surprise, mixed with a tinge of respect. They nodded to him as he passed and he nodded in return, not sure what to make of this strange change in mood, before following the two Masters towards the Snug. There, Gertie and Otto waited, already sat, eyes widening in something akin to happiness as he shuffled into the room.

  “Morning, Helsing. Pleased to see you’ve returned willingly,” Otto told him.

  “Never doubted you for a second, brave warrior,” Gertie said, wry smile wide on her face.

  “Hi,” he replied, watching the girl warily and remembering the bruises and cuts of yesterday, suddenly wondering what on earth had possessed him to return once more.

  “Our Scryers have gleaned some information,” Heimlich announced, gesturing for Brian to sit on a couch. “A creature has surfaced in Bodmin. A demon long-thought banished from England and confined now only to Ireland and the Isle of Man. A Banshee.”

  A banshee? Brian had of course heard the name before, but couldn’t quite picture them in his mind, or even recall what they did. He didn’t have to wonder for long, as Heimlich nodded to Otto, who pressed a button on a remote, a projector screen whining its way down the wall before flickering with images.

  “Banshees are demonic spirits,” he explained, pressing his button and displaying various images on the screen; bedraggled women, all long, untamed hair, windswept dresses and, perhaps somewhat unsurprisingly, ample cleavages. “Usually the spirits of women who’ve been spurned by lovers and killed themselves; bound to Earth by unrequited love and a sense of shame, banshees often appear in Ireland to herald impending deaths. They do this by howling blue murder through the night, keeping people awake and generally proving a bloody nuisance. It appears one such creature has somehow found its way to Cornwall. And it’s scaring the shit out of the people on the outskirts of Bodmin.”

  Once upon a time, Brian would have raised an eyebrow, maybe even snorted in derision, dismissing the man as a loon. After all he’d already seen, however, he merely nodded, numb, not wanting to yet perfectly able to believe what he was being told.

  “Understandably,” Heimlich spoke now, “our benefactors are keen to downplay the existence of the paranormal to the general public. Too much evidence of ghostly goings on can cause unrest. And so we need to dispose of this banshee, and swiftly. The sanity and general productivity of the people of Bodmin depends upon it.”

  Brian held a hand up at this.

  “Wait, so let’s get this straight; when you keep saying benefactors, you mean the government, right? The people that fund us, that pay my stipend, it’s the British government, isn’t it? So what, we’re like a supernatural Rentokil at her majesty’s beck and call?”

  The Masters all glanced at each other, before Heimlich shrugged.

  “Yeah. Kind of.”

  “Fair enough, just thought I’d get it clear in my own head. So right, I’ve got to kill a banshee. Got it. But how? You said it’s a ghost? How do you kill something that’s already dead? What are we talking; salt? Iron? Exorcism?”

  Something didn’t feel right, Brian thought. He was too coherent, a distinct lack of passing out going on, asking questions where usually he’d be a gibbering wreck. Where were his nerves? Where was the insistent urge to run, leaving a trail of urine from his fear-loosened
bladder behind him? He suddenly realised the truth; the fear was still there, running like a current beneath the surface. It was merely buried beneath an overwhelming sense of grinding inevitability. He knew, despite everything, that it was his destiny to go out and face this monster, and the next one, and the one after that. Nothing could alter that now.

  And being scared wouldn’t change that. And so, when Gertie spoke, he paid attention, knowing that his life now depended upon listening to and learning from these strange folk and all their bizarre wisdom.

  “You’re right, you can’t kill a ghost,” she told him, a strange glimmer of anticipation in her eyes, as though ready to unleash some joke, of which no doubt he’d be the butt. “But you can placate them.”

  Brian sighed, closing his eyes, before reopening them and fixing her with a tired gaze.

  “Go on then… how?”

  “The banshees are women,” she said. “And like all women, they don’t take kindly to being scorned. They see it as meaning that they’re not beautiful enough, not worthy of love. That’s why they’re not able to pass over to the hereafter; they still haven’t forgiven the men who spurned them.”

  Brian stared for a moment, suddenly realising where this was headed.

  “Wait… you want me to flirt with them, don’t you?” Her amused grin was the only answer he needed. “You can’t be serious? I’ve got to flirt with a ghost? What, bring her flowers, tell her she’s pretty?”

  Heimlich nodded, face serious.

  “It’s true, Helsing. A ghost such as a banshee can’t be harmed through physical means, but if you can help her forget the pain of rejection, if you can convince her that she truly is beautiful and worthy of love, then her ties to this world will be broken; and she – and the people of Bodmin – can finally get the rest they deserve.”

  “Flirt? Have you met me? Jesus, a stunning vampiress threw herself at me and all I could do was freeze up. I’ve had one serious girlfriend and I suspect she was part of some outreach to the neckbeard program.” He had a sudden thought. “Send Neil, he’s got a way with the ladies. He’d have her buttered up and packed off to heaven with one bat of his dreamy blue eyes.”

  “They were dreamy,” Gertie nodded.

  “See?”

  Heimlich shook his head.

  “No, he would be killed in short order. Banshees are dangerous foes until calmed down.”

  “Wait, how can she be both immune to harm and still able to harm the living? That doesn’t sound fair, she can’t have it both ways.”

  “She can and does. Only you, Helsing, with your ring and the abilities it gifts you can survive such an encounter long enough to placate the creature.”

  “Then send Gertie,” he gasped. “She can fight better than I can. And look at her; she clearly swings both ways.”

  The others all glanced at the Master of Combat, who merely shrugged, before Heimlich turned once more back to Brian.

  “Be that as it may, we’re yet to encounter a bisexual banshee.”

  “How can you be so sure? You done a survey?”

  “Bloody hell, Helsing, it’s up to you, alright? It’s your job, what do you want; a raise? Is a million a year not good enough for you? Now stop stalling and get to the Dojo with Gertie so she can show you some moves. Banshees come out at night and I won’t be having the people of Bodmin kept up by another eight hours of tortured wailing.”

  With a sigh of resignation, Brian rose from the couch and followed the Master of Combat from the Snug, heading down one of the labyrinthine corridors towards the arena. As they walked, he could hear the girl giggling quietly as if to herself.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You, of course. You make out like you’re some autistic uber-geek, but you’re not too shabby when it comes to reading people.”

  He frowned for an instant, before it clicked.

  “Wait, you really are bi?”

  “Pansexual, I think is the term.”

  “And what does that mean when it’s at home?”

  “Means I’m not picky,” she told him, eyeing him strangely, before hurrying towards the Dojo, the door of which was fast approaching up ahead. “Now come, young warrior; I’m eager to see if you’ve learned anything after yesterday’s beating.”

  He grimaced in anticipation, knowing that probably he had not.

  Chapter Fourteen:

  Faces Of The Past

  Brian stood in the ring, limbs a-tingle with nerves, muscles suffused with that curious sense of weakness that adrenaline gave, despite its effect supposedly being the opposite. Gertie stood before him, her diminutive figure hardly imposing, yet he knew not to underestimate her; she might be over a foot shorter than he, and he might have the ring of the Helsings on his finger, but she’d forgotten more about kung fu than he could ever hope to learn in a month of Sundays.

  “So, you gonna teach me some flirting skills, then?” he asked hopefully, though he could see the answer in her eyes.

  “Nah. Combat again.”

  “Damn.”

  “Not, not damn,” she admonished him. “You ever fought a banshee?” she asked quite rhetorically. “They’re fast as lightning, with long claws that can tear your head off in a heartbeat. You’re going to have to learn how to move – and fast – if you’re to stand a chance of surviving your date.”

  “Don’t call it a date.”

  “Well it is, albeit one where your date is a homicidal maniac.”

  “I think I’ve had a few Tinder matches like that.”

  “Then it should be a walk in the park. Now, listen; the key to fighting a banshee is to constantly keep moving. A banshee lives in the past, so despite their insane speed, all it takes is to not stay in one place for any length of time and she’ll always attack the spot you were last standing.”

  “Don’t stand in the fire,” he murmured to himself, nodding.

  Her eyes widened, curiously.

  “You play Warcraft?”

  “I… yes, do you?”

  “I dabble,” she smiled. Once more, Brian found himself staring at the girl with a strange mixture of fear and fascination. She continued. “But yes, the principle is the same as taking on a raid boss; if you keep your wits about you, don’t get distracted, keep moving every few seconds, you’ll be fine. Now, put these on.”

  She proffered a set of bulky-looking ear-defenders his way.

  “What are these for?” he asked, puzzled as he took them from her hand.

  “A banshee scream will frighten the living daylights out of anyone, a Helsing included, especially one as spineless as you. If you wear these noise-cancelling headphones, any screams she throws at you will be muted enough that you won’t shit yourself. So you might as well get used to wearing them now.”

  “Well, okay then.” He placed them over his ears, the sounds of bustle from the Sanctum, the incessant ringing of Frank pounding metal in the Armoury, all receding to dull noise. When he spoke, he could barely hear himself. “WHAT NOW?”

  Gertie winced.

  “Now you stop shouting. And start moving. You’ll get two seconds in each location at most. One. Two.” With that, she lunged forwards, driving a knee into his abdomen like a muay thai kickboxer. As he crumpled to the floor, gazing up at her with a look of ‘why,’ she shook her head. “I gave you warning that time. The banshee won’t. Now up; I’ve given you too long in this position as it is.”

  Slowly, wheezing for breath, he rose.

  “Two,” she said, a wry smile on her face.

  This time, out of pure not-wanting-to-get-pummelled-in-the-stomach reflex, he managed to dart out of the way, dashing to one side just as her foot lashed through empty air where he would have been standing. He allowed himself a brief, pained smile, which faded as he saw her mouth ‘two’ once more. Again he darted to one side, just as her spinning elbow whistled through the area his throat would have been. Another two seconds, another dodge. This time, he didn’t stop, instead, keeping moving, his feet somehow dancing an
intricate patter across the floor, his mind clearing, as he’d been taught yesterday, the ring feeding him whispers of what to do. Every two seconds she would aim for where he’d just been standing, with a punch, a kick, always finding empty air. A keening noise began to emanate from her lips, that of a whale, calling through the sea for its long-lost mates.

  “What’s that supposed to be?” he enquired, still moving.

  “It’s my banshee impression,” she explained, sucking in another gulp of air ready to ‘whooo’ again.

  “Well, it’s terribly distracting.”

  “Good, it’s supposed to be.”

  For long minutes they danced like this across the straw matting of the arena floor, Brian casually, slowly pacing his way back and forth, as all the while Gertie deliberately punched empty air and howled like a cat on heat. Steve, the spotty young functionary, walked past the entrance, stopping and staring, nonplussed. Brian paused and turned to him with a shrug.

  “Banshee training,” he told him, before a bunched fist pummelled his meat and two veg, sending him to the floor with a groan.

  “And how’s it going for you?” Steve asked.

  “Well, not so good now,” Brian croaked. “But I was getting the hang of it.”

  “You were indeed,” Gertie agreed, before reaching down and hauling him to his feet. “You’ve got it down just fine. Just don’t stop moving, even if annoying busybodies come along and poke their beaks in.” She darted Steve a look that said ‘scram,’ and he did as he was told, hurrying back to the Sanctum. “If you stop moving near a banshee, you’re a dead man, understand?”