Let the Bite One In

Excerpt

Let the Bite One In
Eule Grey © 2024
All Rights Reserved

Chapter One

Why does nobody see me, trapped on a train crammed with people and their noise?

I make a fuss, bang on the windowless walls, float through seats and bodies, but still, nobody notices me at all. “Hello? Where’s the exit? I can’t get out. Help! Can’t you see me?”

They look through me because I don’t matter.

I’m alone with the chaos of my own head.

“Help!”

I mattered once, but I lost her.

I lost her.

Without her, I’m nothing but a dirty stain.

Did I ever exist?

Am I real?

Shut up.

Shut up!

There’s something at the far end of the carriage that I can’t quite see. With slow, confident steps, it walks towards me.

It’s him.

Coming.

For.

Me.

“Help!”

I woke up screaming. The nightmare faded almost immediately into a telltale prickle at the base of my neck. The prickling sensation was my body’s way of letting me know a spook was nearby.

Rather than fear, an indignant sense of resentment rose to the surface. After a lifetime of liaising between the physical world and the supernatural, those seeking my services hardly ever showed the same respect I offered them.

“What do you want?”

I’d spent the previous two weeks staying with Lisa, and it seemed some of her natural assertiveness had seeped into me.

The entity didn’t reply. Through the darkness, I gained the impression it was saddened rather than angered by my question. Guilt crept in. Maybe the entity had its reasons for sneaking in?

I adopted a more professional tone, albeit grudgingly. “Please call back at a sociable hour. We’ve a drop-in Wednesdays and Thursdays in the garden shed from eleven. If there’s a queue, wait your turn, and no arguing with other customers.” Boundaries were necessary, especially for the dead, who did not discern doors or locks. I didn’t bother offering an address for Lisa’s house. Ghosts rarely needed a map.

The weekday drop-in had been her idea. After a lengthy 3:00 a.m. heart-to-heart with a lonely ghost, she’d put her foot down. “They can make an appointment like anyone else does. You were in the bathroom for hours last night, for fuck’s sake! I thought you’d been sucked down the loo by a giant snake.”

The welcome memory of Ms Blonde led me to a kinder disposition. “You’re here now, so you might as well talk. Where are you?”

The dark cold of my bedroom offered no clues as to the position of the ‘guest’. Though my eyes smarted from the intensity of my glare, only the outline of a wardrobe and billowing blackout curtains looked back.

I inched up the wall until I was sitting rather than prostrate. The top of my head banged against the headboard. To relieve the tension in my neck, I looked up.

It hovered directly above me, only inches from my face. Later, I’d swear she was female, but the shape vanished too swiftly to be sure. A stain of a conflicted aura remained in the atmosphere, chaotic and afraid, a contradictory spirit at odds with itself. The aura might have comprised more than one being. Oddly, it reminded me of Lisa’s brother, Tom.

Wishing I’d spoken more gently, I reached aside and clicked on the lamp. Bright pink light—a Christmas present from Tom—flooded my room. I leapt from bed with the agility of a young Olympiad, banged open every cupboard door, and swept aside my curtains in haste to apprehend the spirit and, perhaps, to make it feel better.

I was too late. It—she—had already departed. The only lingering evidence of her visit was a chilly draft blowing in through a crack in the windowpane I’d meant to fix and a curious smell of godawful cheap perfume. “Ugh.”

*

I arrived at Lisa’s cottage early the next morning. It was a breezy day, with the Yorkshire wind pushing my bike from every direction and spiteful rain nipping at my cheeks. If I’d checked the weather forecast, I’d never have dared to travel by bike.

Not that I’d have admitted my regrets to Lisa. As I parked at the narrow alleyway at the side of her cottage, she crashed open the back door so abruptly I almost fell over.

“You should’ve rung me to come and get you! It’s too windy for bikes.”

I kissed her cheek noisily. “Ah, shuddup.” Arguing about the dangers of cycling was one of our favourite winter hobbies, up there with craft beer and desktop ballet.

I left my bike, Bertha, in the alleyway—Lisa’s cottage was too tiny to accommodate Bertha, with numerous sharp corners and poky spaces. Unusually, she snatched the handlebars from me and wheeled the bike directly into the kitchen.

“I don’t trust vampires. Wouldn’t surprise me if they took off on Bertha like E.T.”

Enjoying the protective edge to her voice, I followed her inside, where an enticing smell of bacon wafted provocatively. Nothing was better than one of Lisa’s famous fry-ups.

“Vampires have wings, remember.” I sniffed like a hungry wolf. “Mm. Any left for me?” A swift glance confirmed bacon, mushrooms, and black pudding filled the pan. Bless her, she’d waited until I arrived before starting the Saturday feast.

Lisa winced. “Wings? Wings and fangs?”

We both disliked winged creatures, but only Lisa was terrified of vampire bats. She described her fear as ‘germ cautious’, which was laughable, given the state of her mucky bathroom.

I flapped wickedly. “Big wings.”

We shared a very welcome kiss. It was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to spend the night without her. I was glad to feel her strong arms squeezing my ribs, especially after the nightmare I’d had last night.

She went at the frying pan with a vigorous enthusiasm a ninja might’ve been proud of, while I plonked myself onto a chair.

“Shurrup, our Mave. You do realise they’re not real vampires? Just women who enjoy dressing up. I suppose there’s nothing wrong with it—they’re paying us. He, he, he.”

We exchanged a look, which led to another bout of energetic snogging. A mighty dollop of excitement simmered beneath the early morning wit and camaraderie. Our first professional paranormal meeting was due to commence in a few hours.

Lisa’s idea was to establish an official paranormal research business. “In case the Echo goes tits-up. We can even advertise in the Echo’s listings section.”

Her brother Tom’s contribution had been to design and paint a sign—Kitten and Blondes, Paranormal Peeps—which hung from the shed door.

The tiny wooden affair had taken months to construct and decorate in a design fitting for the purpose of other-worldly shenanigans. Lisa had wanted a dark theme, whereas I’d argued a case for a bright lime green. “To offer hope.” In the end, Tom suggested going retro. Lisa and I agreed. The finished result was gorgeous. Orange and cream stripes traversed the walls, and a patterned rug covered the floor. We’d even found an old-fashioned phone with a spiral cord.

Although small, the shed gave Lisa, Tom, and me assurance. Should the newspaper where we worked fold, we’d be all right. Ghost whispering was lucrative and interesting work, despite the odd scare. Once our name became better established in ghoul and paranormal circles, it would be possible to make a living. At least, I hoped so.

Lisa finished frying and yelled upstairs. “Breaky!” Her shout was accompanied by the sounds of Tom thundering down their rickety staircase like a herd of cattle.

He rushed inside the kitchen, whirlwind and windmill, and plonked himself on my lap with a flourish. “Morning, Mavey. Are you ready to kick arse? I’m so excited I couldn’t sleep last night. I kept thinking about vampires and imagining one was looking down above me. Then I dreamed of trains.”

Lisa groaned. “Christ! Will you both stop? No fangs, wings, or creeps, if you please—not till I’ve had my nosh.”

My poor heart lurched into Australia. Tom had sensed the apparition, too, and dreamed about a windowless train carriage. We often ‘picked up’ the same signals from the other side, though he was not yet used to telling the difference between a ghostly call and an overactive imagination.

I squeezed him around the waist before depositing him onto a chair. “Morning, darling. Don’t worry—the vampire sisters are lovely. I’ll tell you all I know over breakfast.”

“Lovely as long as they haven’t been at the gin,” Lisa said correctly. Both sisters were still smarting after we stole their karaoke crown at Christmas. Jo could be rather brusque, and Em had a reputation for brawling.

“Well, true,” I said. “We won’t be offering alcohol. They’ll have to be thankful for custard creams and a pot of tea.”

We arranged the jams and marmalades across the table. Lisa placed a plate heaped with goodies under my nose.

“Good. You’re okay, you are, our Mave.”

Tom winked. “She means you’re a goddess, in case you didn’t know. My sister has a way with words. In another life, she’d have been Shakespeare.”

The Blondes gazed at me as if I were indeed a divine being rather than a simple sort of girl susceptible to ghost bullies and chesty coughs. The praise was gratifying and sweet, yet their faith in my abilities was probably woefully misplaced.

“Well,” I began. “When you say kick arse, all I do is listen. The entities make their own decisions.” True, my practice was built around ethical concerns, but the whole truth was more shameful. I didn’t trust myself with anyone’s affairs, whether alive or dead.

We tucked into a huge fried breakfast, spreading marmalade and jam onto thick slices of buttered toast and ignoring all rules of diets, not to say etiquette. I produced notes between bites, using my new notepad edged with Tom’s clever logo.

“The first case of Kitten and Blondes, independent of the Echo, concerns Jo and Em, sisters who’ve asked for our help. They’re well known around here, but they live in Whitby.”

Tom produced his matching notepad and pen. “Backtrack. Jo and Em. Colour? Age? Gender? Work? Outlook? Sexuality? Fashion sense? These things are important, Mave. Every case comes with a history. You can’t just say Jo and Em and be done.”

Lisa sighed and took another piece of toast. “Mister Nitty-Pick. But you already know the answers—you’ve seen the ladies a million times. You did Em’s hair at Christmas when you were both shit-faced. She staggered off looking like a scouring brush, and you danced the fandango.”

The Blondes laughed heartily, their body language and expressions uncannily similar.

“I didn’t realise you meant Em.” Tom indicated the bargain-bucket biscuits. “We can’t offer her this shit. Didn’t you know she’s a classy lawyer? Very handy for ghosts wanting help with wills and legal matters.”

Not for the first time, I was glad we’d asked him to help with the business. He was younger than Lisa and me and keen to do things properly rather than ‘well enough’. What Lisa and I lacked in energy, Tom easily made up for. He was cuttingly observant, too, not to mention funny.

“Tom’s right,” I said. “We need to establish the facts and go from there.” Rather than thrash about and hope for the best.

I cleared my throat theatrically while Lisa and Tom clapped. “Em and Jo are Black ladies of about sixty years, though I’m not sure of their age exactly. Em has always seemed sad to me, but I might be wrong—I’m normally drunk when we meet. As you say, she’s a specialist lawyer representing women and girls in abuse cases, and I believe the sisters also fund a female refuge. She’s asked us to help them deal with a member of their vampire group who’s spread her fangs and gone wild.” I barred my teeth in what I hoped was a helpful manner.

Lisa chuckled evilly. “You can ask them their exact age later, Tom. Then you’ll find out about their outlook—Jo, especially.” She too pulled back her upper lip and bared her teeth. Her action naturally led to a group examination of her canines, which were exquisitely pointed.

Everyone in Yorkshire knew about the vampires of Whitby because it was always on the telly. In 2022, a mass gathering of people dressed as vampires broke the world record. The event took place at the historic Whitby Abbey. It marked the 125th anniversary of the publication of Bram Stoker’s classic novel Dracula, inspired by the abbey.

I’d never been to the annual event or dressed as a vampire, but I’d read the book and climbed the steep steps which led to the beautiful and spooky abbey.

When the dental interrogation was concluded, Tom scribbled notes like a pro. “But what does Jo and Em’s vampire group do? Just meet up, wearing cloaks? For what purpose? Why do they need us? I’m betting their group purpose is the actual issue, not some woman they’ve fallen out with; otherwise, why do they need us?”

“Who cares why? Meet your mates and wear a cloak—It’s a good enough reason for a piss-up,” Lisa said, laughing, which led me to wonder what she’d look like in a long velvet cloak and high leather boots.

I’d never even questioned why Em had come to us. As usual, Tom had seen through the extraneous and arrived at the heart of the matter. Why would a group of vampire fans and a specialist lawyer need a paranormal investigator? “Good question! You can ask the vampires yourself.”