Bryony Pearce - The Weight of Souls

Then three loud bangs penetrated the blanket of silence. The one called Shawn was using his gun. I ducked quickly behind the car and left the dead man standing in the centre of the car park, avidly scrutinising the action. Jay started running, inadvertently drawing the Darkness away from his posse.

It seeped across the derelict space like an ink spill, blotting out everything it covered, and its advance was unhurried as though it knew its prey couldn’t escape.

Then my heart thudded. Jay was running towards me .

“Did you do this?” he screamed.

I leaped to my feet, but he caught me in a second. He grabbed my upper arms and swung me round.

“What is it?”

Like acid eating away the world and revealing nothing beneath, the monstrous Darkness inched forwards. I’d never seen it this close before; never taken the risk. “It’s the Darkness,” I whispered. “It’s coming to take you away.”

“Take me where, bitch?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen what happens after.”

“Make it stop.”

I shook my head. “I can’t.”

“What d’you mean can’t ?” he snarled. “Crazy bitch. Call. It. Off.”

“I don’t know how,” I whispered.

The Darkness reached us and I was trapped. Then, as if I was standing on a rock, the tide split in two and flowed around my feet. Hypnotised, I turned my head.

Against my back the rise and fall of Jay’s chest halted; he was holding his breath. The Darkness seemed to withdraw for a second, and then it struck. Jay’s nails scrabbled at the fine skin of my throat and I cried out as, with a terrifying jerky speed, Jay was sucked into the Darkness as if he’d never been.

Fear-sweat stuck my hair to my head and my heart hammered so hard I thought my ribs would break. Trembling, I stared into the void.

The Darkness appeared to pulsate, forming a hole from our universe into another, blacker plane. The harder I stared, the less I could see. Inside, lights seemed to flash, but it was just the nerves firing in my straining eyes. There was no sign of Jay, no sign of anything at all. Not for the first time, I wondered what happened to those I’d Marked.

After an age of staring the adrenaline washed out of my limbs and I started to sway. The Darkness hadn’t advanced so I tried a backwards step. When it did not follow I turned and ran.

“Thank you.” The lawyer who’d dragged me into this was behind me once more. When I stopped he leaned under the single working streetlamp. He cast no shadow.

“You’re satisfied? Justice has been done?”

He nodded and his lined face sagged. “I’m sorry I had to involve you. I didn’t realise you’d be so young. I’d have left you alone, but it was hard to track you down and I didn’t know if I’d be able to find someone else with your gift.”

“Whatever. You got your justice. You can go now, can’t you?”

“I can.”

“So go.”

The street light shone between his open fingers and, as I watched, it penetrated the flesh. Gradually the lawyer faded like a photograph left in the sun until there was nothing left but the night breeze.

Outside the train station two rowdy groups were passing drinks around and getting ready to party. Their noise made me stop in the light puddling beneath a neon sign.

Maybe I should go for the night bus instead.

I grimaced at the bus stop. Streatham Common to Shepherds Bush was three changes and it would take me almost an hour and a half. Shivering, I pulled my jacket closer. It wasn’t that cold, but my sweat was drying in the cool air and my skin was prickling. The idea of slumping into a seat on the over-ground and switching off till Clapham Junction was appealing.

I started towards the station but two steps out of the light I stopped with the shadows pressing against me. She was standing on the edge of the largest group of girls, trying to look like she fitted in.

She almost made it.

The group were dressed for clubbing and, all around her, bare legs protruded from short skirts. The girl’s skirt was short but it was pastel pink, her blouse had little flowers on it and she had a blue cardigan round her waist. She was dressed for a summer picnic, not a night out.

The girl was pretty and she looked sweet; a bit like Hannah. I wanted to believe that she was tagging along with a group that weren’t quite her friends, that there was a good reason she’d got the dress code so wrong.

I took a step towards a BT phone box, leaned against the grey curve of plastic and kept my eyes on her. She leaned towards whoever was speaking and laughed in all the right places. But the other girls together made a single organism, constantly touching or hugging, shoving one another, patting a friend’s hair back into place, adjusting a neckline or shirt. She was careful not to come into contact with any of the others and she did no touching of her own.

A final partygoer ran along the street, laughing breathlessly. “I’m late, I’m late, I’m sorry.”

The group milled for one more moment then they all reached in their bags for their Oyster cards and moved into the station, boys and girls merging as they went.

This girl had no bag. That clinched it for me.

I took a step backwards but the dead girl offered no sign that she was aware of my presence and continued to drift with the laughing group towards the turnstiles. It was possible she didn’t know I was there. Sometimes I saw the newly dead… but what she was wearing told me she hadn't died that recently. Maybe she was hanging around a particular person, a sister or best friend, watching over them or something.

I didn’t take my eyes off her.

The last of the group disappeared through the turnstiles. If she was waiting for me she wouldn’t follow them in.

The girl’s shoulders twitched and she hesitated. It was as if she was conflicted about walking through the gate without paying. Then she straightened, stepped away from the turnstile and turned to face me.

Our gazes clashed for a moment. Her face was pathetically full of hope.

I ran.

I knew she was after me. I could hear her light sandals clacking on the pavement.

I pounded past the bus stop, but where was I running to? Hastily I palmed my Oyster card. If I could circle back to the station, I might be able to jump on a train before she caught up.

Each breath already had a sharp edge to it and I had to press a fist into my side as I sprinted for the corner. Ghosts didn’t have to breathe; on foot she’d outlast me.

“You alright, love?” A middle aged man held his arm out, but I barged past.

“Sorry,” I gasped.

Then the growl and hiss of a labouring engine made me raise my head. A double-decker lumbered round the corner glowing like Christmas and it was a Routemaster with an open rear.

A whoop whistled out of me and I hurled myself towards the road. As the bus passed, I reached for the pole, leaped and swung myself on board.

Immediately I turned. The dead girl was only two steps behind. Quickly I lifted my hand out of her reach, but kept contact with the metal pole. She grinned and reached out, already jumping towards me.

As her hand went straight through the metal her eyes widened. So, she was new enough not to have known about that. Or maybe she was just stupid.

She hit the floor with her chest, her feet dragged on the road and she scrabbled desperately, trying to get the rest of her body onto the bus.

I crouched just out of her reach and looked at her in silence.

“Please,” she begged. “I know you can help me.” She stretched out her hand, as though I’d take it.

I watched her without moving until she lost her grip.