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Chapter 2 -
John D. McGonagle, Brodies LLP

Ben had been off work now for four days. The first few had been easy to fill. He had drank endless cups of tea, awarded himself lunch in the café off Shawlands Cross, and weaved in and out of the bookmakers on Kilmarnock Road placing improbable bets. On a whim he had even taken up jogging, dragging his scrawny frame around Queens Park before slumping at the flagpole to take in the view of the city. In the quiet of the spring afternoon, challenged only by his thumping heart, Ben could see the spires of Glasgow University and the grey and green Campsies rising beyond them. He recalled his granddad warning him that the clear hills meant bad weather was approaching. Starting to run again, Ben laughed at himself for believing old tales.

Sitting in his kitchen later, with the rain slapping across the window, Ben wasn’t sure if he missed being at work. His passport stated, rather grandly, that he was a “historian”, but he might as well have been designated “terrorist” for the number of times that his passport had been used. His degree in history had taken him no further than Edinburgh, where he had spent the last two years as a curator, historian, tour guide, and general dogsbody for the Scottish Parliament’s Chief Executive in Queensberry House. His main role was maintaining the Donald Dewar Collection, the collection of thousands of books and photographs gifted to the Parliament by the family of the late Scottish Minister, housed in what had once been the second Duke of Queensberry’s dressing room.

Ben had to remind himself it was possible that the room and the Collection didn’t even exist anymore -or at least not in any recognisable state. He didn’t know how substantial the damage had been because there had been no mention of it in the press. The Deputy Presiding Officer had called him on Sunday night, telling him that there had been a considerable leak at Queensberry House, and that he was to stay away until everything was cleared up. Ben could tell that his boss was furious, and had agreed to stay off work without asking questions. If there was one thing he had learned during his time at Queensberry House, it was that you didn’t ask too many questions.

Although avoiding the daily commute was a relief, the hours were already becoming harder to fill. The truth was that he felt Alex’s absence more keenly with every passing day. Where was he now? Alex had left as suddenly as he had arrived. A week ago things between them had seemed wonderful. Alex maybe looked a bit older, definitely a bit thinner, but it was as if he had never been away. Yet on Friday Ben had come home to find the flat empty. All of Alex’s things were gone. Like all the times before, Ben knew that trying to contact him would be futile. All he had left behind was a single brown packet, stiff and unmarked.

At first Ben couldn’t find the courage to open it, dreading another one of Alex’s epic letters tinged with half-truths and hysteria. He made a cup of tea. He paced the kitchen, becoming angry as he thought of all the times that Alex had let him down. He turned and seized the packet, tearing it open, ready to rip to shreds whatever pack of lies it contained. In his rage it took him several seconds to realise that he had only wrenched a single sheet from the packet. His gritted teeth loosened. Ben sat down, the immediate puzzle calming him. Alex had left him just one sheet. No forwarding address, no words, nothing. Just an old bit of paper. Boxes and arrows. Scribbles. Some kind of map? Gibberish. Ben put the sheet in a drawer and decided to forget about it. Until now.

-

Not entirely surprisingly, Nicole had achieved nothing all day. Still in her bathrobe, she was dozing in the twilight as the glow of the TV flickered across her cheeks. A roar of gushing water burst the silence. Nicole woke with a start, confused, disorientated. Why was she clutching a key? The noise! From the bathroom! The ceiling!

-

Ben had tried all week to ignore the sheet, but it was hopeless. It was bound to be another of Alex’s cruel and pointless games, but he had to take part. He retrieved it and examined the yellowed crumpled paper. “How authentic”, thought Ben. Perhaps Alex had put it in the oven, or stained it with tea bags? Amongst the scribbles, or strange language, Ben now noticed one recognisable word: “Clarinda”. What or who was Clarinda? It sounded so familiar. Opening his laptop, Ben ruefully smiled at his crude detective skills as he searched “Clarinda” and “map” on Google. Most of the results were meaningless - except one, which suggested a tearoom named Clarinda’s on Canongate, just up the road from Queensberry House. Ben thought he could picture the sign outside it. Clarinda. Was Clarinda the owner? No. Clarinda. It was on the tip of his tongue. He would contact the tearoom tomorrow. Things were always more straightforward in the morning.

Chapter 3: Andrew Marshall of Davidson Chalmers.


Jacobson saw the blow coming but made no move to block it. Misshapen knuckles cracked into his jaw and the metallic tang of blood filled his mouth. He didn’t react.

‘You idiot!’ Williams screamed at him. ‘Do you have any idea what you’ve done? All this could very well be for nothing.’

Jacobson glanced around the chamber. It appeared considerably less ominous now it was lit by bright halogen lamps rather than flickering sacrificial flames, but the ritualistic symbols etched all over the cavern and the large bloodstain still slowly seeping into the stone altar echoed the dark deeds performed so recently within its walls.

‘We did not fail completely,’ Jacobson said, masking with practised ease his abject contempt for the man who was his superior only in rank. ‘We killed one of them as he attempted to escape. The contents of his wallet identified him as Bryan Fitchie. We believe he was no one of any importance. We also recovered the key.’

‘Ah, yes. I’ve been informed that key was a fake.’

Oh, crap.

‘Need I remind you,’ Williams snarled, ‘the box cannot be opened except with the genuine key it was locked with?’

‘No, sir,’ Jacobson replied through gritted teeth.

‘What about the freak in the cloak?’

‘He escaped.’

‘Well, what now? We can’t threaten his family since the girl Clarinda was all he had. Suggestions?’

‘Actually sir, I have him under surveillance. Observing his movements will tell us what he plans.’

‘Be sure that they do.’ Williams strode indignantly from sight.
Jacobson flicked his tongue and dislodged the tooth Williams’s strike had loosened. He spat it contemptuously onto the stone floor.
Soon. Very soon.

Nicole swiftly shook the drowsiness from her mind and darted through to the bathroom. A torrent of steaming water was pouring from the ceiling, fortuitously landing in her bathtub. Her good fortune ended there, however, as several chunks of the ceiling then fell in, closely followed by a black-clad stocky shape.

It landed gracefully, balancing precariously on the side of the bath. A face like the back end of a bulldog pulled through its front glared at Nicole with an animalistic intensity. The hideous visage was tilted into the air and then followed by a loud sniff.

‘You have the Master’s scent upon you,’ he said with a sibilant hiss. ‘Hand over the relic or be destroyed.’

Nicole’s mouth silently opened and closed several times in a mix of confusion and fear. The man’s fingernails were long and cruelly curved like a bird of prey’s talons. Dried blood stained their pointed tips. Fear won out; Nicole spun and ran.

She made it into her bedroom and slammed the door shut just as a powerful force crashed into its other side. Panicking, she reached under her bed and pulled out the baseball bat she kept there for precisely these kinds of situations. Well, not precisely this, but they shared a common theory.

Just as she was sure the door was about to be broken off its hinges, the sound of a scuffle came from the hallway. After several moments, she heard the heavy thump of a dead weight hitting the ground.

‘Nicole!’ a voice called out. ‘Nicole, are you here?’

Nicole glanced around the door and saw a tall and lithely built man swathed in a black cloak standing in the hallway, the door to her flat wide open behind him. The ugly man lay unmoving and bleeding at his feet.

Nicole stepped from the bedroom, brandishing the baseball bat as menacingly as she could. ‘Who the hell are you?’ she growled.

‘There’s no time. I’m Alex. We have to get away from here right now.’

‘What? I’m not going anywhere. If you know something about what just happened then tell me.’

‘There’s no time,’ he repeated. ‘I thought I’d lost them at the lighthouse, but I was wrong. If it’ll help reassure you, know that I’m here partly on account of your brother.’

‘My brother?’ Nicole repeated.

‘Yes. Bryan is in danger. What I know of you from the brief time he and I spent together convinced me you may be able to help.’

‘Help with what? What are you talking about?

‘No questions. We need to leave before more of them arrive.’ He reached down to the still form on the floor and pulled a gold medallion from its neck. ‘They’ll sense the death of one of their own and react accordingly.’

‘Dea… He’s dead?’

‘Don’t let it concern you. He would’ve done the same to you. Just as those who will follow will do should they catch you. Now, get dressed.’ He strode into the living room, the discussion apparently ended.

Nicole went back to her bedroom, silently fuming at his presumption. She still complied with it, feeling a little exposed wearing only her bathrobe. Her mind raced as she swiftly pulled on some clothes. Why had she been attacked? What did this guy want? Could she trust him?

When she emerged, Alex was standing in the living room, holding the mysterious key. She must have dropped it on the coffee table when she’d run to the bathroom. He seemed to be studying its shape as he ran a thumbnail along its length.

‘What do you know of this?’ he asked as he moved to usher her out of the door.

‘Nothing. Someone just left it here. Why?’

‘Not now. Later.’

‘What about the dead body? Shouldn’t we call the police?’

‘Nicole, you can worry about the repercussions of all this if you’re still alive when it’s over. Now come on.’

‘Fine. But you stay in front of me where I can see you. Don’t try anything.’

‘As you wish.’ He strode from the flat, not looking to see if she was following.

Still unsure if she was doing the right thing, Nicole took one last look around her home and then closed the door on it. Outside, a jagged spear of lightning split the sky. The storm was getting closer.

Chapter 4: Lisa Marie Ferla, Society of Specialist Paralegals

“First thing’s first – how do you know my brother?”

Early morning, and Nicole and Alex were seated in the window of a teashop on Canongate. Every few seconds, Alex glanced suspiciously behind him and through the rain-streaked window. Nicole just wanted a decent cup of coffee.

“You look like you’ve been stuck out in that all night!” clucked the waitress, as she loaded their table with a coffee pot, croissants and jam. Nicole grimaced, and reached for her mug.

Alex waited until the waitress was at a safe distance before answering, voice lowered.

“We met in a hostel in Krakow,” he explained. “He was on his own, working on that book of his, of course, and he was quieter than the sort you usually meet in those places. We struck up a conversation in the bar one night. We have… many of the same interests.

Here he broke off, glancing nervously through the window again.

“”Clarinda's,” said Nicole, desperate to break the silence. Her black-clad companion put her on edge. “I never knew this was here.”

“Good coffee,” Alex replied. “And the name… it reminds me of someone.” Before Nicole had a chance to ask further he added quickly, “What do you know about vampires?”

Nicole shrugged, not entirely surprised. “Given that my brother’s writing a book about them? Not much,” she replied. “Garlic, stakes, Buffy the Vampire Slayer… Angel was kinda cute.”

Alex forced back an involuntary half-smile. “I got a call from Bryan a week ago,” he said. “He’d made it to Transylvania – the most legendary seat of Eastern European vampire myth – and there was something he wanted me to see. Something he’d discovered. Something that terrified him. He didn’t think anybody else would believe him.”

“What?” Nicole squeaked as his voice trailed off, hooked despite herself.

“Keep your voice down!” Alex snapped. “What Bryan had discovered… it was about to change everything.”

--

On the 7.30 to Edinburgh, Ben struggled to focus on the Metro crossword. Clarinda. He hoped the tearoom was where he remembered it. The trip to the capital seemed frivolous, but he’d woken up with the word turning over in his head and it wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to be. The truth was he missed Alex – while his strange dress sense and wild conspiracy theories made him a bit of a liability in company, at least the flat was never dull when he was around. His daily workday routine had given him something else to focus on, but without it he was beginning to feel a bit lost.

Ben and Alex had played the Lottery like everybody else, and Alex had always been full of ideas of what to spend the money on. Trips to Eastern Europe, researching the myths and legends his partner was fascinated by, had never captured Ben’s imagination. He’d have liked a holiday, sure – the two of them together, reading paperbacks by some holiday resort swimming pool and enjoying good food and wine, Ben content in the knowledge that Alex would be hardly likely to abandon him in the middle of the Mediterranean. But after that? People needed a little routine. Without his job, Ben was convinced he’d go insane.

Perhaps he’d pop his head in when he was in the area, see how the clean-up was going.

And that was the other thing. Sure, the weather had been horrendous of late, but Queensberry House had undergone extensive renovation while the Scottish Parliament was being built. The only way water could have leaked into the library was through an open window, and Ben could distinctly remember checking everything was closed – as he always did – before heading home for the weekend.

Sighing, he tried to put it from his mind and focus on his puzzle.

Ben loved his puzzles, and the Metro crossword in particular had formed a part of his daily commute for as long as he could remember. This morning though, his mind was elsewhere and each of the little boxes only served to remind him of the strange markings on the piece of paper that Alex had left. Clarinda. He had heard the word – or was it a name – before, and it wasn’t just the name of some tearoom by his workplace. He had to hope that the trip east would jog his memory.

One down. Bloodsucker (7). Third letter “m”, last letter “e”. He laughed. “Alex” would never have fitted.

-

Nicole turned the old key over in her hands. “Where does this fit in,” she wondered aloud and smiled at her unintentional double-meaning.

“It opened a box. We never saw what was in it – just a glowing red light…”

“I think I’ve seen this one, Tom Hanks played a blinder,” she butted in nervously.

Alex sighed. “I did hear you were a bit of a cynic – I suppose a bank teller doesn’t need much imagination.”

“Ex bank teller, and besides –“

“Shut up. You don’t understand. This was the last time I saw your brother.”

That got her attention. “Alex, where’s Bryan?”

“I think they smelled us, we were as still as the grave. Creatures, like the ones back at your flat. Vampires, in their most vulgar and vicious form. They chased us and we just ran. He must have gone back for the key – he must have thought it would be safe with you…”

“What creatures? Where?” Nicole could sense the terror in her thus far stoic companion’s voice, and she could feel her heart begin to beat faster despite herself.

“There were men. They looked official, military or something. I couldn’t tell. They had dark jackets and guns, and when they opened the box there was the light, and something jumped at me, and I ran and… oh god…”

There was a crash as the door to the café was thrown open. “Nicole Fitchie,” the man in black barked, “you’re coming with us.”

She looked to Alex for reassurance, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the gun.

Chapter 5 of "The Key"

A rain lashed night, a shadowy figure bearing the legacy of centuries, a hopeful traffic warden and a whiff of danger. The net closes in on Nicole Fichie, and things take a supernatural turn as Jonathan McCann of James A McCann and Co brings us the next instalment of “The Key”.

The rain had stopped. Overhead, the dark clouds raced across the broken sky and the bitter wind moaned its displeasure through the dank cobbled streets. Marlow stretched against the cramped interior of the car and watched the café. Scotland, Poland, Egypt, Peru….did it really matter where he was after centuries of hunting these night crawling punks?

The countries had merged into one, as had the faces of the unholy that he had killed. The first had been difficult. Maybe he had seen a plea for redemption in those monstrous eyes before the body had turned to ash in his bare hands. Lately, he felt that he was the one who needed redemption. He had tried to escape the loneliness of his immortality through those methods favoured by his human brethren, but the rush of the roulette table, the numbing warmth of the Jack Daniels and the sanctuary of the opium den had lost their allure some time ago. Nowadays, little worked.

Marlow had seen their type before. Military men who wanted to harness the evil of that place in Transylvania. He reflected on the hubris he had encountered over the decades and centuries; religious crusades, armies of empires and fascist dictatorships. All had tried to use the dark energy for their own ends. As always, he had watched and waited, knowing that they would lead him to the Relic that he would then return to its rightful place.

He sank back into the car seat.

He had watched people coming and going from the café since it had opened and nobody had seemed worthy of suspicion, with the exception of a young couple who had glanced around nervously before entering. The girl was maybe twenty five, pretty but with a ghostly pallor and a look in her eyes that was too familiar to Marlow. She had seen the undead. Her male companion was somewhat harder to fathom – he was maybe ten years older but his appearance was hindered by the thick glasses that he wore and a haircut akin to the celestial monks that Marlow had encountered many moons ago. Marlow also considered the fact that he wore a cloak and reasoned that maybe this person was an over zealous fan of the currently popular genre of religious and science crossover fiction.

It was then that he noticed the man approaching the café. The stiff posture and authoritarian gait of the military could not be mistaken. Marlow killed the music, slammed the car into gear and was about to gun the accelerator when he heard a knock on the car window and turned to see a traffic warden peering through the rain streaked window.

The traffic warden loved three things in his life: his Mother (with whom he still lived), his job and his beloved Heart of Midlothian FC. He moved with great stealth around the Old Town despite the storm that tugged and pushed at his slender frame. He had managed over forty tickets that morning alone. He felt a surge of pride at the authority his position engendered and allowed himself to fantasise that it must only be matter of time before the SPL Championship was wrestled away from Glasgow’s Old Firm and hoisted high above the main stand at Tynecastle. He couldn’t believe his luck when on turning the next corner, he saw a sports car parked in a Loading Bay. Even better, the driver was still in the vehicle!

The warden had always enjoyed the confrontation and visceral reactions that his job produced. More so when the offender appeared to have the material success that he so often craved. His heartbeat quickened as he approached the car and tapped on the driver’s window. In a split second, the man in the car had turned, blazing with controlled fury, and the traffic warden knew that he was looking into the eyes of a violent man. The warden stepped back, lowered his head and tried to steady his trembling hands. Try as he could, he could not bear the strange light and furious intensity the eyes possessed. The warden was still standing in the storm long after the car had accelerated away.

The voice cut through the static in Jacobson’s earpiece:-
“Sir, the target is no longer on the move and has entered a premises called Clarinda’s on Canongate. We have identified his female companion as Nicole Fitchie. We believe that she may have possession of the Relic”

“Maintain surveillance. I will handle this. Have your team ready to move out”

Jacobson pulled out his weapon and checked there was a round in the chamber. He clicked the safety to “off”, jumped from the surveillance truck and moved towards the cafe. The air was charged with electricity as the thunderheads rolled across the sky.

By the time Jacobson had entered the café, Nicole and Alex had no time to react. All Nicole could do was stare defiantly at the man holding the gun in front of her.

“Get outside now” Jacobson growled as he started to walk backwards towards the door, belatedly aware of the presence of somebody behind him. As he turned, a bolt of lightning illuminated the silhouette of a large man in the doorway. Jacobson tried to pull his weapon around but it was too late as Marlow had stepped inside his reach. The headbutt sent Jacobson across two tables, his eyes rolling to the back of his head and his mouth hanging open in abject surprise. Marlow turned to Nicole and Alex, appraised them for a few seconds, and then said quietly, “Come with me if you want to live”.

Chapter 6 – Karen Irwin, Shetland Islands Council

“Take that car and meet me at this address” said their rescuer, handing car keys and a scrap of paper to Nicole. “I’ll make sure no-one follows you. Speak to no one”.

Nicole and Alex got into the Aston Martin.

“Okay,” said Nicole “Where shall we go now? Glasgow? England?”

Alex looked at her in astonishment. “We do exactly as he instructed. We need him, Nicole. That bloke with the gun…I’m sure he was one of the ones who killed Bryan.”

“Killed Bryan?” she repeated slowly, “What do you mean? You never said anything about him being dead. You just said he was in danger!”

“Oh shit. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry. I had to get you out of the flat. I’ll explain everything later, but now we need to get out of here and get help from the Seeker”.

Nicole put the car into gear with shaking hands. She dashed away some tears and concentrated fiercely on the road. She would find out who killed her brother and make them pay for it. It was a good thing after all that she had picked up that man’s gun and slipped it into her bag before leaving the teashop.

---

Ben jumped back onto the pavement as an Aston Martin suddenly pulled out onto the road.

No, it can’t be, he thought, catching a glimpse of the man in the passenger seat. Who does Alex know with a 2009 sports car? How could he not have seen me?

He gazed along the road after the car as it sped towards the city centre, and felt even more lonely and confused than ever.

---

Jacobson struggled to stand up. His nose was bleeding heavily and he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to faint or to be sick. Obviously, neither was really an option when the plan had gone so badly wrong. Ignoring the pain as best he could and grabbing a box of serviettes from the counter, he stumbled out of the tearoom. Blake, his second in command, met him at the door.

“Get me to the truck” ordered Jacobson trying to sound commanding through a fistful of paper hankies.

“Not an option, Sir” replied Blake. “It’s been hit with tear gas. All the men are recovering down the road and waiting for further instructions. Cade and Jeffrey are requisitioning alternative transport.”

“We have to get out of here and follow Fitchie and Bairnston; did anyone see where they went?” said Jacobson.

“Bairnston! I knew it was him,” said a voice behind them. Jacobson and Blake turned to see a skinny young man with a rucksack looking at them. Blake seemed about to send him on his way, but Jacobson shook his head slightly.

“And you are…?” he asked.

“Ben. Ben Hunter. I’m a friend of Alex Bairnston’s. I thought it was him in the car. He’s not in trouble is he?”

“I’m sorry to say that he is, Mr. Hunter,” replied Jacobson. He took out an ID card and showed it to Ben. “As you can see, we work for the UN. International terrorism is our game”

At least the last part is true, thought Blake.

“Alex is involved with terror groups?” said Ben. “I don’t believe it.”

He could feel a panic attack coming on. His knees were wobbly and his palms were beginning to sweat. Alex involved in terrorism? It seemed so unlikely. And yet, it could answer so many questions. Trying to breathe deeply and remain calm, he said, “ Then, how can I help you?”

----

Nicole slammed the car door hard and was gratified to see its owner wince slightly at such mistreatment.

“How did you get here before us?” said Alex. The man just shrugged and pointed towards the interior of a bookshop.

“In here” he said.

He led them through the shop to a cellar and then opened a steel security door. A blast of cold air hit them and Nicole shivered. A flight of stone steps led down into the darkness; it looked as if they were leading into the bowels of the earth.

The man handed them each a torch and told them to follow him. After a couple of minutes they reached a narrow, cobbled street. The man stopped at a doorway

“Welcome to my office” he said, opening the door with a swipe card. They stepped from a musty, dank street in to a modern, clean and warm workspace, complete with security cameras and computers.

“You work here?” asked Alex, “but it must be miles under the city”.

“Or on the same level as Mary King’s Close” said Nicole. “Is this part of the old town that got built over ages ago?”

“Something like that, yes. Can I get you something to drink?”

“Brandy, please, if you have it”, said Nicole, “I’m Nicole and he’s Alex. And let’s stop all this skirting around the subject. Who are you and why did you help us? “

He poured them each a glass of brandy and then replied, “ My name is Marlow and I helped you because you have seen the undead”.

“The undead?” asked Nicole, “are we talking about vampires again? Is that what that creature at my flat is?”

“Yes” said Alex, “Bryan’s research proved they still existed. He also found out they were searching for something. Something important. And dangerous. And they’re not the only ones looking for it. We have to find it before the others do”

“And then what?” asked Nicole, ruining the dramatic tension Alex had so carefully built up. “What do we do with this important, dangerous thing?”

“You let me deal with that” said Marlow quietly. “Nicole is correct. It is too dangerous for you to handle”.

Suddenly, an alarm sounded. Marlow sprang up from his chair and glanced at the computer screen.

“Shit!” he said, “they’ve found us. Four centuries of security in this place. You turn up for five minutes and they find you. We have to get out before the vampires get in”.

Chapter 7 :Paul Wishart, Shetland Islands Council

Has it all been a bad dream? Alex is back at his flat where he’s busy trying to write a Chapter for the Firm magazine’s fiction competition and wondering why he thought it would be “a bit of a laugh” to give it a go.

Alex had heard of writers block but didn’t think it would happen to him now, with the deadline looming. Characters were developing nicely, places coming to life, spooky happenings, guns, ghouls and granite like responses in quick fire narrative. There shouldn’t be a problem. He was a natural gasbag and once he got started most people found it difficult to shut him up. So what was the problem?


I tapped at the keyboard again. No, that isn’t going to work. You need to hit the keys in some kind of order. Damn this. Why did I sign up for it?

This should be easy. I had a good night’s sleep despite trying to provoke a bad dream by eating a half pound of the slimiest stilton before going to bed. No medical problems to speak of despite that loony doctor frightening me. Hobbling to the surgery with a sore foot you’d hardly expect to be asked if you’ve had a discharge from your penis. Doctor Grimbisto. What a name. Thank god he didn’t ask me round for tea. The last one of his patients with a sore foot had “passed away” but I shouldn’t worry because they’d discovered what was wrong after the post mortem. A wrong prescription! At that point I’d decided my foot wasn’t actually that sore.
Dreams of becoming the next J K R, with a bit more testosterone and an ability to smile, or another Hemingway, it was all now slipping away at an alarming rate. He types: “Nicole couldn’t possibly have seen the bullet.”

What kind of crap is that? Nobody but the undertaker actually sees the bullet. And he types again. “Nicole was smacked in the side of the face with a .303 which took her off her feet ……..”

Groan. I can’t do it. It’s impossible. I just can’t do it. I’ve let myself down, I’ve let The Firm down, I’ve let everyone down. Now I sound like baby balloon. That’s it, tell them the joke. That’ll get me started. No, that’s just stupid. I’ve got to get something on the page to get started. No. Stop it. Calm down, have a cup of tea and come back to this later.

Six and three quarter minutes later and the wonder that is the electric kettle is far from his mind. So is his tea which is on the bookshelf next door and will probably be spotted in a few days time. Then he’ll pick it up, feel the cold of the ceramic, see the film of scummy water and still he’ll take a mouthful. A regular, theatrical, occurrence culminating in a screwed up face and a race to the sink. Alex returns to the study and slumps into the chair in front of the computer.

Inspiration comes and he types quickly. “The screen saver smiles at him. Nicole was looking directly into the camera when he caught her out for this snap. She almost always turned away or put her hands up to cover her face but this time he’d caught her with enough red wine to take her off guard but not enough to make her look like she was tipsy. It was just enough to make her look at him with the wide open smile and the widely dilated gaze of unadulterated love.”

Jesus! Now he’s writing for Mills and Boon. This really has taken a turn for the worst.

Thankfully the doorbell rang. All the pent up energy at his inability to concentrate and get down to writing, all the annoyance and anger at himself for staring failure in the face all came rushing out. Well, rushing out as fast as a long sigh can rush out. Suddenly lethargic, he scuffed his feet along the carpet as he made his way to the door. It’ll be that stupid bitch next door looking for her cat again. He didn’t bother to look through the peep hole. He opened the door. A reptilian monster in human form stood before him with a scowl on its face and eyes that could pierce armour plate. Not that Alex noticed.

“I haven’t seen your damned cat and I’m TRYING……… to WORK.” Alex slammed the door.

Monster man’s shoulders slumped. He raised his eyesbrow and looked down at his claws, picking a bit of raggedy skin off his ring claw. “Why do I always get the shitty jobs? I didn’t even get a chance to find out about the key.” This time he knocked. Three times and three knuckly dents, followed by a booming, “Hello! Hello, Alex?” With plaster shaking off the walls he continued. “I don’t want to get annoyed here because I’ve had like a really bad day already, so just open the door and tell me where the key is.”

That doesn’t sound like the loony from next door Alex thought. Eh? The key? Oh, yes! What the hell did Nicole give it back to me for? Am I ever going to get a chance to finish this chapter?

The key was under an old paper on the kitchen table. He picked it up and stomped back to the front door, flinging it open.

“Here you are. Now bugger off and leave me in peace.” The hand instinctively clasped at the key and Monster man looked up just in time to see the door slammed in his face for the second time in less than a minute. He muttered to himself. “Well. Thank you. Goodbye now. Have a nice day.” He mockingly waved at Alex on the other side of the door. “Bloody humans, they piss me off. Absolutely no manners. I mean, I didn’t even rip his throat out. There’s gratitude for you ………….”

Monster man’s mumbling moaning continued as he walked by Alex’s neighbour, petrified and rigid up against the corridor wall and holding her spitting, snarling cat. In the blink of an eye the cat was gone. The day was brightening. Monster man licked his lips and left.

Was the key now in the wrong hands? Or are they really claws? Will Alex drink that tea? How annoying is the neighbour? How tasty was the cat? What the hell is going on? Find out in the next thrilling instalment of The Key.

Chapter 8 - Anthony Robson, IPA Economics

One

Chorus: What transpires now the monster has the key?
Has Alex given away man’s best hope?
Seeing the beast his choice should be to flee
Instead he reacts like a maudlin dope
Alex: Oh what have I done? Where is my tea cup?
But with the key handed over what next?
Nicole should be safe so it’s looking up
And the vampires should not be quite so vexed
But there remains in the back of my mind
A nagging suspicion where lingers doubt
Troubled enough to know her I must find
From danger I must deliver her out
Where do I start? Where do I need to go?
Jump up, head out, to seek help from Marlowe

Two

Nicole: What torment to wake up in this dark place
Alex: I need to find Marlowe and I know where
Nicole: That light over there do I see a face?
Alex: There is a light on up high over there
Nicole: Fresh madness this is I can see Bryan!
Alex: His name is on the buzzer! How strange!
Nicole: My darling brother! Alex was lying!
Alex: Our only hope of help is now in range
Nicole: Bryan, speak to me! Why am I here bound?
Alex: That silhouette in the window is wrong
Nicole: You’re scaring me where once joy was found
Alex: It sways, it hangs, by a rope that is long!
Chorus: Two people separated for what cause?
And by whom is a query worth a pause

Three

Monster: Grr arrgh grr rarr mwarr grr got key ate cat
Sareelo: Well done my pretty, the key is now ours
And now we must find the box to fit that
So to that we will divert our powers
We must keep this secret from the vampires
For with this they would be unstoppable
The Council should know, we must light fires
With this who knows of what we’re capable
Now go, your job is not done, find the box
To end the task there is needed the girl
They must know that nowhere there are safe docks
With Marlowe dead that future will unfurl
Where are they now this Alex and Nicole?
She must love and see him die for our goal

Four

Nicole: Bryan won’t you speak? Please untie my hands
For I am here in terror at your whim
Your appearance is you, but in these lands
You are not as you seem, you are not him
But why won’t you talk, there’s no emotion
My love is not seen, no brotherly eye
I am tied yet you raise no commotion
Who could control your actions over I?
But who is there, light grows, there behind you
He smiles, not with joy, grey utterly cold
Teeth bared, sharp, incisive, handsome it’s due
But looking straight through me with courage bold
Oh Alex where did you go when you left?
I find my brother, but lose him bereft

Five

Alex: Where to head now? Which direction to turn?
They got to Marlowe, but just who are they?
By killing him there’s nothing could they learn
I need to find her, there remains one way
A deal has to be struck with those who hunt
And somehow to make them face each other
Our only chance will be quickly defunct
Grab it we must like a long lost lover
Hello! You there! The one that killed Marlowe!
Dearly hope this be not forlorn folly
I can lead you to her! Box will follow!
Here they come, monstrous, with a pink brolly?
Monsters: Look not at the umbrella, it’s raining
See instead our teeth, claws, good mood waning

Six

Chorus: What can Alex have planned in his head?
And can the monsters be trusted truly?
Is Nicole’s brother alive or stone dead?
How can Alex be acting so coolly?
Nicole imprison-ed by bloodsuckers
The key is in the hands of dark forces
Where is the sacred ‘Box of Caantuckers’?
A riddle that’s more trying than Morse’s
For that is the true name of what they seek
So far lost in the enthralling melée
Into which but a few have seen to peek
During the course of the tale we relay
Monsters and vampires maybe do battle
Man between like a pea in a rattle

Seven

Lord Vamp: My dear, this is your brother made better
Let me introduce myself as Lord Vamp
His humanity we saw to fetter
With the side-effect he’s become quite camp
Bryan: Oh my darling you have such a candour
But this life as a vampire is such bliss
As man my time was really much blander
Tell me now, does my bum look big in this?
Nicole: Oh what hapless day, what drama, for shame!
You used to be so open and caring
Now you are but my old brother in name
With bloodlust and Julian Clary-ing
All: The time it now seems, no it is, just ripe
Armageddon may now settle this gripe

Eight

Alex: I will lead you to where the key is kept
On condition that you won’t then eat me
For being monsters at that you’re adept
But I’m too young to die at thirty-three
So keep your hunger sated with some cats
To the vampires we must make ourselves known
For those human forms of flittery bats
Unknowing have that you desire to own
But beware when your hunt is then broken
A vampire’s bite is much worse than its bark
When it opens don’t look at the token
Have you seen The Raiders of the Lost Ark?
Chorus: What comes next in the tale of our heroes?
You must wait now for this scene it closes.

Firm Fiction prize 2009
The key - chapter 9

The darkest hour comes before the dawn...usually. But could things get any darker for Nicole, Ben and Alex? All seems lost as Nicole is trapped and Ben is separated. With time running out, Emma Boffey of Strathclyde University Law Clinic wipes the dust from her collar, the blood from her throat and picks up the story.

Only 1:03AM. The red glare of the clock stung Ben’s eyes. Awoken from an already fitful sleep, he tossed and turned, mulling the day’s events over in his mind. Ever the dutiful citizen, he had provided all the information requested by the men in military garb and the only thanks received, to be thrown hard from the back of their black van and dumped by the side of the road.

A terrorist? Alex? Ben once again turned over and closed his eyes, willing sleep to come. Yet, his mind arrested of the day’s events once again, his thoughts turned to Queensberry House.

After picking himself up gingerly from the grey gutter of the pavement, his eyes were met with a TV shop window, playing a news story about the closure at Queensberry. He was still off work. Told by the gaffer the flood was worse than first expected. Yet the press had picked up a scent. Something wasn’t quite right. Rumours in overdrive about a break-in, a robbery, a siege… a flood as the cover-up. Ben felt sick thinking of the potentially lost relics contained therein. Ancient books, maps, paintings, photographs… why even original manuscripts of Rabbie Burns, which he had oft taken to illicitly thumbing through during his tea break.

Ben sat up with a start. Clarinda…

Alex felt a sharp stab in his chest. Wheezing, spluttering, stumbling, a potent cocktail of fear and adrenaline suffocated him as he struggled in the direction of the Parliament. He was tailed closely by Monster Man and Sareelo.

Why oh why did I give them the key, he anguished.

Having chased after his two new allies, persuaded them he knew where not only the box they sought was, and moreover, where Nicole was incarcerated, he was now running an endless goose chase – the truth was, he had no idea where either could be.
Yet, another piece of the puzzle had been added to the ongoing mystery. Monster Man and Sareelo had laughed in glee about the power to create the undead being theirs, the key unlocking the box, unleashing the stinging and slicing red light, to which poor Bryan had fallen prey.

The power, that ultimate bounty Bryan had fought to take for human good, was being fought over, by not only ill-intentioned monsters, but also by the undead themselves.

Bryan had been close. Closer than Alex realised. Bryan had discovered that the box bore another property, an attribute much more powerful than Monster Man and Sareelo realised. For Bryan had told Alex, that where the box was unlocked with the key, wrapped in Clarinda, with the blood split of a human, the box unleashed a white light.

Shimmering, blinding, beautiful as the sun, with the power to turn the undead back to human form.The vampires knew of this, Alex contemplated, but did anyone know where of the Clarinda?

BANG.

With a thud, Alex landed heavily on his back. Coughing and panting, he heaved himself off the ground, ready to pounce on his attacker.

“Look where ye’r going ye eejit!” the attacker stood up, hands on hips, indignant at Alex ricocheting off him.

“BEN?!”

“ALEX?!”

Ben embraced his chum with warmth, quietly observing the snarling, smiley companions Alex had collected in his short absence from normality. Those claws surely can’t be real, he paused.

“There’s no time Ben,” Alex whispered in the fold of embrace, “we need to find Clarinda, it’s the…”

“I know,” hissed Ben, “this way…”

Ben contemplated the mournful sight before him. No flood, yet Queensberry House had been turned upside down. Paintings, globes, sculptures and statutes, languished shattered on the floor, centuries worth of history tarnished by the feverish search which turned this sanctuary into a pit of destruction.

“Someone has been here before us,” Alex observed, stepping gingerly over a million shards of broken crystal decanter, glistening in the dawn light streaming through the window. “They must already have it.”

Monster Man and Sareelo snarled, pushing Alex and Ben downstairs into the bowels of the building, following the path of destruction, mapped by the broken relics of once expertly preserved artefacts.

What they didn’t see was Ben stealthily tucking a brown crumbled parchment into his jacket label.

“… thy lovely eyes,
No other light shall guide my steps,
Till thy bright beams arise!

“She, the fair sun of all her sex,
Has blest my glorious day;
And shall a glimmering planet fix”

Signed R. Burns, the power of that mistress of the soul, Clarinda, was about to be unleashed in Scotland once again…
Red raw and throbbing, Nicole’s wrists ached under the tight bound of the rope, fastening her to a grey granite pillar in the bowels of an old unrecognisable building. She knew she was underground. Tears of groundwater quietly streaming down the walls, the sound of rats scuttling behind the walls surrounding her, a damp putrid smell filling her nostrils.

In front of her, was a box. An old, wooden box, with a prominent keyhole. Surrounding it longingly were two creatures, pale and with red slits for eyes, Lord Vamp and her beloved brother Bryan.

Nicole wept mournfully for the loss of Bryan. To find out he was dead, and be hit with overwhelming grief was one thing… to discover Bryan was one of the undead, a vampire, invoked even more emotion. A brother she did not recognise, who was trapped in a body not his own, was a loss she could bear.

At that moment, there was a snarl, an oozing, human footsteps on the granite staircase which lead down to the bellows Nicole was caged in. Lord Vamp and Bryan swiftly turned to face the door entrance, poised and ready to pounce. Alex, Ben, Monster Man and Sareelo stumbled into the room, greeted with the bared, harsh, sharp fangs of the undead.

No one noticed as Nicole quietly slipped out her gun….

Chapter 10

Trapped and in danger from all sides, things look bleak for Nicole and Alex against the armies of the undead. But as Jonathan Rennie of Biggart Baillie picks up the penultimate Chapter of the story, all may not be as it has seemed...

The lace ribbons lacerated her wrists as Nicole’s ghoulishly kinky captors salivated at the prospect of converting her into one of their legion of undead. As the freaks cackled and cavorted, they seemed intent on prolonging her torture and assumed the burden of their roles with growing conviction:
“Eenie, meanie, minie, mo, I’m gonna eat you from the toe” screeched Sareelo.

“Fee fi fo fum, I smell the blood of banking scum” leered the rather unimaginative Monster Man.

Ordinarily, such childlike rhyming would have tickled Nicole but the reverberations of the sickos chanting in the fetid basement made her retch. The darkness heightened her primeval fears. The flickering candle light turned the scene into a slow motion nightmare as the pain seared her flesh and pinpricked her eyeballs.

The tormenting mob was upon her and Nicole’s mind taunted and twisted her misery as she faced up to being the mistress of her own pathetic demise in this putrid vault. The personal ad in the Evening News had triggered a catastrophic orgy of terror. Her fatal error was becoming increasingly evident as Jacobson, Marlow, Monster Man and the other assorted twisted freaks continued to push the boundaries of their agreed Code.

Two days after being laid off, Nicole had posted her fateful message online, giggling as she glugged the final dregs from a cheap Hungarian Monarchine chardonnay: ”Redundant banker seeks like-minded role playing fantasists to re-create Hollywood epic with a vampish twist. GSOH essential.”

Back then, Nicole had needed excitement and fast. Teenage kicks, even. There was no disguising the fact that the daily ashtanga yoga and weekly ‘stitch and bitch’ sessions had not indulged her desire for a more imaginative, stimulating existence. Now she had the chance for a fresh beginning and to re-write her own existence - that would teach her parents who had always advised her that “banking is as safe as houses.”

How funny to think of that now.

Perhaps ambition or naivety had fogged Nicole’s decision making but surely she did not deserve to be ritualistically tortured in a dank dungeon? All rational thought processes had been subverted and flipped upside down but that was the risk thrill that she had sought, only the risks had accelerated exponentially.

At the first role play session at her flat, there had only been Alex Bairnston, Jim Jacobson and Mark Low. Each participant was allocated a role at the start of the evening. Intended as a social experiment, Nicole had never imagined in her craziest night delusions that these Joe Publics would morph into their roles and assume the sketchy identities proposed. The exaggerated personas represented half truths and wishful thinking in equal measure:
Alex - scriptwriter; historian; part Indiana Jones, part monocled eccentric.
Jacobson - thuggish vamp loving bad guy, fondness for monkish cloaks and Gregorian chants.

Marlow - private dick; drives an Aston Martin for discrete surveillance, campinologist.
Mark Low had insisted that he be given the pseudonym of Marlow as he loved film noir and Bogart’s laconic delivery as the private dick.

There would have to be a Relic, of course, and whilst Nicole had teased with the idea of using her ancient childhood charm bracelet, the old key to her parents But n’ Ben in Banffshire would suffice for now. It all felt a little ‘novus ordo seclorum’ to quote the dollar bill but then this was just the start of her imaginative journey and in the absence of hallucinatory stimulants this was good, clean fun, or so she had envisaged.

Alex had assumed leadership for formulating the rules of the game, the rather grandly titled Code. The first rule of fright club was Nicole’s and went slightly against the vampire genre – ‘no sexual relationships between participants.’

Not normally so puritanically prudish, Nicole had repulsed at the reptilian sheen on Jacobson’s moon crusted face, his slithering manner and disregard for personal hygiene. His cruelness exaggerated the electrifying tension that Nicole sizzled with as she considered what might lie ahead. Her intuition was to prove sagely founded...


Clarinda’s was where the merry mayhem had digressed into vile murderous intent. Jacobson had wanted the next script session to be in Jenny Ha’s Lounge Bar rather than a dainty wee tea shop. After all, he reasoned, this was supposed to be a social experiment and where else should that continue but in a pub?

Jacobson availed himself of several nips of Speyside before storming the tea shop and confronting Nicole and Alex over their insistence that his character wear the Gregorian habit and should only come out to play under cover of darkness.

“Ya sanctimonious pair are at it...rules, my arse, ya can keep yer cloaks and daggers as far as I’m concerned ya saddos... I’m the slayer now and yer gonna get it”

Marlow’s headbutt had been an over reaction and the mayhem that erupted proved that they were all competing for the central role as the script disintegrated and side-winded out of control. The cast multiplied as quickly as the fancy dress shops of the Grassmarket emptied and more wannabe nightcrawlers seized upon the idea of a marauding thriller in the septic underbelly of Edinburgh’s old town.

The most disturbing aspect was the zeal for violence and bloodlust which they all seemed to share and how that magnified as the collective expanded across the city. Nicole flinched as the memories invaded and flooded her already tortured mindset. The game was not yet ended and she steeled herself to conquer the nightmare.

As the peal of a muted Evening song echoed in the basement, she suspected she was located in the crypt under St Giles cathedral and with a whispered prayer she squirmed the pistol into her still tied hand and twisted it towards Jacobson: ”Right, you pseudo-psycho lowlife fantasists,” she grinned. ”Suck on this...”

Concluding Chapter: Andrew Marshall - Davidson Chalmers

Before Nicole could fire a shot, the dank air was filled with a loud crack as something stung the back of her hand. Her fingers reflexively flew open and the gun tumbled uselessly to the ground.

‘My, how forward,’ a silkily female voice purred from the shadows. ‘You need to learn your place.’

The intense scuffle between man, monster and vampire had got underway and its participants were yet to notice the new arrival. Something long and dark snapped through the air, leading to a second, much louder crack that silenced the room’s occupants.

A tall young woman stepped from the inky blackness, her skin deathly pale in the dim light of the stone basement. She brandished a slender whip in one hand.

‘Boys, boys, boys,’ she sighed as though admonishing quarrelling children. ‘Behave.’

Monster Man growled something incomprehensible and moved towards the newcomer. The strip of black leather lashed across the room and caught him on the neck. His eyes bulged in shock and his hand instinctively went to his jugular, viscous green blood seeping through the fingers as he fell forwards.

‘You bitch,’ Sareelo screamed. He lurched forwards, eyes burning with rage. The woman’s hand moved in a blur and clamped tightly onto Sareelo’s throat, stopping him in his tracks. With a sharp twist and a sickening snap, the monster lord’s struggling was forever ceased.

‘Now,’ said the woman with a radiant smile, ‘maybe we can talk like civilised people.’

Alex’s face fell. ‘Clarinda?’ he gasped incredulously.

‘Hi, bro. Nice to see you again.’

‘I-I don’t understand. What happened to you?’

‘Isn’t it obvious? When you miserably failed to save my life, my lifeblood was used with the light of the box to bind the soul of the Vampire Queen within my body.’

‘But … none of this was real,’ Ben said. ‘It was all just supposed to be a game.’

‘That was the beauty of it,’ Clarinda said. ‘A bunch of pathetic loners so desperate to feel a part of something meaningful were the perfect pawns for my rebirth. Belief is a powerful tool; if something is believed in strongly by enough people, it can become real.

"Now, I think that’s enough exposition. Which one of you has the Key?’ No one made a move.

With the attention of the sinister woman drawn away from her, Nicole had been afforded time to twist her hands around. As well as assorted keepsakes, the charm bracelet around her wrist also held a spare front door key, placed there to counter her frustrating tendency to lock herself out her flat. While Clarinda was talking, Nicole had been able to rub the serrated edge against her bonds until it had sawn all the way through.

‘Don’t make me ask again,’ Clarinda said, a touch of menace in her voice. The undead queen raised her whip again for another deadly lash.

Nicole silently slid up behind Clarinda and grabbed her wrist just as it was about to snap forwards.

‘I’ve had enough of this,’ she growled. ‘I’m not getting killed over what was just meant to be a bit of fun.’

Clarinda smiled with disturbing humour. ‘So, there’s a bit of resistance left in you. I like it.’ In a single flurry of movement, she dropped her whip, freed herself of Nicole’s grip, spun around and tightly grabbed the girl by her own wrists. Her mouth opened wide to reveal a dental set composed entirely of incisors that moved inexorably towards Nicole’s throat. She gently bit into the yielding skin, drawing a bead of blood. ‘I’d have liked it if you’d struggled a bit more,’ Clarinda whispered in Nicole’s ear.

Nicole’s head lurched forwards, her forehead smashing into Clarinda’s nose and knocking the vampire back several paces. ‘Fine by me,’ she quipped.

Alex and Ben took advantage of the distraction to launch themselves at Lord Vamp and Bryan. The former went down with a similar manoeuvre to Sareelo’s demise, with only slightly less efficiency. Ben remained struggling with Bryan.

Alex crouched down to Sareelo’s body just as Clarinda went for Nicole again and rifled through it until he found the key. He ran towards the wooden box, but was clotheslined by Clarinda’s suddenly outstretched arm. The key flew from his hand as he was knocked from his feet.

Nicole stopped fighting the vampire queen. Her hand snaked out and snatched the key from the air. Alex’s dash had bought her seconds at most, but that was all she needed. She dived at the box and rammed the key into the hole.

‘Use your blood,’ Ben managed to call out before Bryan’s hand closed around his windpipe.

Nicole doused her fingers with the blood leaking from her throat and twisted the key sharply. The lid of the box flew open and the room was instantly ablaze with a blinding white light.

When the intense radiance faded, Bryan was slumped on the ground. His features were shifting into something less feral; more human. Lord Vamp was the same, though his body had been stilled by his second, more permanent death.

Clarinda, however, stood unaffected. ‘Is that it?’ she sneered. ‘Something so feared and powerful does so little? How can—’ She was cut off by a faint hissing sound growing louder. Smoke seeped from her pores. Her skin began to bubble and hiss, before liquefying and melting from her flesh. She burst into an explosion of flame and before long was vaporised, screaming every moment.

‘Okay,’ said Ben, ‘I think I speak for everyone when I say what the hell was all that about?’

Despite her ordeal, Nicole was too tired to even care. ‘Figure it out amongst yourselves,’ she said. ‘I’m going home.’ She staggered unevenly up the dank stairway, fingering her bracelet, amused by the irony of being saved by one key after another had damned her.

 Stepping out into the embers of dawn, she marvelled at the perfectly clear sky. It was going to be a beautiful day.

The End