Read by Miranda Harrison
“So,” said the Vampire, tying his cape. “We’re walking, I presume?”
“We’ll take the car,” the Pumpkin said, with barely a pause.
Frowning, the Vampire turned from the mirror to study his friend. “Really? You think that’s a good idea, after last year?”
“Definitely,” said the Pumpkin. He dabbed at his make-up with a tissue. “If this party’s as wild as the one last year, we’ll be way too pissed to walk back afterwards. We’re taking the car.”
“I will,” said the Pumpkin. His forehead satisfactorily thick with orange face-paint, he fished his hip-flask from beneath folds of felt and took a healthy swig.
The Vampire stared at the Pumpkin for a very, very long time. Then he turned back to the mirror.
No further dialogue passed between them for at least half an hour. Somehow, despite this, the Pumpkin and the Vampire came to a mutual agreement that it would in fact be preferable to walk. It was not too far, after all, if you went straight on, instead of taking the left at the corner shop, and cut through Prince’s Park.
“They closed the off-licence,” the Pumpkin remarked as they made their way down the street. “Seriously! What’s this in its place, a vegan café? Avocado toast – what even is that?”
The Vampire stayed silent. But his silk-gloved fingers tugged and twisted his plastic cape in such a way that most mortals would consider him nervous.
“Everything’s changed,” murmured the Pumpkin. “Have you noticed? I don’t know how long we’ve been inside, but … everything’s changed.”
As they emerged from the park and crossed the road to the apartment buildings, the Vampire finally spoke. “Too pissed to walk, indeed! Take the car, indeed! It was that attitude that got us into this situation in the first place!”
“What situation?”
The Vampire did not respond.
A car swept past, coming dangerously close to scraping the backs of the Vampire’s legs as they stepped up onto the opposite curb. “Stupid drunk drivers,” the Pumpkin muttered. The Vampire said nothing.
Shortly, they arrived outside a run-down student building. Here they stopped.
They looked the place up and down.
No lights were on. No music was playing. The only sign of potential life was a bunch of flowers, limp and drying, tied to a lamppost by the gate: otherwise, the area was dead.
The Pumpkin frowned. “It was here! It was right here!”
Chewing his lip, the Vampire considered. “What was the date on the invite?” he asked.
“October thirty-first, of course. Tonight!”
The Vampire held out a silk-gloved hand.
The Pumpkin looked confused for a moment. Then he understood, and after digging for a while in his folds of felt, finally removed a crumpled black piece of paper and presented it to the Vampire. The Vampire scanned it closely. Then he groaned.
“What’s wrong?” The Pumpkin looked at him quizzically.
“What’s wrong?” With a groan, the Vampire thrust the invite back at the Pumpkin. “This is last year’s invite, you idiot!”
“Oh.” The Pumpkin looked again at the house. “That’s too bad. You would’ve thought they’d throw another one, though. I mean - with tonight being what it is.”
“Must have stopped them, after the accident,” the Vampire said. “Not an anniversary you want to commemorate with a fancy dress party.” He sighed again, turned to the Pumpkin. “See, this stupid mix-up is one of the reasons why you should quit drinking!”
“The other reason being …?”
“The accident, of course!”
“Accident?” The Pumpkin thought. “I don’t remember the accident so well.”
“Hardly surprising. You were driving. I was in the back. I didn’t get a steering wheel in the forehead!”
Slowly, the Pumpkin nodded. “I guess you’re right.”
It did not take them long to agree that a second trek through Prince’s Park under the weight of such dampened spirits would be too much to bear, so they tried to hail a taxi. But while several passed by that night with their lights glowing, none stopped.
Of course, it was obvious to the Pumpkin and the Vampire why this was. They had both known for quite a while. But neither wanted to admit it.
As dawn broke over Prince’s Park, a figure appeared in the distance. Black-hooded. Without looking right or left for traffic, it stepped out into the road and continued forward until it reached the lamppost with the flowers tied to it.
There it stopped, and laying down its scythe, extended a skeletal hand towards the Pumpkin and the Vampire.
“Come on. The party’s over for you,” the figure said. “Better luck next year.”
(c) Hannah Hoare, 2021
Hannah Hoare lives and writes in Newcastle. Her story ‘Red Planet’ was published by the Mechanics Institute Review, and her story ‘Twopenny Bargain’ was selected for Alternate History Fiction Magazine. Her unpublished novel Parahumanity was also longlisted for the Mslexia Novel Award.
Miranda Harrison: Actor and voiceover artist. Theatre highlights include Viv, Norfolk (Arcola); Florrie, Skin (Park Theatre); Vagina Monologues (Bread & Roses); Nurse, Romeo & Juliet (Leicester Sq). TV includes 3 pilot episodes of UTU (BBC World TV). Voiceover: Plague Songs (a political satire on Covid) & work for Bletchley Park & BBC Children in Need. She runs Page to Stage London: rehearsed readings of new writing, with an industry panel giving feedback. Spotlight: 6296-7864-5315
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