New flash: The Others

I have a new piece of flash fiction for you today – though it's as much an experiment in layout as anything. It feels vaguely derivative of ... something, but it's quite fun all the same. Enjoy! (Note: I'm not sure this will work on a small screen, so you may be best off reading it on a computer rather than a mobile phone.)

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The Others

What the –

Ow!

I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. Um …

Want to share?

Well … yes. If you don’t mind.

Sure. ’Tain’t a night to be without shelter.

Thank you. Sorry. Was that your foot? Sorry.

’S all right. I’ve got two, as me mam would say.

Mine always says, if I were any clumsier I’d trip over my own feet standing.

She sounds like a bag o’ laughs.

You have no idea. So what are you doing out after dark, anyway?

Mam sent me to the market. I met someone there and, y’know … it made me a little late.

You weren’t afraid the Others would get you?

Nah.

I was. I hate it when I have to come home after dark. And when the storm blew up –

Yeah.

You think I’m a baby, don’t you?

Course not. What d’you think I’m doing hiding under here, anyway?

Oh. Oh, right.

To be honest, when I heard you coming I thought you were one o’ them. That is, till you walked right into me. The Others don’t blunder about like a bunch o’ heifers.

No, I suppose not. Of course, they don’t screech fit to wake the dead when someone walks into them, either.

Ha ha. Very funny.

The truth is, I’m glad you’re here. It makes me feel safe. As if they can’t get me, as long as I’m here with you.

Yeah. Me too. Makes a difference, not being on your own.

Do you – do you think they’re real? The Others?

Oh, yeah. In fact, I saw one o’ them once.

Really?

Yeah. I was walking down the mountainside one night – just a little further up than we are now, I reckon – and I glanced over to my left and there it was. Just strolling alongside me in the moonlight, calm as you please.

Y-you’re trying to scare me.

Am not. It really happened, I swear.

So what did you do?

What d’you think? I ran away sharpish. They say the Others eat young ’uns, don’t they? Just snatch ’em up and carry ’em away and they’re never seen again, ’cept for the bones.

I heard they steal girls and make them … you know. And when the girls come back their eyes are all strange, as if they’ve been staring at the sun too long. Dazzled. And nine months later, a baby will be born that’s … wrong. Different.

My mam told me they can’t stand the sound of singing. No music in ’em at all, she said. Just belt out a tune and they’ll be off quick as a wink. Course, she also says I’ve a voice that could curdle milk, so …

I was always taught to fasten a silver pin in my pocket. They don’t like silver. If one of them catches you, you only have to prick its finger and it’ll run away. So maybe, if you can’t sing, you could carry a pin …

And where would I get a silver pin, may I ask? Closest I ever came to silver was my mam’s old knife, and I’m pretty sure that’s iron.

I’m sorry – I didn’t think –

Forget it. Nah, I’ll be all right. Like I said, I ain’t scared of the Others. Great tall gangly thing like that, all pale as if it ain’t seen sunshine its whole life – I could outrun it easy as blinking.

But –

But what?

But the Others aren’t tall and gangly. They’re little dark things. Swift and sneaky, always hiding in the shadows.

You sure all that education ain’t gone to your head? ’S the first time I ever heard anyone describe the Others that way.

Well, I’ve never heard anyone describe them the way you did, either. I –

Wait. What was that noise?

What noise?

Sssh!
… Nothing. Prob’ly just the wind.

Yes. It does howl up here. Perfect, really.

What d’you mean?

Perfect for the Others. Creepy. I suppose that’s why they live in caves, instead of –

There you go again. ‘They live in caves’, my foot. People live in caves. They live in the forest.

No. We live … in the … forest …

Then –

You –

You –

You’re one of them.

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