A Sailor calls Part II.

[Wulfie]

Pagan had been waiting for the telephone call for months and when it finally occurred she found herself behaving like a teen on her first date. If her heart was able to beat it would surely have burst from her chest but being dead does have its drawbacks. The instructions were concise and the path was not to be deviated from in any way or the door would be closed for ever.

The rain beat down as she walked the route, through an area Pagan had never visited or in her wildest dreams had thought existed. She thanked the ‘powers’ for the downpour, the dull grey skies being kind to her eyes, a nightwalker gets little from the day. From the tidy and regimented gardens of the sad middle class she found herself going down seedy streets where even God was forgotten............except in that final breath where the sinner finally tries to ‘hedge his bets’.

Girls stood on the street corners, makeup camouflaging worn out faces, clothes barely covering their thin bodies as they waited in the spiteful cold rain, waiting for the ‘trick’ who would take them to their dreams, their little ‘Shangri-La’. They would wait and wait then at some distant point the waiting and hope would give out and death would ease their want.

Pagan passed these poor lost souls who paid little heed to a ‘walker’ in their midst and at last came to the street. Coronation Street. What a joke. Hundreds of English towns had a Coronation Street to celebrate Queen Victoria and her offspring, the apex of the British Empire, a time where if a problem occurred a gunship was despatched but sadly in this century it would need a lot more. Greed and despair crawled this street, pimps eyeing their 'property', the 'property' eyeing the passing trade for ‘business’. “Do you want business love, ten in the car, twenty inside”........... yes, Hope had indeed forsaken this place and still the rain beat down.

Pagan Moon suddenly found herself outside the ‘door’, Number 1 Coronation Street, B******. (Dear reader you do not want to go there.......)



Pagan tentatively pushed the heavy front door open to find the outside of the once proud home now lied. On passing through the Victorian portal the smell of decay, stale urine and tobacco assailed her nostrils along with a ‘finer scent’ more delicate than that of death, a light lingering tang that made her vampire senses come alive and at that she sensed a warm musty dampness starting to emanate from her sacred region, a sensation not felt for millennia.

She stopped at the first door and before her knuckles struck it shot open and a figure hovered there in the half-light........



“What is your business” was snapped out at the startled Pagan, despite years of knowledge this creature that swayed in the doorway was a first. The hallway had been bad but the stench that emanated from this ‘thing’ was stomach churning.

The creature staggered forward and to her disbelief, it was another nightwalker........



“Ahhhhhhhh, sister” the creature hissed “What brings you here, speak and be quick about it or suffer the consequences.......I’ve no time for fools”

Blood trickled down it’s chin as it spoke, Pagan had disturbed this thing whilst it was feeding, not good, not good at all



but before she could reply........