Kelle didn’t scare easily. Brought up on a rough council estate in Leeds, she’d fought her way through school taking instruction from her elder brother who’d taught her how to handle herself. Here in Whitby for a week with her aunt she’d navigated her way from the station with ease, despite approaching darkness and a strong wind from the sea. She was nearly there. Just one more narrow, cobbled street and she would be at her aunt’s door. She heard footsteps behind her but didn’t bother to turn around. There were also a couple of figures in front who were hard to make out. One of them turned towards the street light and she caught a glimpse of silver running across his face; a huge scar. There was something hanging from his belt. It could be a knife. Kelle stopped and weighed up her chances. The other figure, stockier than the first, turned to stare in her direction. He had blood on his face and what looked like a gash on his arm. She turned round to see her follower had gained ground and as he approached his black hood slipped to reveal face piercings breaking up an elaborate tattoo which disfigured him. He too came to a halt. There were no side streets; no escape. Kelle decided to take the single figure in the hope the other two would disappear. She took off her rucksack letting it slide slowly to the ground and rushed at the tattooed man hoping he didn’t have a concealed weapon. The cobbles were wet and her boots were new. She slipped, fell headlong and knocked herself out. When she came round all three horrific figures surrounded her. They grabbed her and she kicked and screamed, feeling a sob almost choking her.
‘God almighty, what’s wrong with her?
‘Search me. She looks terrified.’
‘It’s all right, calm down, we won’t hurt you. I’m Sean, he’s Phil’ — he looked inquiringly at the man with the tattoo.
‘Steve.’
“We’re here for the Goth weekend.’
(c) 2024 Katya Marsh.
