Rollerskater: Beginnings

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This instalment contains graphic violence.

Illustration © 2019 Igzell Vázquez. All rights reserved.

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They called him Socks.

Of course, that wasn’t the name his mother, a Trinidadian nurse named Winnie Jones, and his father, an English accountant named Joseph Oxford, had given him. They had named him Stephen James Oxford.

At school, his name had been shortened in many instances to “S. Oxford,” which had led to the nickname “Soxford”. Over time, the “-ford” suffix had fallen out of use, and so…

They called him Socks.

Even now, at twenty-one, at university, school a mere hazy memory of yesterday, that was the name he gave whenever he met someone new.

Today he wore blue, circular teashades, a black shirt on which had been printed the slogan “MY OTHER SHIRT IS GUCCI”, blue skinny jeans and Timberland boots.

“So, Socks – will I see you at Gina’s Christmas gathering?”

Her name was Daisy. She wore light blouses, leopard-print coats, pleated skirts and Converse shoes. She sat next to him in the lecture theatre often.

“Hmm? Oh, yeah, for sure,” Socks said, looking up from his laptop screen. “Can’t believe that’s winter term already over with.”

“I know, the time goes so fast,” Daisy said, opening up her own laptop. “We’ll have graduated before you know it.”

“Don’t wish your life away,” Socks said.

“I know, it’s just, these lectures. It’s long.”

“I feel that. Any idea who else is coming?”

“Doug has yet to respond, and I hear Tom’s had to head home, his grandma’s unwell.”

“Hmm,” Socks said, thoughtfully. “And what about…you know…”

“Katherine?”

“I believe she prefers to be called—”

“I know what she prefers to be called, Socks.”

“Oh, speak of the Devil…”

The lecture theatre was arranged in a staggered formation, and there were two entrances: An upper entrance at the back of the room with steps leading down toward the front of the room, and a lower entrance at the front of the room. Socks and Daisy were looking at the lower entrance, where someone had just entered.

She was a striking figure whenever you saw her on campus. She had very pale skin, and long violet hair, brushed back into loose ponytails, with a straight fringe on her forehead. Were she barefoot, she would already be quite tall – around five feet and eleven inches – but she had two inches added to her by her choice of footwear: not boots or shoes – she wore a pair of white rollerskates, with the wheels arranged in a quad formation, and to Socks’s knowledge had never been seen without them on. She wore white thigh-high socks, a plaid skirt, and a simple vest top under a leather bolero jacket. There was a pink messenger bag hanging from her shoulders. She glided into the room as though floating through the air, her face totally expressionless.

Her given name, as recorded on the ID that hung from the lanyard around her neck, was Katherine Osborne, but they called her “K-Os”. Most people, anyway.

“Do you think she wears those things to bed?” Daisy whispered, glancing at the pristine white rollerskates.

“I don’t know,” Socks said. “I kind of want to get to know her. That’s why I asked you if she’s coming to the party.”

“She keeps herself to herself, mostly,” Daisy said, with a small sneer. “It’s funny, you’d think she’d go clubbing wearing an outfit like that, but I only ever see her in classes and between classes.”

“Tell you what. I’ll talk to her after class. See if she’s going. It’ll make things less awkward.”

“You know, I don’t even know what her voice sounds like. She never raises her hand in class. She must talk to people, otherwise nobody’d know her name, right?”

“At risk of sounding like a Disney movie,” Socks said, thoughtfully, “Do you think she gets lonely?”

“She must do, right?”

“I mean, I don’t want to come off as patronising, but maybe it’d do her some good. I’m sure Gina wouldn’t mind.”

“Once Gina and her housemates are drunk enough her house becomes a commune. Just make sure you turn up after half five, when they’re a few rounds deep.”

“That’s if I can convince her to come to the party…”

“Well, yeah. But you’re a nice guy, Socks. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

Socks felt himself blush a little. “Thank you.”

“Teddybear,” Daisy said, smiling, as the professor entered the room.

*

Socks had enrolled for a Bachelor of Arts in History. He had no desire to be a medical professional, like his mother, nor a white-collar office worker like his father, and thus had found himself drawn to the humanities. He had a fascination with the past, and with how remnants of it could be seen everywhere, jutting out into the present, like long-buried ruins waiting to emerge, and even more fascinating were the futures – the futures cancelled, adjourned in development, the futures that would never be, mere relics hiding among the futures that did come to pass. The modules he was doing covered late modern and contemporary history; those futures and pasts so recent as to still be somewhat tangible, as though ghosts.

K-Os, too, was a sort of ghost. He had heard of her, heard about her, but she herself was somewhat elusive and distant. As class ended, he quickly slid his laptop into his bag, and then descended down the steps. K-Os was already halfway out of the door. He followed after her, caught up to her and walked alongside her as she skated her way out of the lecture theatre. As he approached her, he became aware of just how tall she actually was – he stood at five feet and nine inches barefoot and the Timbs barely offered him another half an inch.

“Hey,” he said, realising at once how awkward this interaction was going to be.

K-Os said nothing, not even acknowledging his presence.

“They call you K-Os, right?” Socks said.

There was a pause as K-Os stopped and turned to him. Even through his teashades, her pale blue eyes had a fierce gaze that appeared to see right into him. Then she spoke.

“Who’s asking?”

Her voice was somewhat deeper in pitch than he had been expecting.

“Nobody,” Socks said, hesitantly. “I’ve just seen you around. I was wondering if you’re going to Gina’s Christmas party.”

“No,” K-Os said, tersely. “I’m busy.”

“I just thought it might be nice to get to know you. I see you around a lot.”

“I’m touched,” K-Os said, in a voice that indicated that she was not at all touched. “But I’m busy.”

“You just don’t seem to talk to many people,” Socks said, sheepishly. “I guess I just thought it might be nice for you to see people.”

K-Os sighed. “Listen. I know you mean well. But you must understand. I’m very busy with other things. I think it’s cute that you want me to come to the party, but I can’t come. Can we drop the subject?”

Socks put his hands up at waist level. “Okay,” he said. “I guess I just thought you might benefit from it.”

K-Os rolled around, looking down at him, and placed her hands on his shoulders.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Socks.”

“Stupid name,” K-Os said. “Anyway, Socks – I get what you’re trying to do. But not every quiet girl with coloured hair who minds her own business is a project for you to fix. In fact, I’d say none of them are. If I wanted to go to the party, I’d tell you.”

“Alright, it’s up to you,” Socks said. “I guess I just thought you looked kind of cool.”

“I appreciate your saying so,” K-Os said, stoically as ever. “And I also appreciate your boldness in approaching me. But I’ve got a lot of things to do.”

“If you say so,” Socks said. “So you’re sure you don’t want to come?”

“Yes,” K-Os said. “I’m sure.”

She began to pump her arms to build up momentum and skate away.

“Nice meeting you, Socks,” she said, flatly. “Have a great day.”

“You too,” Socks said.

She looked back at him, her face totally unreadable, then disappeared up the walkway.

*

“Merry Christmaaaaas! Welcome to our houuuuse!”

Gina, a cheerful and chubby classmate of Socks who was known for getting into spirited discussions in lectures and seminars, was already a good few drinks in. You could tell, even in the darkness of the bleak midwinter evening. Gina was already very outgoing, but even more so after a few tequilas. She liked wearing dungarees, striped shirts and leather high-heeled boots, which she was wearing this evening. She put her arms around Socks, and led him down the drably-wallpapered hallway, into the living room, which connected to a small kitchen area.

“I brought beer,” Socks said, opening the carrier bag clutched in his hand to reveal a few packs of four-hundred-and-forty-millilitre Carlsberg, as well as a couple of packs of Tesco’s own-brand bitter that he had bought with the last dregs of his maintenance loan.

“Excellente!” Gina said. “Stick it in the fridge.”

Socks walked into the kitchen and greeted Gina’s housemates, who were similarly inebriated. He removed a can of Carlsberg, chilled by the evening air, opened it, and started to drink. A few revellers had already turned up and were sitting in the living room, clutching bags and bottles filled with a plethora of chemicals and substances.

“Look who it is,” said a guy Socks had met a few times here and there named Max, who liked to wear button-down check shirts, work jeans and work boots. He was enjoying what looked to be a rum and Coke. “How are you, Socks?”

“Relieved that we’re already a third of the way into the year,” Socks said.

“You and me both, pal. But hey, enjoy it while you can, you know. After this, it’s a lifetime of work, and then you die.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“Eat, drink and be merry,” Max said.

Socks swigged his beer. Life after university was a bridge to cross when he came to it – a bridge, he hoped, as many undergraduates do, that he would maybe never have to deal with.

A slow trickle of revellers began to pour in, carrying with them all manner of intoxicants, legal and illegal, as with any student party.

Daisy arrived, hanging up her leopard-print coat on a nearby chair and finding somewhere to sit next to Socks. She had clearly enjoyed a few pre-drinks.

Socks was sitting on the sofa, a cheap, shitty, preused thing from a charity shop that appeared to be lopsidedly sagging into the ground. She plopped down on the arm of the chair, crossing her legs.

“So,” she said, slurring slightly, over the chatter and a loud stereo playing pop music in the kitchen. “How did your rendezvous with the rollerskater go?”

“She said she couldn’t come,” Socks said. “She’s busy, apparently.”

“Too busy to attend a Christmas party?”

“Well, she might have a job somewhere.”

“Of course, but it seems pretty odd to me. Nobody knows what she does outside of class.”

There was a ding-dong at the door, and Gina, from somewhere in the kitchen, slurred: “Comiiiiiiing!”

A draught entered the already cold house – the walls were thin and the heating was clearly only on some of the time, and conversation died down for a moment.

“Oh,” Gina said, from the hallway, suddenly sounding positively teetotal. “H-hello.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Daisy said.

There came the sound of rolling wheels on the hard wooden floor.

K-Os entered the living room, looking around. Conversation had completely silenced.

“Hi,” she said.

There were a few murmured greetings. People cleared a space for her to sit down on a repurposed dining table chair.

She sat down, placing the messenger bag on her lap, and bowing her head.

After a few moments, conversation resumed, as though K-Os were just a piece of furniture or interior decoration.

“Why does she always turn up when I’m talking about her?” Daisy whispered. “Freaky.”

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” Socks said. “Want to come with?”

“Yeah, alright,” Daisy said.

They walked over. Socks waved, crouching down to speak to the seated woman.

“Hey, K-Os!” he said, cheerfully. “I thought you said you weren’t coming.”

K-Os looked at him with that fierce gaze again.

“Change of plans,” she said. “Decided to skate my way over here, see what the fuss is about.”

“Why don’t you have a drink?” Daisy said, with a sort of cloying zeal. “There’s some pina colada slushes in the freezer.” (Like a lot of English girls, she did not pronounce the enyay in “piña”.)

“I don’t drink,” K-Os said. “I like to keep my mind clear.”

“I…see,” Daisy said, puzzled. “For what, exactly?”

“None of your concern,” K-Os said, tersely.

“Alright,” Daisy said, exasperated. “I tried.”

She stormed off to get more drinks, leaving Socks, clutching a warm beer, to try and keep the conversation going.

“Aren’t you going to talk to anyone?” he said.

“I don’t know what to talk about, really.”

“Well, what are you into?”

“I’m not really into anything,” K-Os said. “I like history, I guess. I think that’s quite interesting. How human beings create law and order around them.”

“I like history, too, that’s why I’m doing my degree in it.”

“What do you like about history?”

“I just find the past interesting,” Socks said.

“There must be more to it than that.”

“Well…I like that you can see the past everywhere you look, you know? And how people design the present to, I guess, create the future, and how, in turn, that design ends up becoming the past.”

“Ah, so it’s the chaotic nature of human existence that you find interesting,” K-Os said, curiously.

“I guess so.”

“Interesting,” K-Os said.

Socks was amazed by how easy he was finding talking to her.

“You eaten anything?” he said.

“Oh yeah, I ate before I came,” K-Os said.

“I’m starving,” Socks said. “They’re just heating up some bits in the oven.”

“I might eat it, depending on what it is,” K-Os said.

“I’ll ask what they’re serving,” Socks said, and went into the kitchen to ask Gina what they were having, establishing that there were tempura prawns, chicken skewers, sausage rolls and a few other British Christmas party standards warming up.

Socks sat down with K-Os again and kept talking to her about history. She still seemed somewhat cold and distant, but had at least warmed to him enough to want to keep conversation. He eventually brought her a plate of hors d’oeuvres, which she ate, and they kept talking for so long that they didn’t realise it was three in the morning when the party started to die down, the drunk ones started to pass out while the ones on uppers ran off into the night screaming.

“I’m gonna head off,” Daisy said, bleary-eyed, her makeup smeared. “Safe journey home.”

“You too, take care,” Socks said, looking at his Casio watch. “I should probably be heading back too.”

“Same here,” K-Os said. “But this has been…” She paused. “…nice.”

“Let me walk you back,” Socks said. “Or, er, roll you back, as the case may be.”

“I think I’m capable enough to find my own way,” K-Os said.

“I insist,” Socks said. “You shouldn’t be out on your own at three in the morning.”

K-Os rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine.”

Socks stood up, swaying for a few moments. “Whoo, head-rush,” he said.

He held out his arm in a crossbow shape to let K-Os link with it.

They headed for the door. Daisy laughed.

“Teddybear,” she said.

*

“How much further to go?” Socks asked. They had both been walking in silence for a few minutes, accompanied only by the sound of their own footsteps (or wheels, as in the case of K-Os), neither sure quite what to say. Socks’s voice echoed a little in the empty street. Streetlamps lit the way, creating long shadows that stretched in front of and behind them, shrinking and growing as they got closer to each source of light.

“Maybe ten minutes,” K-Os said. “Two more streets.”

“Alright,” Socks said. He checked his watch again. “Jesus. It’s almost four in the morning.”

K-Os may have smiled, slightly.

“I’m not one for parties,” she said. “But that was fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you thought so,” Socks said, smiling widely. “I told you it’d do you some good.”

“Maybe I should start believing people more often.”

Socks laughed, and then felt something squelch under his shoe.

“Urgh,” he said, looking down. “I think I just stepped in dog shit.”

He lifted his boot to reveal the bottom of the sole was coated in a sort of inky, black substance. He wiped his sole against the pavement to wipe it off.

“Are you good?” K-Os said.

“Yeah,” Socks said. “Gross.”

He looked back over his shoulder for a moment, then shrugged. They continued moving down the street.

“Who was that girl?” K-Os asked.

“Huh?” Socks said. “Oh, Daisy? Yeah, she’s cool. I sit with her in lectures. I think she finds you a bit intimidating.”

K-Os issued a very understated laugh. “Heh.”

“To be honest, I felt the same way until recently.”

“Guess I just have that effect,” K-Os said.

“I think those skates make you look pretty imposing to some people.”

“Good,” K-Os said, smiling and rolling backwards. “That’s what they’re supposed to do.”

“You’re already pretty tall. The skates make you even taller.”

“I know. Isn’t it great?”

They reached the end of the street, and out of the corner of his eye, Socks saw something move. His head involuntarily whipped around to look. There was nothing there but a faint shadow cast by a streetlamp across the road. He shook his head.

“Something the matter?” K-Os asked, tilting her head slightly, puzzled.

“I’m drunk,” Socks said. “I think I just saw a cat or something.”

“What did you see?” K-Os asked, hesitantly.

“Oh, just something moving. It’s nothing, really.”

“I…see,” K-Os said. “Yeah, we’d better get inside. You can crash at my place.”

“If that’s okay.”

“It’s whatever,” K-Os said.

Socks followed after her.

“Why do they call you Socks?” K-Os said.

“Ah, it’s a nickname from school. My real name is Stephen Oxford. You know: S. Oxford. Soxford. Socks.”

“It’s still a stupid name,” K-Os said, in a dry, jocular tone.

“Well, I think K-Os is a pretty badass name.”

“I’m flattered,” K-Os said, flatly.

“Hey, it’s true,” Socks said. “It’s a cool nickname. Cooler than ‘Socks’, that’s for sure.”

Socks saw another flicker in the corner of his eye, and turned again to look at it.

“Fuckin’—” he said. “What is that?”

“Did you see something move again?”

“Yeah. For a second, it looked like…”

“What?” K-Os asked.

“It’s nothing.”

“What did you see?” K-Os asked, a little too seriously.

“I thought I saw my shadow move, for a second,” Socks said. “Must be one of the lamps flickering. Maybe a moth or something.”

“It’s late December,” K-Os said. “There aren’t any moths outside.”

“Well, my eyes are playing tricks on me, I guess.”

They turned the corner and began walking down the next street.

“I’m sorry about how Daisy talked to you tonight,” Socks said. “I think she wants to get to know you, but I guess you come off as kind of distant to some people.”

K-Os seemed distracted. “She…was asking me personal questions,” she said, glancing around them.

“You should talk to Max,” Socks said. “I think you’d like him. I met him through the Rock and Pop Society. He takes a couple of modules with me.”

“Uh-huh,” K-Os said, looking around. “I’ll do that.”

“You should come and hang with the Rock and Pop Society sometime. I think they’d like you.”

“I’m sure they would,” K-Os said, now barely making an effort to keep up conversation.

There was another flicker.

She stopped in her tracks, staring intently at her shadow.

Socks looked at her shadow, and then at her.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Did you see it too?”

K-Os paused. “I think I did,” she said.

Socks looked up at the street lamps. As K-Os had said, there were no moths.

“Power surges, maybe,” he said. “Anyway, come hang with us. I’ll buy you a drink—”

K-Os held up a finger to silence him, looking very closely at her shadow.

The shadow, once again, flickered slightly. It looked unnatural and somehow disturbing.

K-Os looked over at Socks, then at his shadow.

Socks turned and looked at his shadow.

It had begun moving erratically. Unnaturally.

Socks looked up at the street lamp, then back at the ground.

“What the hell’s wrong with this lamp?” he said.

He turned back to his shadow, which had suddenly stopped moving, as had K-Os’s shadow.

“Man, that’s weird,” he said. “Some kind of optical illusion, maybe?”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” K-Os said, quietly. She pointed at her shadow.

Socks almost fell over.

Due to the arrangement of street lights on the street, both of them had multiple shadows of various sizes and darknesses. That wasn’t the weird part.

The weird part was that, in the act of pointing, the shadows behaved as though K-Os were standing still.

“Okay, this is seriously weird,” Socks said. “Did someone put something in our drinks, or what?”

“No,” K-Os said, distantly. “I don’t think that’s it at all.”

“Well, then, what’s going on?”

“Whatever it is, it’s not good,” K-Os said.

There came a sound through the trees and tarmac like an enormous sigh.

The shadows had begun to move.

They had begun to move on their own.

One by one, as though a sticking-plaster being pulled away from a wound, each shadow peeled itself off of the ground, standing up, resembling dark, translucent fabric. Socks looked at the shadow, staring through it as if it were a piece of dark glass.

“What—” he whispered, fearfully. “What the fuck—”

He looked over at K-Os, and her shadows, too, had stood up, and were now surrounding her.

“Stay calm,” K-Os said. “Don’t make any sudden movements.”

The shadows began to slide forwards.

“What are they doing?” Socks whispered.

“I don’t know,” K-Os said, with an air of curiosity that made Socks uncomfortable.

The shadows stopped.

The strongest, longest shadow twitched for a moment, then extended its arm towards Socks’s throat.

He suddenly had the sensation of being strangled…

There was a loud pop-dunk, which for a moment Socks thought was the sound of his own windpipe being crushed, until he noticed that the street had gone dark. Someone was putting the lights out.

“As long as there’s nothing to cast a shadow,” K-Os said, as Socks felt the grip on his throat loosen, “They can’t hurt us.”

Socks’s eyes tried to adjust to the darkness.

“What now?” he said.

“I’m still working on that,” K-Os said. “But for now, we have to run.”

Socks’s feet immediately began to carry him down the road, and K-Os skated after him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he panted, scanning the environment for any potential sources of light. It was a dark and overcast night, and even the moon was not visible.

He ducked into a dark alley-way to catch his breath. It was between two terraces of houses, with an asphalt path that led to the next street over.

“Oh fuck, oh Jesus,” Socks said, gasping for breath, as K-Os caught up to him. “What are those things?”

“I don’t think you’d believe me if I told you,” K-Os said, apparently not out of breath.

“Try me,” Socks said.

K-Os was about to respond when, out of the blackness, a figure approached.

He wore an Adidas tracksuit and Nike trainers.

“Oi oi,” he said. As Socks’s eyes adjusted to the light, he could see that the man was clutching a folding knife, and he flashed them a yellowish grin.

“Did you send the shadows after us?” Socks said.

“Shadows?” the man asked. “Dunno what you’re on about, mate. I just want you to hand over your phones and wallets.”

“Oh, great, and we’re getting mugged,” K-Os said.

“Yeah,” the mugger said. “You are. You sound like you’re on drugs, too.”

“No way, man,” Socks blurted. “We were just being chased by…shadows. They wanted to kill us! One of them strangled me…!”

“Wow,” the mugger replied, unimpressed. “You really are on drugs. Now hand it over, both of you, before you piss me off.”

Defeated, and questioning his own sanity, Socks began to hand over the goods.

“Hey, slag,” the mugger said, addressing K-Os. Socks could see that she was inspecting the rooves above them. “Didn’t you hear? Hand over the…”

Suddenly, the alley was filled with light, and a shadow of the three was cast on the alley-way behind them.

“Security lamp,” K-Os said, pointing to the side wall of the house behind them.

“Oh, shit,” the mugger said.

There was a pause.

The shadow emitted a horrendous, groaning sigh, peeling away from the fence.

The mugger turned to see it.

It was a hideous monstrosity, an arachnid creature made of human-shaped appendages, with three heads, and on the end of one of its appendages – a knife—

“What the fuck?!” the mugger exclaimed, “What the fuck—”

The shadow lunged forwards. Socks flinched away, and K-Os could only stare in muted horror.

The knife-arm shot forwards, piercing through the mugger’s stomach, and emerging from his back. A hole had been punched all the way through his body. He was lifted off his feet by the shadow-creature as blood trickled on to the pavement.

“Urrrkk,” the mugger said, his eyes wide with terror and confusion.

The security lamp went out, and the shadow disappeared. The mugger suddenly fell four feet to the ground with a horrible crunch.

“What the hell was that?!” Socks exclaimed.

“They must assume whatever form they’re in when activated,” K-Os said.

“What are you talking about? What the hell are these things?” Socks was on the verge of tears. “That guy was killed by a shadow. We’re going to be killed by shadows!”

“Not if I can help it,” K-Os said. “We need to get through this alleyway as quickly as we can. If we stand still for too long and the light catches us, it will activate them.”

Socks looked at her and nodded.

“On my count,” K-Os said. “One, two…three!”

She began to pump her arms, skating through the alley as Socks ran, flailing behind her, passing houses, flashing security lamps, garages, back gardens, an electrical substation…

They reached the street at the end of the alleyway, which was well-lit by street lamps. K-Os put her arm out to stop Socks running into the street.

“Keep moving, stay low,” she said. “I’m going to try and cut the lights.”

Socks crouched down, and began to try and move around, in an effort to prevent his shadow from coming to life. It took every ounce of strength not to leg it all the way back to his flat and barricade the doors.

He watched as K-Os approached one of the street lamps on the other side of the street.

Next to it was a telegraph pole. Cables stretched out of the pole and were attached to the rooves of the houses nearby.

The lamp cast a shadow of the pole on the ground, and was in close enough proximity that the shadows of the cables were also visible.

Socks saw something twitch. He stood up straight.

“K-Os, watch out!” he shouted.

K-Os turned in time to see the shadow of the telegraph pole come to life, a long, thin shadow with snake-like tendrils spilling out of its top.

The shadow stood still for a moment, looming over her.

Then, in a quick, whipping motion, the cable-shadows flew at her.

K-Os was instantly cut to pieces by the strike, as if she had been struck with razorwire.

“K-OS!” Socks screamed, despairing.

“What a pity,” a voice said, from behind Socks. Socks turned towards the source.

The puddle of oil he had stepped in was now sitting behind him, and floating in it was the mugger’s knife, which he could now see was rainbow-coloured.

The puddle of oil slid forwards, and out of it grew a man, now clutching the knife in his hand. He had long, wiry black hair, and a black beard. He wore black sunglasses. He wore a black trenchcoat, and visible under it was a black suit. He examined the blade, turning it over in his hands.

“What a lovely knife,” the oil-man said. “A shame it was being wielded by such an idiot, really.”

“Who are you?” Socks asked. “Why did you…” he swallowed, and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Why did you…”

“Kill her?” the oil-man said. “Because she has something very important to me. And I want it. I suppose I’m no different to that common thug I just had to put down, in a way. Except…”

Socks felt something grab his throat from behind. He grasped at it to let go, but its grip was so steadfast and tight as to be made of stone.

“…I doubt that he could do something like that,” the oil-man said.

“What do you want from me?” Socks choked, feeling his shadow begin to strangle the life out of him.

“From you? Nothing. It was your friend with which I was mainly concerned. Of course, by stepping in that puddle of umbric you made yourself very easy to track. But now that she’s gone, I don’t want anything in particular from you, boy.”

“Then…” Socks gasped. “Let…me…go!”

“I suppose there is one thing you could do,” the oil-man mused, smiling.

“What?” Socks said.

“Scream for me,” the oil-man said, lunging at Socks with the knife.

Socks screamed.

Something flashed in the periphery of Socks’s vision, and for a moment he wondered if the shadow had been merciful enough to snap his neck before the knife plunged into his chest. However, in that split second of motion, he realised that the shadow had vanished. He unconsciously checked his body for wounds – he knew well that people who are stabbed are rarely aware that they have been stabbed until it’s too late to save them. But there was no blood.

Then he saw the reason why.

A disembodied, pale arm was coiled around the oil-man’s neck. Socks looked at the oil-man’s left hand. Moments ago there had been a knife there, but now it was empty. He wondered where the knife had gone.

The oil-man screamed – and Socks saw where the knife was. Almost immediately, he retched.

A ring of shattered glass now framed the oil-man’s left eyesocket. Inside it was a destroyed eye, protruding from which was the rainbow-coloured flick-knife.

The oil-man screamed again in agony. He collapsed, clutching his face.

“That was a neat trick you pulled back there,” said a voice from behind Socks.

Socks turned to see two disembodied lower legs wearing rollerskates, skating towards him. They were followed by a few puddles of pink liquid, bearing a strong resemblance to strawberry milkshake. The legs came to a stop as the oil-man gazed with his functional eye.

The puddles coalesced into one, and then flowed upwards, as if a film playing in reverse, forming thighs, hips, a plaid skirt, an abdomen, an upper torso, a vest top, a left arm, a bolero jacket, and then a head, from which flowed locks of perfectly-formed violet-coloured hair.

The right arm hopped over and attached itself to the right shoulder.

And there K-Os stood, complete once more.

“K-Os?” Socks said.

“The one and only,” K-Os said, deadpan.

“I underestimated you,” the oil-man said, his hand still clasped to his face.

“What the hell is going on?” Socks said.

“You mean he doesn’t know?” the oil-man said. His eye was weeping blood. “How interesting.”

K-Os skated over to the oil-man, placing a skate on his chest. She bent down, and pulled the knife out of his eyesocket with a wet shliiiicckk. The oil-man screamed again.

“You’re right,” K-Os said. “It is a nice knife.”

She skated away from him.

The oil-man covered the bleeding eye socket. He laughed.

“You really think this is over, don’t you?” the oil-man said. “I am only the beginning. More will come for you. They won’t stop until you’re dead.”

“How unfortunate for them,” K-Os said.

The oil-man smiled.

Without warning, K-Os was cut into two pieces on the vertical by her shadow, which had peeled off of the ground behind her. Her two halves came away from each other, but stood, the separation line marked not by gore, but by a matt pink surface. The two halves spun to face the shadow, merging together to form one again.

The oil-man drew a dagger from his coat that appeared to have been hewn from a black stone like obsidian or onyx, and had been smithed into a wavy shape.

“Guess what this blade is made from?” the oil-man said. “Pure crystal umbric. It doesn’t matter what powers you have. If this blade touches any of your vital organs, you’re dead.”

He lunged towards K-Os, who split into strands of pink liquid and flowed around him.

“Socks,” K-Os said, as the oil-man went in for another attack. “Run!”

In that moment, Socks knew that what he should have done was run far away, and pretend that it had never happened. He should have moved on with his life. He should have chalked up this evening as a bad dream and pushed it to the back of his memory, never to surface again. He knew that this would have been the logical and smart thing to do, and nobody could have judged him for doing it, and yet he refused to abandon K-Os.

He heard a moan behind him, and his shadow began to rise from the ground once again. Socks stood his ground. Think, damn it. What would hurt a shadow?

Socks reached into his pocket and pulled out his smartphone. The battery stood at 19%.

He swiped his finger down on the screen and clicked on a small skeumorphic image of a torch. Immediately a white LED in the back of the phone burst into life, and with a quick slashing motion, he attacked his shadow, taking a chunk out of its right arm.

“Eat that!” Socks said, laughing triumphantly.

The shadow looked at its right arm, and then pointed with its left.

Socks felt a burning pain in his left arm.

As if a mirror image of where he had attacked the shadow, the damage had been reflected on his arm. It was bleeding profusely.

“Shit!” he said.

He began to leg it up the road, though the shadow remained persistent in its chase. He put pressure on the wound, unable to use his arm to make a tourniquet even if he knew how.

He looked over at K-Os, still trying to fight off the oil-man. She was unable to help him now.

Come on. What stops the shadows from attacking?

He looked up at the streetlamps.

As long as there’s nothing to cast a shadow, they can’t hurt us.

He recalled somewhere in the alley, seeing a sign, a man being struck by electricity, and the words “DANGER OF DEATH”.

The substation!

Quickly, he made a beeline for the alley, pursued by his shadows, which were growing more numerous. The bastard’s sending more of them after me!

There it was, the entrance, a big wooden gate. Padlocked.

The shadows were getting closer and closer, even in the dark alley, as security lamps flashed on. He looked over at K-Os, who was still locked in a duel with the oil-man. He saw that she was getting worn down. Pretty soon she’d have to stop moving, and the oil-man would bring her shadows to life. She wouldn’t be able to survive incapacitated. He had only one shot at this.

With his boot, he gave a mighty blow to the gate, breaking the lock.

The gate swung open. The substation had a large control panel with confusing labels. No time to check them. Come on, there’s got to be a master switch around here somewhere.

The shadows were close enough now to reach out and put their hands around his throat. He would die. K-Os would die. He didn’t understand why.

“Not today,” Socks said. Quickly, he removed one of his boots and with a powerful overarm throw, destroyed the control panel.

There was a short whine, and then somewhere, a circuit-breaker tripped.

All the lights in the street went out, as well as all the security-lamps. There wasn’t a source of light anywhere in the immediate vicinity. Nothing to cast a shadow.

The shadows that had been menacing him vanished, and with them, the wound on his arm spontaneously healed itself. Socks staggered out of the substation area, almost falling over his own feet. He walked out into the open street.

At the same moment, K-Os and the oil-man were taken by surprise at the power suddenly shutting off. K-Os squinted in the dark for a few moments, and then saw Socks stumbling towards her.

“Socks!” she shouted.

“He shut off the power,” the oil-man said, half-amazed, half-enraged. “I was outsmarted by a normal…”

“Socks!” K-Os cried, again, as Socks collapsed from exhaustion, falling into her arms.

“God damn,” Socks said. “That was a hell of a workout.”

“You idiot. I told you to run.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave you to die.”

The oil-man laughed. K-Os turned to look at him.

“Well, this is very touching,” the oil-man said. “But I think I’ll be taking what I came here for, now.”

“Over my dead body,” K-Os said.

“If you insist,” the oil-man replied, throwing the knife at K-Os.

K-Os flinched, knowing that if the umbric blade touched her, it would kill her.

When she felt no pain, she opened her eyes. She looked down.

Socks had caught the dagger in his bare left hand, and he had caught it by the blade. It had cut his palm, and it was bleeding.

“Not today,” Socks said, softly, dropping the dagger and falling on to his back. As he did so, some of the blood on the blade fell, in small droplets, on to K-Os’s rollerskates.

“Bastard!” the oil-man cursed. “You just don’t give up, do you?”

K-Os looked at the blood on her rollerskates.

Socks couldn’t sit up, only stare up at her. She stood, and from his low vantage point, she appeared to be a giant.

K-Os looked at the oil-man. She began to breathe sharp, ragged breaths.

“No matter,” the oil-man said. “There’s plenty more umbric where that came fr-ukkk—”

K-Os grabbed the oil-man by the throat. He scrabbled feebly at his throat, gazing fearfully at the young woman’s terrifying strength. She lifted him into the air and his legs flailed.

“You just made the biggest mistake of your life,” K-Os said. Her eyes had begun to glow with an intense, golden light.

Socks tried to roll himself over. With some effort he managed to change his vantage point somewhat. He could see that K-Os’s rollerskates, too, shone with the same golden light. K-Os’s whole body began emitting that light, casting shadows across the street.

“Akkk…”

The oil-man was waving his arms feebly.

“My – my—”

“Your powers?” K-Os said. “You’re not playing with an infant.”

The oil-man was trying to pry K-Os’s hand away. “What the – ukkk – what the hell are you—”

K-Os smiled at him. It was an unnerving smile. She cocked her head at the man she held in her hand. The glasses slid from his face, revealing his one remaining eye bulging, half from fear, and half from strangulation.

“My name is Chaos,” she said. “From me, all that is has come into being. And it is to me that all that is shall return. You are nothing to me but an insect.”

“Let me go,” the oil-man choked. “Please, let me go!”

K-Os said nothing.

Her body erupted into the brightest flame that Socks had ever seen, like a magnesium strip in a Bunsen burner. Rocks and pebbles were disturbed by vibrations. The ground shook. Car alarms were sounding.

and in a moment

of terror

socks

watched a man

EXPLODE

*

Morning.

The first thing Socks noticed was that the bed he had been sleeping in wasn’t his bed. It was someone else’s. The sheets smelled of detergent, as if freshly cleaned. The second thing he noticed was that the room he was in was noticeably sterile. It was not a hospital room, no. It was like many of the flats he had viewed in his first year, trying to work out where to live for his second. But unlike most student flats, which stank of chip oil, overflowing bins, cigarettes and filthy laundry, there was a total lack of smell. He glanced over at a pinboard on the wall. There was a calendar hanging from it, but no photographs. The flat appeared barely lived in.

He climbed out of bed. There was a bandage around his left palm. His teashades were on the bedside table, scratched up but serviceable. He was still wearing everything he had been wearing at the party last night, with the exception of his Timbs. He was trying to remember what had happened. It was all a blur. Had someone slipped something into his drink without his noticing, he wondered? He stood up and walked over to the window, through which sunlight was streaming. The police had cordoned off a street a little way down the road, and there were police vans blocking the entrance and redirecting traffic.

That street. I was on that street last night.

He turned back to the room. He didn’t want to be nosy, but he wanted to know whose flat this was. He opened the wardrobe. It was empty. He walked over to the chest of drawers, and opened each drawer. There was nothing in any of them. It was like nobody lived here. This was really creepy—

“I see you’re awake,” came a voice from the doorway.

Socks whipped his head around and saw at once who it was, and to whom this flat belonged.

K-Os.

She was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. She wasn’t wearing the bolero jacket, and Socks could see that her arms were both muscular, like those of an athlete. She was still wearing the rollerskates, which were white and clean.

“It’s okay, I’m not offended,” she said. “You’ve a right to be curious.”

Socks stared at her for a few seconds.

“I didn’t dream all that last night?” Socks said.

K-Os’s face remained expressionless. She looked at the ceiling, then the floor, then back at Socks.

“No,” she said, quietly. “That was all real.”

Socks shifted uneasily on his feet. “You…you made him explode…”

“The police are not treating the death as suspicious,” K-Os said, blankly. “I don’t intend to inform them otherwise.”

“But…” Socks said. “How – what did you—”

K-Os skated over to Socks and put her hands on his shoulders. Without the Timbs on, he felt even smaller.

“Listen to me,” K-Os said. “You were never supposed to see that side of me. Nobody was. And I want to be clear with you, Socks. Go home. Forget any of this ever happened. And stay away from me from now on.”

“But – K-Os—”

“Socks,” K-Os said, sternly. “Some things in life don’t ever have explanations. And sometimes, it’s better not to know certain things, for your own good. This is one of those things. Stay out of my way, okay? I don’t want you or anyone else getting hurt again, because of me.”

Socks hung his head. “Okay,” he said, dejected.

“Okay,” K-Os said. She reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a small purple packet, and threw it to Socks. He read the label. Cadbury’s Dairy Milk Giant Buttons.

“You need to get your glucose levels up,” K-Os said. “And—” she bowed her head. “—thank you for inviting me along to the party.”

“Don’t mention it,” Socks said.

K-Os nodded, and she led him out of the flat.

He walked home barefoot.

*

His mother called him Stephen Joseph Oxford.

She only used his full name when she was really angry at him. When her son had called her to tell her that he had somehow misplaced his Timberland boots while drunk after a Christmas party, she had been quite upset with him. It wasn’t like her boy to go out drinking and losing things. His father later contacted him via text message to explain that he wasn’t happy, either. So he’d switched to a crap pair of Reeboks he’d brought with him. Christmas was bound to be awkward.

He met Daisy in the last lecture of term.

“How was your night with K-Os?” she asked, coquettishly. She looked at his hand with a sort of knowing look.

“I don’t think it’s possible to explain to you how little I want to talk about it,” Socks said. Daisy quickly dropped the subject, looking down at the front of the theatre at the mysterious girl in rollerskates.

The next few weeks were a blur. Christmas came and went, family parties were attended. His thoughts were plagued by K-Os. He needed answers, but he was also afraid of her. He couldn’t get her off his mind. He was so preoccupied that he began to lose track of time. Whole days felt like they were repeating themselves, each time slightly different, or so it seemed. He was unable to focus on the essays he’d been set during the Christmas holiday. He found himself forgetting meals, and unable to finish dinner, which his mother repeatedly scolded him for, as if he were still a child. He couldn’t figure out what was bothering him. Life seemed to have come unstuck, in some way, much like the shadows on that fateful night…

And then one day, while writing his name at the top of the essay he had yet to start, it hit him.

His name was Stephen James Oxford. It always had been. But his mother assured him that it was Stephen Joseph. It always had been. At his insistence, she even showed him his passport and his birth certificate. So now, maybe he was losing his mind. He was certain that they had called him Stephen James. He decided to drop the subject before worrying his mother. He took himself to a doctor, who suggested he needed some rest or counselling, and gave him the number of an NHS self-referral service, which he still hadn’t called.

Returning to the essay for a second attempt, he typed in the date as it appeared on his computer clock. He was idly reading it, when it struck him that the date was wrong. He knew for a fact that it was the 12^th of January – twelve days since New Year’s Eve. He may have been lost in a fog, but he had clear memories of every day since then. Yet, the calendar said that it was the 8^th of January – a mere eight days had passed. Impossible. Where had those four days gone? He knew for a fact he had lived through twelve days since January. It occurred to him he hadn’t really checked the date on his phone or on his computer in the past few days. Something had gone very wrong.

He tried to think of every logical explanation, but none satisfied him. He was losing days, somehow, while gaining time. None of it added up. He found himself thinking about that night again, going over it in his mind, trying to figure out what might be causing this state of temporal disjuncture. He replayed the memories over and over again, until one image stuck out more strongly than anything else.

He thought of K-Os’s rollerskates, stained with blood.

His blood.

And suddenly, the pieces fit together.

Another time, another place…

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This work is distributed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, except the illustration, which is copyrighted in perpetuity by Igzell Vázquez, and displayed here by kind permission.

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ARC ONE: UMBRIC SPRING
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