Prisoner of the Dark

He can taste the sound; if it were a flavour, it would be copper.

Lob. Lob. Lob.

The rhythmic beating pounds through the air. Like the manual whump of a drum, it courses with melody. The all consuming thump vibrates into dusk. Rowen closes his eyes and can hear the lobbing from inside his head. The strange sound is unheard of but it feels familiar and inviting. 

“Do you hear that?”

The rhetorical question is answered with ignorance. Jasper locks eyes with Henny from across the school yard. Beneath a burrowed gaze, he watches his peer escape into the evening light, his face is disguised by a hat and glasses. Jasper mumbles some kind of a joke, to which Olive folds over with laughter and her cheeks redden.

“Did you say something, Rowen?” Jasper asks, when he calms down. His eyes dart across the school yard, from beneath a wispy blonde fringe.

“That sound…Did you hear it?” Rowen looks around. His cuffed brown hair flips with each dramatic head turn. Laughter overrides the lobbing and the taste in his mouth evaporates.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, anyway, I’m heading home,” Jasper announces and waves a farewell.

“Walk me home?” Olive asks. Her pale blue eyes make it difficult to attest. 

There are various paths to her terrace but the most endearing was the forest. One could hardly call it a leisurely stroll, without the presence of a path. The forest is filled with various tree species and their enchanted bodies twine around the other. It makes for a captivating view but the same cannot be said for the walk itself. The pair are forced to leap atop fallen trees, curveball hanging branches and avoid invisible spider webs. 

As Olive climbs over a boulder, she jumps down. Hot breath escapes her lips and the lobbing resurrects. Rowen braces himself, searching for the source.

“Are you alright?” Olive asks.

“That sound is back. Do you hear it?”

“I’m so confused, Rowen. What are you talking about?”

“Shhh.”

Rowen’s eyes widen, yet Olive remains unphased. As if reality is split in a time lapse, their experiences are vastly different. Rowen shakes his head, “Never mind.” But the taste in his mouth cannot be dismissed. The drool from his lips, almost as if a meal has been placed inside.

A bell chimes from the town hall, signalling dusk is upon them. They fasten their pace and reach the end of the forest. Beyond the clearing is rows of houses, fenced with fire-lit lamps. Gasolene from their wicks pollute the air. From the front door, Rowen bids farewell just as the bell tolls again.

“Get home quickly. It won’t be safe out here for long,” Olive says.

Rowen agrees. “Have you ever seen one?”

“Of course I have but only at night. They manage to stay hidden during the day.”

“Why do you think that is?”

Olive shrugs. “Apparently they don’t tolerate sunshine all too well. See you tomorrow.”

“Night, Olive.”

Sweat slides down Rowen’s face as he makes the walk home. He narrows into his street and locks the front door. His parents and sister are already seated at the dinner table, their hands pressed together for grace. Father throws a sideways glare and Rowen stumbles to his seat. 

“Rowen, honey, did you lock the front door?” Mother asks.

He nods.

“How was your day?”

“Mostly good.”

“Mostly?” His sister asks, she pauses mid-meal to look over.

Rowen reassures her with a nudge. “Margot, my day was great except for this sound that I kept hearing, like…” his voice trails off.

It was then that Mother threw a look at Father. In telepathic understanding, they minced their food slowly, as if having a silent conversation. Unable to put a finger on their expressions, Rowen decided it was neither disappointment or concern but something else.

“What sound, son?” Father asks.

Rowen tries to find the right words to articulate the thumping from earlier. “Like a pump, pump, pump… Or lob, lob, lob.”

Father chuckles. “That’s how it starts for us all.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You’ll understand when you’re older,” Father addresses the conversation with a grin.

Dinner plays out with the regular daily topics until the plates are smeared with the remains of roast. Although Rowen has lost his appetite. 

The meal is dismissed and he is about to head to bed, when Margot grabs his arm. She peers around, as if about to speak to a top-secret topic and leans in. “What was that sound you were talking about?”

“It’s probably nothing,” Rowen replies. He looks into her ten-year-old eyes. A twinkle of worry clouds her innocence and it makes him rethink his reply. “It’s like that beating inside your head when you run too fast or when you play tag with your friends.”

“Were you playing tag?” Margot asks.

“No, I wasn’t,” Rowen gulps down his words. “Goodnight Margot,” he slips into his bedroom. He climbs beneath the sheets and cannot help but think; if I was not playing tag, then why did I hear that pumping sound, as if I were? The unsettling thought offers no answers. Rowen grows bored of the idea and forces himself to sleep.

Morning light brings with it a thick headache. Sun emerges from between the teal curtains and the glare blurs Rowen’s vision. He shields his eyes by his hand but his palm heats up. Almost as if the sun is warmer than most days. He is dazed by the pound inside his head, which seems to only pass once the curtains are drawn closed. 

“Breakfast is ready!” Mother calls.

Rowen dresses himself in a linen set that balloons as he walks. Though the calmness of the fabric serenades the headache. He collapses into the dining table and grabs hold of himself. Mother kisses the top of his hair and lays down a tall smoothie.

“Breakfast will make you feel better.”

“No thank you.”

“Drink up, this will help.”

Margot looks up from her plate of eggs. “I’ll have it!” she says with a mouthful of food.

Mother smiles. “This is for Rowen, you can have a smoothie when you’re older.”

“How much older?”

“When you’re Rowen’s age, about sixteen or seventeen.”

Rowen unfolds himself and looks at the drink, it’s the colour of red cranberry, only darker and near black. The colour is off-putting but wiith some encouragement, he takes a sip. 

“I’ve tasted this before,” Rowen thinks. “What’s in it?”

“Red is the colour of healing. It has every red fruit, herb and other things that are coloured red,” Mother replies. “Do you like it?”

“It’s sweet.” Rowen takes another sip. Smacking his lips, it hits him. “Copper. It tastes like copper.”

Mother takes a seat at the table with the same smoothie concoction in hand. She gulps it down and her shoulders loosen. It makes Rowen think, has Mother always had this smoothie for breakfast?

The question no longer needs an answer. All that matters is that the headache has passed. The smoothie is a distraction and he gulps it down, occasionally choking on the crushed chunks inside.

Rowen sets out beneath the summer sun but the thumping headache returns. He jogs to the beating inside of his head and reaches Olive’s house. She welcomes him with a half-awake yawn and inside hot sun beats from the open curtains. Despite the peonies that line the window seals, their petals do not suck up enough light.

“Olive… I have a headache. Could we dim the light?” he moans.

She apologetically sprints across the room and thrusts the pleated curtains shut. As if the off switch has been flicked, the pain diminishes. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be, I get headaches all the time. Did you want some water?”

“Please.”

Inside the kitchen there are mounds of baked bread and the warm scent of yeast is thick. Towels, covered in sticky dough, are thrust across the floor. Olive’s parents baked a towns’ supply of goods for the weekend stalls. They would have set out before sunrise, as was the Saturday pleasure. Rowen accepts a glass of water and drinks it with speed. Almost as if his thirst doubles with the taste. 

“The way you inhale water, your house must have run out,” Olive jokes, pouring another glass.

“I’m a growing boy!” 

“It’ll do good for your headache.”

The front door opens and Jasper welcomes himself inside. He takes a bow, pleased with himself.

“How did you get in?” Olive asks.

“The spare key under the doormat,” Jasper grins.

“That’s for an emergency.”

“Such as?”

“Locking myself out of the house when I leave for school.”

Jasper bursts into laughter, as does Rowen. Olive puckers her lips, waiting for them to finish the theatrics but the end does not come quick enough. 

“How many times has that happened?” Rowen is almost crying.

“At least twice but I was in a rush!”

“You could have at least locked yourself inside the house, not outside. That way you actually miss school,” Jasper chuckles.

“How does one lock themselves inside?” Olive folds her arms.

As the laughter is replaced by light-hearted argumentative conversation, something else arises. Rowen’s ears are blocked with a lob… Lob… Lob. The taste of copper laces his tongue. Almost as if a plastic layer covers every corner of his mouth, he tastes the eloquent metal. 

“Rowen, want to go upstairs?”

Olive’s bedroom is large enough to fit a double bed and a mini couch. The study table is clouded with half-burnt tallow candles and the woven rug scratches the undersoles of their feet. Rowen and Jasper collide into the couch, whilst Olive sits on the edge of her bed. She hugs a plush bear and toys with the tag.

“Did you hear about Henny from school?” Jasper nudges.

“What do you mean?” Rowen asks.

Olive gasps. “You don’t know?”

“Henny got expelled,” Jasper nearly whispers.

“Henny? He’s the nicest guy, there’s no way,” Rowen says in disbelief.

“Serious!” Olive exclaims.

Jasper nods his head. “He’s not coming back.”

“How come?”

“Well, it all started when Henny was complaining of light sensitivity. He couldn’t be in class for longer than half-an-hour. His head was always pounding!”

“Maybe he was sick.”

Olive snaps her fingers. “That’s what I thought but it turns out, it wasn’t the type of sickness you would think.”

“His head was pounding, he said it was like someone was making him into a sandwich,” Jasper adds. “Henny said he could hear this kind of noise inside his head.”

“That’s right. How did it go, again?”

“It was kind of like… Puff, puff puff.”

“No, Jasper! It was like hum, hum, hum.”

The pair bicker over the senseless topic. They alternate mimicking sounds that they had never heard before. Their mouths construe into all kinds of shapes and none of the sounds make sense.

“Did it sound like lob, lob, lob?” Rowen asks.

There’s a brief pause before Jasper responds. “How did you know?”

“Random guess,” Rowen stifles a grin. “What happened next?”

Olive brings her knees to her chest, encasing the plush bear by her core. As her eyes peer from the top of its fuzzy head, she gestures for Jasper to continue.

“He turned into one of them, a creature of the night. A vampire,” Jasper says.

The empty cup slips from Rowen’s hand and shatters. Glass flies like bullets. “I think I’m a vampire too.”

“You’re not!” Jasper slaps his back.

“I’m serious,” Rowen replies, his voice barely audible.

Jasper outstretches his hands, accompanied by a spooky “Wooooh!” as he staggers across the room. His laughter carries, whilst he descends downstairs to retrieve a glass of apple juice. Meanwhile, Olive locks eyes with Rowen. She studies his face, trying to make sense of the situation. Her fingers dig into the bear until the stuffing is exposed in the form of white clouds. 

“Rowen?”

Before he can respond, Jasper’s obnoxious laughter enters the room. He draws a long slurp and looks at each of his friends. Not entertained by the conversation, he flops back onto the couch.. 

“If Rowen is really a vampire, he wouldn’t be able to tolerate sunlight.” Jasper ventures over to the curtain and draws it open.

Rowen braces a hand before his face and at first nothing happens. Then, blisters raise along the soft skin of his palm. The fluid-filled sacks burst at the seams. Despite his eyes being closed, they burn from the inside out. As if he is placed beneath a magnifying glass on a summer’s morning, his skin warms to an uncomfortable temperature. Clumps of hair tumble to the ground. Rowen cannot hold back the agony and cries, until the curtain is drawn closed.

Jasper stumbles across the room, tripping over his own feet towards the door.

Lob. Lob. Lob.

The sound returns, although faster and more infrequent. Rowen tracks Jasper, his eyes narrow. Once again, he can taste the sound and finally knows what it is. A heartbeat.

“I don’t know what to do. I’m scared,” he replies.

“Olive, come with me. We need to go,” Jasper coaches. He waits for a moment but darts out of the room and through the front door. 

Olivia walks over, the bear still in her grasp. Her heart leaps out of her chest, Rowen can hear it.

“I’ll stay with you until you turn. Then I must go… Rowen, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“Have you tasted ‘it’ before?”

Rowen buries himself inside his own thoughts. He relays the memory of breakfast and it occurs to him. “I think so. Mum served me a smoothie this morning and it tasted like the sound of your heartbeat. I know it doesn’t make sense to you but when your heart beats, I can taste it. Like an earthy copper but sweet. That’s what the drink tasted like. I think I had blood for the first time,” he is going to be sick.

Olive gasps. “Your parents are vampires too?”

“I guess so… But I never knew this before.”

Olive composes herself. “Whatever happens, friends?”

“Friends.”

They embrace one final hug, for after this night Rowen will be a prisoner of darkness. Condemned to the afterhours offered by the town bell. He smacks his lips, tasting the essence of copper.

Lob. Lob. Lob.