101 Words

Ellen discovered her time-sucking ability when she was sixteen.

She and her mom fell asleep on the couch. The next morning, Ellen found her mum cold and withered beside her, never waking again.

It also took half of her younger brother’s life to make Ellen realize that she was the culprit. They took a nap for an hour. When they woke up, he was already a middle-aged man with a child’s mind. She could imagine how difficult the rest of his life would be.

Ellen was now drowning in people’s fear and despise, with her brother resenting her forever and ever.

He was never comfortable in church. The repetitive sitting and standing throughout services were hard to keep up with, especially when one was blind. He always felt awkward upon realizing he’d missed some visual cue. Was it so hard for ministers to verbalize these signals?

But she’d asked him to come today. Given this beautiful person said “yes” to his cautious romantic overtures, this was a small burden.

He felt a tug on his arm. It was her, indicating he should stand.

He rose, smiling at her. She understood and he loved her for it. Maybe church wouldn’t be so bad.

After I left her apartment, I headed straight to The Fox’s Den. Just nabbed my third client this month. Time for a celebratory drink.

The place was packed. I slithered up to the bar next to an attractive brunette reading the paper. Just my type.

“Buy you a drink?”

She turned and examined me.

“I won’t beat around the bush,” I said. “I typically get what I want.”

She smirked, rolling her dovelike eyes. “And what, exactly, do you want?”

I glanced at the headline: PREDATOR PROWLS THE STREETS OF NEW YORK. I flashed a menacing smile.

“Care to find out?”

In the year after the Victorian virus ended, Londoners embraced the freedom, but an explosion of crime kept Scotland Yard and many private detectives extremely busy.

The legend on the door read Longshot Investigations. Robert Dare.

Professor Steelogian, the famed private detective, knocked with his cane.

He was led through to where Dare and Inspector Illingworth were seated either side of a desk.

“You’re slipping, Professor,” smiled Illingworth. “Dare caught both Ralston, the Bethnal Green axe murderer and Moribund, the Limehouse human meat seller.”

“But the Silvertown Slasher still eludes you, mon ami?”

“No,” said Dare. “I know it is you.”

Tired by Tuesday, I’m nosing a bottle alone at my local when a Nine approaches and buys my next three. We dance slow, smoke in heavy snow. Pressed close, she whispers, It’s time. I hail a cab.

Transfixed by my sixteen-karat grin, she squeals, strokes my chest, licks me neck to ear. Dumped by the cabby on the corner of 9th and Nowhere, we clamber to her ramshackle loft. She leaves to freshen up; I drain my flask.

Vision tunneling, my knees buckle. I’m out.

I stir, bleary and bound. Lips forcibly spread.

She laughs. A lighter clicks. Pliers crack enamel.