THE WOMAN IN BLACK
Harlan Hughes had a family to care for, unlike most other Blighters. He did not join the gang because of any particular thirst for power or any love for the violence and chaos they wreaked around London, but because times were tough. Being part of the largest gang in the city provided easy money, especially for a man like him.
He was a very large man. His natural height, coupled with a lifetime of manual labor in his father's farm had left him with a body that could wrestle an ox. There were few interactions that he could not solve by intimidation alone. All things considered, being a Blighter was not a bad deal at all, at least not for him. His hands were mostly clean and his family was provided.
As they walked past a streetlamp, he took stock of the small woman beside him. The flickering light played on her features. Mary was a pretty little thing. She looked young for her age, with a pout on her lips that begged to be kissed and skin so smooth it made one's hands itch with need. Make no mistake, though. Despite her size and looks, she was a Blighter through and through.
Bloody Mary, the lads called her. She was savage in a fight, like a rabid animal, and almost never lost. Knives were like more fingers to her hands, second nature. Her instincts and her senses were sharp like a bird of prey's. No one messed with her, and those who did, never survived to tell the tale. A lot of lads from the new gang, the Rooks, had learned that lesson the very hard way.
She wanted him, Harlan knew. She had made it pretty obvious. Despite having a wife and three kids, he was considering it. Few men could count themselves lucky enough in life to have a chance to be with a woman like Mary. Plus, there would not be any mess to deal with in the aftermath. Bloody Mary was not known for her long-lasting relationships.
He stole another glance at her and licked his lips as they passed another streetlamp. Perhaps tonight he would make a move after they were done patrolling.
The lamp ahead of them was out. Fuck, he hated being out in the city at night. Back in the countryside you at least had the moon and the stars to provide a little light. Darkness in London was pitch black and eerie. It was unnatural.
While still under the light of the lamp behind them, Harlan saw a woman emerge from the darkness ahead. She made an impression on him because despite being dressed quite finely, she was wearing trousers. It was quite the outfit. The collar of her long coat was tall enough to nearly cover the tight, elegant bun her hair was tied into. Her arms were encased in lace. Her tall, high-heeled boots clicked methodically on the pavement.
Once the woman was closer, he noticed the red accents in her mostly black clothes. They made the outfit look as if it somehow promised both violence and sensuality in equal measure. The whole ensemble was enhanced by the feline grace with which she moved. Harlan stood mesmerized for a second as the woman walked right between him and Mary.
"You know her, or what?" A familiar voice called to him from a few steps ahead.
Harlan shook his head to escape the stupor. "N-No."
"Well? You comin' or what?"
"Y-Yeah. Yeah." He trotted to catch up to Mary.
As they carried on walking, he looked back. For some reason, the woman in the long coat and half cape had left him feeling unsettled. It felt like the pit of his stomach was growing cold. There had been something about her eyes, how they seemed to look at nothing and pierce everything at the same time. He shuddered.
When they arrived at the next working lamp, Mary spat a loud, "What the fuck?"
Harlan turned toward her to ask what was going on and his jaw froze in place. Her hands were covered in blood and a stream of it was trailing all the way from her mouth to the ground. By the time he reacted and tried to extend and arm to steady her, the small woman's eyes rolled back and she collapsed like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Alarmed, he looked around to see if either the perpetrator or someone who could offer help could be seen. There was no one. The streets were emptier than a pillaged graveyard.
When he knelt down to check on Mary all the nearby streetlamps went out. Utter darkness enveloped him.
"Harlan Hughes," a beautiful yet cold feminine voice pierced the deadly silence.
In rushing to turn around from his kneeling position, he only managed to land on his ass. "Who's there?! Show yourself!" He scrambled backwards and saw nothing. Not like he could pierce the all-consuming darkness anyway. Now he was starting to panic.
A blade appeared on his throat and he froze instantly.
"Return to the farm and live a decent life. Your wife, your three kids, they need you. You won't be so lucky next time."
Just as it had appeared, the blade disappeared. Despite not hearing any footsteps fading in the distance, he was certain that whoever—or whatever—had attacked them was gone. Just like he could feel his blood running cold inside his veins, he could feel that he was completely alone now. It was just him and the quickly cooling body of Mary drenched in a pool of her own blood.
After practically jumping to stand up, he immediately broke into an all out run and went straight back home. His grandmother's words were echoing inside his head all the way there.
During afternoon tea, there's a shift in the air, a bone trembling chill that tells you she's there. There are those who believe the whole town is cursed, but the house in the marsh is by far the worst. What she wants is unknown, but she always comes back, the specter of darkness, the woman in black.
FIN