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When I open the swinging door again, the two of us simply look at each other.   Brix sits immobile, doing a very passable impersonation of a Bond villain, with his seat arranged under the down light and an array of items laid out on the kitchen counter trolley pulled in next to him.  

I say: “Hey.”

He says: “Hey, mother-fucker.”

Yep.   It’s an odd fucking moment.  

There’s a weird-ass feeling of deja vu: seeing Kane at the other end of a train platform, seeing Amelia huddled against the wall in my attic.   I tell you: people are fucking unpredictable.   You can plan it all out in your head, just how this shit is going to go down, but it takes two to do the revenge tango – and I keep finding my partners are experts in the interpretive dance solos rather than the pas de deux.   Sheesh.

So Brix unfolds his arms, and puts a steadying hand on the pair of crutches leaning Dickensian-style against his chair (though mind you, he looks for more ready to say “Fuck you” than “Bless us, everyone”).   He reaches for his wheeled table, and I tense, ready to get out of the line of fire from…

A crucifix?

Come on.   You’re shitting me.   We all know that…

Shit.   Hang on.   That means Brix knows that…


Fuck me, all right.  

Dude has put two and two together and spelt vampire.   Impressed in spite of myself.

I step forward a bit.

“Man – what the fuck?   You gonna try and compel me, or something?   What’s with the Exorcist paraphenalia?!   You’re not even fucking Catholic, are you?”

He doesn’t waste time explaining.   He simply shoots me.   With a water pistol.   From the smell, I’m guessing garlic and probably holy water?

“Shit, Brix – you’re embarrassing yourself.   What’s the fucking deal here?”  

I’m brushing myself off and coming a bit closer, as he arms himself with a nice, fat, Buffy-esque wooden tent peg.   Seriously – I didn’t even think you could buy that crap in real life.   This too fucking surreal…

“Fucking hell.   Dude – I hate to spout a cliche, but you watch too much fucking television.   Do I look like Robert Pattinson to you?   So okay…”

(I’m edging nearer.)

“… you pulled a gun on me last year, and I got a flesh wound, right?   But then I drag myself back to school to tell, and you have the accident, and I figure, ‘Hey – karma got him before I did…’, so…”

(I’ve traversed half the kitchen.)

“… whatever.   Past shit – it heals over.   But fuck, man, I dunno what they’ve been drugging you up on if you’re suddenly sure you’re Van Helsing and I’m moonlighting for the cast of True Blood?   And honestly? – ever thought about how bloody hard getting a stake through a ribcage even is? – gotta be one of the dumbest weapon options ever…”

Brix draws one long breath and one last item from his up-until-now useless arsenal.

And this one is not plastic or balsa, and it’s very very familiar.   And Brix says:

“Shut. The Fuck. Up.”


(I’ve stopped.)

Having another deja vu, right about now.   All about red, searing pain and white, searing anger.  

Brix grins a little bit now as he talks, and holds the gun surprisingly steady:

“Thanks for coming to me, man.   Bit hard getting around at the moment.   And give up on the lame-ass explanations – wouldn’t want you embarrassing yourself.   Okay.   Let’s forget the mythological bullshit then.   How ’bout some simple deduction, you fucker?   You’re not faster than a speeding bullet – proved that already.   Yeah.   I shot you once, and you bled.   And it fucking hurt – saw it on your face.   And sure you survived it, but took you a few days.   So I been thinking.   How many shots before you bleed too much, even for you?   How many shots before I hit something vital in your fucked-up anatomy?   How many shots before you hurt as fucking bad as I have these last few months…?”


So.   For every two little pigs, there’s always going to be one other little bastard in the house of Brix who knows you’re coming down the chimney, and is only too willing to roast you alive.   Or dead.

Fuck.   Take Two.





  1. Thank you The great Mr8 for being the best part of my day…you are infuckingcredible!

    • That was the fucking fastest comment posting ever. Props, lady…

  2. And then…. Damn you, Master of suspenseful writing.. I await Take 3 like you wouldn’t believe =)

  3. Fucken Brix. It’s a shame that he’s probably gonna die, I was getting used to him.

  4. I just can’t find any mistakes, you are one of the most talented genre writers I’ve read for quite a long time. It’s perfect, it can’t be better. Publish.

  5. hahahahahahaha!!! “Do i LOOK like Robert Pattinson?” BEST Line EVER! I thoroughly enjoyed reading your entries. Thanks for the laughs.

  6. Wow. Kinda sucked to be you just then, didn’t it?

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