Killing (And Other Games)

(Nine)

(Nine)

Hundreds of people mill around me as I stand gaping, my mouth refusing to shut. How is this place even possible? I stare at the ceiling, trying to depict where I am underground. Huge lights hang on the roof that's impossibly high up. Surely I'm not that far underground. This isn't happening.

Like a newborn deer unsure on its legs, I step into the endless stream of people. It's just like a football game; some people carry drinks in paper carriers or food in logo-ridden bags, others wave flags and chant names. But no one is wearing a team shirt and this definitely isn't the MCG.

Inching towards the entrance to the grandstand, I scan the area for security guards or some sort of police officers. Come on, you can barely go five metres at the footy without being glared down by the cops. But no, this seems to be some sort of free range event. Interesting.

The grounds of the stadium are far from what I expected, but at this point all my expectations have been lined up and shot. It's a dirt pit instead of a grass oval-more colosseum then cricket ground. There are thousands of seats, though, and they're nearly full so I scatter up the stairs, taking an empty seat next to a woman dressed in, what looks like, funeral wear. I glance around at the spectators around me, everyone waiting for some show to start, and realise that a lot of them are dressed oddly. There's a whole aisle of people wearing particularly revealing dresses and shirts made of, what looks like, leaves. What the hell is this? A dress up party?

"Hey," I say, turning to the woman next to me, "what are we watching?"

In a painfully slow fashion, the woman turns her head to look at me. Her eyes are covered by a thick veil by her pursed black lips are fully on display. "Pardon?" Her voice shocks me; she looks young but her voice sounds aged beyond anyone's years.

"What...what is everyone here for?"

"Shouldn't you be with your guardian?" she snarls, her lips curling up. Under the lips I can see shining white teeth...and two sharp, pointed teeth almost like...fangs.

"It looks like she's here on her own. What a naughty, naughty human," a man behind me quips. I turn to look at him and, instantly, have to withhold a scream. My throat tightens and my eyes shoot open. The man--if you'd even call it that--has four eyes instead of two and spike like teeth jutting out of his de-lipped mouth.

I leap up and hurry down the stairs, screaming on the inside. Running, I see faces like photographs, each one presented neatly in my mind. No eyes, four eyes, deep and horrible scars like burns, tiny heads like berries, skin the colour of the sky. I scream and scream and scream internally as I desperately search for the entrance I came through.

It's gone. There are no doors in the walls, no holes, nothing. For hundreds of metres all I can see of the walls is smooth concrete. The internal scream turns into a sob. This place isn't real, I tell myself. None of this is allowed to be real.

But I know, deep down, that these creatures, this place, is an answer that makes sense. I've stepped into a whole new world, a whole parallel universe. In a vague, disconnected way, I wonder if I'll ever get out. I wonder if I'll die.

Somehow, logic kicks in. If I'm going to accept this place and its inhabitants, I must apply as much realism as possible. Logically, Vampires do not exist but I've seen hundreds of vampire movies and read hundreds of vampire books so when I see a group of women, all dressed in black with parasols and veils and thick fangs sitting on their cherry red or black lips, I calmly fit together the pieces. I can deal with vampires. Vampires aren't entirely impossible on the scale of things. And there, the hugely tall man with pointed ears and an ageless look about him--well I've seen Lord of the Rings enough times to know what he is. But I'm at a loss to ninety precent of what I see and my head spins as I try to take it all in too quickly.