Northern Fiction - Going Underground
Masquerade
But as he gazed groggily around, the black_painted walls, the black_clad, white_faced crowd, the rank stench of beer, sex and cigarettes, the epileptic flashing of disco_lights and the throbbing groan of The Sisters of Mercy singing 'Temple of Love' jogged his memory. He was still in the Goth club where Eloise had dragged them, looking for her sister.
The young Glaswegian skinhead glanced at his current companion, a loveable kleptomaniac from Liverpool called Nick. The Scouser turned away from his bored perusal of a passing fetishist couple and grinned. He swept back his long, dreadlocked hair, and leaned over to shout in Hamish's ear:
'You falling asleep again?'
'I'm fuckin' bored,' Hamish yelled back. 'We've been in this dive since it opened, and Eloise hasn't found her sister yet. Where is she, anyway?'
'Eloise? I think she found one of her old friends. She went off with some girls into the toilets before.'
Hamish shook his head.
'I'm fuckin' bored,' he reiterated. Nick shrugged, and grinned again.
'Watch the show,' he suggested, indicating the group of semi_naked fetishists and glum_looking Goths on the dance floor. Hamish scowled, disgusted.
'Och, these people make me fucking ill,' he shouted. He turned away, and glanced at the girls sitting talking nearby, and his eyes flickered over their black clothes and elaborate make_up. One of them smiled at something her friend had said, and Hamish was shocked to see her parted lips reveal a pair of fangs.
He turned back to Nick.
'Did you see that?' he demanded. 'That fucking girl's got fangs, like a vampire!' His eyes were wide.
Inexplicably, Nick laughed.
'What's so funny?' the skinhead snarled. 'We're in a fucking room full of vampires or something.'
Nick shook his head.
'They're false,' he shouted back. 'All the Goths wear them. They like to pretend they're vampires. Make up for the fact that they're sad fuckwits.'
Hamish shook his head. He sipped his pint. He glanced at his watch:
11:58.
'I'm glad Eloise doesna do anything so daft,' he muttered to himself. He'd known the girl for a fair while now; he'd met her the same time he'd met Nick, when he'd come south, on the run from the police and in search of excitements that Glasgow couldn't offer. Like most runaways, he'd ended up with the New Age Travellers; an unwilling hippie, forced by fate to hang around with a bunch of poncey lefties, liberals, Greens and commies. Nick wasn't too bad; he was a thieving Scouse bastard, but at least he wasn’t political like Eloise. She, on the other hand, managed to combine being an eco_terrorist with being a feminist, an anarchist and a neo_pagan. Not surprising, considering the spineless, limp_wristed, bourgeois Sussex background she came from. She hadn't had the same pressures as Nick or Hamish when she ran away from her family.
That was why they were back in Brighton, in fact. Seven months after her disappearance, Eloise's parents had gone on national television, begging their daughter to come back to them. When she heard about this, she'd been deeply embarrassed, and had decided to get the matter sorted out as soon as possible. She didn't want a confrontation with her parents, so she'd come to this club on a Friday night in hopes of finding her sister Rebecca here, and to get her to pass on the message that she was safe and sound, but not coming back.
Silly bitch, Hamish thought sourly to himself. If his dad ever got off his arse to ask after him _ ha, fat chance! _ Hamish would just ignore the bastard. But Eloise had had a far nicer upbringing. He sipped his pint again.
He spotted her weaving her way towards them through ranks of Goths. She was pretty attractive, despite her background. He didn't much care for her makeup and sombre clothes, but something in her eyes, and the elegantly sculptured curves of her face, awoke a deep and primal longing in the angry young Scot. He tried to tell himself he didn't fancy her, or if he did then that was as far as it went; but the more he got to know her, the more he found himself bewildered by the feelings she stirred in him.
'Can't find her anywhere,' Eloise began grumpily, as she sat down across the battered table from them. Hamish knocked back the rest of his pint, and glowered at her.
'We gonna stay in this shithole much longer?' he demanded. Eloise looked hurt.
'I love this place,' she replied defensively. 'I spent most of the best summer of my life here.'
Nick leaned forward.
'Did you find anyone who'd seen your sister?'
Eloise frowned, and looked perturbed. She glanced at her black_painted fingernails.
'I did,' she admitted. 'A girl I used to know from school, in the year below me. In the same class as Rebecca. I bumped into her. She was on speed or something, and I couldn't work out half of what she was going on about. But she said something about Beckie hanging around with Vlad again.'
'Vlad?' sneered Hamish. 'Is he one of these faggots with the teeth?'
Eloise smiled slightly.
'It's his nickname. He's a vampire nerd, yes,' she replied. 'I went out with him for a bit. He got me into Goth, actually. He was going out with my sister to start with, then he decided he preferred me. But he wanted to do all kinds of things I wouldn't do...'
'Things you wouldn't do?' gaped Nick. Since Eloise was deeply involved with the occult, and not just tarot cards either, he found it startling that there was anything she balked at. But Eloise ignored him and continued.
'Me and my sister had a bit of a row about it, actually. One of the reasons I left home. But it seems like she's hanging round with them these days, and they get up to some weird stuff. She won't even talk to her old friends anymore. Walks around in a dream.'
'Probably on drugs,' Hamish growled. Being of the considered opinion that drugs were part of a Zionist plot to sap the will of the white man, he rarely touched anything heavier than speed. And these Goths had to be on something more powerful than that.
'I don't know,' said Eloise uncertainly. 'Vlad's got a strong personality. Even I came briefly under his spell...'
'What's he look like?' asked Nick, interrupting suddenly.
'Dressed like Lestat in "Interview with the Vampire",' Eloise said. 'Bit sad, really. Why? Have you seen him?'
'Well, there's a big crowd of Goths going by, fangs and everything, and the tallest one sounds like your man.'
Eloise turned, and stared at the group of eleven or twelve Goths who had paused behind her. She could see they were heavily into the vampire scene; all of them had the expensive fake fangs she remembered Vlad wearing, and most of them wore period costume, Victorian or Regency. All of it black, of course. Most of them were girls, but in the centre, a tall male figure stood watching the dance floor. Eloise felt a thrill of recognition as he turned briefly to sneer something at one of his companions. It was Vlad himself.
She gazed in fascination at him, her heart pounding in a way it hadn't since the last time she'd been with him. A cravat and a high_winged collar framed his darkly handsome face, while a frock coat, waistcoat and trews completed the ensemble. Of course, he had to wear black eyeshadow that was more Rocky Horror than Hammer, but Vlad had always found it hard to resist going too far.
Eloise's gaze moved on. Standing on the other side of Vlad was a blank_faced, dull_eyed figure she recognised suddenly as her own sister. She stared at her in sick horror. The girl looked as if she'd become a smackhead since they'd parted _ either that or she had a killer hangover; her skin was white and pasty, her eyes red_rimmed and bloodshot. And she stood among the other Goths as if she hadn't the faintest idea where she was.
'Is your sister with them?' Nick asked loudly. Eloise darted him a horrified glance, then got up without speaking, and forced her way through the Goths. As she did so, two turned and bared their fangs at her, hissing eerily.
'Piss off,' she snarled determinedly, and strode over to Rebecca.
'Beckie, what's the matter with you?' she demanded, full of sisterly concern. 'You look awful.'
The girl failed to respond. Eloise tugged at her arm, pulling her round. Rebecca stared vacantly at her sister, no sign of recognition in her eyes.
Then firm hands were pulling Eloise away. She struggled, and turned round to see that Vlad had grabbed her.
'Rebecca's with us,' he said firmly, then checked himself. 'Eloise?' he asked.
'Yes!' she hissed, as the other Goths surrounded her menacingly. 'What've you done with my sister?'
'Everything she has done has been of her own free will,' Vlad replied airily. 'Now get out of my sight.'
All the resentment that had been simmering within her since he'd dumped her boiled over. She stepped up on tiptoes, and slapped him across his smug, suave face. He coloured with anger.
'Bitch!' he muttered, his affected voice crumbling into an Estuarine accent. He retaliated swiftly.
Hamish and Nick had been watching the confrontation with increasing uninterest. But when Vlad returned Eloise's slap with a blow that sent her staggering to the floor, Hamish's expression became one of wrath. He shot up, pulling at his sock, whipping out a long knife that glittered ominously in the flashing disco lights _ and flung himself over the table into the Goths.
As he appeared, the majority of them drew back, their faces paler than ever. But Vlad himself stood motionless over Eloise. As Hamish approached, the Goth pulled a Kukri dagger out of his jacket, and waited, poised and ready to fight. The circle of Goths stood watchful, their jaded eyes bright with unaccustomed excitement.
Eloise tried to get to her feet. Keeping his eyes level with Hamish's, Vlad raised a foot and pushed her back down. Hamish snarled.
'Get off her, you twat,' he shouted, and leapt in, gashing at the Goth's stomach. His blade came away bloodied, and he looked up, expecting to see Vlad fall. But he merely sneered painfully.
'Takes a stake to deal with me,' Vlad boasted, his eyes wide. A chill ran down Hamish's spine as he tried to tell himself that this was impossible. But as Vlad attacked, the Scot realised with some relief that he had only caused a flesh wound. Hamish grabbed the Goth's knife_arm at the wrist, and stabbed at him again. But Vlad caught hold of Hamish's wrist, and the two of them stood there, straining.
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