New Year’s Eve Games

**Content Warnings: Death, murder, child harm (off-screen).**

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Nanci Li-Tybalt was in the equipment room, putting away weapons from the day’s last session.  She laughed when she found a black stick mask that must have been left behind by one of the “kids.”

It had been a good class; four college students who were focused, considering it was New Year’s Eve. She had considered canceling and closing early, but her clientele wanted their lesson. Being in demand was the price you paid for operating the premier martial arts dojo on the pricey East Side of Woonasquatucket, Rhode Island.

Few outsiders established a business foothold, let alone prospered, in the combination of old money and wealthy college students that was the East Side. But she and Michael — and Stephen too, in his way — had managed to do it.

She sighed. New Year’s Eve used to be a happier time, especially the first few after Stephen was born. Much like tonight, her favorite memories were of cold and crisp nights spent meandering under a clear moon-lit sky. For the past decade the city held a New Year’s Eve event filled with shows and artists of varying degrees of talent.

But wandering the streets on a holiday eve with Michael on her arm and Stephen held in hers, even performances of dubious entertainment value were fun to watch. Plus, there was always a dependable firework show at midnight.

The theme for this year was “Carnivale 2000”. Participants were encouraged to come out in their own fantastic costumes, along with the amateur and professional entertainers, to make one giant performance art piece to welcome in the new century.

She had other plans.

“The past is the past,” she said. New Years Eve watching Pixar movies, fresh popcorn and racing model cars with Stephen — that’s one to be savored.

Her smartwatch read 7:10 pm. She wanted to return to the condominium to allow Maria time to get to her house in Fox Point where her family was having a traditional Portuguese dinner. Maria had graciously volunteered to stay with Stephen until Nanci could finish. Maria’s car had broken down again, so Nanci had lent her Volvo to Maria for the afternoon.  

DING-DING.

The fax machine sprang alive.  

She waited for it to finish and read the paper.

“Good Evening, Ms. Li-Tybalt. My name is Victor Rolfe. I operate a business known as the ‘Order of the Dragon Theatre Troupe.’ You have been selected to participate in one of our most exciting games to be held tonight.”

A telemarketer on New Year’s Eve? She crumpled the paper and tossed it towards the shredder. The fax rang again.  

Sorry, I’ve got to go see my son.

She just caught the words on the paper.

“But Ms. Tybalt, I have Stephen.”

Her heart jumped.

Nanci paused, swayed on her feet, and caught herself before falling. She turned off the fax, then quickly grabbed her Nokia and tapped the number to Maria’s cellphone.  

 “It was just some creep,” she said, tugging at the ends of her long hair.  

Dee–Da–De-Da–De–Da–Da.

One of Stephen’s favorite melodies played out. It was humming from the rear equipment closet.

Nanci listened for several seconds, then slowly walked up to the doors, one hand on the doorknob, the other pressing the cell phone to her ear.  

She opened it.

The gi — black and white training uniforms — were all there, hung on their hangars, squished to one side. Also hanging upside down was the nude body of Maria Gonsalves, feet bound with wire to the closet crossbar.

Maria’s skin was a pale sallow color, eyes closed, mouth gaped open.  The carotid artery had been torn open and drooped from the neck amidst dangling strands of flesh and dripping blood.

A dropped cellphone. A door slammed shut. A slumped body.

Nanci had no idea how long she sat in the corner.  

De–da–dum.

Nanci reached for the paper that emanated from the fax.

“I trust that you’ve checked in with Ms. Gonsalves. Now that I have your attention, I reiterate, I have selected you to participate in a most challenging game. Stephen is quite fine.” 

The fax rang again, but this time it printed an image.  

Stephen. Legs and arms tied to a chair.  

Another fax came through.   

“I presume I’ve gotten your interest. My group provides first-class entertainment. There’s nothing some of us love more than a good sporting hunt. For most vampires, feeding is a means of survival. Much like when you buy a piece of meat at the supermarket, there isn’t much challenge in that, is there?

“But the hunt for a dangerous and elusive quarry can be most invigorating for all parties involved. One has to go to great lengths to ensure fairly matched pursuers and prey. I pride myself on arranging such contests. We are at the Atrium, Waterplace Park. Downtown. You do know where that is?”

“Yes,” she replied weakly.  

The Atrium was a glass walled multi-purpose building, the proverbial “heart” of Waterplace Park, which itself was the origin of the stone Riverwalk that ran along both banks of the Woonasquatucket River. Tonight, it would be packed with people.

Another fax.

“Stephen is there, safe, and will be until midnight. The rules of the game are simple. You win by physically holding your son before the end of the midnight fireworks show. If you reach the inside of the Atrium, you’ll see him with no difficulty. “ 

Still another fax.

“I have two clients. One will need the assistance of a familiar. They know where you are at this moment, and are located at different locations, but none between you and the Atrium. Thus, you have a head start. At 8:00 pm, they will be permitted to leave their location. Your objective, again, is to have your son in your arms by the end of the midnight fireworks show.”

She trembled.

“Your pursuers cannot hunt together. Nor can one engage you while you are actively engaged by another.”

She beat down the panic.

Another message!

“Ms. Li-Tybalt, of course, you have a stake here. With Stephen you will find sufficient portable wealth to go anywhere and do anything you please. You would not have been selected if your skill level was not commensurate with the challenge. Those skills give you a sporting chance. The time is now 8:25 PM. You have thirty-five minutes before your pursuers leave. Good luck!”

Nanci slumped to the floor, her face in her hands.

***

“Get a grip.”

I can’t, she thought back. God, she was arguing with herself again.

“You must. For Stephen.”

I can’t!

“Stop crying and breathe.”

Closing her eyes, she sat upright and took a deep breath. Then another. Michael had often teased her about how he, of Italian descent, had become more adept at Qigong than she was, but they had practiced together. Each exhaled breath brought a wave of self-control as she tightened and released her muscles.  

Gradually she regained a measure of control.

She didn’t believe in vampires. But whoever they were, they had Stephen.

She grabbed a padded backpack and took a pair of sai swords, iron short swords ending in a point, with two wings coming out from the handles. Good for thrusting and piercing.

Next, a pair of Kamas, long curved blades on wooden handles, excellent for slashing and tearing. A nunchaku, two steel sticks connected by a metal chain. She threw the weapons in the backpack. She added a small first-aid kit. Then she wrapped her hands with athletic tape.   

Nanci grabbed a thermal shirt and leggings from one of the uniform closets and quickly slipped into the clothing. She then tied a sash around her waist. She threw a hooded sweatshirt into the backpack and put on a black gi uniform. Her cell phone? She might be tracked. She left it on  her desk. For a final touch she wrapped on the Zorro mask. She checked her watch. 8:55 PM.

***

She walked briskly onto Taylor Street, a main thoroughfare closed to vehicles tonight. It had gotten colder after the sunset. The usual unhoused were here, down on their luck and trying to get by.

Drunk ivy league students jostled with yuppie revelers. Design school students displayed brilliantly colored robes and floppy hats. While a few singular souls wandered the streets aimlessly, most people traveled in packs, garish in both clothing and demeanor.

A tall woman with big black hair, a short red jacket, and made up in white makeup and too much black eye shadow ala sexy female vampire, was holding a vodka bottle and an oversized wine glass, bumping into different males, without regard to whether they were with a date or not.  

She walked into Nanci and gave her a kiss, a strong scent of vodka in her breath.

“It’s me, Ms. Mircalla! Bye, sweetie.” And then she went off.

A pair of young ladies braving the night walked by wearing nothing more than feathers, sequins, harlequin masks, and a few strategically placed strips of cloth.  

“Way too cold,” mused Nanci.

A featured set of performers on the street were the Lympani Puppets, performance artists who wore enlarged costumes over their bodies, with oversized puppet heads, and occasionally extended arms. Some were whimsical, many foreboding, all very colorful.

Nanci had never seen what they looked like underneath, but she’d gathered it was one person operating a mechanism that controlled the puppet heads and arms. Three such puppets with heads that resembled something akin to Aztec or Mayan gods were performing a pantomime in the middle of Taylor Street. Nanci drew away from them and backed into an alley.  

Her back was pressed against a brick wall. She was starting to feel — woozy? Fatigued? Her mind wandered and she started to hyperventilate.  And —

One of the Lympani Puppets stood in front of the alley, staring down at her.  

She jumped back and drew the first thing she reached in her backpack, the nunchaku. The puppet’s Aztec god-like head, a warrior with a feather headdress that had bells hanging from it, stared down. Its marionette arm held a turquoise-colored staff in the shape of a snake, which could have been a decoration or a weapon.

Nanci glared back, tightening her grip around the nunchaku.  

“I don’t like puppets,” she said dryly.  

The Lympani began to twist back and forth, bells jingling, and then receded away. It rejoined a group of other performers who focused on a gaggle of drunken revelers on the far sidewalk.  

She pushed through the cold.

***

Nanci looked at the time flashing on the clock over the bus stop. 10:20 PM. She’d wandered evasively, not focusing.

The night’s cold was creeping into her knee and ribs.  

Waterplace Park was a great place to watch the fireworks, and those so inclined were making the move there. One of the easiest ways was with the College Hill tunnel. The city limited the tunnel’s use to public transit authority buses. Tonight, the transit authority was running two authentic double-decker buses back and forth.

A mixture of costumed families, teens, and college kids were waiting at the Pitman Street bus stop outside the east end of the tunnel. Nanci worked her way to sit on a bench next to a mother and her two kids, a boy dressed as an Arabian prince and the girl dressed as a princess.  

Take the bus. Get trapped. Great idea.

“I’m running out of time,” she said quietly.  

A voice next to her said, “Are you all right?”

The young boy in an Arabian Knight prince costume was staring at her. He reminded her of Stephen.

“I’m fine,” she said, managing a faint smile.  

Someone yelled, “Here it comes.” A red double-decker turned the corner and stopped. People lined up and entered via the front or rear entrance — no charge tonight — many jumping up and down while waiting in line to stay warm.  

Nanci entered the front entrance, accompanied by families, students, revelers — more than a few inebriated individuals, and at the rear entrance, one of the Lympani puppets.

***

She felt compelled to climb to the second story. To slide into a seat and rest her head against a window. Need to sleep.

The bus traveling through the tunnel… The warmth of the bus felt soothing… The bus stopping… A replacement driver coming aboard… Young, giddy.

Ride’s over, bus must be diverted for other use tonight, emergency, and all. Protests from passengers as they exit. The original driver questioning why the bus was being put out of service, questioning this emergency, questioning who this new driver was… Saying he didn’t recognize him.

Another figure who had not left the bus appeared from the back and looked at the old driver. The old driver left the bus.

New driver, shutting doors. The bus careening into the night. Through downtown. Towards the river…

“Wake up!”

She awoke, startled but woozy.    

How long have I been like this? she thought.

“That’s not your biggest problem right now.” 

The bus’s interior lights were off. The bus took a sharp turn off the Woonasquatucket River Bridge and proceeded along River Street, a roadway that ran parallel to the river. Their travel lane was closest to the water. Going over the bridge had brought her closer to the Atrium, but now she was moving away from it.  

Rays of light streamed in as the bus passed under streetlamps. Something on the seat next to her caught her eye.  

Lying on that seat was an Aztec God-like head of a Lympani puppet. A feather headdress with bells attached.

“Shit.”

Movement at the back of the bus, a shadow. They passed another streetlamp that illuminated the figure: tall and rail thin, narrow shoulders and waist, and a thin head that came to a point.  Hairless. Pale and ghostly color. And the face! Small black eyes, two small holes for a nose, and a mouth with sharp corners. No wonder it had to wear the Lympani costume to travel.

The vampire rose from his seat and stepped forward gingerly, as if unsure on its feet.

Nanci reached into her backpack. The nunchakus, and the two curved Kamas, were there. She pulled out the Kamas.

The stairwell leading down to the driver was several feet behind her.  

“Hey driver!” she called, watching the vampire. “Stop the bus, I want to get off!”

“So sorry, Miss, but I can’t do that, can’t do that,” was the response. “My master wants to meet with you!” The speaker  gave a demented laugh. 

“He’s the familiar.”

“VERY GOOD,” came another voice, loud, ancient, masculine, booming in her head. She fell to her knees, dropping both Kamas. 

“Wha—?”

“BE STILL.”  

The creature took a few more unsteady steps toward her, spreading his arms, thin and frail looking, ending in three short bony digits.  

Nanci found one Kama and pulled herself to her feet.   

“REST.”

She slumped into a seat.

“KNEEL.”

She fell on her knees in the aisle. The creature advanced to within a few feet in front of her. She held the round blade of the Kama against her own cheek.  

“Fight back,” came her self-talk voice.

“FEEL THE BLADE’S COOLNESS.”

The blade is so cool, came her mental reply. So cool. Have you ever noticed—

“That isn’t you! It’s him!” 

Too many voices in her head.

“SO MANY YEARS OF PAIN. SO MUCH SADNESS. YOUR FATHER. YOUR HUSBAND. JOIN THEM.”

“You can kill him. His body is weak!”

“RELIEVE YOUR PAIN.”

The Kama’s blade pressed against her larynx.

“Stop.”

For an instant, she was able to step outside herself. She was bent over, giving homage to the vampire.   

The creature’s arms were waiting to receive her. Its mouth gaped open.

Nanci flung the Kama up. The mind vampire was outside the sweep of her arm, and the Kama tore into a bus seat. She fell back to the floor. For a moment her mind was free but no sooner had she broken the vampire’s hold than it reached her again. Crawling on all fours with one Kama, she retreated towards the front stairwell.    

“Proximity. The closer he is to you the stronger his influence.”

“STOP.”

Her vision blurred. The bus swayed.

“He’s physically weak. Strike him.”

He’s so powerful. My head hurts so much. Can’t you help me—

“END YOUR PAIN.”

Nanci reached the front stairwell and then let gravity take over. She went down on her stomach, bracing for her fall, but ended at the bottom of the stairwell twisted on her back. The Kama had tumbled down and lay beside her.

Just outside the doors came the whining of tires and a blast from a horn as the bus passed a car.   

“Asshole,” piped the bus driver, now a few feet away. Late twenties, with brown curly hair tucked underneath his driver’s cap. He was bobbing in the seat, gripping the wheel with both hands and playing like a kid.   

“So how do you like my master? Interesting, huh? Whoa!”

He twirled the wheel sharply and clipped the fender of a Chevy Suburban. The bus careened on two wheels before crashing down.

The driver laughed. “Gotta be careful, lots of drunks out there on New Year’s Eve!”

The vampire stood atop the front stairwell.

“TAKE THE KAMA.”

She picked up the curved blade.  

“What do you want me to do?”  

“LET YOUR HEART FEEL THE BLADE.”

Nanci held it across her breast.

From the recesses of her mind, a muted, final plea. “Nanci, no!”

She saw the vampire gripping a pole for support. Somewhere in her mind, she detected a fleeting sensation of… Fear?

The bus-driving familiar was tilting his head back and forth. 

“You have to do what he says,” said the driver. “Everybody does.”

She swung the Kama through his thigh and drove it into the seat.  

The driver screamed a mix of surprise and pain, as he clutched his leg with both hands. Nanci pulled herself forward, using the Kama for leverage, producing a louder cry of anguish from the servant. She grasped the steering wheel and yanked it. With her other hand she grabbed the railing as a brace. 

The front wheels of the double-decker turned and locked. The bus lurched on its side, but this time it tilted too far. Its momentum carried it over with a massive crash.

The bus lay teetering atop a stone barrier separating the roadway from the water, with the upper deck of the bus extending over the Woonasquatucket River. 

Nanci had been struck by some shattered glass, though her condition was more bruised than bloody. The driver’s head lay in a pool of blood against a cracked window, dead or unconscious. There would be police here soon. If caught they’d take her into custody — and she would lose.

She climbed through the wreckage onto the second floor gingerly — the upper half was hanging over the Woonasquatucket River, after all — and saw her backpack under a seat.  She grabbed it. The nunchakus were still there. As she was crawling out, she heard— No. She felt fear again. Fear that came from an ancient mind.

“Help me,” came the voice of the vampire, in her head. Much weaker than before.   

The bus had knocked out several streetlamps, but her night vision had grown stronger by now. A three-digit hand held onto the edge of a broken window frame 

She inched closer.  

The mental vampire was suspended outside the bus with one clawed hand wrapped onto the window frame. His pale face was bleeding and his slender body had been badly gashed when he went through the glass. Thirty feet below him, white crests appeared in the Woonasquatucket River.

“I can help you,” implored the voice. “I can give you power, wealth, riches. I can give you anything! Just don’t let me fall! Not into water!”

Nanci licked blood off the back of her hand. Shifting around so that her feet were near the window, she softly said, “I’ve never seen the river running so fast.”  

“No!”

She heard the scream as she kicked the window frame. One solid shot and it popped out.  

The vampire plunged thirty feet into the river, then disappeared under the icy water with barely a splash.

“That looks cold,” she said.

***

Waterplace Park, the heart of Carnivale 2000. A sea of people — men and women, the young and old — most dressed in colorful Mardi Gras attire. Two funambulists rolled along a high wire erected by Benefit Street. Near the Republic Bank Pavilion, a comedy team repeated an old Abbot and Costello routine.Further down along the Riverwalk, Chinese acrobats in yellow and orange tights tumbled over each other.  

And they were all between Nanci Li-Tybalt and the Atrium.

Hood up, she slipped among the revelers and oozed through the slightest openings. If she pushed someone aside, she disappeared before she was detected.    

She stopped by the acrobats. One of the men was juggling fire torches, doing snakes and other swinging moves. As he caught the torches, he extinguished them and handed them to a teenage boy who deposited them into a fire prop bag then they ran to the side while other acts came out. Nanci maneuvered to the boy, tapped him on his shoulder, and pointed.  

“Wǒ kě yǐ jiè yòng yí xià zhè ge?”

The boy looked at her, then offered the prop bag. Nanci took one of the short-handled torches and slipped it under her sweatshirt. 

“Xiè Xiè.”

She worked her way along the Riverwalk. People were moving to get a good position to see the fireworks show. Pieces of conversations caught her ear.  

“Did the fireworks get cancelled?”

“Just delayed.”

“Why are there barges here?”

“Police aren’t letting any more of the barges out.”

“An accident by the River Street Bridge.”

“One of the double-deckers crashed?”

“Have to change the drop zone.”

“So we’ll see the fireworks real close.”

The gondolas had stopped running. And there was a large barge in the Woonasquatucket river, probably to launch fireworks. 

Then she stopped.

She was atop the Riverwalk, directly across from the Atrium, a dark complex of glass walls and ceilings that was closed tonight. Above the building a huge digital clock flashed 11:44 PM. When it turned 11:45 PM, the crowd gave a drunken roar.  Nanci took the nunchaku out, dropped her backpack, and tucked its two sticks under her right shoulder.  

There’s another one of them out there.

Making her way through the dark, hooded head looking down, no one gave her much notice. She was less than one hundred feet from the Atrium. Just off to the side was some exhibition.

A crowd watched as a man in a white gi fought a black-haired woman wearing a grey tunic and protective head gear. Both had bo staffs, long bamboo poles used in training. Nanci recognized the man as Jon Lu, a proprietor of a fancy dojo in pricey North Greenwich. He was on TV a lot. He had some skills, but Nanci thought him more a showman than a great practitioner. Still, he should beat any lughead out here.  

Nanci walked along the edge of the crowd. She heard the clack of the staves striking each other.  A yellow rope was strung across a field behind the Atrium. She ducked under it. A teenage boy wearing one of those yellow long sleeve “Carnivale Volunteer” shirts said, “You can’t be here. It’s the drop zone for the fireworks.”

Nanci nodded and moved on.  

A loud roar from the crowd, followed by applause.

She pressed her hand against the cold glass of the Atrium.  

It was reinforced, not easily broken. Where was the door? She found it. Locked. Taking out her nunchaku, she readied to strike.

A bamboo pole shot out in front of her. The nunchaku sticks wrapped around the bo staff and were yanked out of Nanci’s grip. Her hood fell back. The staff was raised and the nunchaku slid into the hands of the figure who had been fighting John Lu.  

The head gear dropped and revealed a female made up like a vampire. Striking, tall and with long raven black hair covering her face. Heavy eye shadow. Ruby red lips.  

“Why make such a mess when I have the key?”

The vampire parted her grey cloak to reveal a metal key on a chain around her neck. Nanci detected the scent of alcohol and remembered the woman from Taylor Street. The vampire Mircalla.

The vampire flipped the nunchaku to Nanci, then gestured to the lit square. The crowd was applauding. Off to the side, Jon Lu was being tended to by a trainer, his face bloodied and covered in bruises. 

Mircalla stroked the key in a taunting way and walked backwards to the square. Nanci followed.  

“You like your vodka.”

“I enjoy it, yes,” Mircalla replied.  

“You’re taking a big chance with this many people around.” 

The vampire’s smile revealed the tips of her fangs. She waved to the crowd. 

“I don’t think so. But thanks for your concern.”

The center of the square was illuminated by two industrial lights and lined with foam matting just like in Nanci’s studio. The onlookers formed an arena — complete with drunken yelling — ringing in on three sides. The side nearest the Atrium was blocked off with more of that yellow rope.  

Mircalla said, “They want a show.” She peeled off her gloves and dropped her robe to reveal a flaming red leather catsuit, then assumed a fighting stance. The mostly male crowd howled approval.

The two combatants circled each other.  

“You need headgear,” a volunteer protested.

“They’re professionals,” said a person from the crowd.

Mircalla swung her staff at Nanci’s head. Nanci ducked.

“She’s fast.”

Mircalla stooped low, raised the staff over her head, and swung at Nanci’s knees. Nanci jumped up, and the pole passed under her feet, but then the vampire stopped the stick and swung it up. Nanci was caught on the side of the face. She stumbled onto the mat.

The vampire ran forward and tried to ram the pole into her. Nanci rolled to the side and scrambled to her feet. Again the vampire was quick and swung the staff up. It caught Nanci in the ribs and drove her back, though she stayed on her feet.

“I guess that hurt,” the vampire said.

Nanci’s side ached. If the ribs weren’t broken, they were badly bruised.

The crowd applauded, but one of the yellow-shirt volunteers ran out to the vampire and said, “Stop now, this isn’t right!”

“What isn’t?” Mircalla asked and snapped the end of the pole directly into the volunteer’s forehead.

He collapsed onto the mat.  

The crowd grew silent and began to recede. Some other yellow shirted volunteer ran away. At any other time someone might have stepped in, but this was New Year’s Eve.

Mircalla held the pole with one hand behind her neck and waved her other arm.

“It’s a demonstration. Anyone else want to join in?”

Someone in the back said, “Call the police.”

Mircalla sighed.  

“Never a cop around when you want one, right? But they’re just spread too thin tonight. A double decker bus went off the road into the river. What a shame.”

The overhead lights suddenly went out.    

From all around voices began counting down.  

“Ten, nine, eight,”

Nanci saw everyone looking at the clock and counting. 

“Three, two, one!” Then an eruption of cheers, horns, and screams of “Happy New Year.”

Though dark, the two assailants could make each other out. The vampire assumed another attack position.

A faint pop. Then a boom — a single sparkling burst of brilliance, followed by a whistle. Then another.

The fireworks show had begun. The sky was illuminated with many colorful bursts as more fireworks were set off.

Nanci saw the vampire give the slightest wince. The vampire seemed confused by the explosions directly overhead.

They bother her.

Nanci lashed out with the nunchaku. Mircalla tried to block, but one of the metal sticks hit her shoulder.

“Ouch,” the vampire whined, rubbing her shoulder. Mircalla attacked again with the staff forward, twirling it in a circular motion. Nanci blocked it aside once, but the vampire struck her on the knee.  

Nanci’s leg flew out from under her and she fell backward, but she rolled on the mat and bounced up, quickly but unsteady. 

“I can barely stand on my left foot,” she uttered.

Then use your right.

As she shifted weight, Nanci felt the fire torch under her sweatshirt that she had forgotten about.

“Come get me, Ms. Mircalla.”

Mircalla rushed.   

Nanci waited for a beat, then she swung. The chain and the sticks of the nunchaku wrapped around the vampire’s staff, tying them up. Nanci pivoted on her right foot and rolled her back into Mircalla’s chest. They both dropped to their knees.  

The vampire released the staff and squeezed both hands on Nanci’s shoulders and hissed, “Your luck just ran out, bitch.”

Mircalla’s jaws opened wide. Nanci had slipped one of the nunchaku sticks underneath the vampire’s jaw and was pushing back, but the vampire had the leverage. Nanci saw the fangs edging closer, hungrily, toward her neck. And she smelled vodka.

Nanci grabbed the juggling torch from under her sash and shoved it into the vampire’s mouth, then pressed the switch.  

There was a deafening shriek in Nanci’s ear. She felt the heat from the flames and smelled scorched flesh. The vampire’s eyes bulged as fire shot down her throat. Nanci tore the key off Mircalla’s neck.

Ms. Mircalla disappeared into the night, hands pawing at her face, emitting inhuman sounds.  

Nancy added, “Vodka burns, bitch.”  

There was a lot of confusion. No one had seen exactly what happened, but Nanci could hear voices.

“Did anyone see anything?”

“It’s just a part of the show.”

“Hell, no. That looked real.”

“It’s just an act.”

“Someone should call the police.”

“Watch the fireworks will ya?”

Nanci ran to the Atrium, inserted the key, and felt the door give.

Another firework exploded above her.

She entered.  

Inside she found large, tiered levels with seats and small tables. The overhead lights and the exit signs were off, but when a firework burst above, the area lit up. A sound — a weak cry — came from behind a solitary table, tipped over and sitting at the lowest tier of the enclosure.  

“Mommy.”

Nanci jumped around the table and found Stephen tied to a chair and blindfolded. She tore off his restraints and hugged him.   

They heard a great flurry of explosions outside, and then it stopped. After a pause, there was a great round of applause.  

It was the start of the new year.

“Well done.”  

“For once we agree,” she said aloud.

She caught herself reaching to tug on her hair but stopped.

It wasn’t necessary.

Mother and son drifted into sleep.

***

She awoke in her dojo, on a soft mat. Stephen was next to her. Beside them was a small chest filled with riches. She patted her body and found her ribs bandaged and her other cuts cleaned and dressed. Getting up was painful, but she hobbled around and found the rear closet doors open, with all the uniforms hung in place, spotless and pristine. There was no sign of Maria or any blood.  

The fax machine rang. She stormed over and grabbed the letter as it finished printing, then began to read.

“Congratulations! You have won the game. And may I say, quite conclusively. Have no fear of repercussions, I guarantee there is no evidence that can connect you to any of the events from tonight. I trust your reward is suitable.”

Nanci paused to look at the chest. Money, coins, other rare objects, and antiquities. She had no idea how much was in there but its value had to be astronomical.  

She refocused on the letter.

“And, on a personal note, thank you. Your success burnishes my reputation. Word is already travelling. Others will want to know you. But rest assured, my word is my bond, and our troupe never uses the same quarry twice — unless the individual feels differently, of course. If you are interested in other contests, I can make you a most lucrative offer.

“But for now, you must rest. Please take care of the leg and ribs, though if you give them several days, I think you will find our treatment quite effective. I’ll be in touch. V.R.”

She stared at the paper for some time, then looked at her sleeping son.  

“Happy New Year, Stephen,” she said. She placed Rolfe’s final message into the shredder and watched the machine chew the paper. 

---

Looking for more? We’ve plenty of vampiric tales, new year’s reads, paranormal fiction, and more.

• Murderer’s Creek – Dark Fiction
• The Snow’s New Year Message – Poetry
• Chorus of the Waiting – Speculative Fiction
• The Night Library at Sternendach – A Dark Poetry Book Review
• The Doll, a Dark Flash Fiction
• Graveyard in the Attic – Ghost Story
• In the Mediterranean at Midnight – New Year’s Eve Romance Fiction
• Year of Hope – New Year Poetry
• Helltown – The Untold Story of a Serial Killer On Cape Cod – A Book Review
• The Gun From the Unicorn – Dark Fiction
• The Shop at the End of the Island – Speculative Flash Fiction
• The Descent – a Halloween Novel Review
• A Saturday in Paris – Speculative Fiction