Astrid and the book zombies

CHAPTER ONE

The Drinker of Stories

The wolf was late and the hunger grew. It twisted in Octavia's gut and coated her tongue. At thirteen, her thirst was uncontrollable. She had not yet learned to contain it, and oh, how it burned. Those flea-bitten dogs would pay for this. How dare they make her wait. What did they think she was? Some fool in a queue? Some inconsequential human?

Kicking at the books about her feet, she checked they were all dry. Not one of them glimmered with the juice of a story. They were all dead, their souls sucked out, their words slurped like jelly from a spoon. Overhead the full moon hung, fat and round. Octavia leaned upon the walls of the old church, its doors kicked in, its stained-glass windows smashed to tiny glittering pieces when upon the air, came the smell of a story. Octavia froze, her senses pulled tight. What was it? She inhaled a long, slow breath through her nose and the scent was electrifying. A story from a human, caught up by an Easterly wind. 

Beyond the arched window, threads of the story spun purple across the sky. A story of heartache: her favourite kind. Closing her eyes brought the colours closer. She inhaled the air. A story from a child. Octavia's skin hummed, her body brought alive. She wasn't allowed to drink a story from a human. It would go against the one-hundred-year treaty. But never had she felt a hunger like this. Sniffing, searching, she judged the child's age at seven. There was more than a handful of years between them. This child was a little girl, of that she was certain. The distance between her and the human shrunk. She is coming this way, Octavia thought, and she trembled with delight. 

As Octavia hid in the belly of the church, she weighed up the likelihood of being caught. It was the wolves who were responsible for holding her kind to account. But who had forgotten her monthly feast? Whose fault would it really be? I can't be blamed for this, Octavia thought, and then there came the distinct crunch of broken glass. 

'Mum?' The child called into the night. 'Is that you?'

Octavia began to hum, a quiet melody that would wrap its way around the cruellest of hearts. At thirteen, there was only a handful of years between her and this prey and yet this didn't matter. Nothing mattered now but quenching this thirst. Octavia's voice was carried up and out, filling the church with a low, haunting song. Somehow, despite never having stolen a story from a human before, she knew just what to do. The child walked beneath the arched door, woollen hat pulled low, her coat two sizes too big. 

'Mummy?'

Yes, Octavia thought. That is right. Take another step inside.

Octavia raised her singing voice, teasing out the girl's story, or as some would say, her very soul. Stepping out from the shadows, Octavia locked eyes with the child. 

'What is your name?' Octavia asked, the memory of her song vibrating in the air. 

A thousand wolves could not stop her now. The deal had been struck. The meal already paid for.

'Alice,' the girl said, as if caught in a dream, her chin lifting up, her eyes open wide. 

Octavia breathed in, parting her lips slowly so as not to frighten the girl. The girl's story came easily, glowing like a vine upon the air and despite a hundred years of peace, the young witch Octavia began to feed. 

CHAPTER TWO

Astrid the Failure

Astrid had one more page to go before the Dark Lord would be defeated and consequently, she walked toward the bus stop blind, her nose buried between pages, her feet tripping over the curb before stepping into the biggest pile of dog poo you've ever seen.

'You must be joking,' she said, but there was no one around to hear.

The rest of Astrid's form had already walked ahead and now watched from the back of the bus, their hands pressed against the window like starfish. At that exact moment, the bus gave a sharp hiss, closed its doors, and began to drive away. 

'Wait,' she called, but her foot, coated in one of the slimiest substances known to man, slipped forward. 

It was like she was on an ice rink. To balance herself, she shot her arms out, dropping her book onto the floor. This was turning into one of the worst days she'd had in a long while. The bus continued to drive away, and from the back window, Ezra smiled. At least someone found the whole thing amusing. 

'Wait,' she called, running after the bus. 

If she was late for her sister, that social worker would be called. The one with the terrible scarf and overpowering perfume. 

'Please,' she screeched, and then, as if by magic, the bus stopped. 

She ran, noting how Ezra had vanished from the back of the bus. Was it him that had alerted the driver? Did she have a friend after all? 

'Get on, then,' the driver said, as the doors of the bus opened. 

'I'm sorry,' Astrid muttered, clutching her book to her chest.

From the back of the bus, Ezra waved. She smiled, recalling how at lunch one day he had called her over. That day had been her favourite so far. Not once since starting high school had she eaten lunch with a friend and there she had been, chatting and laughing as if this sort of thing happened all the time. 

'That was so funny,' he grinned. 

On the back row, just to the left, Jenny and Ben continued whispering, their faces set with undisguised disappointment. 

'How did you get the driver to stop?' Astrid asked.

Ben looked up, his eyes pale and watery. 'He pressed the bell. What do you think happened?'

'Sit here,' Ezra said, moving his bag of the way. 'I saved you a seat.'

Astrid sat, her heart ready to burst. 

'What's that smell?' Jenny asked, her hand flying up to protect her nose. 

Ben stood, snarling at Astrid as he moved to the front of the bus, the smell of dog poo all too apparent. Astrid's cheeks flushed. She looked down and took in the state of her feet. Her right shoe was covered in it. 

'What is that smell?' Ezra asked. 

He too was covering his nose, his face pulled into the most horrid look of disgust. 

Astrid opened her mouth, but no words came. The smell burnt her nostrils, so thick she could gag. 

'Is that you?' Ezra asked. 

A hot sickness spread from her stomach, traveling down arms and legs. Her face caught fire.

'I'm getting off this bus,' she cried, reaching for the bell. 'It stinks.'