So… forgive me, I don’t quite know where to start. The day Harriet went missing? Well, it was the day they all did. All the village children I mean.

No, Inspector, no warning. They just… disappeared.

Anything unusual? Well, come to think about it, maybe there were a few odd incidents in the days leading up to it.

Like what?

Well, for one, Harriet’s hair turned a pale violet color. That pretty, angelic blonde hair all gone, leaving an insipid, grey-violet color in its place. I mean how does that happen? It’s not natural, it just isn’t.

Yes.

Her best friend, Jess - her hair changed too - and a few others, apparently. Yes, same color. A light greyish-purple.

The other things that happened?

Well there was Mr Brunson, the school caretaker.

He came bellowing at the top of his lungs into our town hall meeting two days before it all happened. He was screaming blue murder. Something about all the plants dying in the school overnight. We just thought some juveniles might have decided it would be fun to douse everything with weed killer or something.

And then there was the river. I didn’t see it myself but Carol from down the road said her brother went fishing there yesterday, and all the fish were floating downstream, belly up. Something had killed them all. Poison or something.

What else?

Our neighbor’s boy, Sam. He went missing for the afternoon. Fred and Shiela were beside themselves with worry, of course.

And when he returned, ee’ his eyes… goodness gracious. Never seen anything quite like it.

Doctor couldn’t figure out what had happened. I mean, who’s eyes turn like that? Honestly, it sent a shiver right through me. They looked reptilian, almost - like you were looking into the eyes of a boa constrictor.

Doctor referred him to a specialist. They were supposed to take him down to London in a couple of weeks’ time for an appointment. I guess that’s all by the by now. Unless you find them all, Inspector.

You will… find them all… won’t you?

The day Harriet went missing. Was quite unremarkable. Not a drop of rain. Nor gust of wind. Yet all the same Harriet went missing. That was remarkable in itself, since it is hard to vanish in the middle of the city. There was perhaps one person who had seen her go… and that was you.

You saw a tall slender woman with ice blonde hair, that swayed with the ruffling hand of the unseen forces. Do you remember her? Perhaps not… there is something in your eye that shows a flicker of recognition.

This is Harriet. Icy warmth of winter rays’ stream down her back, always held neatly by a faded black hairband. Such perfection could not be bought at a hairstylist or recreated in your own home. A perfection that might only be achieved by a slight of hand or enchanted brush. Though her frame is slender don’t be misled into thinking that she is weak. No, Harriet would normally be seen frequenting her favourite gym, she was strong as a plough horse. Her clothes always appeared to be simple and bland, not much trace of colour to brighten her pale features. Upon her lips colour streaked a dash of Russian red, her artful smudge above a pair of striking blue pools a sprinkle of charcoal ash.

You see, Harriet was unremarkably remarkable, so how is it possible for her to go unnoticed? Think. Dredge through the memories that backed up like hefty files waiting to be sorted. There a whisper of knowledge, draw it out with a teasing tickle, a pull of the peeking strand will unravel a whole ream of information- that maybe best forgotten.

People ask in gaudy tones: “Was it magic?” “Was it murder?” “Was she imagined? “Did she move?” “Do people simply move without a word?”

Theories circulated the concrete metropolis like an airborne pathogen, slowly infecting the young, the old and the weak. One by one they were struck down by the mystery of Harriet’s disappearance. Conspiracies grew like boils, grotesquely disproportionate, waiting… begging to burst. Spilling and spewing thick curdled cream cheese like pus over those in the closest proximity. The foul rotten stench overpowering even the strongest of stomachs, but none of this changed a single fact.

Harriet had a talent. A gift, that was rarely bestowed onto mortal beings. She was born of the elemental magic that held power enough to birth and destroy life. If Harriet learned the ways of the old, she would be able to control the elements and make them bend to her will. That much magic could consume someone completely, tiny claws would rip apart the mosaic of cells and hurl them like confetti into the air. In that one devastating explosion Harriet would be no more.

Except no one knew that. Apart from the exception, there’s always one, that knew. Do you know who that was…is?

It was you. You knew Harriet’s secret and you despised her for it. She had what you wanted. Not wanted but craved with a maddening desire that began to leech away all rationality, driving you into a rabid frenzy. Outwardly, you seemed calm, respectful, and hardworking; inside was a blackened tarry chrysalis that nurtured a demon of the darkest intent. A demon that would become your master, a demon that would stain your hands crimson.

Such a compliment to Harriet’s lips. Red hands, red lips. A paradoxical colour. She wore it for love, courage, and an alluring mystery. You wore it for violence, power, and a stark warning. She was the energy, and you were the danger. All energy eventually dies, whether it crepitates or fulminates the force is transferred elsewhere.

You knew that… and still know that. You are the master puppeteer with the world at your feet, begging for a spectacular display. Will you give them a show?

Knowing where Harriet might be was no real mystery, you had learnt that through months of covert observations. In other words, you had stalked her. Building up a picture of Harriet’s life, a detailed map that never wavered off course. A nagging worm inside your riddled mind alerted you to her suspicion, it seemed she was growing too wise. Her intuition murmured that something was off, and she glanced behind more often, yet you persisted. Until the day Harriet had strolled leisurely towards the police station.

That was when the gossamer and lace ornate chrysalis crumbled, turning to fine dust under a fiery finger. The demon had awoken from its slumber. Agonising was the sensation you felt, as the cracked and tortuous ideology of the creature unfolded into its new home. A single rasping cough dripped from your lips lined with fine fissures, the last of your propriety broke and dispersed on the fine breeze.

Stiffly, you turn onto the high-street, a place you once knew. There your stagnant pools latch onto the goddess, a pearlescent dragonfly that was born of fantasy. The plan was simple: make Harriet disappear and soak in her magic.

Barely, registering the way your shoulders curled inwards or the way your back bent under the weight of responsibility, you shuffled awkwardly towards the only other person on your side of the road. “Excuse me, Miss?” Letters formed themselves with a heavy rolling accent, they sounded foreign to your ears.

Oh, how elegant, how graceful she looked spinning in a pirouette, concern shimmering in eyes of aquamarine that could drown a wayward soul. “Is everything okay?” It seemed so natural for her to say, syllables easily lilting to the sway of her soul.

“No… no. I have lost something… I can’t remember what…” Cold and bony appendages clicked noisily together, punctuating your confusion. Daring a fleeting glance through your eyelashes, you saw that Harriet had taken the bait.

Hurriedly, she rearranged her handbag, before fishing in her stylish coat for her phone, “Do you want me to call the police? I mean we can always go into the police station, it’s just down the road. Can you remember where you last had the thing you lost?” Harriet studied her mobile briefly… an action that would have consequences.

An opportunity handed to you on a silver plate, you lunged forward grabbing her tightly with one sweaty skeletal paw covering almost half of Harriet’s delicate face, “Don’t say a word,” you hissed through your clenched jaw. You didn’t need to search her eyes for consternation, you felt her entire being go rigid. Temporarily, Harriet was powerless. ‘Don’t drop your guard,’ you mutter mutely, ‘she is still incredibly dangerous.’

You were tall, but she was taller. An internal growl pulled at your throat, begging to be released. Instead, you tugged Harriet closer and rose onto your tiptoes, what strength that secluded snarl gave you. Breathing out a murky cloud of rotten greed, you seduced her pure heart, “Sleep now, my beauty.” There was nothing more than a feeble mewl before Harriet limply fell back against your chest.

Swiftly, you scanned the dull city; obsidian roads, grimy pavements, and filthy buildings, yet there was no one in sight. Both a blessing and a curse. There was no one to save Harriet, you were unstoppable. Grunting with the effort of slinging a fully grown woman over your shoulder, the demon took over navigation. Leading you through the forgotten alleys and abused sideroads, the demon took you too an abandoned wool mill.

Your clouded orbs stared up, memorising the peculiar silhouette and sharp contours. Rapidly, you were surrounded by the unforgiving hiemal silken aura, one that would chill you to your bones and never leave. Could this be the start of the battle of fire and ice?

Decidedly, you place one foot on the echoing step… one designed with the highest quality of oxidised metal. Fearing that your chance to steal a life might be snatched away by karma’s hand, you danced nimbly up the rickety fire escape. Harriet’s limp arms slapping your thighs with each movement, causing your teeth to gnash in irritation.

By the time you had slipped into the besmirched room, that seemed to be endless, there was no more strength to hold back the demonic will. Brutally, you pin Harriet’s unresponsive body against the worn brickwork, not by her shoulders… no you clamped your clawed hand around her throat. Raised welts of burnished copper silently plead with you to release your grasp, nothing was going to stop you. Lurching forward you press your chapped pale lips against her strangely hued ones, a tingle sparked a blaze in your gut. Pulling back, you try and name the colour that was Russian red cloaking cyan, there was no colour except green. Green the colour of jades, fuelled the inferno that slowly consumed you.

With your free hand you plunged an iniquitous jet blade into her abdomen, you felt the warmth of the bloody flood gush over your knuckles. Inhaling sharply the demon became high on the rich metallic tang, one that dredged up images of ridiculous wealth. Not bothering to withdraw the dagger, you dragged its sharp edges horizontally extending the gash. You could hear it now, the steady drip… drip… drip of sorrow tumbling into the uncaring arms below.

Something clicked in your primal brain. You let her fall with a satisfying thump onto the ancient planks. The weapon unsure whether to follow hovered briefly before hurling itself remorsefully beside the body, a body still warm with an extinguished soul. Your knees cracked loudly with the force you landed. Luridly, you traced Harriet’s curves, feeling how the muscles went slack and how you wished you could have her in anyway you wished. A demon still has morals.

Instead, you reached inside the gapping cavern carved by an unpractised hand, pulling out the internal organs one by one. Perforated by curving claws, you drank in the revolting odour, feeling the contents in all its rich texture explore your smooth skin. Then as if disgusted, you hurled them at the wall a melodic splattering filled the still atmosphere, watching them sink in disgrace. Still, you wanted more, slithering over her corpse you covered her frame in a living blanket- no not covered your body engulfed her.

By the time the word had spread about Harriet’s disappearance, you were clean and calm, both shocked and saddened by the news. Did you dare to start a new rumour? Cowardly, you shied away from the crowd, yet you still listened to what was said because you found yourself amused at their wild theories. A simple smile hid the sinister truth. You knew the truth and you told the truth… unwittingly.

The day Harriet went missing was the day the sky split open and turned purple, like a bruise that would just not go away. Briarwood had never been a safe place to live, but it was about to get worse.

Our patrols heard that the Hedge Knights were born from a rift in the world’s dark magic. I never knew whether to believe that or not, but I knew that they were real. Completely, terrifyingly, tangibly real. And when our patrol spotted the Hedge Knight coming, I commanded them to run.

I held back the briar branches so they could escape - predators in Briarwood thrived off the scent of blood - and squeezed my way past. The branches raked the skin of my arm, exposed by my short sleeved shirt.

Blast, I cursed, and heard them calling up ahead. “Commander, run!”

Regrettably, I threw a glance over to my shoulder and it, in all its glory. Huge, nine or ten feet tall, magenta in color. Legs and arms thick as tree trunks, magenta in color. Its clothes were in tatters and its unkempt pink hair stuck up in spikes all over its head. Its eyes were black slits in its pointed face, and its great pointed fangs protruded from its huge mouth. Worst of all, the bright beam of magic encircling it’s hand was crackling with energy, moments before it threw it.

I leaped away with a yelp as the ball of mana exploded a few feet away. As I landed, I rolled my ankle onto the hard ground and stumbled. Don’t fall now, I urged inwardly, and righted myself at the last moment. That’s when the next ball of magic struck me in the back.

“Virgil!” Harriet shouted.

All the breath left my body as I plummeted to the ground. Pain crackled through me and my mind felt strangely clouded.

“Virgil! Get up!” Harriet’s hands were on my shoulders, pulling me up. Confusion washed over me. What was she doing back here? She was supposed to be running with the others.... what were we running from?

Harriet’s body slammed into the ground, and the Hedge Knight roared furiously. Hungrily. I was on my feet in an instant, grabbing Harriet’s hand.

“Go!” she commanded me, shoving me hard. “Run!”

“Come on!” I said. “I’m not leaving you!”

“It’s not going to stop until it takes someone. Get out of here, Virgil! I’ll give you some time!”

I looked up at the rest of our fleeing patrol. She was right, but why did it have to be her? The Hedge Knight’s hand struck her again; she didn’t even have time to draw her sword.

The monster was distracted; I had no choice but to run. We could get away as it took its victim.... but it broke my heart to run as the Hedge Knight claimed my wife’s life...

I looked back a last time, and Harriet and the beast were gone.

Vanished, as if they were a wisp of smoke.

Harriet cackled, menace shining bright in her eyes.

“You fools really would do anything to cover up your failures.”

She eyed the handsome young man before her, tied to a chair writhing against the tight ropes. Who would believe that Harriet went missing? THE Harriet! Absolute bollocks! Men’s egos are too fragile she thought, they themselves have too much pride. Heads filled with alpha male bullshit, rejection seems to be too much to handle. She kneeled in front of him, so close she could feel his hot breath fan across her exposed throat. A lazy smile sliced across her innocent face. Something wicked burning in those emerald eyes.

“You think taking me hostage would sway my mind? Force me to accept a good for nothing proposal?” She all but spat, “ how does it feel to be tied to a chair against your will?”

She wanted to say much more, ask him how it felt to have your wrist chafed till they are raw and bleeding. For your bones to ache and throat ablaze from lack of water. Your own mind a prison to your fears fuelled by paralysing trepidation... Despite wishing to make him suffer, she stood up, and in one swift motion slapped him. Her own palm stung and his eyes welled with tears a small chuckle escaped her ruby lips. She turned and left the rotting cell but not before declaring her farewell.

“Sweet dreams.”

Just like that, most people continued with their lives as if the clock had only temporarily stopped rather than having been frozen. I did not. I was stuck in a time loop and her parents began to move anti-clockwise. Her parents frantically searched through the past to try and uncover where she might be, whereas I kept going back to the police, as well as the internet, asking every possible question there was to ask and enforcing the importance of finding her.

I eventually came to the cold realisation that no one, other than myself and her family, cared about her or was putting in enough effort to track her down. I was going to have to take on the role of Sherlock and find her myself. I was going to start by logging on to her social media accounts, however I suddenly remembered that she deleted them 6 months ago as part of the new mental wellness regime she began.

I actually started by looking through her room, with her parents permission, but had no luck. I spent 2 days looking before I became overwhelmed by the feelings that come with failure. I spent the next day in my room, playing all of the video games we used to play. I began playing sims 4 when it hit me, the river, we always go there when we have a lot on our minds. I ran over to the backside and there she was...

All the stars in the sky died. The days were long and dreary. Everyone felt helpless as no one had an inkling of where she was...except me. Harriet was the most popular girl in school. She was beautiful but not snobby. She was perfection from her light blonde hair bob down to her coach bag and matching coach shoes. She wasn’t just popular either , she was charming and genuinely nice. She started the “stop bullying” campaign before it was a “thing”. Harriet was also my best friend in the whole world. My first ever friend really. I could tell her anything and I knew she wouldn’t judge me. She would look at me intently through her brilliant blue eyes and put off this energy that let me feel I was going to be okay. So why did I do what I did to her? What’s wrong with me? I never meant to hurt her. I swear it! Things just got out of hand. The events that happened a week ago were now a distant memory and a blur. I loved Harriet maybe even more than a friend. Sometimes when she looked at me I thought she felt it too. Obviously I was wrong. When the police came to my house to question me I nearly shit my pants. I had had run ins with the law including underage drinking, petty theft and having drug paraphernalia on my person. I was always so cool calm and collected, but this time I could feel the blood rush to my face as they asked me questions about our relationship, if we ever had a fight, when was the last time I saw her? Fuck if I can remember “all the details” from a week ago. I know I looked guilty but I couldn’t reveal what I knew. Not yet anyway. At this point there were too many people involved we had to make sure we were all on the same page with everything. The days that followed harriets disappearance were the worst of my life, but let me take you back, back to the beginning of Harriets end.
My family and I moved to this little suburb when I was 14 years old. We left our home in Chicago for my mother’s boyfriend. I hated her for the move. I missed the hustle and bustle of busy city life. This town was boring. I had no friends and I vowed I’d move back to Chicago as soon as I was 18 years old. I went to school that August and kept a low profile. I walked to school as it was a block away. I was pretty average looking in my opinion. Approximately 5’2, 100 something pounds and long straight brown hair that I always had curled and pulled up. I kept my eyes down as I walked the halls of this little school and listened to all the conversations around me.

The day Harriet went missing My footsteps changed in a unrhythmical manner. The sun was dimmer and nothing glimmered.

The day Harriet went missing, I leaned in to listen, how the Earth rumbled. It’s delicate heartbeat ached for its dear Harriet.

Harriet ran. She ran as fast as her little legs let her. Harriet knew that if she stopped they would get her. However, curiosity was too great. Harriet looked behind her and...

Pop!!!!

They had got her. The day Harriet went missing. 12-12-12 last seen at Town square 10.00am. There the wooden plank by the edge of the town says, forgotten.

She was a spy, and she was annoying. So the neighborhood didn’t really seem to care that she wasn’t around as much. They saw it as a breath of fresh air.

But as the weeks went by, they sensed they should probably figured where she went. She was a kid, after all. Her house seemed the same, her parents were out and about. But when they were asked about Harriet, they just smiled and said she was away. There was something about their smile that set the neighbors’ nerves on edge, but they couldn’t say what.

Months went by, Harriet never showed, and she was soon forgotten. The police were not contacted, this was a very private community, weary of any outsiders. Harriet’s parents went about their lives, as if they never had a daughter. Harriet’s few friends seemed sullen an afraid, as if they knew something no one else did.

Time continued to flow, as it tends to, and Harriet’s parents moves away. Her friends tried to go on with their lives, but there was still something sad in their eye. They knew something, but they could say.

A year or so has passed, and a stranger came into town. She wore ragged clothes, her hair in clumps, and eyes were dead.

“What happened?” A passerby asked this creature. “Can we help you?”

The form just walked by the passerby, and straight to what was once her home. She sat down in the steps, and stared into space, seemingly unseeing. There was something unearthly about her, that caused most to ignore her.

Someone who was once her friend came up to her, and asked, “Harriet, was spying on the zombie colony really worth it?”

Chomp.

“Mrs Harriet Ruth Birmingham-Smythe has been missing for almost two days according to local authorities. The police, and Harriet’s family, have urged anyone with information relating to her disappearance and/or whereabouts to come forward. To my left is a picture of Harriet: long red hair, brown eyes, and freckles. She is average height and heavily pregnant. If you see anyone matching this description, please contact the police or call this on-screen number.” I end my broadcast with a solemn look at the viewers, driving home the seriousness of the situation.

I walk downstairs when I get home; drink in hand. I pass pictures of my wife and baby. They’re not here. I lost them years ago.

It’s hard being a reporter. Of course you get the incredible and uplifting stories, but for every piece of good news there are stories of a serial killer targeting pregnant women in the Providence area. It’s depressing to interview the grieving husbands and families; to listen to them pleading for the safe return of mother and child; to be waiting like a vulture outside when the police deliver the news of their losses.

It’s even more difficult to not break character on-screen. You see, Harriet hadn’t really gone AWOL- she’s in my basement.