Thursday, Sep 9, 2021 • 15min
MAG - That Face at the Window
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Jurgen Leitner, somewhat reluctantly, helps out around the Archives.
Note: this is a piece of stand-alone fiction and not a part of the Magnus canon.
Content warnings: Vampires & vampirism Supernatural compulsion Physical violence Blood Mentions of: insomnia, food, social anxiety, knives, pain SFX: low drone, high pitched tones
Transcripts: PDF - https://bit.ly/3nbvDcf DOC - https://bit.ly/2YCuHn0
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Written by Maddy Searle
Performed by Paul Sims
Directed by Jeffrey Nils Gardner
Edited by Annie Fitch, Marisa Ewing & Jeffrey Nils Gardner
Produced by Lowri Ann Davies
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Paul Sims
Alexander J. Newall
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Alexander J. Newall
00:36
Rusty Quill presents.
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Paul Sims
00:49
That Face at the Window by Maddie Searle, read by Paul Sims.
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00:59
Oh, right. How does she do this, the case of something? What is this labelling system? It's from Harriet Grange, occurred sometime in 2010. Statement given 2013 and recorded March the 18th 2014. Oh, and this is Jurgen Leitner speaking.
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01:24
I always find it difficult to get to sleep. When people tell me that their heads hit the pillow and they just conk out, I really do envy them. It usually takes me an hour or more of reading a book or listening to podcasts before I let go of the day's mundane worries, and eventually slip into unconsciousness. And for this reason, it's just not surprising that I was awake at 2 a. m. on a Thursday night.
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01:54
As I gazed at my window, I could see the orange light of the street lamps seeping through the thin, white curtains. I could sense that sleep wasn't far off, so I sat down my book, "The Dark Revival" by Josephine Knightley, and turned off my bedside lamp. I'd just finished rereading the appendix which detailed the author's sudden disappearance after she finished writing her masterpiece. It really is a foundational classic of vampire fiction, but of course,
Stoker
and Polidori
usually get all the credit.Share
02:30
As soon as my eyes started back to the window, I saw something. The silhouette of a woman wearing a long, flowing skirt. Someone was right outside my window. Now, depending on where you live, this may be more or less likely if you live on the ground floor in the busy inner-city neighbourhood, of course, someone may well be standing outside your window late at night, entirely plausible. However, I lived on a suburban street, far from the city centre, and my bedroom was on the second floor.
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03:07
I still don't quite understand why I did what I did. I pulled by my duvet, slipped out of bed and walked slowly towards the window. My hand quivering, I grabbed the edge of the curtain and cautiously pulled it back a few inches. But as soon as my hand had touched the curtain, a flurry of shadow flickered across the curtain, and by the time I actually looked outside, there was nothing. Just the squat semi-detached houses across the road, the street lamps, the bins left out the collection the next morning.
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03:46
I chastised myself for getting so worked up over nothing, but the adrenaline coursing through my system had already done its work. Too agitated to keep reading, I found the most banal podcast in my queue and pressed "play".
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04:06
The next morning, I was drowsy and irritable and stumbled into the kitchen for my first cup of tea. Checking my phone's calendar, I realised that the deadline for my next script was looming. I was making reasonable progress, I just had a few more pages to write and then I could go back and make some edits in time for submission. After a perfunctory shower and a slice of toast, I packed up my laptop and set off my favourite local cafe.
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04:39
It was a resolutely grey day and I was certain the sun wouldn't break through the clouds anytime soon. When I arrived, the cafe was bustling with students, freelancers, and elderly ladies; the usual crowd. My favourite booth was taken over by a pair of undergraduates laden with books and papers. The only seat available was at the dreaded communal table, which introverts like me tend to avoid at all costs. However, I was craving the signature latte and had no desire to lug my hefty laptop elsewhere, so I sat down.
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05:22
Diagonally opposite me, at that feared communal table, was a woman. I'm terrible at judging people's ages, but my guess would be that she was in her mid-thirties, perhaps about my age. She had gently curled auburn hair, swept up in a messy bun, and a striking, angular face with full red lips. She was wearing a high-necked blouse adorned with the cameo brooch.
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05:53
People with a fondness for vintage clothes were by no means a rarity in this cafe, but something about her particular style made me pause. Perhaps I stared a little longer than I should have. She had a leather-bound notebook in front of her and was furiously scribbling it with a fountain pen. Then, seeming to sense my presence, she looked up to meet my gaze. "Good morning," she said. "Hi," I replied, breaking eye contact and hurriedly setting up my laptop on the table. "Are you a writer too?" She asked, glancing at the laptop with a gentle smile. "Um, yeah, actually. A scriptwriter."
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06:42
I really wasn't in the mood to chat, but they didn't want to be rude, she seemed nice enough. "You write as well?" "Yes, I write novels, actually. I've been writing for such a long time now, it's hard to remember a time when I did anything else." "Wow, nice." Silence. Small talk isn't my strong suit. Unsure how to proceed, I opened up my scriptwriting software and tried to ignore her. But I had the uncanny sense that she was still looking at me.
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07:21
I tried to concentrate on my work, but when I looked up, sure enough, she was staring right into my eyes. Her irises were dark blue, darker than any I'd ever seen before. I could have sworn that when my eyes met hers, her pupils expanded like a cat's when they see their prey. "If you don't mind me asking, what kind of scripts do you write? Any particular genre?" She inquired. "Well, at the moment I'm writing a bit of a gothic romance kind of thing, inspired by'The Dark Revival'. Nothing as good as the original, of course, but I'm enjoying it."
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08:04
"Don't put yourself down like that," the woman said, a stern edge underneath her politeness. "I'm sure it's totally delightful and it almost goes without saying that Josephine Knightley was severely underappreciated in her time and still to this day, in fact. It's wonderful that you're keeping her legacy alive." The woman had conviction in her voice that was hard to deny. "Thank you. That's kind of you to say, I'm Harriet, by the way. Harriet Grange." "Oh, I'm Jo. Lovely to meet you, Harriet." She held out a hand adorned with rings. "You too," I said, shaking her hand.
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08:54
It was cold to the touch, but her grip was strong and I could feel her rings digging into my palm. "I hope you don't think me to forward," Jo said, "but I was wondering if I might ask you for your telephone number. I have to rush off now, but I'd love to talk to you some more about your work. Would that be all right?" I blushed. Half delighted half terrified because I definitely wanted to see her again, but was afraid of appearing too eager.
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09:30
"That would be lovely," I said. She handed me her notebook and her fountain pen, and gestured to a page where I could write down my number. Before I even registered that I had done so, I'd written my phone number, my name, and a kiss. Before I could change my mind and scribble out the kiss, she took the notebook from me, a serene smile on her face. "Thank you, my dear. As I say, I really must be off, but I should call you as soon as I can. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day."
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10:11
Jo stood up, packing her notebook and pen into a small satchel. "Thank you, you too!" I said. I couldn't help but smile. Jo swept out of the cafe and onto the street, clutching her long, black skirt. Before I settled down to work on my script, I noticed that she had left behind a full cup of coffee, completely untouched.
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10:40
Later that night, around 2 a. m., I had trouble sleeping again. But this time, my thoughts were occupied by less mundane matters. The way Jo's hair fell in soft curls on her forehead, the way she held my hand so strong and decisive, the way her lips pressed together in that beatific smile. Even though I was clutching "The Dark Revival", and my eyes were scanning its printed pages, I wasn't reading a single word.
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11:19
I was jolted out of my reverie by a message alert on my phone. I dropped the book off the side of the bed, grabbed the phone from my bedside table and glanced at the notification. It was from an unknown number. The message read, "Go to the window." A million questions sprung up in my mind. Was this Jo? Or some stranger? If it was a stranger, how did they get my number? Why did they want me to look out the window? Should I ignore it? For what harm would it do to check?
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12:00
Finally, I looked up from my phone at the window. And again, there it was, the silhouette of a woman wearing a long, flowing skirt. Mesmerised, I felt myself getting out of bed and walking towards the window. Part of me was screaming, telling myself to stop, but all I did was walk silently towards the window and grabbed the corner of the curtain, ready to pull it back. I paused for a moment, transfixed by the silhouette.
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12:43
As I began to pull back the curtain, I saw a familiar face staring back at me, but before I could react there was an ear-shattering smash of glass. I closed my eyes in shock and felt shards of windowpane pierce my skin, as something crashed through the window, landing on top of me. I fell to the floor, surrounded by broken glass. When I finally dared to open my eyes, I saw her face. Jo's face. Her pupils were so large, her irises were barely visible. Her smile was no longer serene, it was full of hunger.
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13:31
As her red lips parted, I could see long sharp, canine teeth protruding from her mouth, glinting in the dull orange light of the streetlamps. She was terrible and beautiful. She lent down so that her lips were right by my ear. She whispered, "You. You shall keep my legacy alive." My eyes widened and my heart raced as realisation crashed over me like a tidal wave.
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14:08
I felt a sharp, all-consuming pain between my neck and my shoulder, as Josephine Knightley sank her teeth into my flesh. Waves of agony crashed through me as she drank her fill. At last, she pulled away. She took a knife out of her satchel drew it gently across her palm. "Drink," she said. Her voice was so soft, but I knew it was a command I could not refuse.
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14:44
I drank as if I had been parched for days and was finally able to quench my thirst. When Josephine withdrew her hand, I felt sick and elated in equal measures. As I collapsed on the floor, I saw her stand up, walk over to my desk, and turn on my laptop. In moments, she had found my script. For a few minutes, she read in silence, a small smile slowly creeping across her face. "You and I have a lot to learn from each other, it seems," she said, turning back to face me. Before I finally passed out, I managed to whisper one last word, "Yes."
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Alexander J. Newall
15:50
This episode is distributed by Rusty Quill and licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License. For more information, visit rustyquill. com. Tweet us @TheRustyQuill, visit us on Facebook, or email us at mail@rustyquill. com. Thanks for listening.
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Alexander J. Newall
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