Bruce

A San Marseille snippet, featuring Bruce

Old timey man had names for the things in the dark. The monsters and the things that went bump. I learnt those names then forgot them, wrote them down and rediscovered them. They didn’t stick in my head because they were ephemeral, all wispy and vague. Sometimes I’d find them jotted down in a corner or a margin of a page; Black Dogs and Wild Hunts. The Dullahan, Strigoi and Unseelie. Boggarts in the basement and Fetch before death. Names that would send me down rabbit holes in dusty old books or internet pages with broken links. I’d find more names like Wendigos and the Whistling Man, eastern Yurei and some kind of vampiric firefly at large in Africa.

What I learned was there were a lot of reasons to be afraid of the dark. But I didn’t need more reasons. My earliest, overriding memory was Alexi. Nothing would ever scare me more than him.

I remember when we first came to the Blackwoods, to Grace. Mark told us we would be safe. Rie told us we would be safe. I didn’t believe them. We were never safe. Every noise, every bump in the night, jerked me awake, eyes wide and heart pounding. Sometimes I’d freeze, a little bunny rabbit too terrified to move. Sometimes I’d scream. Often I’d hide under the bed, curling up into the tightest ball I could manage, squeezed into the darkest corner with the best view.

See, I wasn’t scared of the dark, it was what hid in the dark. Just outside the light, in the shadows, watching. I don’t write this as that scared little child, but as…someone who understood that the only time you can be brave, is when you’re terrified. My childhood ended long before it should.

Ignorance is bliss, I guess. It wasn’t until I forgot that I ever felt safe again, believed I was safe. The best part of believe is the lie, that’s the hidden truth to San Marseille, isn’t it? The things we forgot we believed in. But I do remember when I first felt like maybe it would be ok. Maybe, just maybe. The first time I slept through the night without waking and screaming. And it wasn’t because of Szgany hunters or a pack of Blackwoods. It wasn’t even Gwevaudan or Mark or Rie.

It was Bruce.

Bruce is a Domovoi. I didn’t know what the fuck a Domovoi is at the time, I just thought he was this weird, hairy little man with a big nose who drank free at the bar. Sometimes I’d see weird interactions between Bruce and Mark, they’d sit by the fire and just stare. Sometimes at each other, sometimes the fire, sometimes at everyone else. Or they’d go up to the second floor and lean on the railing. Mark would lean, Bruce would crouch behind the barricade looking like he was behind bars, all folded up and nosey. Always watching, those two.

I remember the night it happened.

I woke after midnight. Well after, even the witching hour had passed. The clock on the wall read four-oh-five past midnight. The dark side of morning. That seemed important. In the cliché world of horror I would say it was a specific noise that woke me, or an unnatural silence. But it was neither. Grace was quiet but filled with the after dark noises. Street traffic and wind, heavy breathing from canine noses, the creaks of a shifting building. I don’t know what woke me, only that I did. Sick to my stomach, feeling like I might throw up at any moment. Was it fear, anxiety or the flu? Again, a scared kid couldn’t tell you.

I got up and left my bed, the comfort of my room and the slumber of my sleeping surrogate siblings. I heard Tabby whimper in hear sleep, throwing an arm out. Something furry snuggled into her, one of the twins maybe. Tabby cats and dogs, so unnatural.

I didn’t make it to the bathroom, nor the kitchen for a glass of water. I got as far as the second level, the twisted railing that overlooked the common area.

I saw Bruce, perched on a bar stool, hands and feet both clutching the padding like some kind of awkward bird. He was hairy as ever and the moonlight turned him a strange hue of blue, as he stared intently out the window. On the other side of the glass panes and wooden framing, someone stared back at him.

Alexi.

My breath caught, that little gasp when you can’t help yourself. You shouldn’t make a sound, shouldn’t move, shouldn’t breathe, shouldn’t blink. And then you do. They both heard me, two heads turned to face me, casual as you pleased. Alexi smiled, that predator smiled that hinted at the teeth and fangs his visage hid. He’d always been tall, loomed larger in my imagination, but he leaned down to press his face close against the window.

My legs gave out, collapsing under me and I gripped the railing to keep from falling flat.

Bruce spat at the window, right at Alexi’s face. And for the first time I heard him speak.

‘Oh piss off, bloodsucker, don’t waste my time,

This house ain’t yours—it’s fucking mine.’

I stared. Was Bruce…rhyming?

Alexi appeared amused, shifting slightly so his face wasn’t obscured by the gob of phlegm sliding down the glass. His words carried up to me, even from outside. ‘Mine, yours, what does it matter? I’ve a need, little spirit, and you’re standing in my way.’

Bruce scowled and cracked his knuckles in irritation.

‘You think you’re scary? Please, I’ve seen worse.

You’re just some corpse with a goddamn thirst.

You’re ugly, fast and dimly thinking.

So find someplace else to do your drinking.’

Alexi nodded, amused. He ran his finger along the glass and I heard a crack, saw the silver river spread from the tip of his finger into a spider-web of lines. That thin transparent barrier was the only thing between him and us. If we wanted in, he would come in.

Alexi locked eyes with Bruce again, if anything I think he was enjoying the exchange. ‘Such a little thing, my dusty little friend. You couldn’t stop me, not even at your best. You’d die, little one. Broken, bleeding and pleading.’

And Bruce laughed. A dry, throaty chuckle. He leaned forward, almost nose to nose with the vampire, grinning all the time.

‘Try it, leech. Let’s test that claim.

Let’s see you rip and maul and maim.

I’ll howl, I’ll thrash, I’ll break some shit,

And then my wolves will have a fit.

And you—well, you know how they get with your kind.

Your bones they’ll snap before you find

A fucking door to slither through.

So go on then, and try me, boo.’

The little domovoi pursed his lips, blowing a kiss to Alexi. The vampire almost flinched, whether from the domovoi’s provocations or from the rumbling we all heard. Something large shifting in the house, not quite awake—but close. Alexi’s smirk faltered, just a fraction, and he scowled.

Bruce tilted his head, all smug satisfaction.

‘A little girl’s not worth the cost,

A real shame, your fucking loss.

But keep at it, see where this yet leads—

You won’t be sucking blood, just weeds.’

Alexi shook his head. And laughed. The smirk was back. ‘You’re a crude little beast, I’ll give you that.’ He leaned in a whispered something to Bruce, something I couldn’t hear. Then he pulled back from the window, cracked and filthy as it was now. And he was gone.

Bruce spun on the barstool, staring up at me. I stared back. He shrugged.

‘Same old monsters, same old dance.

Give none of them a fucking chance.

Now back to bed, you’re safe and sound,

I guard this house, I’m always around.’

I climbed awkwardly to my feet, pulling myself up the railing. Bruce watched. He had very big eyes. He pointed at the window, answering the question I was afraid to ask.

‘They come each night, they sneak, they crawl,

But none get past me, none at all!

They scratch, they whisper, they try to bite,

But I tell ‘em to fuck off—or else we’ll fight!’

I burst out laughing. Laughing at this crude, hairy little man. The vulgar protector I never realised we had. Bruce grinned, crooked teeth and hairy face splitting into a wide smile. He flicked his finger at the stairs.

‘Now off to bed, no more delays.

The leech is gone—they’ve slunk away.

You dream of stars, the moon and sea,

And leave the scary shit to me.’