Flowerpot Monsters [Genre+Challenge: Cyberpunk/Steampunk – Für mich]

[thots-tochter.livejournal.com]

Titel: Flowerpot Monsters
Team: Weiß (Titanic)
Challenge: Genre+Challenge: Cyberpunk/Steampunk (Blumentopf) – Für mich
Fandom: Original
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Gen, Steampunk, Supernatural, angstish
Warnungen: None
Zusammenfassung: There are reasons why the say you should not walk the embankments of the Thames in the dead of night…
Wörter: ~1100
Anmerkungen: Keine, und zwar wirklich absolut überhaupt gar keine Ahnung, wo das jetzt herkam. Ich hatte gestern beim Wäsche zusammenlegen noch ein wenig über die Blumentöpfe gegrübelt und dann war diese Idee plötzlich da und hat mir keine Ruhe mehr gelassen. Also habe ich sie geschrieben.


Flowerpot Monsters

It wasn’t that late in November, but winter had come early this year and the nights were bitter cold. This night in particular. Dark clouds hung low in the sky, blocking out the stars and reducing the moon to a faint smudge of light somewhere to the east. It would rain soon. Thick fog rose from the Thames, crept through the streets painting halos around the few working gas lamps. They were the only lights in this part of the city.

Decrepit houses lined the streets, their roofs uneven and leaking, the windows – and even some doors – boarded up. Most of them had been abandoned years ago, when fogs turned toxic for the first time. It’s said that those who stayed had been transformed by the fogs in horrible ways. Nobody in their right mind would walk these streets. Not in daylight and certainly not at night. But then, I never claimed to be in my right mind – and I had somewhere to be.

I watched my breath condense into long white wisps as I hurried down the streets. They swirled around me, taking just that fraction too long to dissipate that made the difference between just seeing and really noticing it. Even the air wasn’t right down here. I shivered and pulled the miserable rag that had once been my best coat tighter around my shoulders. It did no good. The fog crawled under my clothes, clawed at me with damp and icy fingers.

My destination was near now, I could feel it. The light tug just behind my navel that had guided me for the last hour had grown into a solid pull, leaving me with no choice but to follow. I stopped at the crossroads and looked around to get my bearings. The seemed a little less shabby around here. Not all the windows were boarded and a scattered few were even dimly lit. A faint whirring sound from somewhere above caught my ear. I looked up.

Overhead, guided by the position lights of the port’s airfield, two huge airships glided by. They had the Logo of the East India Trading Company emblazoned on their hulls. Cargo ships carrying the luxuries of the new world for those who could afford it. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. The scent of coffee, cinnamon and vanilla wafted down to me. I saw warm lights and the sound of music and laughter filled my ears. For a fleeting moment I could pretend, nothing had happened, and I was still the same person I had been a year ago. But then the first drop hit, and the illusion burst, leaving behind only the musky smell of damp walls and sickly-sweet decay.

I walked on, letting the pull guide me down the left road, towards the Thames. Had I had a choice this certainly wouldn’t have been it. The river was dangerous. Nobody knew what really lurked in her depths, but all the bridges were pulled up at night and even the port was closed off by high flood gates. There was much whispering about hideous creatures coming out under the cover of darkness, preying on everyone unlucky enough to be still outside. I’m not prone to believe in such rumours – in fact I might even feature prominently in some stories like this myself – but even I knew to be wary of Lady Thames. But I wasn’t given a choice.

It didn’t take me long to reach the embankment. The street sloped down a bit, took a sharp turn to the east and then, all of a sudden, the row of abandoned, run-down warehouse vanished. One moment, there were there, all drab painted wood and corrugated tin, the next, the was nothing but a thick white wall of fog just of the edge of the embankment.

The fog clung to the river, like the sheets a little child would draw around them, when they where trying to hide. It was as if Lady Thames was up to something and doing her best to hide it. The was movement in the fog. Dark shadows moving about, waves jumped up on the embankment, licked at the pavement. The tide was still running high, even though the turning point had come and gone over an hour ago.

I hesitated, halted my step. The pull had grown stronger again. Irresistible like the song of a siren calling out to me, and only to me. It took a conscious effort, to not move, and whenever I let my thoughts wander even the slightest bit from just standing still, I would inevitably take another step. Something about this wasn’t right. I had gotten used to the strange feeling of connection to Lady Thames since I took that involuntary bath over a year ago, accepted the affinity to water I had developed, but this… this was something completely different.

Water splashed over my feet, soaked though my shoes, stopped me one step short of just walking into the river. Without realizing I had walked the length of the old quayside and reached the derelict cranes. They hadn’t been in use for decades now, ever since the Great Stink, when airships took over the freight business from the river ships. And still, one of them creaked high and piercing as it swung out onto the river. I stood stock still, heart hammering in my chest, and stared at the crane slowly moving through the fog. There was something moving about, strange figures with plump bodies, thin, elongated limbs and odd bean-shaped heads.

They didn’t seem to notice me, so I carefully leaned in, trying to get a better view. The fog parted – and for a moment I wouldn’t trust my eyes. Whatever had moved the crane, it sure as hell hadn’t been these guys. In fact, they weren’t even guys, they were gigantic fucking flowerpots, hanging from the cranes arm. Bigger than a barrel and all cracked up, barely holding it together around the overflowing mess of roots and stalks dangling down into the water. They were just plants. A bit overgrown, yes, obviously carnivorous – Venus flytraps from the looks of their ‘heads’ – but harmless. Or so I thought… until they turned their ‘heads’ in unison and starred at me like I was the treat of their lives.

Something cold and wet wound itself around my ankle, crept up my legs. Lady Thames lashed out with a huge wave, I fell forwards into her embrace and everything went black.