By and copyright of Owen Quinn 2023
Dracula Drive
“Y’all don’t look like you’re from round here. You from the big city?” grunted a raspy voice seemingly out of nowhere.
Turning on the dirt track, Jacke and Varran blinked at the overweight man in his dirty denim dungarees and murky bulging white T-shirt cradling a powerful looking black hunting rifle curiously. His thick brown leather boots with their scuffed surface, laced with mud, spoke of previous treks into the dense whispering forests surrounding them against a backtrack chirp of multiple birds that serenaded them. Standing here on this dirt track in the middle of Shaw’s Forest, made this sudden encounter feel a bit uncomfortable to him. He threw a ‘ready for action’ reassuring glance towards the equally cautious Jacke before Varran took in the men standing before them.
The man’s thickening jowls were showing minute white whiskers amid his red veined flaky skin on his weathered features, He was sweating despite the relative cool June morning. It was hard to judge what the day’s weather would bring from the stalemate sky.
In a second Varran’s sapphire eyes had scanned the man and his two comrades flanking him and Jacke in seconds. He and Jacke were dressed in jeans and shirts suitable for the time, Varran’s loose fitting jacket was tan and Jacke’s was dark navy, to suit the time and climate yet here they were being confronted for no reason by this trio of hunters who quite frankly could do with being put through a spin cycle in a washing machine or a sheep dip; twice. It was as if they carried the dirt of the woods in their probably alcohol tainted blood judging by the smell of their collective breaths. Varran nodded over-enthusiastically, rocking on the balls of his feet bringing a strange glance from Jacke.
“Yes, indeed Huckleberry, very astute,” he gushed. “We just had to see your lovely state for ourselves. Place names like Velvet Street and Zion make it sound like a cross between delicious, succulent, mouth watering cake and mystery central. Sure, how could we resist?” He smiled disarmingly.
“My name ain’t Huckleberry mister.”
The man’s reply was quietly threatening, his grey eyes fixed on this strange white man with the piercing sapphire eyes.
“Apologies,” Varran offered in a humble tone looking at the burly man to his left, “You must be Huckleberry or is it Buck? Willy?”
The burly man with the thinning ginger hair tilted his head but said nothing. Varran pulled a face and pointed to the last man. “Huck or Buck?”
The last man, his scarred hands tightly cradling a sleek black hunting rifle in his hands with dirty ginger nails fell for the goading. He stared coldly at the stranger that had seemingly come out of nowhere invading their territory. Jacke couldn’t help but star at the large mole on his cheek. It has gross hair sprouting it like spider legs.
“It’s Bill, Jeff and Colton mister,” he said. “Are you deliberately trying to disrespect the three of us? Think we’re hillbillies? You shouldn’t be walking here cause you’re scaring the animals away.”
With that he shifted his footing casting a look at Jacke who held his stare. It disguised very little and spoke volumes.
“Are we trespassing on your land or is it something else bothering you? Why don’t you join us later for a pie. He’s the sucker for red velvet cake,” she smiled gesturing at Varran, Her suggestion seemed to make them uncomfortable. It suddenly struck her velvet cake may not have been invented yet.
“You need to be careful round these parts, “ Colton said, his creased T-shirt not quite as white as Jacke first thought upon seeing him.
“Why’s that?” Varran asked innocently brushing away a fly of some sort. He was selfishly enjoying their discomfort.
“You got to know your place round here or trouble will follow,” Bill said, his scarred hands tightening on his weapon. Jeff nodded.
“Maybe this is not the place for you especially your companion.”
Varran’s head snapped from the three men to Jacke and back again, eyes wide with innocent query.
“But we heard you have lovely food here in town,” he said gesturing with his hands. “Even if your blood sugars and cholesterol are in serious danger.” He forced a laugh that died in his throat as the three men stared at him totally unimpressed or amused or obviously not seeking to engage with either him or Jacke.
“It seems that these strangers won’t be dear friends we haven’t met yet,” Jacke remarked with a sigh. “Pity. We could use directions.”
Bill’s mouth tightened as he glared at Jacke who held his gaze.
“You’re black but then again I heard your kind aren’t that smart,” he chimed earning grins from his two friends.
With a startled gasp of surprise, Varran stepped back whirling round to look Jacke straight in the face.
“You’re black?” he gasped as if it her colour was a sudden revelation he had been blind to all this time.
Jacke put her hand to her face, her mouth agape. Gently Varran closed it for her.
“I never knew!” she feinted.
“When did it happen?” Varran asked worriedly.
Biting her lower lip in thought and putting her chin in her fingers as she stroked her chin and raised her eyes to the heavens as if looking to God himself for answers.
“I think when I was born but don’t quote me on that,” she replied.
“Oh I won’t but it demands further study,” Varran sympathised. “Did I ever tell you my secret; that I am colour blind?”
Putting her hands on her hips Jacke again feinted mock surprise. “Two revelations in one morning; guys, every day’s a learning day.”
The trio of hunters looked at Jacke and Varran uncertainly. How could the white haired one fail to notice the girl’s skin colour. Those weird eyes of his looked like they could see through anything. Maybe these two had just escaped from somewhere or been locked in a barn for years and just recently got out. Whatever the story, they held on to their weapons a bit tighter than usual.
“What blind?” Bill asked, his brow furrowed with curiosity.
Whirling round, Varran stared at them nodding furiously while at the same time reaching into his inside pocket whipping out his hand unit.
Suddenly alarmed at the sight of the strange slim metallic device in the hands of what be an unstable person, Colton and Jeff cocked their weapons pointing them at Varran.
“Colour blindness, first discovered in 1794 by John Dalton. He and his brother suffered from it,” he explained quickly. “If only you knew your history as well as you know hunting,” There was a sudden wistful melancholy in his voice.
“Are you government mister? I ain’t ever seen a machine like that before,” Bill demanded taking a step back and jerking his rifle meaningfully at them.
Holding his hands up disarmingly so they could see his device clearly, the Xereban cocked his head with a reassuring grin. Oh gents, in seventy years or so you’d think this was a mere cellphone but you’d be sadly mistaken, he thought.
“No, I’m an inventor and this device helps me see what colour people are.” He paused. “I just wave it around your head like this.”
I can’t believe he’s doing the actions, Jacke thought, trying not to smile at her friend’s antics. She’d have to speak to Tyran and Michael; the older he’s getting the more of an extravert he’s becoming. But then again, when you don’t know if you’re immortal or not, you probably are inclined to take more risks. Is that behaviour a sort of attempt to see if he can push someone to kill him so the riddle could be answered once and for all or a subconscious reaction to recent events when he suffered a mini breakdown? I really need to have a chat with him and put my training to use, she thought. No point being a qualified psychologist if you accept sudden changes in a person without questioning it.
“Do you want to hold it?” Varran pressed to the cautious trio holding it out to tense Bill then the others. None of them took up his offer.
“We’re white just like you Mister. Any fool can see that. We can eat wherever we like; we can do what we like,” Jeff spat watching Varran with every hunter instinct he had, his finger on the trigger.
“Let me show you!”
Varran moved almost like a dancer running the hand unit over Bill’s head first, the unit buzzing lightly. He would then studiously check the hand unit, move his fingers across the settings then check Bill again making small noises in his throat. Bill pulled back slightly as if an irritating hornet was ready to sting him.
With a sudden weary sigh, Varran frowned and turned the hand unit off. He licked his lips and eyed Bill like a naughty child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
“I’m sorry Huckle- I mean Bill but I’m afraid that I have unsettling news for you.”
His face was set as steel, his voice hard as if trying to control his emotions.
“What?” demanded Bill.
“You’re not white,” Varran deadpanned.
“The hell I ain’t. I’m as white as you, you damned idiot!”
Shaking his head slowly and giving an indignant Bill a worried look, Varran sighed again holding up the hand unit for him to see. Bill saw an image of his face with weird veiny lines over his skin.
“Normal sunlight prevents you from seeing it but you’re yellow. I’m sorry but your liver is sick. There’s a build up of bilirubin in your blood. Bilirubin not so good for good old reliable Billy. It’s a sure solid indicator of heavy drinking. Have you thought of water only with milk; I would be if I were you as of now; isn’t life ironic at times?”
Jeff and Colton were both scanned next as Bill stood dumbfounded. They were clearly nervous at hearing Bill’s news, eyeing him to see if they could catch a tinge of his yellow skin. The mottled sunlight trickling through the trees obviously was shading it very well from them.
Varran walked round in a small circle, really milking their mutual anxiety much to Jacke’s amusement.
“Jeff, you’re blue, not sky blue, closer to lips blue, can’t breathe blue. Your cholesterol levels are high and arteries are finding it hard to pump blood and oxygen round your body.” He grabbed his right hand tightly and lifted it up for inspection. Noting the yellow and brown discolouring round the fingers, Varran made a triumphant little noise.
“You need to stop smoking now. Go for a run in the mornings or you’ll be dead in no time at all. One fine morning the sun will be shining brightly promising a brand new day and you’ll be clutching your arm as your heart explodes. Nasty way to go don’t you think?”
“No! My darlin’ Myrtle will be devastated!” he cried genuine anguish in his voice.
“Your wife?”
“No, my goat!”
“Say nothing,” Jacke muttered under her breath as Varran struggled with that piece of information.
He turned to Colton who was trembling at this point. His blue eyes were wide with a silent pleading.
“I don’t smoke or drink mister so I’m fine right? I’m not going to die like these two right?” His voice elevated in pitch like a choirboy in the hope that Varran would smile and tell him he was fine. “Right mister?”
“Off-white diarrhoea for you. It has been seeping through your pores for a long time now. You really need to drink more water and tons of fruit and porridge to really clean out that colon and bowels Colton. Otherwise you’ll spend your days in the outhouse 24/7 with neither a magazine or enough toilet roll to save you.”
Jacke grimaced. “Trust me, you really don’t want a burning ring as your last memory.”
Shocked by the startling news, the three hunters looked at each other. This was just going to be a squirrel hunt but now it had turned into ‘you have a short future’ day. Bill thought to himself he was going to give Doc Burton a mouthful when he saw him next, which was going to be sooner than planned. He wanted to see his three sons grow and teach them to carry on the carpentry business he ran.
Colton could see his wife, Karen, nag him when he told her. Seeing a dark future of nagging wife, he decided he’d change without telling her and become this hero in her eyes. She wouldn’t have anything to complain about with an Adonis for a husband. He pressed his left mob and swore to take this stranger’s advice. Now driven, he would give Karen the babies she wanted and he’d been avoiding. Memories of his dark childhood had haunted him for years but kept a wall between the two of them. No, things change as of today.
“Maybe you guys can exercise together for encouragement and form a running club; go swimming in the creeks and lakes about here. You’ll soon see the benefits,” Jacke added.
Bill stared at his hands.
“But I’m as white as you are mister,” he said disbelievingly.
With a puzzled look at Jacke, Varran shook his head in disagreement.
“Sorry Bill but I’m off duck egg white, a sort of mottled grey in fact.”
“So we have black, duck egg grey, yellow, brown and blue,” Jacke mused. “Wow, every day really is a learning day.”
She jerked her head at Varran to take this opportunity to leave. They set off down the trail leaving the three hunters bewildered and with a lot to think about. They were holding their hands up to the sky to see the real colour of their skin as described by Varran.
“I can’t believe you did that,” Jacke muttered chuckling to herself.
Varran laughed too. “I hate racists.”
Suddenly he stopped and turned on his heel wincing as he did so. The boots he had worn for this trip to the 1930s, they were rubbing into the back of his heel.
“Excuse me sirs!” he called out to the trio of hunters. “Are we heading the right way to get to Dracula Drive? We’re looking for the Melonheads.”
Also available from Owen Quinn
The Time Warriors First Footsteps
The Time warriors The Voalox Horror
The Time Warriors Red Water
The Time Warriors Tempest
The Time Warriors Venom
The Time Warriors The Moon Once More & Other Storiesink this was a cellphone
The Time Warriors Spooklight & The Skull
The Time Warriors The Belbridge Mystery
Th Time Warriors: Only the Dead Get Off at Kymlinge & Other Stories
Zombie Blues
Zombie Blues 2
Zombie Blues 3
Get your copies today at www.amazon.co.uk
About the author
Owen Quinn is a resident of Northern Ireland and has been a life long science fiction and horror fan. His desire to write for his favourite show Doctor Who at the age of fifteen led to the birth of the Time warriors series. He is the creator of the Time Warriors and Zombie Blues books.
He is a regular attendee at conventions across the country and infamously fell and broke his shoulder at his first Walker Stalker convention. He still managed to keep his photo ops with both Chandler Riggs and Danai Gurira.
He is a keen photographer also has a secret desire to be the first Irish Doctor Who.