A/N I wrote this for English and got an A* for it so I thought I'd post it on here! Please review and tell me what you think.

There Are No Heroes?

I stood on the doorstep, fingering the cross around my neck. I can hear him crashing and banging inside, the split of wood being ripped apart. My mind spins. I have nowhere to go. I can not go back inside, he would tear me to pieces. I close my eyes, take a few calming breaths and step away from the tavern that was once my home.

Business had been bad. Very bad. We had had no customers for over a month now. People had been fleeing London, fleeing from the shadow that had fallen. We had no money. Father had fallen then to drinking. When he starts drinking as he did, it goes on for days. He had started on Monday, it was now Thursday. he had called me into the kitchen, surveying me with bleary eyes as he cradled a bottle of gut rot gin as though it were a baby.

"This is it Anne," he had said, his words were slurred and the stench of the gin wafted to me on the thick, stuffy air. "No customers for a month, you know what no customers mean don't you?"

"There will be customers father, people will come back to the tavern, just wait and see," I said, beginning to tremble. I immediately knew I had given him the wrong answer.

He rose from his seat at the scrubbed wooden table, swaying slightly. He stepped forwards and empty bottles rolled away form him as he kicked them aside carelessly. He glared at me.

"It will get better will it?" he said in a soft voice, his most dangerous voice. "People will come back will they?" He took another step forward. "Don't be stupid, girl! No customers means no money!" A vein throbbed in his temple. He drained the rest of his bottle and threw it against the wall, shattering it into a thousand irreparable pieces. He advanced, his huge bulky figure dwarfing me as I cowered before him. "Silly little girl! It's all your fault!"

I ducked away form him as he aimed a heavy handed blow at my head. I had fled, of course. I had no other choice, running out into the hall way, heading straight for the front door, wrenching it open and stepp8ing out into the night. I did not consider how very foolish and dangerous that would be in my moment of panic and anger.

And now here I stand on the doorstep, alone and cold in the night as I thrust my hands into my pockets and begin to walk down Fleet Street. When I reach the corner, I turn at Ludgate Hill and continue my journey. I take only a few paces, then I hear Big Ben strike midnight far off in the distance, he can he heard all across the city these quiet nights. I freeze in horror suddenly, remembering what happens at midnight, the reason why nobody goes out after dark, why people are fleeing the city. And all had been forgotten in my haste to get out of the tavern.

But I can not go back. I take a few calming breaths then continue on my way. I decide the safest place for me right now is at my aunt's house over the bridge. Though I have not seen my dead mother's sister since I was a small child, I hope she will give me sanctuary for a while. It is only a short distance across the bridge, I think I will be able to make it without incident.

I cross to Cannon Street that will take me to the bridge and so to the Thames. The great stench form the river rises and fills my nostrils as I approach, floating towards me on the cool, dead night air. The moon is concealed by clouds as I look up through a gap in the over hanging houses, the stars I can barely make out as pin pricks in the sky. I soon note the different smells mixed in with the disgusting reek of the Thames. I smell the herbs that hang outside the houses and garlic that I pass, but I have become used to it by now. Everyone has.

As a cloud shifts and a chink of moonlight is revealed, I catch the shapes of the crude looking talismans that hang outside each door that people believe will ward off the evil. It is said that many years ago, people used to hang sprigs of Jasmine outside their houses to welcome people in. But when the shadow fell, all of it was destroyed, now we all live in fear of Them. The creatures that dwell in the tower of St Paul's Cathedral, those that only walk at night.

I reach the river, gazing at the wide expanse of water and the thick scum that lies on top of it. Many have lost their lives to its depths. I walk along the cobbled road, the houses lining the water front offer no welcome light from their shuttered windows. I am completely alone.

The clouds suddenly shift again to conceal the moon and all plunges into darkness. I steal myself, digging my nails into my clenched hand I take a deep breath and continue. Then I freeze. I hear a rustle behind me and quickly spin around. There is nobody there. A faint breeze blows in my ear and a shiver runs down my spine. I turn again. There before me, leering maliciously, is one of Them. A curtain of jet black hair hangs down to its cloaked shoulders, framing its pale pointed face, the thin mouth curls up into a think smile, and curling down over the lower lip is a pair of pointed white fangs.

I look up into the red eyes peering out of the sunken face, encased in a jacket of evil. I feel my whole body go numb. I can not move my legs, I am paralysed, completely powerless to move, to run. I feel as though all the air is stolen away from my lungs. The creature begins to advance, its torn black cloak billowing out behind it.

I come back to myself suddenly, realising what danger I am in, I plunge my hand into the pocket of my apron and rummage frantically for the one thing that maybe able to help save me. The one thing all carry with them, night or day for such an occasion.

I hurl a piece of garlic at the creature with all my might as air suddenly floods into my oxygen starved lungs. But to my dismay and horror, the creature brushes it aside, still advancing sneering horribly at me. "Garlic does not work, fool," it hisses into the darkness.

Then I remember, grabbing the cross hung on a piece of cord around my neck, holding it up desperately. The creature suddenly veers away, hissing and spitting, holding up its pale hands in defence. I take this chance, my only chance, to run. Over the bridge my heart pounds in my chest.

I slow my pace halfway along the bridge, unable to run anymore. I realise what a mistake this is. It swoops down in front of me, its fangs bared. I scream, but no sound comes from my mouth. I scramble backward. I reach the wooden railing. It lunges for me and I keep going backward, the railing, flimsy and rotting, snaps and I fall back. Falling down, I land with a splash in the river, immediately sucked under in the fast moving current.

I take in a mouthful of stagnant water; I try to spit it out only to take in more. Glancing up through the inky blackness I see I am far, far below, no light can penetrate this far. I begin to panic, kicking instinctively, desperately, for the surface.

I see white misty faces swirl up around me, leering with cold dead eyes, weedy brown hair streaming out behind them, grabbing at my dress. I swipe them away with my heavy arms, but they only laugh icily at me, echoing through the din of the water.

I feel my tired limbs begin to ache and I think of giving up, of sinking down into the black depths like all the other souls lost in the river. But the faces I see before me persuade me otherwise, I do not want to end up like them, trapped in this infernal water world.

I feel myself begin to loose consciousness, the adrenaline that had been flowing through me since the moment I left the tavern on Fleet Street was almost spent. There are no heroes.

Suddenly, I feel air fill my lungs. I gasp it in as I break the surface, I kick my legs weakly, spotting a small mossy shelf sticking out just above the water, I swim over to it, pulling myself up onto it, out of the murky water, I find myself in a chamber with a high vaulted ceiling, a thick layer of scum and other unmentionable matter line the damp walls just above the water line. I hear rats scurrying somewhere high above me and shudder. I had heard terrible stories about rats who consume their victims while they are still alive. But I quickly wipe that thought from my mind, pulling my knees up under my chin. I burry my face in my lap, catching my breath.

Looking up, I notice an opening out into the rock that plunges down into blackness. Maybe I can find away out of here. I can not go back which ever way I came, but perhaps I can go forward. I pull myself to my feet and begin to edge along the shelf towards the archway. When I reach it, I pause, squinting down into the darkness.

I take a deep breath and move forward. The tunnel does down hill, I place my hands against the jagged walls and begin my decent. The uneven floor is slippery, I hit my head on an over hanging rock and curse under my breath.

I soon begin to hear a faint scratching sound, somewhere away down the tunnel. I shrug it off, rats, that is all it is. I go on for a little longer, the noises get louder, it is approaching me, whatever it is. But now that I listen closely, it sounds as though whatever is making those noises is too big to be rats. Then a horrid, terrifying thought flashes into my mind of a rumour I had heard a few months before when we had customers in he tavern, a rumour many scoffed at, a rumour for the superstitious, the gullible. Subterraneans.

People who had come down into the deep catacombs of London, fad p with life up above, and over time they had began to crouch down and walk on all fours like apes in the menagerie. They had grown hair in unnatural places through lack of sunlight; they had lost their humanity, completely detached themselves from the outside world.

But what if it was just a rumour? And what if it wasn't?

I began to tremble violently. The noises grow closer. I can not go back, and I can not go forward. I suddenly hear the thing in the tunnel stop, take some deep breaths and sniff the air. It is closer than I thought. Suddenly, I hear a furious grunting sound and the thing quickens it pace. I have nowhere to go, nowhere to run, and now I realise there is more than one of these creatures.

There are no heroes.

I can see a light flicker into my view as the creatures turn a corner, a flaming light, the only light in the suffocating darkness, they are approaching rapidly now, I see their faint outline in the fire light, I am sure they see mine. One appears to be hunched over I think, I see a pair of eyes glitter at me. They are now but a few feet from me and suddenly they stop. I can see them clearly now. And one I perceive to be a women, though her hair is long and straggled and her clothes tattered, the man has a long flowing white beard and appears to be considerably older than the women, he peers at me, sniffing and growling, I smell his stinking breath as it wafts toward me on the dead air and I suddenly feel nauseous.

The women takes a few steps forward, toward me, holding the flaming torch up and I squint in the brightness of it. She tilts her head curiously, sniffing the air. She clicks her tongue then in a husky voice speaks. "Anne?" I am taken back at the sudden use of my name. "Anne? Anne? Anne?" she repeats, rolling the word around on her tongue.

I peer back at her. "Aunt?" I say uncertainly.

The man grunts and scrabbles about but I ignore him as the women smiles at me and reaches out for my hand. "Anne, my sister's daughter, Anne?"

I nod my head, she examines my hands. I note the dirt in her fingernails and the roughness of her hands I have memories of been so gentle when I was small.

"Little Anne!" she says joyfully. "Why are you down here? You should not be down here. It is dangerous."

"I know Aunt. I have become trapped here. I fell in the Thames running form one of the creatures of the city, why are you down here Aunt?" I question.

"Because of the creatures," she replies and would say no more.

She took my hand and began to lead me away down the tunnel the way she came, calling for the older man to follow.

Relief washes over me as I realise I am now safe in the company of my Aunt. But who would have thought it? My own Aunt, one of the Subterraneans people have rumoured up on the surface of London. Well, I can not go back so I may as well go forward with my Aunt.

Maybe there are heroes after all.

A/n This is my first story I've posted on here, so please review and tell me what you think, constructive criticism is welcome!