by Simon Clark
These thoughts passed through his head as she approached. Tenderly, even lovingly, she reached out with those cold fingers and took his hands in hers.
She whispered, ‘So, you promise to help me tonight?’
‘Yes, I promise.’
‘Good, I will hold you to that promise, Kit.’
‘What do you want me to do?’
‘I want you to help me to die.’
Even insanity flinched back from this incredible statement. ‘You’re joking,’ he gasped.
‘No joke, my lovely, kind-hearted boy.’ Her smile was so melancholy, yet so trusting, too. ‘This existence is unbearable to me. Every minute of every hour is torture. So, tonight, you will make me happy. You are going to bring this life of mine to an end.’
FIFTY-EIGHT
Tom spent the day helping the search teams. He’d donned his scuba diver’s suit, the air tanks and flippers, and swam downriver. While he searched underwater, police and volunteers had walked along the banks of the Lepping. No sign of anyone from the minibus. No sign of anything. When daylight faded the police called off the search. Rescuers knew they weren’t looking for survivors now, they were looking for corpses. Tom Westonby believed otherwise. What repeatedly came to mind was the image of Helsvir. The creature had taken the passengers from the bus, he was certain. Of course, he couldn’t share this belief with the police. OK, they’d know of local legends about the dragon, but they didn’t believe the creature actually existed. In Danby-Mask, parents used the Helsvir myth to make children do as they were told. In many a house, this kind of thing could be heard: Jenny, if you play by the river again, Helsvir will eat you up. Or when a parent reached the end of their tether: Boys! If you don’t behave and go straight to bed now I’ll leave the back door open and Helsvir will get you!
Perhaps the only person in the world who knew that Helsvir existed was Tom Westonby.
He glanced at his watch as he walked home through the forest. Seven p.m. In the light of the flashlight the snowflakes were dazzling flecks of white. After what happened a few days ago, when the vampire had attacked him, he knew he was pushing his luck being out here after dark, but Tom felt compelled to go home. One day his lost bride would return. The conviction that this would happen, and he’d be reunited with Nicola, was deeply rooted inside of him.
Quickly, he made his way along the path. Already snow had begun to form a thick layer on the frozen earth. A fox darted away under the bushes. Somewhere close by a bird screeched. Tom remained vigilant. Vampires might be nearby. Until Friday night they’d never even approached him before. They’d always been motionless figures out here in the wilderness. They only moved if he tried to get closer to them – and even then, they moved away from him. For the last five years they could be described as almost shy creatures. But three days ago that had changed when one had pounced and almost drowned him in the river. June Valko had been the catalyst.
Shivering, he walked faster. June would be back at the hotel in Leppington. His plan to use the woman as bait to draw Nicola to him hadn’t worked. So what next?
What did happen next shocked him so much it took his breath away.
Tom Westonby had just walked through the stone archway at the edge of his garden. Straight away, he saw a bright pool of light by the front door. In that pool of light stood two figures. The pair stared at him, their eyes glinting. Tom froze at the bizarre sight. Because there was June Valko. She gripped a flashlight in one hand, while her other hand supported a frail woman with coffee-coloured skin. A cold wind from the north drew an eerie-sounding moan from the trees in the forest.
Tom locked eyes with June as he glared at her in nothing less than fury. How could she do this? She must be insane!
June started speaking before he even reached her. ‘Tom. This is my mother. I know you’ll be angry. You told me not to bring her, but I couldn’t see any other way.’
‘You could have been killed.’
‘I want my mother to see my father.’
‘June,’ he hissed, ‘you know what he’s become.’
‘I do, but I have to give my mother at least a chance of—’
‘A chance of what? Dying out here?’ He glanced back. At any moment, figures could come loping out of the darkness.
‘My mother deserves this chance.’
He noticed that June had dressed her mother as warmly as possible – layer upon layer of fleeces and sweaters and a thick anorak, with its hood pulled up over the sick woman’s head. But to bring a frail invalid here? Into this freezing forest at night? What was June thinking? What was more, she’d put herself and her mother in dreadful danger.
Nevertheless, Tom quickly opened the door and ushered his uninvited guests inside.
Handing June the key, he said, ‘Lock and bolt the door.’
Tom lit the log fire before grabbing a thick tartan blanket from the sofa and putting it around Mrs Valko’s shoulders. After she’d been warmly parcelled in the blanket, he guided her to the armchair nearest the fire.
‘I’m sorry to have shouted like that, Mrs Valko,’ he told her. ‘I wasn’t expecting you, and it worried me that you had to walk through the forest in this weather.’ He knelt down by the chair so he could look up into her brown eyes. ‘My name’s Tom Westonby.’ He held out his hand.
June finished bolting the door. ‘My mother won’t answer you, Tom. She doesn’t talk now. Most of the time she doesn’t even know what’s going on around her.’
June eased the hood down from her mother’s head. Tom saw how much alike mother and daughter were. They had the same coffee-coloured skin, glossy black hair and fragile build. Where June differed from her mother were her eyes. June’s shone with that electric blue. Definitely those were her father’s eyes. As far as he knew, June was the last of the Bekk bloodline. True, there were more Bekk men and women out there in the forest. These were ones who’d been transformed by the curse. They were vampire-like creatures. Of course, they’d lost the blue colouring from their eyes. And they’d gained something in return – they’d been given a whole new biology. Tom thought of them as vampires. To all intents and purposes that’s what they were. Night creatures. By day they vanished into some lair. Where that was, he didn’t know. But he did know they haunted the wood by night. Although they hadn’t attacked humans in the past (as far as he knew), he suspected that the vampires fed on blood taken from sheep on the high moors that flanked the valley. As a rule, they didn’t kill the sheep. However, he’d heard farmers talk about their flocks suffering from inexplicable cuts.
Now he watched June helping her mother out of the anorak, all the while speaking to her in a gentle voice to reassure the sick woman. Tom realized the lady didn’t look at all well. Mrs Valko’s cheeks had sunk in, revealing the sharp lines of the bones in her face. The loss of weight made her eyes seem very large and round. Even though she relaxed at the sound of her daughter’s voice, she didn’t give any indication that she understood any of the words. Mrs Valko remained sitting there – a woman in a trance, unaware of her surroundings.
‘I’ll make hot drinks,’ Tom said.
June followed him into the kitchen.
As he filled the kettle he hissed, ‘That was a crazy thing to do.’
‘You wanted me to act as bait last night. It didn’t work. We didn’t see any vampires. Tonight might be different.’
‘So, you’re using your own mother as bait? Damn it, June, even bringing her here was incredibly dangerous. It’s snowing. Those paths are treacherous before you even factor in the vampires. What if she’d fallen?’
‘I held on tight to her.’
‘How long were you waiting for me to come home?’
‘Just a few minutes.’
He flicked the kettle switch. ‘And now you hope your mother’s presence will bring your father to the cottage?’
‘We know it worked with me being here.’
‘It worked once.’
June spoke in a determined way. ‘So it only has to
work once again.’
‘But what do you hope to achieve?’
‘Achieve? I want to save my mother’s life.’ June took a deep breath. Her expression clearly said that she’d do everything in her power to reunite her dying mother with her father – a man who’d been transformed into a vampire over twenty years ago.
‘But you haven’t thought this through,’ he told her. ‘How do you propose to bring them together? She can hardly go out there and meet him, can she?’
BANG! June slammed her fists down on to the table. ‘Tom, stop being so smug, and so downright superior.’
‘June, look—’
‘No, you look!’ She gripped the front of his sweater, her blue eyes flashing. ‘You told me that you lost your girlfriend five years ago. Yes! I believe you when you say she’s become one of those vampire creatures. And I damn well know that you planned to use me as bait to draw her to the house. You gambled that my presence would be like a magic spell. That for the first time in five years you would see the woman you loved.’
‘How could you know that? I never said—’
‘You didn’t have to tell me in words, Tom. I could see it in your eyes. You love Nicola Bekk. Yes, she’s a vampire, just like my father. But, like me, you’ll do whatever it takes. You want to be reunited with Nicola. Isn’t that true?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, you were prepared to use me as bait to draw her out?’
‘Yes.’ Tom began to shake. Getting the truth out and clearing the air hurt, but it was a sweet kind of hurt, like drawing a deeply embedded thorn from his flesh.
‘Therefore, we’re both on the same side.’ June released her grip on his sweater. ‘We’re allies. You want to find Nicola. I want my mother to see her husband with her own eyes, even if that means only looking out through a window at him.’
‘But the shock? It might—’
‘Kill her? Tom, she is dying of a broken heart. The doctors say her body is failing. She’ll be dead in a few months. Yes, this is wildly dangerous and utterly desperate. I even had to smuggle her out of hospital when a nurse’s back was turned. But what choice do I have, Tom? Besides, if you know of a miracle cure for a broken heart, why haven’t you taken it yourself?’
The words he wanted to say wouldn’t come out.
June spoke so tenderly, yet he sensed her steely resolve. ‘Tom, you are twenty-eight. But your eyes are so unbelievably old. Terrible things happened to you in the past, so you’ve created this shell that makes you seem as if you’re made out of stone. I know you’re not like that. Under that hard armour plating there’s someone who’s raw and wounded.’
With the heel of his hand, he wiped his eyes. ‘Made out of stone? Yes, you’re right. Turning my heart to stone was the only way of surviving what happened to Nicola. That’s what it felt like … it seemed like I gradually exchanged one living cell for one cold splinter of rock. If I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have had the guts to stay here, living alone. And I’m determined to be here, because I’ve convinced myself that one day there’ll be a knock at the door … I’ll open it and find Nicola standing there.’ He shook his head grimly. ‘What a stupidly impossible fantasy … Nicola comes back; we live happily ever after? Yup, I’m living a lie, aren’t I?’
‘No more stupidly impossible than my dying mother meeting my vampire father.’ Smiling, she kissed him on the cheek. ‘Perhaps we only have to believe hard enough, and it will happen.’
‘You mean, you’re hoping for some kind of miracle tonight?’ He smiled back, wanting to believe with all his heart that she might be right.
‘Let’s make it happen, Tom. After all, what have either of us got to lose?’
They made the coffee together. After that, they went back to the room where the fire blazed so brightly it seemed as if a piece of the sun occupied the fireplace. Mrs Valko sat in the armchair, perhaps daydreaming about the time she met a handsome, blue-eyed man from a faraway valley. Tom and June sat side-by-side on the sofa, where they both gazed into the fire without speaking. After a while, June reached out and held his hand. Whatever tonight would bring – good, bad, miraculous or evil – they’d face it together as friends and allies.
FIFTY-NINE
The war is coming … the battle’s getting nearer. Soon you’ll have to fight for your life. The words pounded through Jez Pollock’s head as he paced his bedroom that Monday evening. He didn’t know exactly what form the battle would take, but an instinct for danger (perhaps bordering on paranoia) warned him that trouble was on its way. Every sound made him rush to the window. The police would come soon. They’d take him away; blame him for causing the accident. But I didn’t do it. The accident wasn’t my fault. He took another swallow of vodka. The drugs and alcohol were cooking together in his stomach. Flashes of scarlet exploded behind his eyes. His arm hurt. Why didn’t the painkillers work? He picked up the packet, debating whether to take another one. A car door slammed. He scrambled to the window and wiped furiously at the condensation, not even aware that he used the arm with the cast; it clattered loudly against the glass. COPS! He angled his head to look downwards. The car pulled away from the front of the house. No … not cops. It was the Volvo belonging to Ken Hughes who owned the neighbouring farm.
Jez sent a text to Owen. Arm hurts so much I want to cut it off. Quickly, he fumbled another painkiller out of the pack, swallowed it, then chased the pill down with a gulp of voddy. The sense of panic grew worse. By tomorrow, he’d be in police custody, he was certain. All the other kids would be going to school, while he, Jez Pollock, sat in a police cell. Even though he didn’t realize he’d done it until he’d hit send, he’d texted Owen again. Cops will put me in jail. Didn’t crash into bus. Honest. Straight away, he sent another text to Kit Bolter: There’s a monster out there. Smacked the truck into it.
Footsteps sounded outside his door. He lay down on the bed, pretending to sleep.
His father stepped into the bedroom. ‘Jez. Jez?’
‘Uh?’
‘I didn’t want to wake you, but we have to go out.’
‘Where?’
‘Ken Hughes called round. There’s a problem with the milking machine. Your mother and I are going to help him flush the pipes, otherwise we won’t be able to milk the herds tomorrow.’
‘OK.’ Jez lay on his side with his back to his father, hugging the vodka bottle to his stomach so his father wouldn’t see.
‘We don’t want to leave you alone, son. Do you want to come with us?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘How’s the arm?’
‘Hurts.’
‘You could sit in the car while we clean up the milking machine?’
‘No. I want to get some sleep.’
‘That sounds like a good idea. Can I get you some more milk?’
‘Shit, no.’
His father sighed. ‘I don’t blame you for swearing, son. If I were you I’d be using some real humdingers of words.’
‘I love you, Dad.’
‘What’s that, son? I didn’t catch what you said.’
‘Nothing.’ Jez pressed his face into the pillow.
His father told him that they’d be gone for an hour or so. Once again he told Jez that he hated leaving him alone. A little while later, Jez’s mother and father drove away down the lane. The milking depot lay half a mile away. Jez accepted that farming often involved crisis management. There were always fences to fix, sick animals to treat or machinery to be repaired. Getting the milking equipment working again by tomorrow would be vital. The cows would suffer if the milk couldn’t be drawn out of their udders.
Yes, absolutely. Jez accepted the facts of a hard farming life. What he couldn’t accept were the police pointing accusing fingers at innocent people – and he was definitely innocent. Jez began to pace the room again as tension began to build. Pains raced through his arm – white hot bullets of agony. His heart pounded. The war is coming … the battle’s getting nearer. Soon you’ll have to fight for your life
. But who would he fight? Who was the enemy? The enemy had to be the cops. Stood to reason. If he hadn’t swallowed all those painkillers, washed down by vodka, and if his mind wasn’t still ripped up by shock, he’d have used the word paranoia to describe his mental state right now. Paranoia: the irrational belief that you are being persecuted; the loopy conviction that people are out to get you.
Jez Pollock, however, had a gut feeling that something bad was headed this way. A vicious enemy. An enemy determined to hurt him. An enemy dedicated to making his life hell. In the midst of this mental turmoil, he identified the enemy as the police.
That was why he went downstairs to find his father’s pump-action shotgun. As he climbed the stairs back to his bedroom he fed cartridges into the weapon. The cast on his arm made it difficult, but he persevered and eventually managed to load that satisfyingly heavy instrument of death.
Sweating, unsteady on his feet, he felt a delirious sense of excitement. ‘OK … Jez Pollock is ready for war. I’m waiting for you …’ He grinned as he stood there swaying, with the gun pointing at the window. ‘Come and get me, cops … come and get me, if you dare.’
SIXTY
At the same moment that Jez Pollock stood aiming the gun at the window, waiting for his own personal war to start, Kit Bolter pulled on his boots, coat and fleece hat. Kit was just about to leave the warmth of the kitchen and go for a walk with his girl. OK, so it was dark out there; it was snowing; his girl was a monster; she’d begged him to help her die … but he felt as if he’d left the real world behind. Normal rules no longer applied. Mentally, he’d crossed over a boundary to where the impossible would become possible. No – the impossible will become inevitable!
His phone chirped. Freya looked quizzically at the device in his hand as he checked the text that Jez had sent: There’s a monster out there. Smacked the truck into it.
