by Matt Shaw
All around him, daylight filled the alleyway and Jeremiah couldn’t help but laugh to himself as he got to his feet, dusting himself off. He was safe. He had made it…
* * * * *
Obviously not everyone wanted to risk their life on Halloween. Although most people accepted that ‘death’ was a natural conclusion to ‘life’ – they didn’t necessarily think that dying in an excruciating death was a natural kind of way to go and that’s why, every Halloween, these people could be found hiding out in the safe-house getting merry on the town’s own brand of alcohol; “The Devil’s Juice.”
Conversations ranged from how ‘tasty’ (in a non-cannibalistic way) the serving wenches (barmaids) were to tales of work-life, home-life and other mundane chitchat that’s normally used as a way of passing the time with people when all of the real, interesting, juicy gossip has dried up.
There was only one person who didn’t like to join in with the other gossip-mongers and that was Abraham Van Helsing. Although he knew the evening’s ‘entertainment’ was a necessity to keep things in order (you can’t have a Peace Treaty with no rules in favour of the people you are signing with) he didn’t like it. He didn’t like the idea of their kind out there eating his friends (who were stupid enough to volunteer in the first place). He didn’t think it was a good idea to actively encourage the ghouls to hunt the Normals. If he had his way – the Normals would be out there, every day, hunting the Freaks and getting rid of them once and for all. With that in mind, Van Helsing spent the Halloween nights sat, by himself, in the corner of the room – using the time as a well-deserved break from his daytime Sheriff duties.
In the opposite corner of the room, at a large round table, a group of town officials (led by Judge Reiger) were drunkenly discussing the competition.
“Well, sun’s up now – so it won’t be long before they start coming through the doors,” slurred Judge Reiger who had consumed far too much of the Devil’s Juice, completely forgetting he was due in court the following morning to sentence a fellow townsman to death for trying to sell counterfeit goods on the market. “I wonder which lucky sod will be walking home with a pumpkin this year!”
I know a pumpkin doesn’t sound like a great prize to you and me (who are used to all sorts of exotic fruits and sweets now) but to the people of Transylvania – a pumpkin was as precious as gold to some and was worth risking your life for. Well, it was worth risking your life for it if you were a normal person but Judge Reiger and his fellow officials didn’t have to risk life and limb for one. They could just help themselves at any time they wanted.
“I still think one pumpkin should be enough of a prize,” said Mr Reeveson. Mr Reeveson was probably the tightest person in the whole of Transylvania – let alone the little town where they all resided.
“What are you talking about?” said Judge Reiger. “They only get the one pumpkin!”
“Each!” shouted Mr Reeveson. “They get one pumpkin each! Surely it would be more cost effective to give them the one pumpkin between all of the winners?”
“Well we need to entice them to take part in the competition, do we not?” argued Judge Reiger. “It’s been one pumpkin per survivor since we ran this competition and we can’t very well change it to one pumpkin to share now without a serious amount of flak from people. Also – one pumpkin to share makes it hardly worth the risk.”
“So what? They don’t have to risk their life each year do they? So what if it cuts down the amount of people who wish to take part? It’s a stupid competition that is costing our town a fortune! I was looking at the figures only last week and did you know it’s cheaper to actually bury the ones who don’t survive then it is to give the winners their prize? I say we get them to sign up and just bump them off ourselves if they win. We can always blame the Freaks.”
Judge Reiger shifted uncomfortably in his chair as he always did when someone questioned him over something – especially when it was someone questioning him over something that he had helped to start in the first place.
“Mr Reeveson,” he said leaning forward as though that were going to help him get his point across, “if you start walking around bumping off people who were good enough to take part in our competition then you, sir, are as bad as the Freaks we are trying to entertain for the one night of the year.”
“Then just get rid of the whole bloody competition – we don’t need it anyway. It’s doing us nothing but costing us money.”
“And say we do get rid of the competition and the ghouls are out at Halloween with no one to legally eat. How long do you think it will be before they turn on us all again and start munching on us whenever they feel like it? How long before all Hell breaks loose and things revert back to the days of old?”
“The days of old? It was ten years ago, you silly sod,” said Mr Reeveson although he knew Judge Reiger was right. It wouldn’t be more than a week before things would go back to how they once were. Pumpkins were expensive but having monsters running around killing people whenever they felt like it would end up losing all of them their businesses as people would be too scared to visit them again. At least with Halloween – there was always a good chance that there wouldn’t be any survivors. “Well, I suppose if you put it like that… we can’t just have the Freaks running around killing people whenever they feel like it!”
No sooner had he finished dribbling his sentence did the doors to the safe-house swing open as a ‘nearly-triumphant’ Jeremiah’s head came bouncing through. The locals screamed and cleared a path as Jeremiah’s head rolled through the middle of the congregation before settling in the centre of the room.
Jeremiah looked around the room, with a confused look upon his semi-lifeless face, before muttering, “But the sun is up.” With that, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and his tongue flopped from the corner of his mouth.
CHAPTER TWO
ABRAHAM VAN HELSING
November 01st
Dear Sheriff,
One sheriff in a town of numerous ghouls and creatures of the night; do you really think you can catch me? Mark my words – Jeremiah was the first of many. He was my starter and I’m ready to move onto the main course. Won’t you join me for a nightcap? Who knows, you may get a taste for flesh too.
Fondest Regards.
DESPITE BEING ONE OF THE FIRST
LETTERS TO VAN HELSING.
IT WAS ONE OF THE LAST TO
ARRIVE – HAVING BEEN LOST
BY THE ROYAL MAIL
ABRAHAM VAN HELSING cut a fine figure (like a young Clint Eastwood) as he stood in front of the local townspeople, one hand in his trouser pocket and the other hand gently polishing his gold sheriff’s badge against his crisp white shirt. He loved that damned badge.
He remembered when the people, now standing in front of him, first gave him the badge; when they first made him the town’s sheriff – all because he killed that vampire. Until that day, people thought the vampires were immune to everything. When Van Helsing killed her (for it was a ‘she-vampire’) it gave the Normals some hope. They believed that, if he could kill one of them – perhaps he could wipe the town of all the evil that lived there.
That damned vampire. When the Transylvanian Times interviewed him about the kill, for the daily rag, he made the fight between the two of them sound so heroic. ‘Heroic’ was one word that definitely couldn’t be used to describe how he had won that battle. But that was just over ten years ago and a lot had changed since then. For one thing, now he had a beard – well, sort of, it was more like ‘thick stubble’.
He shut his eyes and pushed the memory of his first fight with a vampire to the back of his mind. He didn’t know why it haunted his memories so much. No one else knew what had happened so why couldn’t he just forget about it? He opened his eyes again and pinned the sheriff’s badge back in its place on his shirt – to be more precise, on the left hand chest pocket where he kept his store discount cards (another perk of being the sheriff).
Van Helsing scanned
the faces of the people standing in front of him and looked to the right of the stage, on which he stood, towards Judge Reiger – an unspoken conversation took place between them with the use of simple head nods as Judge Reiger beckoned for Van Helsing to begin his speech about why they had gathered.
Van Helsing turned back to the crowd in front of him. He didn’t mind talking to people one to one but he hated groups of people. He remembered the first speech he had to give – instructing people how they could fend off attacking vampires; telling the people what could hurt them, what could kill them and, for the more humane of the group, what could simply keep them away. It was a simple conversation. They don’t like garlic and stakes can kill them. At least, he thought it was a simple conversation – even though they lived in a town there was always one village idiot; a young man by the name of Clive Jenkins who spent the night hanging raw pieces of steak around the town hoping that it would kill most of the vampire population. Instead it just brought a rat infestation.
Van Helsing couldn’t see Clive in the audience. He smiled to himself. He honestly forgot to go round to Clive’s house and personally invite him to attend the meeting, like he said he would. Honest. He cleared his throat.
“As some of you are, no doubt, already aware – this morning, Jeremiah Simpkins was murdered.”
He stopped, waiting for those that wished to make the appropriate noises of ‘shock’ and ‘sorrow’ to make them without interrupting his speech. The audience remained quiet. Van Helsing looked across to Judge Reiger who simply shrugged his shoulders.
He cleared his throat before, “At this time we do not know whether this was, as Jeremiah’s head suggested, an unlawful killing that took place after the Halloween competition had ended or whether it was, in fact, a fair kill under the rules of the competition. We ask, if anyone saw anything – could they please come forward and inform either myself or Judge Reiger.” He turned to Judge Reiger having just realised that he had just volunteered him for people to give him information, without asking him first. Once again, he silently nodded. Van Helsing turned back to the gathering and continued, “Until we can truly understand what happened – we ask that no one goes out to undertake any vigilante missions. Not only are they extremely dangerous – but they are also illegal.”
In truth Van Helsing didn’t care if the locals did try and hand out some of their own justice (as long as it was directed towards the Freaks). The more of the creatures that were sent back to Hell, the better – he had always thought. Still, he had to be seen to be doing the right thing no matter what his personal view point was.
In previous years it was normally fairly easy to determine who had killed who during the Halloween competition. Most of the creatures normally left a ‘calling-card’ in which they could be easily identified. They didn’t care if people knew that they murdered one of their friends. To them – a kill was something to be proud about and something to shout about. On this occasion though the only evidence that the kill had happened was Jeremiah’s head and that said nothing of the murder other than the fact that it supposedly happened after sun-up but some people believed that was Jeremiah simply trying to save face having failed to survive the night.
With no body, no murder weapon, no witnesses and no creature shouting from the roof-tops that he (or she, let’s not forget) was the killer – Van Helsing knew it would be impossible to determine the exact cause of death (although the head coming away from the body was a good a reason as any).
“As soon as we know more, you will know more,” continued Van Helsing, trying desperately hard to pad his speech out. He had called most of the townspeople into the meeting thinking that it would have been a little longer than was actually required to say what he needed to say. “Any questions?” he asked when he realised there was nothing else he could say.
A voice piped up from somewhere within the middle of the crowd, “What’s happening with the Simpkins’ money?”
Van Helsing didn’t answer. Instead, he turned to Judge Reiger in the hope that he would be able to chip in with an acceptable answer. He didn’t; he simply turned away as though he hadn’t heard the question. Van Helsing turned back to the gentleman who had asked and looked at him blankly. He knew that everyone was wondering what was going to happen with the money, who was going to get it (as Jeremiah was the last in his family) and what it was going to be spent on. He just didn’t expect anyone to ask about it so soon after Jeremiah’s tragic death.
“Well, I suppose we’ll find some charities to distribute it amongst,” said Van Helsing after a delay.
The man who asked the question in the first place piped up with, “Well you know what they say; charity begins at home.”
Van Helsing chose to ignore him, and the others who muttered in agreement with him, “Any other questions before we all go our separate ways?”
There was silence.
Van Helsing turned back to Judge Reiger, “Did you wish to add anything?”
Judge Reiger didn’t need asking twice. He jumped to his feet and bounced across to centre-stage, taking Van Helsing’s place, “Well, there was one thing… as you are all aware – since the untimely passing of Mayor Cromwell, two years ago, we have still had no votes for a new Town Mayor meaning the job is vacant. Don’t forget, if you do wish to vote, just come to my office and we’ll arrange it. And forget not that I have, on numerous occasions volunteered my services…”
“Corrupt services,” muttered a voice from deep within the crowd which was, luckily, unheard by Judge Reiger who would have answered with an order of execution.
“No pressure for those that don’t wish to vote – we’ve managed thus far with no mayor and I’m sure we’ll continue to manage. In the meantime, I also remind you that we are having a Bonfire party on the 4th November, to be held early afternoon so we don’t get any of their kind there.” By ‘their kind’ he did, of course, mean the creatures of the night. The Normals never liked their company at the town festivals for they always felt as though they were somewhat lowering the tone.
“That will be all,” said Judge Reiger – his tone of voice filled with the kind of authority that made him believe he should be mayor. “Oh, one more thing as an afterthought, my apologies, but those of you that wish to attend the funeral of Jeremiah Simpkins; we will be holding the service this coming Tuesday at the church. Donations will be gratefully received.” He thanked the crowd again and turned away from the stage area where Van Helsing was patiently waiting for him.
“Can I have a word, Judge?”
“You may have more than ‘one’ word, my good man, but I have an errand to run – can you meet me in my chambers in, say, an hour?” said Judge Reiger.
“One hour,” agreed Van Helsing as he turned away – a look of contempt in his eyes.
Judge Reiger and Van Helsing had a fragile relationship. Judge Reiger didn’t like the fact that Van Helsing was Sheriff. When he agreed to make him Sheriff, with other town officials, he honestly believed that he would have been eaten, or simply killed, within days – but instead he continued to thrive in the community as a sort of ‘hero’ for being the only man capable of bringing down wayward creatures. Judge Reiger wanted to have the power in the community – he didn’t like having to share it with someone else; someone, in his eyes, who was beneath him. There were many occasions when Van Helsing, having caught a ‘bad guy’ questioned Judge Reiger’s harsh sentences. He was all for punishing the criminals but he believed the punishment should match the crime. There was one occasion, in particular, when he collared a young boy (about nine years old) for spitting in the street. He took him to Judge Reiger expecting the Judge to fine the young boy but, instead, he simply cut his head off and put it on a spike. Judge Reiger hated people questioning his choices.
On the flipside of the coin, Van Helsing just thought Judge Reiger was a prick; a murderous, calculating, nasty little prick and that’s how he knew exactly where Judge Reiger was going to be for the next hour…
*
* * * *
The residence of the late Jeremiah Simpkins and all was quiet, except for the pitter-patter of the Judge’s feet as he tippy-toed across the hallway towards the stairs. The purpose was simple – get upstairs, go to Jeremiah’s bedroom and search for the money which, in all likeliness would be under the bed, under the floorboard or in the wardrobe.
Judge Reiger didn’t know why he was being anal about being quiet – trying not to make the floorboards squeak and creak under his footsteps. It wasn’t as though Jeremiah would be home anytime soon. Even if it were a vampire that killed him – not many of them have climbed from their graves having had their head severed from their body. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.
Judge Reiger wasted no time in going up the stairs and into Jeremiah’s old bedroom. Upon entry he scanned the room before he headed towards the bed. It seemed the most obvious place to look first. If it were Judge Reiger’s money – it was where he would have kept the cash (under his own bed, that is, not Jeremiah’s bed as that would just be weird).
