by Matt Shaw
Igor looked at his time-piece; a posh, gold watch on a chain that had been presented to him, by The Count, for loyal service on their first anniversary. Although The Count would have preferred someone who took care of their personal hygiene a little bit better, he was grateful that Igor had never attempted to drive a stake through him whilst he napped in the daytime.
It was half past two. She was due any minute now – if she actually existed; instead he was due any minute although Igor still believed it was going to be a ‘she’.
(I’m terribly sorry if this is all getting rather confusing. At least, it is for me and I’m writing the damned thing.)
Igor checked the time again. He didn’t really; I’m just getting back to the story. It was a now thirty-one minutes past two and she (he) was officially late. He hated it when they ran late as it made him panic that they were going to stand him up. One of the girls had stood him up before and he remembered sitting in all day (and night and then the next day) waiting for her – hoping that she had simply got delayed. Until it had happened the first time, he never expected them to stand him up. He did, after all, pay a deposit every time he made a booking (via PayPal). Incidentally, when the lady stood him up, he never got his deposit back – despite pleading with the owner for over a fortnight.
Igor didn’t need to fret for long as mournful tune of the doorbell clanged its way through the house, to the drawing room in which he patiently waited with a game of Twister already set up to play. His appointments always incorporated a game of some sorts. On some occasions he liked to play Scrabble, other times he liked to play Monopoly and then there were the times he’d prefer a game of Kerplunk. Today he fancied Twister.
With shaking hands, Igor gripped the front door handle tightly. He always got nervous before an appointment – hoping that his booking would be the ‘fake-friend’ that he so longed for. There was nothing worse than paying out four days wages to have an appointment with a lady whose heart clearly wasn’t in it. He knew the friendships that they offered weren’t real but it didn’t mean he needed to be reminded of it during the booking when the girls tried to stifle their disinterested yawns. The doorbell chimed again just as Igor pulled the door open to reveal… a man?
Admittedly the man who stood in front of Igor was wearing a dress and a long red wig but there was no mistaking that it definitely was a man and Igor couldn’t help but to feel a little cheated, “I’m sorry I was expecting someone else.”
Igor turned when a door slammed shut behind him; the ringing doorbells must have woken The Count. Igor turned his attention back to the front door only for the man in the dress to push his way past him into the hallway.
“I’m sorry but, whoever you are, you can’t be here,” said Igor worried that The Count would get the wrong idea if he ventured from his bedroom and saw the man in drag. “I think there has been a terrible mistake, it’s just the drawing in the paper made you look… well, more womanly,” continued Igor.
The man in the dress turned to Igor but said nothing to start. Instead he simply looked him up and down before keeping his gaze on a small pendant that hung around Igor’s neck.
Eventually he spoke…
“You have something that I want…”
CHAPTER SEVEN
PILLS & POTIONS
MRS. ROUBLE wasn’t exactly disliked; nor was she terribly liked. She was just sort of there, in the town; part of the furniture so to speak (people didn’t actually use her as a piece of furniture – that would just be weird). So, although she wasn’t disliked by everyone (or liked for that matter) she certainly wasn’t unpopular enough to have been murdered and yet that’s exactly what happened to the poor girl.
Now, the exact time of her death was unknown. What is known is that it happened at some point when Van Helsing and Judge Reiger were with The Count. We know this because, when they left to see him, she was alive and when they returned, knackered from the walk down the hill, she was pretty much dead; face down in her crappy little shop ‘Pills & Potions’ with two small bite marks in the side of her neck.
“That’s impossible,” said Judge Reiger, “vampires don’t come out during the day.”
He watched as Van Helsing pulled a small knife from his pocket and stuck it into Mrs. Rouble’s neck, allowing some blood to trickle onto the wooden floor of her quaint (unpopular) shop.
When she was alive, Mrs. Rouble ran a small ‘magic’ and potion shop. In truth it was more of a gimmick shop, selling silly potions that would supposedly keep ghouls away from whoever was silly enough to purchase the potion. There were pills and potions that would work as love spells, curses and even cures for baldness. Her only real customers were the tourists from neighbouring towns (and countries) who were keen to do things such as ‘keeping the Evil Eye away’.
Van Helsing had come to see Mrs. Rouble at her shop – hoping to see if she had seen, or heard, anything else that could have helped solve the mystery of who killed Herr Monika (and maybe Jeremiah Simpkins). Evidently she wasn’t able to provide anymore information.
“Maybe,” said Judge Reiger, “the killer just hates music? She had lessons, Jeremiah had lessons… Herr Monika ran the damned lessons! It makes sense. Think about it.”
For a brief moment, Van Helsing had already thought about it. Music was the common link between all the murders.
“A music-hating vampire,” said Judge Reiger.
Van Helsing knew it wasn’t a vampire. That had already been proven. Herr Monika’s blood hadn’t been drunk. Mrs. Rouble’s blood was also still in her body – admittedly cold but it was definitely still present.
“A vampire didn’t do this,” said Van Helsing. He didn’t follow it up with another pointless explanation about vampires’ never biting people without drinking their blood; if Judge Reiger didn’t get it into his thick skull after the first time he was told, Van Helsing felt he probably wouldn’t have got it on the second.
“But we’re going to go with the music hater theory?”
Van Helsing wasn’t thinking about any theories. He could see trouble on the horizon that was clouding any thoughts about who the killer may or not be. He knew that when the rest of the town found out there had been another murder they’ll demand action; especially if Judge Reiger continued speaking out about it being a vampire. No matter how many times Van Helsing could say it was nothing to do with The Count, or his family, he knew that Judge Reiger would say the direct opposite. He could already see what the Judge was thinking about; he announces that he knows who the killer is and that it’s a vampire – he then hands down a death sentence for the vampires that leads to a cull. When all vampires are killed off, or chased from the town, the people would forget about their own losses and look to Judge Reiger as though he was some sort of hero for setting the whole plan in motion and, as a reward, make him mayor.
Whether it would actually work like that would be another matter altogether but what was guaranteed was that there was more blood on the horizon and the chances were that it would be the blood of the innocent.
Van Helsing had to get to the people first.
* * * * *
Once again the town’s people (those that could be bothered to turn up or weren’t too busy) were gathered at the town hall, in front of the stage where Van Helsing stood. Again, to the side of Van Helsing, were members of the council and Judge Reiger.
Word had spread pretty fast (thanks to faxes and emails) that Mrs. Rouble had been murdered and the people were already angry – screaming for the blood of the killer; demanding action be done.
“Who did it?” came one cry from the audience.
“At this moment in time, we have no firm leads,” replied Van Helsing, “but rest assured we are doing everything we can to find out who is responsible.”
Judge Reiger quickly (dramatically) stood up, “I’ll tell you who did it!”
Van Helsing spun around to face him, hoping that a ‘stern look’ would be enough to silence him from saying anything stupid; silen
ce him from saying anything that would kick start a war of the likes the town had never seen before. The ‘stern look’ did nothing to stop him.
“A MUSIC HATER DID IT!” Judge Reiger stopped and waited for the reaction of the crowd, hoping for a cheer of support that he was able to offer a suspect when the ‘great’ Van Helsing had been able to offer diddly-squat (nothing). There were no cheers. Instead, the audience simply looked bemused.
Van Helsing seized the opportunity, “One avenue that we are looking down is that the killer is someone with a disliking for music. So far that is the only common factor between the two murders. Even if we were to believe Mr. Simpkins was murdered away from the competition – he can still be linked to Herr Monika and Mrs. Rouble. I remind you, though, that at this stage we are very early in our investigations.”
Judge Reiger turned to Van Helsing, not wanting to be outdone (again), “Why don’t you tell them everything?”
Van Helsing froze.
“Yeah, tell us everything! What else do you know?” came another voice from within the crowd.
Judge Reiger walked to the front of the stage, next to Van Helsing who simply whispered, “Don’t do this.”
“What Mr. Helsing isn’t telling you, the good people, is that the victims also had bite marks! Bite marks on their necks no less! The bite marks of a VAMPIRE!”
The crowd gasped. There hadn’t been a vampire kill (not including the tourists who were, if you remember, fair game) since the signing of the Peace Treaty.
Van Helsing looked around the audience as Judge Reiger shot him a smug look; a look to say, ‘ha, I’m better than you’.
“You’re a damned fool!” said Van Helsing.
“No. I’m the one that gave them the truth – something you were too scared to do!”
Van Helsing raised his voice above the angry mutters of the audience (all of whom seemed to be uttering along the similar lines of – ‘kill them all’), “Listen to me, the bite marks in the necks weren’t that of a vampire! A vampire wasn’t responsible for the murders!”
“Don’t tell me you’re going to protect the vampires now – the same way that you protected the notorious mad-man Victor Frankenstein!”
The crowd stopped their uttering’s.
“Oh that’s right. You never told anyone how you knew that Victor Frankenstein didn’t die in the fire, did you? Now, why was that? Why is it that the sheriff of our town helped a monster disappear instead of giving the justice that was so deserved? And why is it that you, sheriff, are now protecting the vampires of our town? At what point did you suddenly team with them?”
The crowd remained quiet.
“The killer isn’t a vampire,” said Van Helsing trying to stop the people leaving the hall and heading straight into a bloodbath. “Look at the facts of what we know for sure… Herr Monika’s shop sign stated that the shop was ‘open’ so we know that he was killed before 6pm. Vampires don’t hunt until 10pm…”
“A vampire who is not only a music-hater but can’t tell the time either!” yelled Judge Reiger.
“There was still blood in both Mrs. Rouble and Herr Monika; pints of it. Vampires drink until their meals are drained completely! Mrs. Rouble,” he continued, “was also killed during the time it took for myself and Judge Reiger to get back from the castle… it was still daylight…”
“So we know the killer is a vampire who dislikes music, kills for fun, can’t tell the time and doesn’t mind the sun!” yelled Judge Reiger again, happy that he was damaging Van Helsing’s reputation.
“No, no, no,” yelled Van Helsing as he fought a losing battle but he noticed that the crowd was no longer looking at him – instead they were looking at the Judge. They were listening to the Judge.
“Sure we could hunt this vampire down but wouldn’t it just be easier to kill them all?”
The crowd cheered.
“Wouldn’t it be easier for us just to gather our arms and storm the castle, during the day and kill everyone hiding within?”
The crowd cheered again.
“They will kill you!” shouted Van Helsing. When he first killed a vampire he had simply got lucky – not that he told anyone this – the vampire had knocked him to the floor and went to pounce on him to finish him off only to impale itself on the piece of wood that Van Helsing had grabbed in a last ditch attempt to protect himself. Van Helsing remembered the fight as though it was yesterday. He remembered the sheer strength of the vampire. He remembered crying and begging for his life only to see the cruel, black eyes of the vampire glisten with joy at the prospect of feeding on him. He remembered his life flashing before his own eyes as the vampire merely tossed him around like a little rag doll. The town’s people didn’t have a chance.
“Are you really scared of the vampires killing us,” questioned Judge Reiger, “or are you scared that we will kill the vampires?”
The crowd (now a riled up, angry mob) cheered again. They wanted blood.
“Does The Count really see everything or do you just tell him everything during secret meetings? Perhaps – our best line of defence, against them, would be to get rid of you first.”
Before Van Helsing could react to the advancing crowd, Judge Reiger and Mr. Reeveson grabbed hold of his arms – stopping him from getting away (or trying to defend himself). The crowd cheered. They wanted blood. They wanted his blood.
Van Helsing never saw who hit him…
* * * * *
Van Helsing opened his eyes slowly – his head pounding from where he had been hit by someone (or something) hard.
“Where am I?”
No one answered him.
He was in a large bedroom, lying on a king-size bed with comfortable pillows underneath his bruised head. A tall candle in a silver candle-holder flickered away illuminating the room to show him that it wasn’t one of his own rooms in his humble abode – nor was it one of the rooms that belonged to one of his many lady friends who he had enjoyed the company of (perks of being a man of the badge). Slowly, he sat up as the room span around him.
“Try not to move,” said a voice from the shadows.
“Who are you? Step forward into the light,” demanded Van Helsing, “Where am I?”
“So many questions, you’ll give yourself more of a headache,” said the stranger (not the stranger that’s been going around killing people; you’ll be pleased to hear, but another stranger).
“How did I get here?”
“Master will tell you everything,” said the stranger; the female stranger. She stepped forward from the darkness – a tall, brunette vampire. Her fangs were clearly visible under the flickering light offered by the candle.
“Get back, foul demon!” Van Helsing pushed him self back against the headboard of the bed – hoping that the stranger wouldn’t be able to reach him.
“Try not to move. You’ve banged your head pretty hard,” said the vampire as she sat on the corner of the bed and reached out for Van Helsing with a cold hand. He tried to edge back further but couldn’t. Carefully she placed her hand against the side of his head. Normally the warmth from a human hand would have helped ease the dull ache of the purple bruise but Van Helsing felt nothing except fear – and a bloody cold hand!
“What do you want with me?” asked Van Helsing as he slowly started to relax (only a little bit – she was, after all, still a vampire).
“Master wants to see you,” she said as she examined his bruise. She took a damp cloth from the bedside table and pressed it against his face. The sting of the cold water against his bruise made Van Helsing flinch.
“Why are you looking after me?” he asked cautiously. For all he knew she was cleaning him up just so she didn’t have to eat a dirty meal (a bit like when you wipe a piece of chicken on your shirt after you’ve recently dropped it on the floor – it isn’t perfectly clean but you presume the fibres’ of your clothes are cleaner than the crap on the floor).
“We have a common interest,” said The Count from the doorway. Van Helsing h
ad been so preoccupied with watching the female vampire he hadn’t heard the door open – let alone The Count come in, “we both want to catch a killer.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
AN UNEASY ALLIANCE
November 3rd
Dear Sheriff,
I see you have gathered a posse to try and round me up. How very amusing. I never thought I would see the day where you would align yourself with my kind. What makes you think it is not me who is stood by your side when you are trying to hunt me? See you soon.
Fondest Regards.
THIRD LETTER SENT FROM KILLER
VAN HELSING never expected The Count to come to him for help. He never expected any of their kind to come to him for help and under any normal circumstances he would have simply turned his back and left them to fight their own battles. But their battle was his battle this time.
