by Paul Magrs
‘That’s marvellous! I can’t tell you how chuffed I am. Oh, by the way. This is my young man. For this evening, at any rate. My date for tonight. Michael. Michael? Say hello to the nice lady.’
Michael stood there. He continued to stare at Karla. He hadn’t moved from the spot or said a word since she had entered the room. He was agog.
‘Is there something wrong with him?’ Karla frowned.
‘Oh dear. He’s gone very quiet. He’s not usually rude. Michael? Michael, you don’t want to offend Ms Sorenson. Say good evening nicely, will you?’
‘G-good evening, M-ms Sorenson.’
‘Nice-looking bloke. I congratulate you on your taste in fellas, Mrs Claus.’
‘Yes, he’s quite a catch, isn’t he? You appear to have sent him into a nigh-on catatonic state, though.’
‘Sometimes I have this effect. It’s an occupational hazard with me, I do apologise. Once I’ve left the room, I’m sure he’ll return to normal.’
‘I hope so. I don’t want to be squired around all night by some flippin’ zombie, do I?’
‘Naturally. Ah. There’s something else I came to tell you, Mrs Claus.’
‘Yes?’
‘A request, rather.’
‘Go on.’
‘This cocktail do at midnight.’
‘I’ve told you. It will be my pleasure. We shall hold it in my rooms here, and I will be glad to introduce you to the great and the good of our town.’
‘That’s very kind. But I put in a request for you to rustle up some very special guests for me . . .’
‘Oh, them.’ There was a fleeting scowl on Mrs Claus’s face.
‘One in particular. I must ask, did you succeed? In rustling her up?’
‘Of course I did. I’m Mrs Claus. Everyone in this town does as I say. They dance to my every whim, don’t they, Michael?’
‘Yes, Mrs Claus.’
‘Isn’t he a doll? Anyway, yes. I put the feelers out. Brenda was out of town, but she’s back now. Snared and yanked home, and as keen to see you, by all accounts, as you are to see her.’
‘Excellent. And . . . has she arrived yet in the hotel?’
‘Apparently. And she’s brought the whole posse with her.’
‘The whole . . . ? You mean . . . ?’
‘That husband of hers too, yes. He’s there with them. With Effie and that ex-elf of mine, and some girl he’s knocking about with.’
‘Frank’s here as well! How delightful! Oh, I can’t wait to see him.’
‘Aye, well. Frank’s worth a look, I’ll say that for him. He’s all man.’
‘So I’ve heard. Well, Mrs Claus, I must congratulate you on your skill in pulling these things together.’
‘Anything, anything, Ms Sorenson.’
‘Brenda and Frank in the audience, as I sing! How wonderful.’
‘Do you know them, then? Because I must tell you, Brenda is no particular friend of mine . . .’
‘Oh, I know them mainly by repute, you know. Just whispers and rumours and strange tales. That’s really all I know.’
‘I see.’
‘I must return to my turret suite and prepare for my performance.’
‘You go. I’ll see you later. I’m sure you’ll put on a marvellous show.’
‘I will indeed! Au revoir, Ms Claus.’
‘Aye, see you later, dearie. Eeh, come on, Michael. Snap out of it. Say goodbye and see you later to the nice lady.’
‘G-g-g-g . . . S-s-s-s . . .’
‘Bless him! Never mind. I’m sure he’ll come to his senses eventually.’
‘I bloody well hope so! You’ve got him all agog!’
Dirty Looks
Throughout the cabaret, Effie was all too aware of receiving filthy looks from the women at the table directly across the dance floor. As Denise and Wheatley carried out their famous high-speed exorcism act, the women from the charity shop were glaring at Effie’s party and Effie just knew that she was being pulled apart. This print frock was too bold on her, she realised now. These orange and purple zig-zags – what was I thinking of ? It was a vintage gown, hidden away in a wardrobe in her emporium. A wonderful find. But I should wear drab things, Effie thought. Things that don’t draw attention to themselves. That’s what suits me.
Even Brenda and Robert had stared silently when Effie eventually shucked her outdoor clothes as they took their table. ‘What?’ she demanded.
‘N-nothing,’ Robert had said. ‘That’s an amazing dress, Effie. Very striking.’
Brenda had beamed at her. Frank just looked her up and down and gave this horrible smirk. Now Effie felt foolish.
They slurped at their peppery Bloody Marys and enjoyed the cabaret, which was becoming wilder as it progressed. ‘Oh, it is nice to be back in town,’ Brenda sighed. ‘Home again! Isn’t it nice, Frank?’
They all looked at Frank, and his smile was sickly.
‘And a new friend in our little party, eh?’ Brenda grinned at Penny. ‘Not so long ago it was just Effie and me on our nights out, wasn’t it, Effie? Two lonely old spinsters out at the bingo. Effie? What’s the matter?’
Effie’s attention was riveted on the table across the dance floor, where Teresa and Helen – the harpies from Save the Kiddies – were deep in conversation with Mrs Claus. The corpulent proprietress had parked up in her motorised scooter and her self-satisfied guffawing could be heard even above the noise coming from the stage.
So Teresa and Helen are thick with Mrs Claus, are they? Effie thought, narrowing her eyes. In that case I was right to distrust them. They’ve got to be horrible if they’re pals with that blowsy hag.
Tonight Mrs Claus was in a gold and crimson kaftan, shimmering with sequins. Her bouffant hair was apple red, as were her painted lips and cheeks. She seemed to take a huge relish in making herself as grotesque as possible, Effie thought.
She had a young man with her – and he wasn’t one of her usual tame elves. It was the sight of this gorgeously swarthy young man that made Penny gasp, when she turned to follow Effie’s gaze.
‘It’s Michael!’ she burst out. They all stared at the young man in the brand-new, sharply cut suit. He’d had his tumbling dark locks trimmed a little, Penny observed with a pang of dismay. What was he doing with those old women?
‘Who is he?’ Robert asked, looking amused. He squinted, but couldn’t get a good look at the fella. The old women were clustered about him like tiddly hyenas round a hapless zebra.
Quickly Penny explained her – well, it was only a fleeting acquaintanceship, really, with Michael from Spector in the old part of town. He had brought her caramel macchiattos and plates of crunchy bruschetta and they had passed the time of day during a couple of Penny’s afternoons off with some idle, mildly flirty badinage. But the way she had burst out with his name like that told all the others how much she fancied him.
Brenda said, ‘I do hope Mrs Claus hasn’t got her, erm, claws into him, lovey.’
‘Surely not!’ Penny laughed.
Robert looked serious. ‘Never underestimate that woman. I used to be an elf here, remember. I know the kind of thing she’s capable of.’
‘Mrs Claus has all of Whitby in her pocket,’ Effie said. ‘The media, the police, the local council – everything. She can do exactly what she wants – and frequently does.’ She glanced at Brenda, and caught her eye meaningfully. ‘We were going to figure out a way of dealing with her, weren’t we? Of bringing an end once and for all to her reign of terror?’
Brenda nodded solemnly. They were indeed. Ever since that strange episode when, for unexplained reasons of her own – Mrs Claus had gone to elaborate lengths in order to reunite Brenda with her one-time beau, Frank. Brenda wondered if the Yuletide hag simply revelled in the chaos she had unleashed. Perhaps she had never expected things to end up as happily as they had. Certainly, she wasn’t usually a benevolent matchmaker.
Brenda thought: Effie’s right. We’ve let things slide a little, me and her. And I’ve been distracted by Frank.
Maybe that was it. Mrs Claus had anticipated that a rapprochement with her man might make Brenda take her eye off the ball. It might lure her away from her true purpose and raison d’être in this town.
For Brenda – along with her stalwart companion Effie – was the guardian of Whitby. The long-dead wizened abbess had appeared on a number of occasions to apprise them of this fact. This was a town in constant supernatural danger due to its proximity to the underworld and multiple chaotic dimensions just a whisper away. Brenda and Effie couldn’t afford to let up in their fight against darkness and chaos and general unpleasantness. Who knew what might come crawling or slouching out of the ruined abbey? Or who might attempt to harness the eldritch forces swirling about this small fishing town?
Really, thought Brenda, I should never even have gone away for that break, should I? And definitely not for a full month. How selfish of me! Anything could have happened while my back was turned.
Then she thought of how the film crew was settling in and preparing to start work, and of the film they were intending to shoot, and of the cursed individual her little gang had come here to see this evening.
Brenda realised that things were already under way. Her absence had allowed the story to begin to unfold. She had returned home just in time.
Now the cabaret came to a splendid finish. Denise and Wheatley had excelled themselves with their flashing blades and lifelike ectoplasm. The crowded ballroom’s occupants applauded enthusiastically and the chandelier glowed more brightly as gentle music started up, beckoning them all to move on to the gleaming floor. To fill up the few minutes before the star of the show made her ineffable appearance.
Karla Sings
Actually, she loved every minute of it.
She hadn’t expected to. Not at all. Karla was a film actress. She wasn’t used to getting up on a stage, or confronting a crowd. Tonight she expected to totter out in front of that lot at the Christmas Hotel and to lose her nerve. But she loved it.
A few shop openings, a few benefit gigs, a couple of nightclub appearances back when her album had been released, more than thirty years ago. They were the only live public shows she had ever given. They were all long enough ago for her to forget that buzz; the glow that came from the audience.
Karla stepped up to the microphone and waved her arms in the air like she’d just scored a goal. She threw back her glorious golden-streaked tresses and shouted her thanks and appreciation to the crowd. They were on their feet! A standing ovation – and she hadn’t sung a note yet. This was all for her. Her stunning silver sheath of a dress and her divine figure. When she shook her arms triumphantly in the air, there was nothing slack about them. She was beautifully honed and toned.
Best thing was, she wouldn’t have to sing a single note. The technical elf had explained it to her backstage, ten minutes ago. The only backing track they had of her material had her vocals on it. She would simply have to mime, and concentrate on looking marvellous.
Karla had been mightily relieved. She asked them to click her microphone on between songs, so she could address her adoring public. Silence fell whenever she did this.
‘My friends! I must thank you so, so warmly for the welcome you have given me here tonight! Hello, Whitby! My new home-from-home!’
They were lapping her up. Then the disco music began, and she started hopping up and down and gyrating generous portions of herself, to the further delight of the occupants of the ballroom. Even Brenda and Effie were impressed by her performance. Robert’s eyes were alight. ‘She’s fantastic!’ he laughed, as Karla hit the chorus of the disco version of the theme to Get Thee Inside Me, Satan. ‘I had no idea she’d be as good as this!’
Penny simply rolled her eyes. This wasn’t her kind of thing at all. Music from the disco era was what her mother, Liz, loved, and Penny had been dragged out to many mother-and-daughter disco nights over the years. She herself preferred something a little heavier and more nihilistic. When she explained this – shouting down Robert’s ear – he laughed. ‘What could be more nihilistic than a disco song called “Get Thee Inside Me, Satan”?’
She couldn’t explain it to him, but she was depressed by the whole experience. The way the old people around her were tapping their feet in a jaunty manner – even that witch Effie. They were carried along. They were dragged up on their feet by the music. Soon the dance floor was filling up and Karla thanked them heartily in the gap before her next song, the famous title track, ‘Boogie with Beelzebub’.
Penny sat alone at her table and sipped her Bloody Mary, and watched the others twirl about the room. I should join in more, maybe, she thought.
That thought got her up on her feet and sent her quietly around the edge of the room, to where Michael was sitting with Mrs Claus. She was keen to have a word with him. Ask him what he was doing with that old bag. Maybe he’d even ask her up on the floor, and she might not be as disparaging about dancing then. Oh, what am I thinking of ? she cursed. The vodka was obviously hitting the mark. And then she saw that she was too late. Michael was holding Mrs Claus’s hand, and guiding her streamlined chair on to the floor. He was dancing with her! Swaying and thrusting provocatively at the old woman, as she sat in her bath chair, lapping it all up and clapping in time with the horrible tune.
Where have I come to? Penny asked herself furiously. She surveyed the whole room. It was filled with freaks and weirdos, hardly any of them under seventy. What’s going on here? It’s like some weird bacchanal. She shivered suddenly. Her fingers were tingling. Penny trusted her psychic insights. They always told her when something was up. And right now, she thought, something was definitely up.
She looked up to the ceiling, where the mirror balls were spinning and the vast chandelier in the centre of the room spilled out glorious cascades of golden light. There was something strange about the chandelier, she thought. Something was wrong. It was swaying, shivering, tinkling. The music was pounding. Surely its millions of crystals were vibrating and humming to the disco beat. Surely . . .
It was going to fall. The whole huge chandelier was going to snap off its guy rope and crash to the ballroom floor.
And who was directly beneath the chandelier? Who was dancing gently in the middle of the room, quite out of synch with all the others? Which couple held each other tightly and simply swayed, oh-so-romantically, directly in the firing line?
It was Brenda and Frank.
Penny screamed at the top of her voice: ‘WATCH OUT!’
At first no one heard her. Then, as she moved towards the dance floor, still yelling, people jerked around, and backed away in alarm. Penny never took her eyes away from the chandelier. No doubt about it. It was twisting violently now, as if it were possessed and trying to wrench itself out of its fixings.
‘The chandelier!’ Penny screamed.
But it was no good. Karla’s ghastly ululations seemed to become even louder. The thudding bass rhythm made the whole room shudder. Penny’s bones felt as if they were pulsing in harmony with the horrible racket. It was too late!
She stared up at the chandelier and . . .
Now it seemed to go still.
Everything was on hold. Everything seemed to freeze. But then one tiny crystal droplet – perhaps the tiniest on the whole chandelier – detached itself from its hook.
Penny held her breath as the minute crystal fell, scattering splinters of prismatic light all about the vast room. Could no one else see it?
Turning end over end on the hot disco air.
Slicing through the steamy darkness like a crystal sword.
‘FRANK!’ Penny screamed, and this time she was heard. ‘LOOK UP!’
Frank reacted quickly. He had a great sense of self-preservation. He always had. And now, responding to the terror in Penny’s voice, he knew he was in danger. Brenda was in danger. He gave his beloved a flat-handed shove, knocking her brusquely away from him. Brenda cried out in shock and windmilled her arms, crashing into the other dancers. Heads whipped around. Screams rang ou
t. Karla carried on singing.
And the crystal tear continued to fall.
Frank whipped his head around. He looked up.
Penny gave a strangled shout.
The crystal dropped directly into Frank’s eye. That was what she saw. Others must have seen it too, surely? They watched him standing there, stock still and silent.
Then he swayed and crashed to the floor.
The sprung floor quaked at the impact, alerting everyone that something untoward had gone on during ‘Boogie with Beelzebub’. When the music stopped, they all came gathering round to inspect the twisted body of Frank.
Brenda scrambled to her feet and ran to him. The first thing she noticed was his eyes, screwed up so tightly, as if he’d hurt them, or something was in one of them.
‘What is it? What’s wrong with him?’ Brenda howled, rocking his body and cradling his head on her lap.
Penny hurried towards her, fighting through the press of bodies. She knew what it was that had happened. She had seen the whole thing.
Felled
They were all full of concern, but Robert didn’t trust any of them. He had been through too much at the Christmas Hotel to place trust in any of its staff. It did seem, though, as they came hurrying through the clouds of dry ice, that Mrs Claus and all her elves were very worried about the state of Frank.
He wasn’t budging. He lay in the centre of the sprung floor, his limbs in a tangle, his breathing very shallow. His eyes were squeezed shut in a terrible frozen wince.
‘Is he in a coma?’ Effie hissed. She felt very knowledgeable about comas, having slipped into one for several fraught days only last year.
The music had stopped. The house lights were on – glaringly, brutally. The other revellers had drawn back and were watching from the ballroom’s sidelines. Many of them had already obeyed Mrs Claus’s exhortations to go home at once: the party was well and truly over.
Someone – perhaps it was Penny, Robert thought – had dragged a chair over for Brenda to perch on. She sat right beside Frank, looking mystified and lost. Her face had gone an awful fish-belly white. Robert had never seen Brenda looking so distraught. The steadfast Effie was hovering, rubbing her friend’s broad back. ‘It’ll be all right, ducky. You’ll see. The ambulance is on its way.’
