by Mike Bennett
He turned and walked away. ‘And don’t say stuff like that either. It’s fucked up.’ He entered the kitchen. Ana was making all manner of buffet foods for the evening and talking to Beltran in Spanish. Beltran was sitting at the table with his back to David and didn’t hear him enter.
‘Doctor Morales?’
Beltran turned. ‘Yes,’ he smiled. ‘And you must be David.’ He got up and extended his hand.
‘Oh, señor David!’ said Ana. ‘I have to thank you for making the guest list more manageable for this kitchen. Your sister, she wanted to feed the five thousand.’
David shook Beltran’s hand. ‘Did you bring the medical equipment?’
‘Yes. It’s in my car.’
‘Excellent. Shall we go?’ He held out a hand to the door.
Beltran nodded and led the way out. ‘It’s quite a radical step you’re taking, if you don’t mind my saying so.’
‘I know. But surely one that’s preferable to taking a human life, Doctor?’ said David with a subtle emphasis on the word “doctor”.
Beltran smiled. ‘Of course.’
They stepped out into the late afternoon sun. The droning of crickets filled the air as they walked across the courtyard towards the cars.
‘You are a doctor yourself?’ asked Beltran.
‘I was a paramedic.’
‘Was?’
‘Yes, I teach English now – or should I say, I taught English.’
Beltran chuckled. ‘Ah, you have accepted your new position as guardian, no?’
‘Reluctantly, yes.’
‘You know Lydia will do the job if – ’
‘Yes, thank you she’s made me well aware of her career aspirations.’
‘You think because she is a woman – ?’
‘No, I think because she is a nutter – not to put too fine a point on it.’ They stopped at the rear of Beltran’s white Mercedes and Beltran opened the boot.
‘She is a passionate woman, David. She always gets what she wants.’
‘Yeah, well not this time.’ David looked into the boot. In addition to general boot clutter there were a number of telescopic metal stands and a couple of bulky-looking travel holdalls. He nodded. ‘Is this everything?’
‘Sí, I think it’s sufficient for the purpose.’
David gestured to a holdall. ‘May I?’
‘Of course.’
David unzipped the bag and looked inside. It was full of clear plastic tubes and assorted electrical equipment. ‘Looks good, but then I’m sure you know better than I do what’s needed for a job like this. Lydia says blood is your speciality.’
‘Yes,’ Beltran’s smile widened. ‘I’ve always been drawn to the sight of blood.’
‘Er, I see,’ said David. He looked away, suddenly uncomfortable. ‘Well, thanks very much for bringing the gear.’
‘De nada.’
‘I’ll take the bags and, well, if you could bring in the stands?’
Beltran inclined his head in the smallest of bows. David picked up the bags and started back for the house. Beltran took out the stands, slammed the boot closed, and followed him. ‘Lydia tells me you’ve severely restricted the guest list.’
‘That’s right.’
‘For, er, safety reasons, eh?’
‘Partly. Lydia’s plan to invite a trainload of people was ... ’ He hesitated a moment, then continued using a phrase he knew would provoke the least disagreement. ‘Contrary to the wishes of the Master.’ It had the desired effect.
‘Of course,’ Beltran’s tone was deferential. ‘We must obey the Master’s wishes. But he also wishes to be resurrected by human sacrifice, no? And this, you feel, is optional?’
‘Well, it’s a question of semantics really, isn’t it? He wishes to be resurrected, yes,’ said David walking back into the kitchen, ‘and to that end he needs fresh human blood, straight from a living source.’ He put the bags down and turned to face Beltran. ‘But I believe the term “sacrifice” can be replaced with “donor”. If we do this, we can achieve exactly the same results but without anybody dying – which,’ he arched his eyebrows, questioningly, ‘as a medical man, I’m sure you’d agree is preferable?’
Beltran smiled. ‘My becoming a doctor was my parents’ idea, David. I did not hear any medical calling, as perhaps you did.’
‘But still, you must surely value human life?’
‘Of course, but, er, perhaps not in the same way as you do.’
Ana intervened. ‘Me, I think it’s a magnificent idea. I was speaking with Doctor Morales a moment ago and we are both deeply honoured to be giving our blood to resurrect Lord Underwood, no Beltran?’
‘Sí, of course, it is unquestionably a magnificent honour.’
‘I only wish my mother could be there to see it,’ said Ana, beating eggs in a large bowl. ‘What she would have given to be part of this ceremony.’
‘Well, I’m glad you both approve,’ said David, picking up the bags again. ‘Doctor, whenever you’re ready?’
‘Could I use the bathroom first? I need to freshen up.’
‘Sure,’ David nodded, glad to have the chance to go on ahead. ‘Ana will show you the way when you’re ready to join me.’ He turned and left the room.
In the library he opened the cellar door and took a deep breath. The lights were already on below. ‘Happy thoughts,’ he murmured. ‘Negative, fearful thoughts will be turned against you.’ He tried to whistle and a dry note rasped tunelessly from between his lips. He puckered up but just couldn’t whistle, so instead he started humming and stepped into Underwood’s crypt doing as cheery a version of Happy Talk as he could manage. He went down the stairs like he owned them – briskly, without any hesitation, as if he were back in the army and following orders to just get down there and get the job done. But he didn’t look at the coffin, so he didn’t notice Lydia already downstairs and waiting for him.
‘David! There you are’.
David started. ‘Jesus!’ he turned to see her sitting on one of two dining chairs that Ana had positioned either side of the coffin. ‘You made me jump.’
‘Feeling nervous?’
David ignored the question. ‘What are you doing down here anyway?’
‘Oh, I just wondered how things were coming along. I have to say, I’m a little disappointed: it’s not exactly what I’ve been dreaming of all these years.’
‘Oh?’ said David setting the bags down beside the coffin. ‘And what have you been dreaming of all these years?’
‘Oh you know, tethered virgins, jewelled daggers, screaming, bleeding , the usual stuff.’
‘You like that kind of thing, do you?’
Lydia’s reply was sensual. ‘Mmm, I love it.’
‘Well sorry to piss on your firework, Lydia, but tonight is going to look more like an episode of General Hospital.’
‘General Hospital meets Dracula,’ said Beltran walking down the stairs to join them.
‘Yes,’ said Lydia. ‘Belly, did you ever see that old Hammer movie, Dracula, Prince of Darkness?’
Beltran shrugged. ‘I don’t know the titles in English. Which one was that?’
‘It was one of the Christopher Lee ones, the second I think. I always remember there was a resurrection scene in it at the start.’
David started unpacking the bags.
Lydia continued. ‘Dracula was just ash, you see, and his human servant – the David of the piece, I suppose – poured Dracula’s ashes into a sort of man-shaped stone mould. Then he hoisted his sacrifice up over the ashes and slit his throat and the blood all splattered down into the mould and Dracula rose up out of the smoke. It was very good.’
Beltran shook his head ‘No, I didn’t see that one.’
David sniffed dismissively. He spoke without looking up from his work. ‘So, Dracula was like a blancmange-mould man, was he?’
Lydia frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, it sounds like he was the powdered blancmange mixture that you add milk to
, you know?’ He glanced at Lydia whose frown was undiminished. He smiled. ‘It’s a good thing the servant got Dracula’s ashes arranged in the right order, isn’t it? I mean, imagine if he’d got the ashes of Dracula’s arse where his head should have been.
‘Don’t be silly,’ said Lydia.
‘And if he did, would that arse have fangs? Just think, he’d rise up from the smoke with a fanged arse on his shoulders. Now that would be scary.’
‘Oh, for god’s sake, David!’ Lydia snapped. ‘It was just a film.’
‘Exactly.’ David stood up. ‘But tonight isn’t, which I think is something you keep forgetting, Lydia. The creature in this box isn’t Christopher Lee, or Bela Lugosi, or any of the rest of them. That lot are all actors with pointy dentures in. But the creature in this box – ’ he was about to slap the lid of the coffin, but then thought better of it. ‘God help us, the creature in this box is real. And yes, while we are going to revive him, we are at least going to do it using sane and humane techniques, not B-movie butchery.’
Lydia rolled her eyes. ‘Really? How quaint.’ She got up and peered down at this work. ‘So what’s that then?’
David swatted her away impatiently. ‘Look, why don’t you just clear off, Lydia? I don’t even know what you’re doing down here. You’re about as much use right now as a chocolate teapot, so why don’t you go upstairs and give Ana a hand with the food or those robes you were going on about earlier?’
‘Oh, I see,’ said Lydia. ‘Of course, all the women can go and make the tea while the men...’ She waved a hand at the apparatus David was assembling. ‘Play with their sane, humane Meccano sets.’
‘Oh, no, no, you don’t have to feed your guests, Lydia. You don’t need to feed them, and you don’t need to dress them up like a bunch of Jawas either. In fact, you don’t even need them here at all.’
‘They’re not my guests, David, they’re his.’ Lydia pointed at the coffin. ‘And as for the robes – are you seriously suggesting we all stand around looking like we just rolled in off the street? This is the most important Sect event in over 50 years!’
‘Fine, so go and attend to it.’
‘I will,’ said Lydia. She walked to the foot of the stairs. ‘Oh, and while we’re on the subject, what size robe do you take?’
‘How the hell should I know? I’m normal – I’ve never been measured for Satanic evening wear.’
‘Well going by the clothes you wear, I’d say you’ve never been measured for anything.’ She looked him over. ‘Well, you look about the same size as Beltran, wouldn’t you say, Belly?’
Beltran considered David’s physique a moment, then nodded.
‘Oh, no,’ said David. ‘I’m not wearing one of your stupid robes.’
‘Pardon?’
‘I said, I’m not wearing a robe.’
Lydia looked aghast. ‘But – you’ll look ridiculous! You can’t be serious?’
‘Lydia, I need to be able to supervise things tonight, not just the resurrection of Underwood but also a delicate medical procedure, and I can’t very well do that flapping about the place dressed like Friar Tuck, now can I?’
‘But you must, you’re the head of the ceremony.’
‘So what? I can wear what I’m wearing now.’
‘Jeans and a t-shirt?’ Lydia was scandalised. ‘You most certainly will not! You’re the guardian. You can’t turn up looking like a scruff. Have you lost all sense of decorum?’
David looked at Beltran for support.
Beltran shrugged and nodded gravely. ‘I’m afraid she is right. It would be – how do you say? Unbecoming?’
David sighed. ‘Oh, all right. Okay, I’ll wear a robe – but I’m not putting the hood up.’
Lydia smiled. ‘Fine.’
‘And I’ll need to have the sleeves fixed back somehow. I don’t know – have you got any bicycle clips?’
‘Bicycle clips? Oh David, don’t be ridiculous. I suppose we might have some elastic bands somewhere, but you’ll have to take them off as soon as His Lordship revives.’
David nodded. ‘Okay. Robe, elastic bands. Could you sort that out for me?’
‘Of course,’ Lydia started up the stairs. ‘I’m a woman, aren’t I? Would you like me to iron your robe for you while I’m at it?’
David looked up. ‘Would you?’
With a sweet smile, Lydia raised her middle finger and left the cellar.
An hour later, David stood in front of the full-length mirror in his bedroom wearing just his boxer shorts and trainers. He held the robe Lydia had given him awkwardly in front of himself, as if it might have been contaminated with the Ebola virus. Apparently, it was a spare of Beltran’s that he’d had in the boot of his car. It was black and made of light cotton, which had come as a surprise to David; he’d been expecting something similar to what a monk might wear, something brown and heavy. He looked inside for a label but found none. Hardly surprising, who the hell would manufacture these? Evidently Beltran had had it made specially, as had Lydia with hers. David opened the robe and put it on. His nose wrinkled as he caught a whiff of B.O. from the armpits of the gown. Strange, he thought; what could Beltran have been doing in this to work up a sweat? It was hardly the sort of thing you’d wear in the gym. Then he noticed the Velcro fastenings. Not exactly gothic, but practical. He fastened the front and tied the black cord at his waist. Then he looked at himself in the mirror. He pulled up the hood, tugging it forward so it hung slightly over his brow and cast a shadow over his face.
‘Oh, very cool,’ he said, turning to check his profile. ‘This season’s must-have Satanic hoodie from Lydia and Beltran of Malaga.’ He turned and walked over to the window. Outside, the sky was darkening as the sun sank into its fiery bed at the edge of the world. This was it: the sun was setting on Underwood’s rest. When the sun rises again, the vampire will have been resurrected, and he, David Flinch, will have done it. He will have suckled it, fed it, and nurtured it back into the world of the living. He will have unleashed the monster.
He threw off the hood, sat down and lit a cigarette. God, he wanted a drink. Maybe he could allow himself just one – just one to calm his nerves. He smiled at his reflection in the mirror and spoke aloud. ‘No way, José, not tonight or any other night.’ The guests had started arriving about an hour ago and he could hear them below, laughing and chatting, English and Spanish voices drifting up along with a truly dreadful 80’s music mix that Lydia had put together. Right now Wham’s Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go was playing. David smiled bitterly, it was if Underwood were channelling messages to him through George Michael.
Then he caught sight of a stain on his robe, difficult to see because it appeared almost black on the black fabric, but the red light of the setting sun gave it a rusty coloured tinge. He scratched it with his fingernail. What could that be? He wondered. What does Beltran do in this thing? Maybe he watches TV in it – maybe it’s wine or tomato sauce. He remembered what Lydia said about Beltran and his fetishes and the thought crossed his mind that perhaps it was some sexual secretion. He wiped his fingernail on an unstained area of the robe and looked back to his reflection.
‘Great. Here I am, sitting in Beltran’s funky, muck-stained robe waiting to raise the Lord of the Undead. Could things get any weirder?’
Lydia called up to him from downstairs. ‘David, canapés are served.’
In the mirror, he raised his eyebrows. ‘Well, that’s a “yes” then.’
Lydia called again. ‘Come on down and meet people.’
David stood up and straightened his robe in the mirror. ‘Well, if I’m going to be damned, it may as well be on a full stomach.’
It was a warm, sultry evening as David stepped out into the courtyard. The fountain was illuminated by white lights set in its pool, while all around coloured floodlights threw a warm fiery glow against the white stucco walls. Various tables of food and drink had been laid out against the walls. No-one paid any attention to David as he was dressed exactly the same as e
veryone else. All the guests were robed and were wearing their hoods down – eating, drinking and chatting in groups around the courtyard.
‘David!’
He turned at the sound of his name to see Lydia sweep from the crowd to thrust a plate of canapés under his nose.
‘Have a canapé.’
He suddenly realised he wasn’t hungry, but took one anyway. ‘Thanks.’
‘I see the robe fits. You look superly sinister. Aren’t you glad you dressed for the occasion? Imagine what a sore thumb you’d be if you’d worn jeans and a t-shirt.’
‘Mmm,’ he said, taking a bite of canapé. ‘A real freak.’
Lydia wore her robe open at the chest revealing the top of her cleavage and a small inverted silver crucifix. David nodded to it. ‘Nice crucifix. Did you get it from the same Satanic costume shop as the robes?’
She looked down at the crucifix then back up to him with a smile. ‘Do you like it? I think it goes rather well with the occasion. Come on,’ she set the tray aside and linked his arm, ‘I want to introduce you to the few members of the Sect that survived the whittling-down process.’
‘Lydia, I don’t really feel very sociable right now. I’m kind of distracted.’
‘Oh don’t be silly,’ said Lydia, leading him forwards despite his resistance. ‘You’ll soon warm up.’
David was about to pull away when he saw a little old man in the group she was heading towards. ‘Jesus, Lydia,’ he whispered. ‘There’s an old man here.’
‘Yes, that’s señor Hernández Senior. He was dad’s original lawyer back in the 50’s.’
David was aghast. ‘Oh, please tell me he’s not going downstairs!’
‘Of course he is. Don’t be obtuse, David – he’s almost one of the family.’
David looked at señor Hernández Senior; he had to be at least eighty. David was about to object to his attendance when the old man’s thick spectacles found Lydia and his face lit up.
‘Lydia,’ he croaked.
