by Mike Bennett
Lydia steered David into the heart of the throng. ‘Señor Hernández, may I present my brother, David Flinch, Lord Underwood’s new guardian.’
The old man reached for David’s hand. ‘Hola y beinvenidos, señor Flinch. I am your humble servant, as I was to your brother and his father before him.’
‘Er, gracias, señor.’ David shook señor Hernández Senior’s hand briefly before allowing the old man to kiss it.
‘And this,’ said Lydia, indicating a handsome bald man in his fifties, ‘is señor Hernández junior, our lawyer here.’
‘An honour,’ said señor Hernández Junior, shaking David’s hand.
‘Yes, for me too, señor. Very pleased to meet you.’
‘If I can be of any assistance in facilitating your move to our country, please, don’t hesitate to contact me, day or night.’
‘Thank you, señor Hernández.’
‘Please, call me Ildefonso.’
‘Ildefonso, yes and – well, call me David.’
Ildefonso pumped David’s hand with renewed enthusiasm. ‘Gracias, David. This is a blessed night in Hell.’
‘Yes, er, I’m sure it is.’
‘And on Earth,’ added the old man.
‘Praise Satan. Praise Lord Underwood,’ said Lydia.
A murmur of consent went around the group. David suddenly felt mildly nauseated. With a polite smile, he took a step away from the group. ‘Excuse me, señors and señoras, I, I think I need a glass of water.’
‘Well, I’ll get you one,’ said Lydia. ‘Here,’ she indicated the woman next to Ildefonso, ‘this is Eugenia, Ildefonso’s wife.’
David smiled and exchanged kisses with Eugenia. ‘Encantado, señora.’ Then he caught Lydia by the robe as she made to leave and said: ‘No, really, Lydia, I think I need to sit down for a moment.’
‘Are you okay?’ asked Eugenia. Everyone in the group regarded David with concerned expressions.
‘Yes,’ David smiled. ‘Just a combination of heat and nerves, I think.’
Señor Hernández Senior nodded. ‘Sí, claro. Tonight is a very important occasion. You should rest and prepare yourself, señor Flinch.’
‘Muchas Gracias, señor,’ said David. He turned to Lydia. ‘You see? I need to rest and prepare myself.’
She smiled. ‘Of course you do.’ Then to the rest of the group, she added, ‘We can always socialise later, perhaps in the company of His Lordship?’
This was greeted with a murmur of awed approval by the group and David took the opportunity to head back to the kitchen. He bowed slightly and left. He hadn’t gone more than a few feet before Lydia came up alongside him again.
‘What do you think you’re you doing?’ She hissed. ‘You need to meet these people!’
‘Look, I just want to chill somewhere, okay?’
‘David, these people are the members of the Sect. As guardian you need to know every one of them personally and this is the perfect occasion to meet and greet.’
‘Fuck meet and greet! I feel sick. These people make my skin crawl, they’re evil.’
‘Oh stop being such a wet blanket! Everyone is evil at heart, it’s part of human nature; it’s what made us the dominant species, for God’s sake. And the dominators of the dominant species – every really successful person on Earth, from CEOs to presidents – well, they’re all in touch with their inner evil, aren’t they? And so should you be; it makes ruthless decision making so much easier – it even makes it fun.’
‘Oh, bollocks. The only reason man is still around today, Lydia is because we’ve evolved beyond evil and barbarity.’
Lydia laughed. ‘Oh, you’re such a wally. I bet you like Star Trek, don’t you?’
‘Eh?’ David sounded hurt. ‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
Then Lydia noticed the Bensons approaching. ‘Oh, never mind. These people are my best friends so be nice.’
‘Yeah, in a minute. Tell me, what’s wrong with Star Trek?’
‘Shut up and smile!’ She pinched his arm.
‘Ow!’
‘Lydia brightened as the Bensons drifted alongside. ‘Why, Cynthia, Gerald, I don’t believe you’ve met my brother, David.’
‘Ah, the guardian himself,’ said Gerald. ‘Should we bow, or just shake hands?’
‘Bow,’ said David.
‘Really?’ said Gerald, surprised.
David smiled. ‘No, I’m just kidding,’ he extended his hand. ‘Nice to meet you.’
‘Ah, jolly good,’ said Gerald, shaking David’s hand. ‘Benson. Gerald Benson. And this is my wife, Cynthia.’
‘Lovely to finally meet you, David,’ said Cynthia. She moved in and kissed him on both cheeks. ‘Lydia has been going on about you for positively ages. David this, and David that. I’m only sorry this wonderful occasion comes so hard upon poor John’s passing. I’m so sorry for your loss.’
‘Thank you,’ said David.
‘Yes,’ Gerald nodded, ‘Deepest sympathies. A good man, John. Like his brother before him, by all accounts. Never knew him, of course, but Lydia said he was a sterling chap. Like all you Flinch boys, eh? Must be in the genes.’
David smiled. ‘Thank you.’
Ana came over with a drinks tray. ‘Would you like a drink, señor David?’
‘Thank you, Ana.’ He looked at the drinks. ‘Do you have anything non-alcoholic?’
She pointed to a glass at the edge of the tray. ‘Still water, especially for you.’
He took it. ‘Muchas gracias.’
‘Ah,’ Gerald chuckled. ‘Keeping a clear head eh? Very wise.’
‘Actually, I don’t drink.’
‘Oh, no of course not,’ said Gerald, taking a glass of champagne. ‘Lydia mentioned that. Spot of trouble with the sauce in the past, eh?’
‘Yes,’ David gave Lydia a cold smile. ‘In the past.’
‘Well, you’re obviously a man of character, David,’ said Cynthia. ‘It takes character to beat an addiction. I’m afraid I’ve no willpower whatsoever. What was it Wilde said? “The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it.” That’s me all over.’ She looked David straight in the eyes. ‘Always yielding to temptation.’
David smiled politely. ‘Well, you have to take life one day at a time, Cynthia, that’s what they say. But now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to make final preparations downstairs.’
‘Oh yes, of course,’ said Gerald. ‘Nearly time, eh? The great moment approaches.’
‘Oh, surely not yet, David?’ said Lydia.
‘Well, I just want everything go smoothly, Lydia, as I’m sure we all do.’
‘Lydia tells us you’re going to make radical changes to the resurrection ceremony,’ said Cynthia.
‘Yes,’ said David. ‘I’m not going to murder anyone.’
‘Capital idea,’ said Gerald. ‘Weird of course, but I’m always up for a spot of the weird.’ He chuckled and added with a wink, ‘it’s what keeps me so young-looking. Ha!’
Cynthia gave Gerald a tolerant smile then said to David, ‘Yes, murder is, of course, undesirable, but surely murder – or should we say, the taking of life – is fundamentally part of what a vampire does, isn’t it?’
‘Exactly,’ said Lydia. ‘That’s what I keep telling him.’
Cynthia continued. ‘Surely after fifty years in the grave Lord Underwood is bound to be rather … parched? I honestly can’t imagine how you’re going to raise him without just the teensiest spot of homicide?’
‘Well, I don’t doubt that he’s going to be thirsty, Cynthia, but thirsty creatures – really dehydrated creatures, can’t drink fast and they certainly can’t drink much. The body just won’t take it. The re-hydration process needs to be gradual, and I’m betting that the same is going to be true for Lord Underwood.’
Gerald nodded. ‘Hmm. Makes sense.’
‘Yes,’ said Cynthia. ‘But it’s not what we’ve come to expect, is it?’
‘What have we come to expect?’ said David. ‘Dracula? Salem’s Lot? The gospe
l according to Buffy the Vampire Slayer?’ He shook his head. ‘These are all fictions. The only facts we have are those which my family’s ancestors have recorded in their diaries and notebooks. John was familiar with these, and he left me notes on my role as guardian and how to deal with tonight’s ceremony – and there’s nothing that I’ve read in there that convinces me that that creature in the cellar has to kill in order to live. Yes – it has to feed on warm, living blood – but murder as a necessary objective in its day to day function? No. Murder is an occupational hazard, not a physiological need. I mean, think about it: a domestic dog doesn’t have to hunt and kill in order to eat, now does it?’
‘You see?’ Lydia moved alongside David and took his arm. ‘David’s planning on domesticating our Master like a common Chihuahua.’
‘No,’ said David, moving away from her. ‘I’m planning on teaching him how to survive in the twenty-first century. You were right when you said he needed to adapt to our world, and one thing’s for sure, in the modern world, you can’t go around murdering people willy-nilly for very long before you wind up getting nicked.’ A few other people began to drift over to listen more closely.
‘Yes, but not a vampire, surely?’ said Gerald. ‘They’d never catch him, would they?’
‘Why not?’ said David. ‘Because he’ll turn into a bat and fly away?’
‘Well, er, yes, I imagine that would help.’
‘Hammer movies, Gerald. He can’t turn into a bat any more than I can.’
Lydia frowned. ‘I seem to recall Dad told us on more than one occasion that he could.’
‘Stories for children, Lydia, that’s all. John mentions that Underwood can turn into a bat too, but that has to be based on myth – maybe one propagated by Underwood himself to inspire awe in his followers. The bottom line is, one creature can’t turn into another creature. It’s just not possible.’
‘Tell that to the caterpillar,’ said Cynthia.
‘Or the tadpole,’ added Lydia.
‘Or even the ugly duckling,’ said Gerald. ‘Oh, but then, of course it wasn’t a duckling at all, was it? – because if it became a swan then it’d have to have been a signet in the first place. Hmmm. I’m sorry, ignore me.’
‘No,’ said David, ‘Essentially, you’re right, Gerald, these are all examples of creatures maturing. But tell me this, can the butterfly return to being a caterpillar?’
They were silent.
‘No,’ said David, ‘Exactly.’
‘Alright then, so even if he can’t turn into a bat,’ said Gerald, ‘he can’t have existed for hundreds of years without giving the coppers the slip from time to time, now can he?’
‘Yes, sure, the coppers of old, Gerald, the coppers that couldn’t catch Jack the Ripper. But how long do you think Jack the Ripper could evade detection these days with all the advances of modern forensic science?’
Gerald pouted thoughtfully. ‘Hmm, not long perhaps.’
‘Just imagine the scenario for a minute: bodies turning up, bites on the neck, drained of blood, same thing night after night; first based in this area, then moving south, then west – a pattern emerges both in M.O. and in the direction of flight. Oh, it might take them a while, but they’d catch him for sure.’
‘So supposing you’re right, David?’ said Cynthia. ‘What would they do with him if they did catch him – put him in prison? Surely he’d escape.’
‘More likely they’d put him in some sort of lab,’ said David. ‘Study him, probe him, run tests on him. He’d be treated like what he is: an aberration of nature, a freak species that needs to be experimented on, catalogued and understood.’
‘I say,’ said Gerald. ‘An aberration of nature? That’s almost blasphemy, David.’
‘Only if you see Underwood as a god, Gerald, and I don’t.’
‘So what do you see him as?’ asked Lydia. ‘A freak?’
David turned to her. ‘I see him for what he is Lydia: just another creature, the same as we humans or any other living thing.’
‘I thought he wasn’t living,’ said Gerald. ‘You know, undead and all that.’
‘That’s just more nonsense,’ said David. ‘Dead things don’t need sustenance, Gerald. They don’t need to rest every night and they certainly don’t need to rest in a box for fifty-odd years. No, he’s a living thing in a state of hibernation, a state that will soon change to one of wakefulness – or at least it will if I could be excused in order to make my final preparations.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Time really is getting away from us, ladies and gentlemen.’
‘Oh, yes, of course,’ said Gerald. He stepped aside slightly and the small crowd that had gathered behind him parted to let David through. David walked to the kitchen door where he stopped beside the stereo to silence Duran Duran in the middle of Hungry Like the Wolf. Everyone stopped talking and looked over.
‘Doctor Morales and Ana,’ David announced. ‘Would you come with me, please? It’s time.’
Five minutes later, David, Beltran and Ana stood gazing at the coffin where it stood on its low stone plinth. The rich, dark oak had been recently polished and it gleamed dully in the light of the candles that burned all around the room.
‘We’re going to need more light,’ said David. ‘Let’s get this turned on.’ Warily, he indicated the single bulb that hung directly over the coffin.
‘Lydia will not like that,’ said Beltran. ‘It will spoil the ambience.’
David turned to him. ‘Bollocks to the ambience, Doctor. These candles are barely enough to see by as it is. How bright do you think it’s going to be later with that Sect mob all gathered around? I could play pin the tail on the donkey with your veins if you like, but I think it would be a lot better for all of us – His Lordship included – if I could see where I was sticking the needles.’
‘He is right, Doctor,’ said Ana.
‘But this,’ Beltran tapped the bulb. ‘It’s so unforgiving!’
David raised his eyebrows. ‘Well I’m open to suggestions, Doctor. Maybe we could all wear head lights?’
‘No,’ Beltran shook his head. ‘I don’t have any of those and anyway, they would not go with the robes.’
A voice came from behind them. ‘Maybe someone could simply hold one of those candlesticks over you while you work?’ They turned to see Conchita coming down the stairs to join them. ‘Forgive me, David. I know you want to prepare, but you forget – I am a trained nurse. I could assist, no?
Beltran nodded. ‘It’s a good idea.’
‘Okay,’ David agreed. ‘I suppose since you’re going to be here anyway, you might as well lend a hand. Thanks – I mean, if you’re sure you want to be, you know, up close.’
Conchita smiled. ‘You think I would rather be at the back?’
‘I know I would,’ said David. ‘The back of bloody beyond. But let’s not get into that right now.’ He turned to Beltran. ‘Well then, Doctor, I suppose we’d better get this coffin open.’
Beltran laughed nervously. ‘It’s funny, I feel kind of apprehensive. I don’t know if it’s fear, excitement, or both. How about you?’
David looked at the coffin. ‘Frankly? My balls have shrivelled to the size of a walnut and I feel like I’m going to throw up.’
Beltran grinned. ‘Yes, that’s it exactly.’
‘Well, just keep telling yourself it’s excitement, Doctor, and try to think happy thoughts.’ He glanced at Ana and Conchita. ‘Same to all of you: don’t be afraid. Just try to think of Underwood as a friend that we’re returning to health.’
‘I have no fear, David,’ said Ana, ‘I would give my life for the Lord Underwood!’
‘Yeah, I’m sure you would, Ana, but for now all we need is a smile.’
Ana smiled broadly, as if she were posing for a photograph.
‘That’s beautiful.’ David turned to Beltran and nodded. ‘Ready?’
‘Sí.’
‘Okay. Let’s get this lid off then.’
The men moved forward and took up
positions at either end of the coffin, David at the foot end and Beltran at the head. Ana and Conchita moved in close behind Beltran, ready to get a first look at the vampire when the lid came off. The men took hold of the lid.
‘Ready?’ said David.
Beltran nodded.
‘Okay, we lift on three and you step to your left. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘One, two, three.’ They lifted the lid and immediately a sickly stench filled the air. David winced and turned his face away.
Ana gasped. ‘Madre de Dios!’
David and Beltran carried the lid over to the far wall. Once they had stood the lid up against the wall they turned back to Ana and Conchita. Ana stood staring into the coffin with her hands over her mouth and Conchita put her arm around the older woman. Beltran and David exchanged a glance, then Beltran walked over to the coffin. When he saw the body he took a step back.
‘What is it?’ David asked.
Beltran turned back to him. ‘I think he is dead.’
David picked up a candelabrum with three candles burning and walked cautiously forwards. The thing that awaited him for so long in the coffin rose slowly into his view. The body was dressed in a black suit. The once-white shirt was now an irregular off-yellow, and all the clothes were loose and crumpled on the cadaver-like form. David looked at the hands that lay crossed at the chest. The parchment-yellow skin was drawn tight across the bones and the fingernails had grown long and yellow, perhaps four inches in length. David pointed them out to Beltran. ‘Look at his nails.’
He nodded. ‘I know.’
‘It’s normal, no?’ said Ana. ‘When the body dies, the hair and nails continue to grow.’
‘No,’ David replied. ‘That’s a misconception. When the body dies it desiccates, like this one seems to have done. It’s not that the hair and nails grow; rather it’s the body that shrinks away from them.’
‘He is desiccated,’ said Beltran. ‘But this nail growth is considerable; it’s real growth, not retraction of the flesh.’
David nodded. Much as he wished that Underwood had miraculously died in his sleep, he knew from his recent foray into the cellar that the thing in the coffin was far from deceased. He took a few steps closer to the head end of the coffin and held the candelabrum over Underwood’s face. Despite the black beard that flowed to the shirt collar, the face was still recognisable as the one he had come to know from portraits and passport photos. David leaned in closer. Unlike a dead man’s, Underwood’s eyes hadn’t sunk deep into their sockets; instead, they bulged like a pair of ping-pong balls beneath the waxy skin. Veins that appeared black and bloodless scrawled across the face and hands, like the cracks in the oil painting in the study. David resisted the urge to touch them, and shifted his gaze to Underwood’s hairline. It was strange to see live hair growing from what appeared to be a dead scalp. He estimated it had to be about a foot and a half in length.
