He turned around.
“Got to get these people out of here.”
While some had left the room, a few stayed, clustered together, as if mesmerised by the sight; frozen with fear.
Or just so curious that they couldn’t move away.
“We don’t know what that snake can do, how fast it can move, or if—”
But he never got to finish the sentence as finally the uncoiling snake had extended itself so far, that now it slid free of the chandelier, the light rocking back and forth, glass tear drops rattling ominously.
And the snake — taller, longer than Jack — fell from above, down to the floor …
7. The Snake Strikes
But the snake didn’t hit the floor. Sarah watched it twist and tumble rather awkwardly in the air, as if it didn’t expect that it would be falling down.
All the smooth slithering now gave way to a whiplash writhing in the air as it landed on top of a full suit of medieval armour. The centuries-old soldier, visor down, held a strange forked weapon.
Sarah found herself wishing that the snake had landed right on the pointy end of that weapon.
But unfortunately, that did not happen.
Instead, the snake fell — thrashing and writhing — sending the armour crashing to the floor.
And as the snake slid free of the jumble of metal, now in many pieces, Sarah saw Jack move.
Not back, not pulling Sarah back and away.
No. As the snake slid to the side to get free, Jack ran to the armour.
What is he doing? Sarah thought.
Jack — moving faster than she had ever seen him move — reached the armour and removed the weapon.
He brought it up, just as the snake turned, seeing someone close, ominous head again rising from the floor, tongue snaking out, eyes locked on Jack.
His target.
Jack jabbed in the direction of the snake, but the animal seemed practised in dodging such things.
Smoothly weaving left, then right.
And with each weave, an audible hiss.
Sarah turned around.
The room — now empty. Just Jack. And herself.
As if he felt a need to explain, Jack said, through gritted teeth: “Can’t let this run around, get out there.”
Sarah was not sure she agreed.
The snake slid closer to Jack, surprisingly fast. No legs, and yet it moved like slippery oil.
Jack backed up, now nearly cornered.
Still he parried.
But those parries seemed faint-hearted. Little jabs; no big strike.
He must have a reason for that, she thought.
Then — terrible moment — she spoke: “Jack—”
And with just the sound of Jack’s grunts, the hisses of the snake, Sarah’s words were clear in the room.
Loud.
The snake turned.
Eyes right on her.
And she wished she had kept her mouth shut.
Which is when Jack moved.
The weapon had three tines, one long pointed end, and two on the side, each curved.
And Jack moved fast.
Now a strong jab forward, not to stick the snake with the tip but catch it in the scoop of one of the big curved edges.
Catching it — and then racing forward — and Sarah guessed a snake that big, must weigh a lot.
Not an easy task to yank it backwards.
Jack had it caught below the head, and pinned it. And with a constant motion forward, he dragged the snake in the other direction, towards a wall near the now sputtering fireplace.
Until his spear hit the wall.
The pointed end, digging deep.
Deep enough so it would stay there.
The curved end with the metal noose around the snake’s neck, holding it tight as the trapped snake writhed, slapping at the ancient rug, making a loud, thumping noise on the floor.
Jack released the weapon.
It remained buried, jutting out at an angle from the wall.
Sarah couldn’t guess what her pulse might be. Had she even breathed during the whole thing?
Jack standing in front of his prisoner as if to make sure it would not escape.
Then … slowly turning …
A smile returning to his face, as he spoke quietly:
“Sarah — um, would you mind getting a snap of the snake? Think … we might need it.”
She nodded but then, for the first time, looked at the wall to the side.
To see — in smudgy black paint, thick letters …
“Jack,” she said. “Look …”
Those words as chilling as the pinned snake.
Evil is here. And Death will visit tonight.
*
Jack walked over to Sarah, who was standing by the mighty Aga, teacup held in her two hands.
He guessed that she had been more rattled by the “snake battle” than he was.
He gave her a smile; which she returned, but definitely half-heartedly.
Whatever was going on here, was clearly getting to her.
And Jack thought, feeling the burst of his own adrenaline, and his fast-paced breathing …
It might be getting to me as well.
Alan sat at the table with Basil; Alyssia close; notepad out.
Every now and then, the police officer looked up at Jack as if not sure exactly what questions to ask that hadn’t already been asked.
“So, you have absolutely no idea who might be doing these things?”
Basil shook his head, looking genuinely confused.
“Not the slightest, Alan. I mean, you don’t go through life without making enemies. But to do something like this. Plant a snake … in my own home!”
For emphasis, Basil slammed a fist on the table.
“It’s demented, twisted …” Basil looked around the room as if seeking confirmation of the adjectives he had chosen.
But — as Jack watched, listened — something seemed off.
Basil’s response. Well, he certainly acted rattled.
But that was just it. Acted. No sobs, no cup of tea shaking in his trembling hand.
A little too steady, Jack thought.
And Jack was not sure what that meant. At least, not yet.
Alan again looked up at him. The two had grown close. Cherringham’s only cop, and the retired NYPD detective — while walking a fine line between the professional and the amateur — had grown to trust each other.
Alan’s instincts were maybe not the sharpest, but they had, over the years, improved.
“You two have any thoughts? Questions?”
Jack turned to Sarah. And, though shaken, she quickly nodded.
“Basil, I am more concerned about those words. Someone splashed them up on your wall quickly. But any idea, insight, to what they refer to?”
Slowly …
(Too slowly?)
Basil shook his head.
“Haven’t the foggiest.” The actor turned to Alyssia. A bit of a false laugh. “The kind of claptrap the old movie writers would come up with. ‘Death will come tonight?’ Ominous words, you know … clearly portending more bad things to come.”
Basil raised a finger to Jack. “Damn lucky you had that ranseur!”
Jack turned to Sarah. “Ranseur?”
“That weapon. I’d say you used it perfectly to trap the horrible creature!”
But Jack saw that Sarah didn’t smile as she continued.
“That would be my concern. Because — unless you’ve missed something before — these words are clearly, for the first time, a real threat.”
Basil’s eye widened at that.
As if he hadn’t thought of it.
On cue, Alyssia huddled close, wrapping an arm tightly around Basil’s.
“Oh, my Basil. I am so frightened.”
Which is when Jack heard the front door creak open — better than a doorbell. And someone walked quickly into the kitchen.
*
“Val,” Basil
said.
Sarah saw the actor’s face brighten at the sight of his old friend.
Basil stood up and embraced the man.
“Val. So good of you to stick around!”
Val looked around at the gathered crowd. “How could I not? A snake? In Hill House? My God, Basil. Someone really means you ill.”
Then a buzz.
Alan dug into his coat pocket for his phone.
For a second, all eyes on him.
“We need a plan, Basil,” Val said. “Yes? I am not happy with you and Alyssia … staying here alone.”
“There’s Gordon.”
“That soak? Is he ever sober? Missed the whole bloody snake attack! He was supposed to interview me today. For your book! Of course, a complete no-show.”
“He means well …” Basil offered tentatively.
But as the two old actors talked, Sarah kept her eyes on Alan. His face transparently revealing total confusion.
He put the phone away.
Val carried on, oblivious: “We must take steps to ensure you are completely safe, the whole family. Officer—”
But Alan put a hand up, looking at his phone.
“Interesting,” Alan said.
Everyone waited.
“That was the RSPCA. They’ve had a herpetologist identify the snake.”
Another pause, not the result of Alan being dramatic.
Just more confusion.
“It’s a Jamaican boa. Also called a ‘yellow snake’. Gets big. Well,” he grinned, “we saw that. But here’s the thing: it’s perfectly harmless.”
Sarah turned to Jack.
Such a heroic battle.
Against a really, really big snake.
That couldn’t hurt anything bigger than a mouse.
Basil looked flummoxed.
“That … that can’t be. Why release a perfectly harmless snake?”
Another buzz from Alan’s phone.
He looked down. “Oh — Jack — seems there are videos of your snake battle all over the news.” A look to Basil. “Even clips from some of your movies. I think this place will be swarming with ‘the curious’ tomorrow.”
Val patted Basil’s shoulder.
“No matter. This business, all these things, as if they’ve been lifted from our films! That said, Basil, this is no game here.”
Then she saw Basil’s friend look to Jack and Sarah.
“So, I have an idea. That warning, those words …” He turned to Alan. “What if Jack and Sarah were to stay the night? If nothing else, to bring some measure of comfort to my good friends here? And I shall as well!”
Alan had stood up.
“Not a bad idea. I can maybe get up here later, walk the grounds. Other calls permitting, of course. Best I can offer. But—”
Sarah watched him turn to her, and then Jack.
“If nothing else … to reassure Basil and his wife?”
Jack nodded. “I can stay. Fine to do it alone.”
And though the idea of returning to her own home, a place of warmth and safety, seemed irresistible, Sarah knew there was no way she’d let Jack do this without her.
“I can too. Let me dash back home. Grab a few things. And then — well — how exciting! A sleepover at Hill House.”
Val clapped his hands together.
“Splendid. No ‘evil’ will get in here tonight, eh?”
Alan smiled at this.
“Anything happens, I won’t be far away. Okay?”
Everyone in the kitchen nodded. A plan to keep Basil safe was now in place.
A plan to make sure no more frightening things occurred.
But Sarah found that she had the thought … that sometimes, even the best plans simply do not work.
8. Horrors from the Past
Basil gestured to the towering guillotine, and the gleaming silvery blade suspended at the top.
The lord of the manor had insisted that they all have a glass of Lagavulin twenty-year-old single malt, and a tour of his “special room”, deep in the old cellar of Hill House.
Filled, apparently, with artefacts from his films.
And though Sarah didn’t feel she needed to see any more spooky and scary things, she’d joined Jack and Val as they followed Basil to the locked door behind the massive staircase in the entrance hall.
Then, down stone steps, lit only by concealed and flickering light bulbs, into what looked more like a film set than a cellar. Rough stone walls, stained flagstones, ancient statues, hieroglyphs … and menacing props like this bloodied guillotine.
“Impressive, hmm?” said Basil, his eyes sparkling with excitement as he stood in the shadow of the blade.
“Go on, old chum — show it in action,” said Val, a hand on Basil’s shoulder.
Basil grinned at that. “You think? Righty-ho then.”
And she watched Basil stick his arm into the hole where one would — she assumed — be required to insert one’s head.
Jack cleared his throat. “This Scotch … think it is doing wonders for my sinuses.”
Basil laughed at that. “Any more peaty and we’d need a strainer! Ha!”
“But Basil,” Jack said, “you sure this thing … It’s just a gimmick from a film — no danger?”
Basil looked around as if the question had suddenly stumped him.
Then, a grin to his acting buddy. “Don’t know. Val, what do you think, old chap? Perfectly harmless, absolutely no danger at—”
And at that, Basil gave a weighted rope a strong tug and the silvery blade came flying down.
And while it looked as though it sliced right through the space where Basil had stuck his arm, in lieu of a neck, nothing happened.
Val turned to them. “Quite believable, hmm? From our classic The Reign of Terror.”
Sarah noticed that Basil seemed to stiffen at this.
Perhaps … the word “our”?
“Now over here,” Basil said, and he led them to the next oddity in this dank cellar.
A mummy sarcophagus, dotted with gold leaf and lapis lazuli, looking as if it might be one of the grandest of treasures from the British Museum.
“The Mummy’s Return! Now that was a hit. Something about mummies, always brings in the crowds you know. And this—”
With his free hand, Basil tapped the top of the sarcophagus. “The studio spared no expense. A convincing replica—”
But Sarah, even as she took a sip of the Scotch (which she had to admit might have been aged a shade few too many years) watched the lid of the mummy’s coffin rise.
Slowly. As if this was a moment from the film.
Basil backed away.
“Let the power of Aten,” Basil intoned, “fire the mystical wonder of the ancient tana leaves, to bring … this being back … to life!”
Must watch the movie, she thought.
She looked at Jack. He seemed to be enjoying the grisly tour.
And when the lid was open … she saw a complete mummy, swathed in tattered grey wrappings.
And as Basil backed away …
The mummy slowly tilted forward, hand extending into the air.
As if it was indeed coming to life.
“Pretty effective,” Jack said, his words cutting through the eeriness of the moment.
And then Basil repeated, clearly lost in a reverie about his glory days in Ealing, “Something about mummies, hmm?”
Another tap. The sarcophagus closed.
“What made it so special of course was the twist we took on what was already by then — let’s face it — a rather tired genre, by introducing … vampires …”
He flicked a switch — and a spotlight deep in the crypt picked out a life-size portrait of himself, in full vampire costume of red-lined cape and bloody fangs, looming over the sarcophagus …
…on which was draped the scantily clad figure of Alyssia.
“Happy days,” said Basil, almost to himself.
“Paid for the house, eh?” said Val.
“Oh, i
t was always the studio that saw the big profits,” said Basil quickly. “Never the stars.”
He smiled wistfully at Sarah.
“They’re doing a remake, you know. My agent got an availability check. But it turns out my ticker’s a tad unreliable for the insurance people. So no desert adventure for me.”
And, turning the light off, he moved on to what, Sarah guessed, was the strangest artefact in this house-of-horrors–cum–movie-museum.
*
“And this,” said Basil, pointing to an intricate, weathered frame of wood and metal, “is from The House of Frankenstein.”
Sarah watched Val lean forward and touch the mesh of timbers, the crossbeams fitted with straps for hands and legs.
Clearly designed to restrain someone.
At the top of each “X”, wires ran to a jumble of bizarre electrical gear, bulbs and massive switches.
“’Fraid I’m not allowed to turn this one on. Been told it’s a fire hazard. Still, it is … special.” He turned to the group. “Alyssia … the fatally beautiful bride of the creature. Held fast, right …”
A gentle touch to the crossbeams …
“… here.”
Then quiet for a moment, and Sarah noticed that both men had grown still.
“She was … something,” said Val. Then, as if Basil had flashed on his words, “I mean, is of course. Eh, Basil, old boy?” Val’s voice lowered as he stepped away from the diabolical apparatus. “Our last film together, of course.”
Basil nodded. From his look, Sarah imagined he had more to say about that. How Basil went on to more films, greater success …
Val, in decline perhaps?
And Basil’s biggest prize going forward? The fiery Italian who could still generate a fair share of sparks.
Then Basil turned to his friend.
“Yes. Last film together. But Val, we did a good body of work together, wouldn’t you say? A real testament.”
Silence.
Until, Jack said …
“Getting on, gents. Late. Sarah and I … need to get situated. A room, a bed.” Then he said lightly (though in this room, the words did not sound light at all): “To keep watch for any evil, hmm?”
Basil nodded, the journey down memory lane coming to an end.
And what Sarah hoped would be a quiet night in this grim red castle of a home, was about to begin …
Cherringham--Scared to Death Page 5
