by Amy Cross
So: no, to be perfectly clear on the matter, I do not plan on spending eternity trapped in this monstrous, decaying old mansion with my hoary goat of a mother. No, I plan to explore the world, to sail to Manchuria and then perhaps head to India to help defend the empire. These are the things that a man should be doing in this day and age, not skulking around the shadows of Gothos like some kind of ghost. And yet, sometimes I sit at this huge dining table when there's no-one else about, and I wonder quite what the rest of the world must be like. I would so dearly like to meet someone from outside, but they never seem to arrive. There is talk, of course, and the servants are perpetually ready for visitors. Yet here we are, alone again.
I would have gone completely mad without the help of Diana. She keeps the house in order, calms mother's moods and generally makes sure that the place is civil. It's astonishing to think of how long Diana has been the head housekeeper at Gothos: certainly longer than I can comprehend. Yet she maintains the utmost level of style and grace, as if she understands perfectly that Gothos requires her service, now more than ever. Without Diana I think this entire house would fall apart. The servants would have abandoned their posts, my half-sister Gwendoline would still be roaming the corridors and playing her wretched songs on the piano, and the lights would have come much closer to the back door.
“They're coming,” Diana said to me the other night. As usual, she was loitering by the back door, watching the lights in the garden. She knows more about the lights than she admits, even if I don't think she really understands them fully.
“You say that,” I replied. “But night after night, they are supposedly coming yet they don't arrive. We seem to be stuck in perpetual preparation for a party, yet the party never starts”.
“It will,” Diana said, keeping her eyes fixed on the lights. “When our guests get here”.
“And who are they, exactly?” I asked, becoming somewhat impatient. “Why are they so special?”
“You will see,” Diana replied, in her usual enigmatic way.
I stared at the lights: three of them, floating at the bottom of the garden.
“They're getting bigger again,” I said after a while. “Have they eaten any more servants recently?”
“Not recently,” said Diana. “Not since Muriel. But I expect they will be getting hungry again soon”.
“Are you going to feed them?” I asked.
“Of course,” she said. “It is my job”. She turned to me and gave me a smile, or at least her best attempt at a smile. “Are you volunteering?”
“To feed them?” I asked. “Or to be fed to them?”
Diana said nothing, and merely returned to watching the lights.
Now I'm at the window alone, and the lights are still there. What do they want? And why does Diana seem to want to help them? I have seen servant girl after servant girl go down to feed them, never to return. They are all ghosts, of course, but there is still something ghoulish about the whole situation. I dread the day when we run out of servant girls and Diana has to start finding someone else to send to the bottom of the garden. She fears the lights, and she doesn't even know what they are. I know their nature, and the thought of them coming into the house terrifies me. At least, it terrifies me until I decide that the time is right.
Something feels different tonight, though. The servants are working with an extra pace that I haven't seen in a long time, not since... Well, not since the last time we had actual visitors who actually turned up, back when we played host to Mr. Wormwood's birthday party. So is the time finally upon us? Mother and Diana have spoken for so long about the night when 'he' will return to Gothos, and about the people 'he' will bring with him. It almost seemed to become a myth or a fairytale, but I can't help wondering if it might be about to come true. If it is, then God help us all, because it is hard to imagine a more dangerous endeavor than to be part of a fairytale at Gothos.
Sophie
Gothos is everything I'd expected and more. A crumbling old mansion that looks as though it was abandoned in a hurry many years ago, its many windows reflect the low evening light as we walk up the stone steps leading to the main entrance. All around us, grass lawns stretch into the distance, eventually meeting thick green forests that line the horizon in every direction. Further away, mountains rise into the sky. It's as if we're a million miles from Dedston, in a far-off country, or in a dream. I almost have to pinch myself to make sure that this is real.
When we reach the door, Patrick pushes it and finds that it's locked. Without hesitating, he steps back and shoulder-barges it open, and the three of us – Patrick, The Lock and I – step into the huge entry hallway, which is dominated by a large winding staircase coming down from the upper floor.
“Amazing,” says The Lock, looking around the room. “It hasn't changed at all, not since the -” He makes eye contact with me. “Not since the last time we were here”. He smiles. “It's as if the whole place has been frozen in time”.
As I step forward, I realize we're walking on broken glass, shards of which are covering the marble floor. In fact, looking closer, it's clear that the whole place seems to have suffered some heavy damage. The bannisters on the stairs, for example, have been hacked away in places, and when I look back at the windows I realize that many of them are broken. There's soil and bits of broken wood on the floor and, looking up, I see a hole has been smashed in the roof high above the entrance hallway. Over by one of the doors, there appears to be an old cannonball.
“What happened here?” I ask.
The Lock laughs. “You've got to expect a bit of damage,” he says, “if you have a whole war in a house”.
I want to ask what he means, but I'm not sure where to start, so instead I walk over to a doorway and look into the next room, which turns out to be a banquet hall. There's a long table, parts of which appear to have been smashed to pieces, and a chandelier has crashed down at the far end of the room. It looks like there's been a huge battle in here, with cracks and damage evident all over the walls.
“Come on,” says The Lock.
I turn to see that he and Patrick have started to walk up the stairs. Slowly, I turn and follow them, and soon we're up on the first floor and we're walking along a corridor. There are doors off to either side, all of them closed. Again, it looks as if there's been some serious damage done here, with plaster having been knocked off parts of the building's interior. There's even what looks like blood smeared on one part of the wall.
We stop at a door.
“I suppose this is your room,” says The Lock, looking at me.
“I have a room?”
The Lock nods. “You'll need to get ready for dinner,” he says. “There should be some clothes in the wardrobe”. He looks me up and down, apparently not too impressed by my jeans and shirt. “It might be best to make a little effort tonight, try to fit in”.
“Fit in?” I ask. “Fit in with what?” I look at Patrick. “What's happening here? I thought...” I look back along the empty corridor. “I thought there'd be someone here”.
“Go into your room,” says The Lock. “Get ready for dinner. At sundown, everything will be ready. The people of Gothos prefer not to show themselves until the evening is ready to commence”.
There's a click. I look over to see Patrick disappearing into another room, pushing the door shut behind him. I turn to The Lock, who smiles and goes to another door, pushing it open, going inside and closing it. Now I'm standing in the corridor outside 'my room', and I'm alone. I have half a mind to go exploring, but something tells me I'm at a disadvantage here. There must be something in this house, or why did we bother coming here?
I put my hand on the door handle, but at that moment there's a banging sound from nearby. I look over. The sound seemed to come from a cupboard a little further along the corridor. It was just a small bang, though, like something falling off a shelf. Still, it's odd that it would happen just as we arrive.
Entering 'my room', I shut the door behind me. Th
e room itself is faded and rundown and, like the rest of the mansion, the walls are cracked. Looking around, I can see that this was once an impressive place, but it apparently got left to rot many years ago.
On the floor by the door, there's a wardrobe. It seems to have toppled over and from the direction in which it's fallen, I can't help but feel it had been used to barricade the door at some point, only to be forced aside. Fortunately it has fallen with the doors facing up, so I open it and find a bunch of dresses inside. Pulling them out and onto the large double bed on the other side of the room, I realize that these are very, very old dresses, all faded yellows and browns. Definitely not my kind of thing, and I'm pretty sure I'll stick with wearing what I've got on now.
I glance over at the window, which like most other windows in this place has some broken panes of glass. Outside, it's getting darker by the minute as the sun starts to dip below the horizon. It'll be sundown soon, and then... what?
Somewhere in the distance, there's a loud, resonant sound like someone hitting a giant piece of metal. I go to the door and open it, looking out into the corridor. At that moment, the door to The Lock's room opens and he emerges wearing a pretty decent-looking old-fashioned tuxedo.
“You haven't changed,” he says.
“Do I really need to?” I ask tentatively, kind of knowing what his answer will be.
“You came all this way,” he says. “It might seem churlish to suddenly get funny about a dress”.
“Fine,” I say, and I go back into the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I grab the first dress from the bed and hold it up to take a look. It's like something from a hundred years ago, faded and worn. Am I really supposed to wear this? I hold it up against myself and realize it's a pretty good fit. Damn it, I'm going to look pretty stupid in this. I'm not sure I've ever worn such a frilly thing in my life...
Astley
She holds the dress up and stares at it. She doesn't look particularly impressed, although she should: it's my mother's first formal dress, a beautiful (and very expensive) creation that was designed and created by members of my own family and then passed down through my mother, on to Gwendoline, and now finally to Sophie. The dress has sat undisturbed in this room for many, many years and now, finally, it's being examined by fresh eyes. It's just a shame that this girl does not appreciate true craftsmanship.
But I'm not complaining, not too much. She's an absolutely beautiful specimen, and it's a real pleasure to stand here in the corner of the little room and watch her slowly undressing. If only she could see me, if only she knew I was here: would she be embarrassed, or would she be happy to perform a little striptease? I can tell by her clothes that she comes from far, far away, from a place where values are very different. What, I wonder, would a girl like this think if she were to suddenly discover she is being watched as she undresses?
Once she is in her underwear, I cannot help but step toward her to get a better look. I know I mustn't get too close, because humans have an ability to sense creatures like me when we're right next to them. So I just loiter a couple of feet away, watching as she examines the dress. My anticipation builds as I see she has straightened out all the creases. And now, finally, she reaches behind her back, unhooks her bar and lets it fall to the floor. I move around to get a better view of her breasts hanging down from her body as she leans over the dress and pats out a few more creases. I have seen many naked girls in my life, but as she stands up straight I am in awe. If I could be seen, and if I could touch her, I would undoubtedly have her down on the bed by now.
I step closer, and she instinctively looks up, then looks around the room. She has sensed me, even if she has no idea what I am. There is silence for a moment as she keeps looking around. What does she expect to see? I'm right here, right in front of her, yet she has no hope of spotting me. Not yet, at least.
“Patrick?” she asks quietly.
Patrick? She thinks I'm Patrick? Well, clearly she's not blessed in the intellect department. Does she really believe that the last vampire would be skulking about in her room? Even if Patrick were able to go unseen like this, he would not. He is a vampire. If he wanted this pathetic human in his bed, he would have taken her long, long ago, and she would have been powerless to resist. Then again, perhaps that is why he has brought her to Gothos. After all, if she's the girl from the prophecy, this would be the perfect place to seal the deal.
Slowly, she lifts the dress above her head and puts it on. It is refreshing to see it on a body that is not my mother's or my half-sister's. A strapless, bare-shouldered marvel of fashion, this dress flatters any figure. The girl looks beautiful. Perhaps, while everyone else is worrying about prophecies, lights in the garden and eternities tonight, I will lure this human away and show her what a real man can do with such a beautiful and feminine body. I'm filled with excitement as I contemplate making love to this girl on my mother's bed, and then relaxing afterward by gnawing the meat from her bones.
I shall have to be cautious, though. Diana might have other plans for this human. After all, the lights at the bottom of the garden are likely to be hungry again, and perhaps a human will satisfy them far more than any ghost. Still, I fancy my chances, even if it means incurring Patrick's wrath and getting in the way of the prophecy. Tonight is likely to be extremely busy, and I should certainly be able to slip away with this girl for a few minutes. And a few minutes is all I will need to gain my revenge on the vampire, and to destroy Sophie's mind. Patrick need not be too angry, though. I shall leave Sophie's body behind, and it's really only the body that he'll need.
Sophie
I look ridiculous. Staring at myself in the mirror, I can't help but think I look like someone who arrived at the fancy dress shop after everyone else had got all the good costumes for Halloween. Still, if I'm going to wear an old-fashioned, off-the-shoulder white dress anywhere, Gothos seems to be the perfect place. I guess I'll fit in just fine with Patrick, The Lock and all these large, empty rooms.
I step out of the room and find The Lock waiting in the corridor.
“Much better,” he says. “You'll fit right in”.
I turn as I feel something against my shoulder. It's as if something brushed past me as I left the room, as if something else was in there with me.
“Something wrong?” asks The Lock.
“Yeah,” I say, turning to him. “This place gives me the creeps. Many ghosts here, are there?”
He smiles. “Impossible to say,” he says, "but I wouldn't stand too close to the shadows or the curtains, if I were you”.
I open my mouth to ask what he means, but at that moment the next door opens and Patrick emerges, although it takes me a moment to realize it's him. He's wearing an immaculate, perfectly-fitted Tuxedo, and he looks as if he was born to this kind of life. He's always worn fairly rough, dark clothes in the past, but suddenly he looks sophisticated and debonair, and I have to hide the fact that I'm so impressed.
“Nice tux,” I mumble, glancing away.
Somewhere else in the house, there's the sound of something large and metal being banged. I look at Patrick and The Lock; neither of them seem to be particularly surprised.
“What was that?” I ask.
The Lock looks over at the window at the end of the corridor. Outside, it's almost dark. “It's night,” he says. “Gothos is very different at night, you know. We should be careful. Sometimes they even let Gwendoline out of the basement”.
"Who's Gwendoline?" I ask.
He pauses for a moment. "You really don't want to know. In the unlikely event that you bump into her, be polite and try to get away as fast as possible. And under no circumstances must you ever, ever accept her invitation to go to the zoo, or to meet a ghost in a room on the top floor."
Patrick walks past us, heading to the stairs.
“Stay close to me,” says The Lock. “Don't be smart, don't argue with anyone, and whatever you do, don't go through any doors that you haven't seen Patrick or me go through first. And remem
ber... the two sides of a door are completely different things. Just because one side is in one place, doesn't mean you should assume you know where the other side might be. So stay close”.
“Got it,” I say, and then I hear what sounds like people downstairs.
The Lock leads the way, and we catch up with Patrick, who is at the top of the stairs. Down in the main reception hall, there are two women looking up at us. One of them is wearing a dark, formal dress-suit and the other appears to be dressed as a maid.
“I'm so glad you were able to join us!” the woman in the suit-dress calls up. “Won't you come down? Dinner will be served after drinks in the lounge”.
Patrick starts walking down the stairs, and The Lock follows. I decide to stick with them, and not to get too far away. As we get to the bottom, we're greeted by the woman in black. Patrick and The Lock keep walking, but the woman takes me to one side for a moment.
“I hope you will not be overawed,” she says. “I understand that this is your first visit to Gothos”.
I nod. Hell, I don't know who these people are, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to them.
“Don't worry,” the woman says. She seems friendly enough. “My name is Diana, and I will be on hand to help in any way that I can, so don't be afraid to ask. I remember my own first visit to Gothos, and how utterly overwhelmed I felt. If I can be of any assistance at all, you mustn't hesitate to come to me."
From behind her, there's the sound of someone clearing his throat.
