by John Moralee
Holden wanted to run, but he remembered the suitcase.
He had to know if it was under the bed.
By now his eyes could see in the weak light. He could see the vast number of lizards under his feet. Fearing there would be a big one under the bed, he stepped back and turned his head sideways as though looking at the titles of library books, until his head was at knee height.
The suitcase was there.
And so were some lizards, the baby brothers of the one in the bathroom. They were babies compared with the big one, but by no means were they small. There were maybe six or seven beside the suitcase - each six feet long, as mean-looking as alligators. They were staring at him, daring him. A cold river of sweat ran down his back. There was so much money in the suitcase he couldn’t just leave it, could he?
He thought of his wife. The Triad would kill her if he didn’t return with their cash. He could not abandon her. “Look,” he said to the lizards, “I don’t want to die. Please don’t kill me. I’m sorry for what those other men did to your friends, but I had nothing to do with it. I was forced into this. Please let me take the money. I promise not to ever come back. I’ve learnt my lesson!”
A lizard hissed, its tongue rolling out, then coiling back into its mouth. Had it given him permission? He did not know. He knew it was ridiculous to even think the lizards could understand him, but he felt sure they could. They were deeply intelligent. Maybe they were linked telepathically. He did not like to speculate what primeval powers they possessed. He just prayed they were not malevolent for no reason. Approaching the bed, he reached out for the suitcase. His hands touched the handles as a cold, rough tongue licked his palm. A mouth that could have easily chomped his hand off emerged from under the bed, then just as quickly disappeared, but not before he glimpsed the thoughts behind its eyes. For a moment he could see the jungle as it had been before the town was built over it, beautiful and ancient and spiritual, then the alien images were gone, replaced by a deep sense of loss. It was a message, a warning, but he did not have time ponder. He pulled out the suitcase. Little lizards weighed it down. Once the suitcase was in the middle of the floor, he carefully picked up the creatures one by one and put them on the floor out of harm’s way. He treated them like live grenades he did not want to disturb. After that, he carried the suitcase to the doorway, then rushed out of the hotel under the gaze of thousands.
On his way, he stepped over two dead Chinese men on the stairway who must have been watching him, but were now teeming with lizards from every orifice.
There was the smell of death in the town. What had triggered the lizards to choose this day for revenge he did not know - maybe it was the death of their colleagues, maybe it was the season for it, maybe they had just been waiting for the right motivation - but without seeing any bodies he knew with certainty that he was the only person alive. The lizards had wiped out everyone. He could sense them rather than see them in the semi-darkness; shadowy beings at home in the jungle, things that did not want to be disturbed by humans.
Raul, the driver of Tarundi’s car, was still behind the wheel, but his head was detached from his shoulders. A large lizard was in the passenger seat chewing on the skull, tonguing out the meat. It made no move when Holden collected the rest of the money from his briefcase, adding it to his suitcase. Its jaws worked on the bones with wet, sloppy munches. The same sound came from all around. Holden had no doubt that in the morning there would not be a single sign of any of their victims; it would be as if the town had been abandoned during the night. A mystery. Only he and the lizards would know the truth. He felt immensely privileged to be given that dubious honour, as well as pathetically weak. They were giving him a second chance; he would not fail them. He still had the Triad to deal with, but he had a few ideas how to evade them. His fear of them meant nothing now. With ten million pounds, he and his wife could find somewhere to hide before the Chinese knew they were gone. He also owed the lizards his life, and he had some ideas how to pay them back with charitable donations.
Holden walked through the empty town, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. The lizards watched him.
When he was beyond the signpost, he ran.
New Stories
NOTE BY THE AUTHOR
I wrote some short stories for my blog that I’ve decided to add as an update. I hope you enjoy them.
John Moralee, February 22, 2014.
Breaking Vlad
Last week I accidentally pulled a stake out of an old vampire buried in my garden. At the time I thought it was just a piece of a rotting wooden post – but it was the only thing keeping him in his grave. That night I heard a lot of noise outside – it sounded like some foxes scrambling around in the rose bushes – but it was the vampire feeding on small woodland animals.
After he had regained his strength, he knocked on my back door in the middle of the night. He woke me from a good dream about Angelina Jolie. Sleepy and confused, I switched on a light and opened the door with the chain on, looking out cautiously. There was someone standing in my dark garden, a black figure that I could not focus on, as he was just beyond the reach of the light.
“What do you want?” I said.
I tried to sound unafraid.
“Excuse me, sir,” he said. “Did you remove this thing from the ground?”
He was holding the piece of pointy wood that I had dug up. He must have retrieved it from my bin.
“Why?” I said. Was he from the council? Did he want to fine me for dumping the wood in the wrong recycling bin? That made little sense – but I was too tired to think straight. I had definitely used the right bin - the brown one for garden waste. I could not believe a council employee had looked inside my bin without permission. It was in my garden – not on public property. Council employees didn’t work that late – so I was suspicious and a little annoyed. “Who are you?”
“Please answer my question, sir.” He spoke excellent English with a slight East European accent. “Did you pull this from the ground?”
I had broken no laws. “As a matter of fact, I did do that. So what? Why does it concern you?”
“It concerns me because I must thank you for your service.”
He stepped forward into the light, revealing he was a tall, thin man dressed in rags, smelling of blood and earth, looking like a tired homeless man in dire need of a long hot shower. He bowed gracefully, which would have been impressive if he had not smelled like a clogged drain in Fred West’s basement. “You asked my name. I shall tell you. I am Count Dracula!”
Great. A nutter in my garden. Just what I wanted. “You are Count Dracula – the vampire?”
“You have heard of me?”
“Of course,” I said. I thought I’d humour him. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. You look like you need some help. Do you have a carer or someone I can contact?”
“Alas, I do not. My human servants are probably dead by now,” he said. “What year is it, human?”
“It’s 2013.”
“Good grief! That means I have been sleeping for over a hundred years! I think I need a lie down in my coffin – but it appears to have turned into mulch.” He sighed. “Human, may I enter your residence?”
I’d humoured him enough. “Er … no. I’d like you to leave now. Goodnight.”
I closed the door.
He knocked again.
“I must come in!” he said. “I want to thank you! Please invite me in, sir!”
“There’s no need!” I shouted through the door. “Goodnight!”
“It will soon be dawn!” he cried out. “I’ll die out here! YOU MUST LET ME ENTER!”
“Go away! I’ll call the police!” I grabbed my phone and entered 999. I didn’t press SEND though. He had gone quiet. Maybe he had left? Before wasting police time, I wanted to check if he had gone. I grabbed a torch and opened the door again. I shone light around my garden, catching the crazy guy digging a hole with his bare hands. My torch’s beam illuminated his face, showing
his eyes were dark-red pits. The light in his bloodshot eyes angered him. He snarled at me, revealing two long sharp teeth just like a vampire’s fangs. They looked real. Seeing it was me shining the torch, he tried hiding his fangs behind his hand like he was ashamed of them.
“You weren’t lying,” I said. “You are Dracula.”
“I do not lie,” he said. “Lying is a human trait.”
“What were you doing?”
“I need to hide from the sun. Returning to the ground is my only saviour. Unless you give me sanctuary inside your home.”
“Will you attack me if I invite you in?”
“No, no. I won’t. Sir, I only bite female humans. Look – my fangs are gone now. You are safe.”
I was not entirely convinced, but he seemed so pitiful. This puny wretch was the legendary vampire? He was so thin and weak I doubted he could rip open a packet of crisps, never mind my throat. “I’ll make you a deal, okay? I’ll only invite you in if you promise to never harm me in any way.”
“You have my word, human. I shall harm you not.”
He seemed sincere.
“Very well – come in, Count Dracula.”
Thanking me, the world’s most-famous vampire shuffled into my house, leaving a trail of muddy footprints. He apologised for making a mess, but I told him not to worry. My carpets needed a proper clean anyway. The dirt only added to the general grime. His dirty footprints would be an incentive to do some housework. I directed Dracula to the bathroom, telling him he could use the shower while I got him some clean clothes and towels.
I was looking in some drawers when I heard him scream. I hurried to the bathroom, where I found Dracula in the shower shouting. “Holy water! Holy water! It burns! It burns!”
I reached in and turned down the hot water. “It wasn’t holy water. You had it on max heat.”
Twenty minutes later, Dracula entered my living room wearing a bathrobe and slippers, smelling like jasmine and lemons. He winced at the bright light of my energy-saving bulbs. I turned them off, leaving the room bathed in the flickering light of the muted television.
“What is that object showing moving pictures?”
“That’s a TV. A television.”
“Can those people see me?”
“No – it’s not Skype.”
“Skype?” he said. “What is that – some form of magic?”
“Mate, you need to sit down. You need a century of catching up. I’ll show you some things on my computer.”
Dracula was starting to ask what a computer was when I showed him my Samsung laptop. I went online and introduced him to the year 2013. I showed him the news. Big mistake. He looked horrified. That grim reality was too much for him. Next, I showed him some children’s television, which had a calming effect on him. He liked Shaun the Sheep and Bob the Builder, but he hated Scooby Doo because he didn’t like humans hunting supernatural beings. Then I showed him how to type in a Google search – starting with his name. His Wikipedia page appeared. He read it with incredulity. “This is all lies!”
It was getting tired – so after I had demonstrated the basics of web surfing, I left Dracula to look up some things on his own.
I went to bed – after locking my bedroom door. (I didn’t trust him completely.)
In the morning I woke up thinking it had all been a dream – until I saw the dirty footprints on my carpets. My computer was still on – but Dracula was not there. The daylight had either turned him to dust or made him hide somewhere. I looked around. He was not downstairs. I found him sleeping in my attic under a roll of spare carpet - the nearest thing he could get to a coffin on short notice. He was sleeping soundly, so I did not disturb him.
That morning I converted a spare room filled with unused exercise equipment into a suitable room for a vampire. I blocked the windows with boards and made sure no light sneaked inside. I also found some black silk sheets and pillowcases for the bed.
Vlad woke after dark. He was hungry, but he did not harm me. I gave him a black suit that I never wore except for funerals. It suited him. He wanted a black cape lined with red silk – but I told him that nobody wore capes any longer.
“This world is much different,” he said. “I do not like it. I think I must return to my grave. Stake me, human.”
“You’ve only been awake one day. Give it a week. You’ll get over the culture shock. Look, I’ve made up a room for you. You can live here while you get used to the 21st century. I’ll help you adapt.”
“Human, why would you help me? Aren’t you afraid?”
“You keep your promises, don’t you?”
“How dare you suggest I would not! Count Dracula is a man of honour!” His fangs flashed.
“I meant no offence, Count. I trust you.” He calmed down. “To tell you the truth, living with a vampire will be a lot less dangerous than living with my ex-wife. She was a real bloodsucker. My empty bank account is proof of that.”
“Ah! Marriage! I once had three brides at once,” Dracula said. “Great fun in the bedchamber – but a nightmare out of it. Triple the nagging. Triple the fights. I left my country to get away from them. I travelled to England to start a new life – but a writer called Bram Stoker tricked me. He invited me to stay in his home as his honoured guest. He wrote a book about me while pretending to be my friend. When he was done, he staked me in my coffin and left me to rot. Now his story about my life is known to the entire world. Vampires are no longer something humans fear. I have become a joke to your kind, human. A pathetic joke.”
Dracula sank into a chair, lowering his head in shame. Tears of blood dripped onto my carpet. Yep – that thing would really need a good cleaning. I handed him a tissue. He wiped his eyes. “A human should not see an immortal weep. I know what I must do. I must return to the Old World. I can build a new castle and live happily in the mountains of Transylvania. But first, human, I must properly thank you for returning my life. I can make you immortal, like me. Drink my blood, human. Drink it and become eternal – a creature of the night.”
I was appalled when he bit and offered his bleeding wrist to me. The sight of his blood churned my stomach. “Uh – no thanks, Vlad. I don’t want to be a vampire. I like being human.”
“There must be something I can do for you, human.”
“Well, I’m trying to start a blog. You could do my first interview - if you don’t mind?”
“I’d be delighted, human. Most humans only want to chase me with flaming torches, pitchforks and sharpened stakes. An interview is much less painful. Ask me questions. I shall answer them as truthfully as I can, though I doubt many people will be interested in an interview with a vampire.”
“I think Anne Rice would disagree.”
He didn’t know what I was talking about until I showed him her books.
“This human female writes about vampires? How fascinating! I’d love to meet her.”
“You can see her on a book tour – but please do my interview first, Vlad.”
“Of course, human.”
That night I interviewed Vlad.
An Interview With An Old-School Vampire
Vlad spent many hours watching TV. He was fascinated by vampire movies and TV shows.
Me: “What do you think about modern vampires on television shows, Vlad?”
Vlad: “I have watched many of those television shows about my kind on your computer, human. These modern vampires are not like me. They show no respect for the old traditions. They do not fear sunlight. They do not fear the cross. They move so fast even I cannot see them. They eat garlic bread – whatever that is.”
Me: “It’s the future.”
Vlad: “I do not like the future. In my day humans were terrified of my kind. These days they dress like us. They want to be like us.”
Me: “You watched the Twilight movies. What did you think?”
Vlad: I was most confused. I did not understand Edward Cullen. He can go out in sunlight – but he glitters like diamonds? Why is he always mi
serable even though he has a beautiful lady? Why are there so many half-naked werewolves?”
Me: “I also saw you watching the Vampire Diaries. Did you like that?”
Vlad: “The human females are very attractive – but the male vampires annoy me. They are friends with humans, witches and werewolves. That was forbidden in my time. So much about that show does not make sense. Why do they go to school when they are in obviously their thirties? How is it possible for Stefan and Damon to be so handsome? Why do they not burn in the sun? In every episode someone is staked – but they recover in minutes. Let me tell you, human, a stake really hurts. They all seem to bicker about their relationships like the characters in Dawson’s Creek. One would think it was written by the same human.”
Me: “What about True Blood? Those vampire don’t go out in the sun. Did you like that show?”
Vlad: “I liked the idea of drinking a blood substitute. It would make things so much easier for me! Alas, Bill Compton seems a very miserable vampire. He should get out and enjoy himself. I liked the blonde human female, though. She reminds me of a feisty girl I met in Budapest in 1320. Her blood tasted like a fine wine. We spent many nights in my bedchamber making sweet love – until my wives found out. Talking about her is making me thirsty!”
