Blood of the Witch

by Tommy Donbavand

  “What?” demanded Cleo.

  “They’re vampire rats!”

  Vampire rats?” exclaimed Luke. “You never said there was such a thing as vampire rats!”

  “There isn’t,” said Resus. “Or, at least, there wasn’t! Some of the rats my dad bit must have got away. They’ve passed on the Energy.”

  “Energy? What energy?” asked Luke.

  “Vampire Energy, with a capital ‘E’,” explained Resus. “When a vampire bites something, or someone, he transfers a little of his genetic code to the victim, creating another vampire.”

  “So, this Energy could spread through every rat in Scream Street?”

  “I’d be surprised if it hasn’t already,” said Resus.

  “What’s brought them to the surface?” asked Cleo. “You sent that black—”

  A sharp hiss turned their attention to the top of the garden wall. The cat Resus had pulled from his cloak was glaring down at them with red eyes, the blood of some poor defenceless animal dripping from its freshly grown fangs. The creature had doubled in size and now resembled a sleek panther, its muscles rippling as it stalked along the wall. The rats closest to it squealed and raced away, digging their way furiously under the gate to escape.

  “Oh …” said Luke.

  “Aww!” said Cleo.

  “Aww?” asked Resus.

  “I was just picturing it in a little cape, like yours,” said Cleo.

  “Are you out of your pyramid?” said Resus. “My dad’s spawning deadly new species that’ll rip out your throat for fun, and you want to dress them up?”

  Cleo shrugged. “I like cats,” she replied flatly.

  “Well, I wouldn’t try to pet that one,” said Resus. “You’ll end up a few fingers short!”

  “Nonsense,” said Cleo. “A cat’s a cat. I have a bond with them.” She stepped forward and held out her hand.

  “Cleo, no!” snapped Luke.

  “Get back!” hissed Resus.

  “Here, boy,” called Cleo softly. “Come and prove to these two wimps that you’re not dangerous.” The cat leapt down from the wall and crept towards her hand. It sniffed her bandaged fingers for a moment before licking their tips.

  “There!” said Cleo. “I told you there was nothing to—”

  The cat pounced, fangs bared as it clawed its way towards Cleo’s throat. The mummy screamed and fell backwards, trying to knock the cat off her chest.

  “Don’t let it bite her!” shouted Resus. “She’ll become a vampire mummy!”

  “A what?” demanded Luke.

  “Something that’s likely to bite you, then bandage the wound itself,” yelled Resus. “We have to help her!”

  Luke scanned the garden for a possible weapon and his eyes fell on a rake. He dashed across the lawn to grab it. Raising it high above his head, he raced back across the grass with a roar and brought it down as hard as he could.

  With the vampire Energy heightening its already keen senses, the cat saw the danger and leapt off Cleo just in time. The metal prongs of the rake impaled themselves deep into the mummy’s chest.

  “What are you doing?” exclaimed Resus. He pushed Luke to one side and pulled at the rake. It was stuck fast. Luke grabbed hold of the handle and they both tugged, but the tool wouldn’t move.

  Cleo glared up at them. “It’s a good job my internal organs were removed before I was mummified, or that could have done more than just hurt!” she snapped.

  “Where’s the cat?” asked Resus warily.

  “Over by the gate,” said Luke. “I think we’ve scared it.”

  “Scared it?” yelled Cleo. “I’m surprised it’s not wetting itself! If that’s what you do to your friends, Luke Watson, what do you do to your enemies?”

  “I’m sorry!” protested Luke. “I was trying to help.”

  “Well, next time — don’t,” barked Cleo. “I can take care of myself!”

  “Yeah,” teased Resus as he pressed a foot onto Cleo’s chest and finally managed to extract the rake. “It looks like it!”

  “What now?” asked Luke as Cleo clambered to her feet and rearranged her bandages to hide the holes in her chest. The vampire cat stalked around the perimeter of the garden, its scarlet eyes never leaving the children.

  “We have to stop it biting anyone and passing on the Energy,” said Resus.

  “Can we frighten it back down to the sewers?” suggested Luke.

  “How?” asked Resus.

  “I don’t know,” said Luke. “What are vampires scared of?”

  Resus looked blank.

  “What’s your dad scared of?”

  “My mum says he’s scared of housework …”

  “Brilliant!” snorted Luke. “We’ll tell the killer cat it’s down to do the dishes tonight, and then it’ll disappear. Problem solved!” Resus reddened.

  “What about garlic?” said Cleo. “Aren’t vampires afraid of garlic?”

  “It might work,” said Resus. “My dad won’t have the stuff in the house.”

  “Perfect!” said Cleo. “Let’s have a look in your cloak.”

  The vampire shook his head. “If my mum got a whiff of it, I’d be grounded for a year.” A smile spread across his face. “But I do know someone who grows the stuff, and he’s just a couple of houses along.”

  “How do we get past the cat?” asked Luke.

  Resus pulled a large chunk of meat from inside his cloak and smiled. “Leave that to me!”

  Luke dropped to his knees and began to dig in the soil with his fingers.

  Cleo was staring up at Resus in disgust. “Whose liver was that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Resus,” said Cleo, “I’m a mummy. I keep my insides on the outside. I know a liver when I see it!”

  “It was my nan’s,” sighed Resus. “She left it to me in her will.”

  Cleo shuddered. “And you’ve carried it around in your cloak ever since?”

  “It distracted the vampire cat long enough for us to get over the wall, didn’t it?” retorted Resus.

  Luke pulled a cream-coloured bulb from the soil. “Is this it?” he asked. “I’ve only ever seen garlic in supermarkets before.”

  Resus sniffed the bulb. “Yep,” he said, wrinkling up his nose. “That’s garlic!”

  “Well,” said Cleo, “time to test it out — unless Resus has any other bits of his family tucked away somewhere.”

  Luke crushed the garlic bulb in his hand. Taking aim, he hurled the fistful of cloves at the black cat. To his delight, it hissed angrily and backed away.

  “It works!” he beamed, pushing his hands back into the soil. “Let’s get some more of it and we can—”

  Two large, scuffed leather boots appeared in his line of vision. “What do you finks you’re doin’?” growled a deep voice.

  Luke’s gaze travelled upwards past a pair of thick hairy legs to a frilly pink tutu. A pot belly hung, wobbling, over the top of the skirt and two large tattooed arms ended beside the gut in massive fists. Stubble coated the chin of the rough-skinned face that was glowering down at Luke. Above it, a close-cropped haircut was topped off with a delicate tiara.

  “I saids, what you doin’?”

  “Er, Luke,” said Resus as brightly as he could. “This is Twinkle.” He slowly pushed a newly exposed bulb back into the soil. “And this is his garlic.”

  Luke swallowed hard. “P-pleased to meet you.”

  “I needs that garlic,” snarled Twinkle. “I uses it to make me fairy dust!”

  Luke stared. This was a fairy? He looked more like a bricklayer in fancy dress.

  “Sorry, Twinkle,” said Resus. “We would have asked, but we’ve got a bit of a problem.” He gestured towards the cat, watching warily from the safety of the garden wall.

  Twinkle sniffed. “What’s that fing?”

  “A vampire cat,” explained Cleo.

  Twinkle nodded slowly. Luke was certain that, if he were able to get close enough, he would hear the cogs moving
inside the fairy’s brain. Eventually, Twinkle said, “What d’you needs me to do?”

  Resus handed the fairy the garlic he had just unearthed. “Take garlic to every house in Scream Street except mine,” he said. “Hang a piece on each door and tell everyone to stay inside until it’s safe.”

  Twinkle’s granite expression hardened even further. “Gotcha!” He bent to pull the rest of the bulbs out of the soil and shoved them into a pink bag that hung at his side. Straightening, the fairy flapped a pair of delicate wings, floated gently off the ground and soared away over the rooftops.

  “I never would have …” began Luke, before a vicious yowl sent a shiver up his spine. The vampire cat was slinking towards them again.

  Cleo swallowed hard. “I think maybe we should have kept a little bit of that garlic for ourselves!”

  The cat crawled across the garden, fangs bared.

  “Can you fight it, Luke?” asked Resus. “I know you don’t want to be considered a weapon or anything, but you might be our only chance.”

  Luke shook his head as they backed away. “I doubt I’d have enough time to transfor—”

  There was a crash as he tumbled over a lawnmower. Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street fell from his pocket and landed on the grass.

  The cat saw its chance and leapt. Luke covered his face with his hands.

  “Shan! Leave them alone!”

  The cat paused, surprised for a moment by the unexpected voice. Then it shook its head to clear the sound and raced for Luke once more.

  “SHAN! NO!”

  The effect upon the vampire cat was instant. It rolled onto its back and mewed gently, all thoughts of attacking Luke lost.

  “Who said that?” asked Resus.

  “I did,” came the reply. “And you had better have a very good reason for infecting my cat with vampire Energy!”

  The trio looked down. The voice was coming from Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street, now lying open on the lawn. An image began to form among the scrawled handwriting. A pencil sketch appeared and grew in size, as though someone was running towards the book from the other side.

  The paper began to stretch as the figure rose from the page. Long charcoal hair swished in the gentle breeze of the garden and slim, black-nailed fingers gripped the diamond-studded handle of a razor-sharp knife.

  “Get back inside this book right now!” ordered Samuel Skipstone. The silver cover of Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street tried to close over the foot of the woman, still on the page from which she had appeared.

  “I will do no such thing until this monster leaves Shan alone!” roared the illustration. She grabbed a handful of Luke’s hair, paper crinkling.

  “He’s no monster,” said Skipstone. “That’s the werewolf I told you about.”

  “This is the boy who wishes to open a doorway and take his parents out of Scream Street? I ought to cast a spell and keep them here for ever!”

  “A spell?” gasped Luke. “You’re a witch?”

  “Not a witch, darling,” replied the sketch. “The witch! Nelly Twist, the very first witch in Scream Street.”

  “I— I’m Luke Watson.”

  “Well, Luke Watson,” said Nelly Twist. “If you expect me to provide you with the relic you seek, you must first do something for me.”

  “OK,” said Luke. “Anything!”

  Nelly Twist swung the diamond-handled knife towards Luke. “Kill my cat.”

  Luke stared up at the witch in terror. “Are you serious?”

  The illustration of Nelly Twist tightened her grip on Luke’s hair. “Deadly serious,” she hissed. “Now, take the knife and kill my cat!”

  “Nelly, stop this,” demanded Samuel Skip-stone. “He’s just a boy!”

  “If he wants my help, he must prove himself worthy,” insisted the witch. “If he refuses to do my bidding, he will not get my relic and his quest is at an end.”

  Swallowing hard, Luke took the drawing of the dagger from the witch’s outstretched hand. As his fingers touched it, blue sparks flashed across the illustration and the knife became real. He turned the blade down towards the black cat sitting quietly at the witch’s feet.

  “Luke Watson, if you do this I’ll never speak to you again!” shouted Cleo.

  Luke gazed up through horror-filled eyes at Nelly Twist, hoping this was nothing more than a test to see how far he would go. The witch’s pencil-lined face remained stern. “Do it, or your parents will never leave Scream Street!”

  Cleo turned away, shaking, as Luke raised the knife over the cat. Resus could not tear his gaze from the horrible scene.

  Screwing his eyes shut, Luke plunged the knife down. There was a small yowl, then silence. Only Cleo’s sobs could be heard over the rustle of paper as the witch took the knife from Luke’s hand.

  “Look!” said Resus.

  “Stop it!” yelled Cleo.

  “I mean it,” said Resus. “Look at the cat!”

  Luke opened his eyes and watched in amazement as, slowly, the body of the cat rose into the air and began to spin, as though caught in the midst of a tiny tornado. The animal began to blur, shifting in and out of focus.

  After a moment, the spinning slowed and a smaller, very much alive cat drifted to the ground. It mewed softly and padded over to the witch, licking her paper hand, no vampire fangs to be seen.

  “That’s impossible!” said Resus.

  “Not for Shan,” explained Nelly. “Many years ago he wriggled his way into my store cupboard and ate the raw ingredients to dozens of potions. They mixed in his stomach and he remains alive to this day.”

  “You mean, he’ll live for ever?” gasped Cleo.

  “Not quite,” said the witch. “He accidentally increased his number of lives from nine to nine hundred and ninety-nine. I believe he’s just embarked on number one hundred and forty-one now.” She turned to Luke. “He would have suffered greatly throughout his latest life had you not ended it. Thank you for killing my cat.”

  “You’re welcome,” said Luke as the witch helped him to stand. “I think!”

  “Who has been looking after Shan while I’ve been away?” asked Nelly.

  Resus raised a hand. “I’ve known him since I was a toddler. My mum used to give him milk at the back door. One day I was playing in the garden and he went to sleep inside my cape. He seemed comfortable, so I let him stay there.”

  “Then you are to be thanked as well, young vampire,” said Nelly. “It is not easy to care for your pets when you are no longer alive.”

  “How can we be talking to you if you’re dead?” asked Cleo.

  “Technically, you’re talking to my memory of Nelly Twist,” said Samuel Skipstone from the cover of the book. “I should add that I do not wholly approve of the spell you are using to do this, Nelly!”

  “You always were a worrier, Samuel,” laughed the witch. “I had to be sure this boy was worthy of my gift.”

  “Could you show us the clue again, please?” Luke asked the book. Skipstone smiled and brought the riddle into view on the page.

  Luke looked up at the illustrated witch. “The source of witch’s life. That’s your blood, isn’t it?” Nelly Twist nodded.

  “You’re just going to give me some?” said Luke, eyeing the knife again.

  “If you were to cut me now, all you would find would be the ink from Skipstone’s pen,” said Nelly. “I drew my blood a long time ago and it is hidden from those who do not deserve it.” As she spoke, her fingertips began to fade.

  “What’s happening?” asked Cleo.

  “The spell is wearing off,” said Nelly as her arms vanished into clouds of pencil dust. “We do not have much time.” She fixed Luke’s eyes with her own. “You are certain you wish to help your parents leave Scream Street?”

  Luke nodded. “I just want them to be happy.”

  “And you, Luke Watson? What will make you happy?”

  Luke glanced from Cleo to Resus, then back up at the outline of Nelly Twist’s face, suspended i
n the air. “Taking my family home.”

  “Very well,” said Nelly as the final pencil line was dragged back into the book. “Shan, show them where to find my blood.”

  The witch’s voice echoed away into silence. Her cat padded to the garden gate and sat, watching Luke.

  “He wants you to follow him,” said Cleo.

  Resus stooped to pick up Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street. He closed the book and handed it to Luke. “Ready?” he asked.

  Luke nodded and the trio made for the gate, stopping as a familiar green fist punched up through the soil in front of them. Doug’s head followed as the hole widened. Resus stared. Something wasn’t right.

  “What’s that?” gasped Cleo, pointing to the zombie’s cheek. A rat was clamped onto the side of Doug’s face, teeth buried deep in his dead, cracked flesh. The zombie ripped the rat away, losing a chunk of skin in the process. The rodent squealed as it was hurled over the garden wall.

  “Doug, are you OK?” asked Luke, crouching down next to him. He froze as he saw two glistening fangs push their way into the zombie’s broken smile.

  “Never better, little dude!” beamed Doug, licking his new teeth with a long black tongue and eyeing Luke’s throat. “Although I sure am thirsty!”

  Luke, Resus and Cleo raced along Scream Street with the witch’s cat. Doug chased after them, licking his new fangs and shouting, “Blood, dudes!”

  “The zombies in my computer games never move this fast,” panted Luke.

  “It’s the vampire Energy,” explained Resus. “It heightens the senses.”

  “So does the threat of having your throat bitten!” said Luke.

  “Do my ears deceive me, or did you just crack a joke?” asked Resus.

  “I’ve got just as good a sense of humour as you,” said Luke. “The difference is, my material doesn’t stink!”

  “Something does stink, though,” said Cleo, sniffing. “I smell garlic.”

  “There’s Twinkle’s bag!” exclaimed Resus, hurrying to pick up the pink sack.

  “Why didn’t he hand the stuff out, like you asked?” said Luke.

  “There’s your answer,” replied Resus, pointing to the fairy as he stumbled out of a nearby garden, blood dripping from his newly sprouted fangs.