“I think I need that coffee too,” he said in a throaty whisper. “Do you remember the way we came in?”
“No problem,” she said and began to move away from him. He made sure that he kept a firm grip of her hand as she turned away.
Something in the room beyond them moved, a subtle change in the air, and there was a loud crash, a thud that reverberated around the house.
“What the hell was that?” Margaret asked, but Brian thought he knew. It had been the front door...the front door that was now closed.
“Just keep moving. Come on. That coffee will be getting cold,” he said with more bravado than he felt.
They inched across the floor in the blackness, each straining for the slightest sound. But the house was quiet and dead, and the night remained dark.
The hackles at the back of Brian’s neck rose and a chill settled in his bones. He could feel the red, staring eyes in the picture behind them bore into his back, and he thought that, if he turned, he would see them blazing like twin rubies in the darkness.
But he refused to look back, concentrating on the hot hand that he held and the shuffle of his feet across the tiles.
They had reached what must be close to the center of the pattern when the cloud moved across the moon and the room once more became bathed in silver.
They were no longer alone.
At first Brian thought he had been turned around and was once more looking at the portrait, but then the figure moved and the shadows firmed and the illusion was broken.
Soft moonlight filled the room, lighting up the figure that stood between them and the corridor to the hall beyond.
Whoever had done the painting, it seemed it had been done from life.
It stood in the dead center of the patterned mosaic, less than six feet from Brian. Its feet were standing in the coils of the mosaic serpent, and the dancing shadows brought the mosaic to life…great bands of muscles rippling and pulsing with each wisp of cloud that passed the moon…the spirals of the serpent coiling inwards and upwards, focusing attention on its center...the great head that lay at the feet of the shining white form that basked in the moonlight.
The creature was standing side on to them, its rib cage heaving with each, gasping breath, each bone clearly delineated, each muscle straining. A gaping hole pulsed in its chest, just above the heart, and streams of sweat ran across its torso. No, not sweat, Brian realized with a shudder. The heavy fluid that ran from the creature’s pores shone black in the moonlight, but the sudden coppery tang in the air told Brian exactly what it was.
It stretched out its arms and breathed deep, as if soaking up the moonlight. And with each breath it seemed to swell ever larger, ever whiter as the hole in its chest shrank and the ravaged flesh healed itself from within, like a film running backwards.
Bands of muscle stood out proud from the skin, like a pumped up weightlifter after a session in the gym, and Brian had a sudden vision of Margaret’s ex-boyfriend, turning up to beat the shit out of him. But he knew that wasn’t right. Whatever this thing was, he doubted that weightlifting was among its pastimes.
Its skin shone silver in the moonlight, but it was the eyes that held Brian transfixed, those same blood red, blazing eyes that captured him and drew him in, down and down, deep into a place from where he had no desire to escape.
Somewhere behind him he felt Margaret tugging at his arm, but that was happening in a dream, somewhere long ago and far away.
His vision swam and his legs suddenly weakened...so much so that he needed to push himself upright and straighten his back. There was a mist in front of his eyes, a gray veil that only parted when he shook his head, hard.
~-o0O0o-~
He was in a crowded bar, the noise of conversation and fruit machines and clinking glasses so familiar that he almost wept in relief. The jukebox kicked in with Blue Oyster Cult’s “Don’t fear the Reaper”, but it wasn’t loud enough to disturb the happy ambience of the busy bar.
He reached into his pocket and took out a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. He shuffled one out and lit it hungrily, dragging the smoke deep into his lungs and letting it out slowly through his nostrils.
He realized that he knew this place. It was the old bowling club, the place where he had, far too infrequently, come for a few drinks with his father. He heard a well-remembered laugh and turned in anticipation.
His father was standing in front of him, dressed as Brian had last seen him.
“Saturday best for drinking, Sunday best for repenting.” He had always said as he tied his tie before going out to the pub on a Saturday night, and tonight it was Saturday best...his tweed jacket, flannels and brogues. He had a broad smile on his face and his eyes twinkled in good humor. He held a pint of beer in either hand, the left one being half-empty. He gestured, offering the other one to Brian, and Brian moved forward to accept.
He felt a harder tug to his left but brushed it away brusquely. Someone, a woman, called his name, twice, but his dad wanted to buy him a beer, and he wasn’t about to turn down the offer...he’d refused the last time and never got another chance.
He reached forward to accept the drink and as his fingertips touched the cold wetness of the glass he felt tears spring unbidden from his eyes.
~-o0O0o-~
When the cloud cleared from over the moon Margaret was in mid-step, her left foot searching for the ground in front of her. She looked down and realized that she could see the patterned mosaic at her feet.
Beside her Brian gasped, a single sharp intake of breath, causing her to look up.
Something was standing in the center of the mosaic, something that seemed to shift and melt in the shadows, one second standing like a man, and the next crouched on all fours like a great dog. The only thing that didn’t change was the eyes, twin points of fire that flared and dimmed, flared and dimmed in time with the wisps of cloud that floated across the moon.
Brian’s mouth was hanging open; his eyes fixed on the center of the pattern, his grip on her hand limp and flaccid. She pulled at him, just once, but he resisted, moving towards the shifting shadows like a man in a dream.
The red eyes flared suddenly brighter as Brian took one step, then another, moving slowly and deliberately like a man in a dream.
Margaret grabbed at his arm and pulled, hard, shouting his name, then again when there was no response, but Brian lashed out with his right arm, the expression on his face never changing, striking her across the chest and sending her sprawling, winded, to the floor.
Gasping for breath she looked up at Brian as he stretched out a hand towards the swirling shade in front of him. She saw tears glisten like a silver drops of dew in the corners of his eyes as the shadows swelled and darkened and spread over him.
She had the sudden impression of a pair of long skeletal arms closing behind Brian’s back. A wisp of cloud raced across the moon and she blinked. When she looked again she was alone in the room, just her and the moonlight and a single drop of black liquid falling slowly to the floor to splash on the head of the coiled serpent.
She screamed, then clamped her hand across her mouth as the echoes wailed around her in a mocking frenzy. Hysteria grew inside her, her limbs trembling, her chest heaving, and when a cloud chased across the moon and the shadows came for her she was up off the floor and heading for the corridor faster than she thought possible.
She mistimed her angle and hit the corner hard, feeling a sudden flare of pain in her left shoulder. She screamed again, oblivious this time to the answering echoes.
The burst of adrenaline kept her going long enough to get her into the hallway and up to the door before shock started to hit her and her legs threatened to give way. She grabbed at the massive door handle and screamed again as it refused to give. She almost cried in relief as it began to swing open, three, six inches, then a full foot.
Unable to wait any longer she squeezed through the gap, wincing as her bruised shoulder brushed hard against the unyielding wood.
The old door crashed shut behind her. Without a backward glance she was off and away, feet slamming hard against the gravel as she ran down the drive, heading for the distant outline of Brian’s car.
As she ran she tried to rationalize the situation. Part of her believed that Brian had planned it all along, that it had been a set up from the start, an extended practical joke at her expense. But that didn’t slow her running, and it didn’t stop the tears from flowing.
She had almost reached the iron gate before she finally began to slow, her breath coming hot and ragged, the pain in her shoulder burning like hot coals under her thin jacket.
As she got closer she saw that there was someone standing on the far side of the car, and she almost cried with relief before a flash of anger hit her like a thunderbolt.
“You bastard,” she shouted, clenching her fists and striding forward. “What the hell were you playing at...you frightened the hell out of me back there. You….”
Her voice tailed away as she realized that the figure was too small, too fat to be the biology teacher. And it was several seconds after that before she recognized the crumpled figure of Tom Duncan.
Relief washed through her in a wave and she felt the tension of the last ten minutes ebb away...only slightly, but enough to let her think clearly for the first time.
“God I’m glad to see you,” she said. “You’ve got to help me...Brian’s up at the house and…” She realized that she didn’t know what she would say next. She couldn’t tell Tom that a black shadow had got his friend and disappeared with him. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
Tom Duncan moved round from the far side of the car and a shaft of moonlight suddenly lit him up.
“Christ Tom, what’s happened to you.”
The man’s eyes were red, as if he had been crying for a long time, and his face held such a deep despair that her heart lurched in sympathy.
She moved forward, whether to help him or comfort him she was not sure.
“Jessie?” he said, “Is that you?”
He came forward, arms outstretched, and Margaret let him come into her embrace. As he got closer she could smell the unmistakable taint of whisky. Whether it was from his breath or from his clothes she couldn’t tell, but either way she knew that the older teacher had fallen off the wagon again.
“Oh Tom,” she said, holding him tighter and bringing him closer into her arms. The dry hairs of his moustache tickled at her neck and she almost giggled. He began to squirm in her grasp and she felt his erection pushing at her through his trousers.
“Shit,” she said and pushed him away.
His head came up and he gave her a dead smile. Yellow, rotting fangs slid bloodily over his lower lip.
“Jessie,” he said.
Faster than a snake, he struck.
~-o0O0o-~
The policeman, the one who called himself Collins, knelt down beside Tony. That was when he knew it was bad...they only brought themselves down to look you in the face when they had something bad to tell you...either that or they were telling you off for something in that earnest way they had.
The policeman’s eyes were moist and sad as he explained to Tony about an empty house and missing parents. He didn’t mention about the bloodstains, but he didn’t have to...Tony saw it in his eyes.
Besides, he knew what happened when the vampire got you...you came back again…nastier than ever before. And in his dad’s case that wasn’t something he ever wanted to see...he had a feeling that his dad would make a particularly good, if somewhat greedy, vampire.
He didn’t cry...not in front of Collins…but when the policeman went out and left him alone with Bill Reid he couldn’t help it.
He almost threw himself off the bed and buried his head in the Minister’s ample waist, throwing his arms around the man and hugging...hugging like he would never let go.
“She’s dead. The vampire showed me what he’d do, and he’s done it.”
They stayed together like that for long minutes as Tony cried out his grief and his rage, for his mother, for Ian and for Billy. Finally the sobs began to subside.
“Come on son,” Bill said, gently prizing Tony away. “Let’s get you downstairs...you look like you could do with some hot food inside you.”
Tony hadn’t thought about it until it was mentioned, but now he could think of nothing else. His stomach rumbled, so loud that they both heard it.
“Guess I was right,” Bill said. “How does soup sound? Tomato soup? All boys love tomato soup...I know I did at your age.”
Tony nodded. He knew that the Minister was trying to get him to think about something else...he wasn’t stupid enough not to notice that.
But for now he was happy to go along with it...even although he wasn’t particularly fond of tomato soup. Not now anyway...it reminded him too much of blood.
~-o0O0o-~
When they got to the top of the stairs the policemen were just about to leave. They suddenly looked flustered, unsure of themselves for the first time that evening.
“We’ve got to go,” Collins said. “It must be something in the air...the whole town’s going mad tonight. We’ve got six separate disturbances of the peace reports and a whole army of missing persons. Will the boy be okay here for a while?”
Bill nodded, as did Tony. He had no intention of going anywhere...not while it was still dark anyway and he moved closer to the Minister as if to reinforce his assent.
“I’ve left a man outside...with the....” Collins’ mouth flapped open and shut. “With the old man. We’ll be back as soon as we can.”
The door slammed behind the police as they left. Bill stood looking at it for long seconds before turning back to the boy.
“Time for soup,” he said, taking Tony’s hand and leading him to a huge, spotlessly clean kitchen that looked like it was never used. The sight reminded him of the kitchen in his home...his mother’s fruitless efforts to keep the place clean despite his father’s innate untidy nature…the boxes of cereal and the half used loaves of bread and the slight greasiness of all the surfaces.
He pushed that thought away. He had to stop thinking about his mother...the last time he’d done it the vampire had got her.
It was best if he took each moment as it came and tried not to think too much...that was the only way he would cope with what was happening around him.
He watched, almost smiling, as the Minister opened and closed most of the cupboards visible before finally finding the soup cans.
“I don’t spend much time in here,” the man said, almost apologetically. “Mrs. Brown does it all for me.”
Soon saliva began to well in Tony’s mouth as the smell of warming soup filled the kitchen. He sat at a table that was too high for him, in a chair that didn’t allow his feet to touch the ground, and when the Minister put a bowl of soup in front of him he felt like a much younger boy.
It was only then that he released his grip on the book, the book he had held on to all this time.
The Minister sat opposite him, and for a while there was only the quiet slurping as Tony wolfed down the soup. He scraped the bottom of the bowl and looked up guiltily to find Bill staring at him.
“Tell me about the vampire,” was all the Minister said, but that was enough.
Once Tony started talking he couldn’t stop. He told the Minister about Billy, about the house and the skeleton and how it had all started. By that time tears were once more streaming down his face, but he didn’t stop talking.
He told Bill about Ian and the trick in the boiler room, then he told him again about the old man in the graveyard. And through it all Bill said nothing, and the expression on his face didn’t change.
“The vampire is looking for it...that’s all I know. And he wants it very badly.”
“And this all actually happened?” Bill asked. “Just like you said?”
Tony could see the disbelief in the Minister’s face. He didn’t speak, merely pushed the book across the table to Bill and sat and watched as the Minister started to read.
~-o0O0o-~
Brian was getting drunk. Not quickly, but the effect of the strong beer and the company of his father was a heady combination.
“Good to see you again son,” his father said, thrusting another pint of beer into Brian’s hand. “I think we should make a night of it...don’t you. After all, neither of us have our work to get to in the morning.”
All the old crowd was there...old Mr. Graham from next door holding forth about racing pigeons, his Auntie Netta with her gin and orange and reminiscences about his childhood, and his Uncle Davy ogling at everything in a skirt.
And his father was in good spirits. He’d already told the story about the one armed man and the camel, and he was building up to the one about ‘Hans that does dishes.’
Brian hadn’t enjoyed himself so much for years.
But the drink seemed to be taking its toll. The walls of the pub wavered, melting and flowing in surrealist patterns that hurt his eyes when he looked too close, and occasionally he caught a glimpse of rough stone walls beneath the mock oak veneer. Then his dad bought him another drink and everything settled down again.
For a while.
The beer flowed faster and he got more and more drunk and the walls melted faster. His father held out a hand and smiled. He too began to change, his features flowing like melting butter in a pan. Brian grabbed for him, spilling his drink, but his hands only met air.
The room around him span in turmoil, swirling clouds of gas in hues of green and purple in which shapes danced and cavorted, shapes which slowly coalesced into pictures, like a video playing in Brian’s mind.
Eldren: The Book of the Dark Page 12
