The Hollow Church

by Amy Cross

  Efferson stared at him. "I don't know who you're talking about."

  "Has her fame not reached across the world?" Edgar asked with a frown. "Is her name not known by every man who has ever lived? My sister's beauty is world-renowned, and she has never been shy when it comes to using her looks to get what she wants. Surely every man on the planet must lust after her."

  "Is she a movie star?" Efferson asked, squeezing past Edgar and emerging in the corridor. "Wait here. I have to go and get something that might help." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and started walking along the corridor. Every step felt like a mile, and he knew it was insane to turn his back on this maniac, but he was consumed by one thought: he needed to get to the flare-gun so he could defend himself. No-one could survive a flare-gun to the chest.

  "My sister should be the most feared and reviled woman in the history of the planet," Edgar said, following Efferson along the corridor. "Her name should strike terror into the hearts of all men. If this is not the case, it can only mean that she has chosen to go into hiding. Either way, I must return to our ancestral home and learn the truth. It has been many years since she had me placed in a grave, and I am eager to resume our game. You will help me."

  "Huh," Efferson said, hurrying over to the cabinet by the door. Fumbling with the lock, he finally managed to get the cabinet open. Pulling out the flare-gun, he double-checked that it was loaded before turning to find Edgar standing just a few feet away. Efferson had never fire a flare-gun indoors before, but as the boat pitched against another wave, he felt certain that this was his only chance to disable the madman. He could worry about explaining the guy's sudden presence later; right now, he needed to secure the ship.

  "The world has changed," Edgar said calmly. "Would it surprise you to learn that my sister imprisoned me for more than three hundred years?"

  "Sounds kinda mean," Efferson said, poised to fire the flare-gun straight at Edgar if necessary. "Listen, I need to ask you to do something. I need you to go into the room next to the mess, and I need you to stay in there until we reach port. I'm going to close the door on you and keep you locked in there, purely as a precaution. If you didn't hurt Carlton, there's no -"

  "I killed him," Edgar said firmly, as if the matter was of no great importance.

  "Right," Efferson said, holding the flare-gun up and aiming it straight at Edgar's chest. "That's why I need to have you locked up for the rest of the voyage, okay? Can't have you wandering around the place, can we? You can give your side of the story when we get to port, but -"

  "What is that thing?" Edgar asked, staring at the flare-gun.

  "Doesn't matter right now. Just -"

  "Do I have to kill you?" Edgar asked, stepping toward Efferson.

  "Stay back!"

  Edgar smiled as he came closer.

  Realizing he had no choice, Efferson pulled the trigger. A bright white blast erupted from the end of the flare-gun with enough force to step him staggering back against the wall, as the blast hit Edgar square in the chest and exploded in a bright red flash of light and fire. Designed to be shot into the sky in order to attract the attention of passing ships, the flare was a massive force within the confines of the bridge, burning the air and forcing Efferson to shield his eyes as he tried to crawl to safety. After a few seconds, the brightness began to fade and Efferson found himself over by the far bulkhead, his clothes singed and scorched.

  Turning, he expected to see a bloody mess where Edgar had been standing. His intention had been to disable the intruder rather than kill him, but he felt there was no way the flare-gun would have caused anything other than fatal injuries. There would undoubtedly be a lot of blood, and Efferson was already trying to work out how the hell he was going to explain what happened, not only to the rest of the crew but also to the authorities when they reached Albania. The killing had been self-defense, but he was worried that others wouldn't see it that way.

  As the smoke cleared, however, Efferson was shocked to see Edgar stepping toward him, seemingly with no injuries at all. With the flare-gun now empty, all Efferson could do was stare up in horror as Edgar reached down and grabbed him by the collar. Finally, when they were face to face, Edgar opened his mouth to reveal his fangs.

  Chapter Five

  "Is everything okay?" Saffron shouted into the radio, keeping his eyes fixed on the bridge windows far below. He'd just seen a bright red flash, and now he was finding it impossible to get a reply from Efferson. "This is Saffron! What the hell just happened down there?"

  He waited for a reply, but all he could hear was static.

  "Carlton!" he shouted. "Claremont! Can anyone fucking hear me?"

  "What's wrong?" Claremont replied after a moment.

  "I just saw something," Saffron said, trying not to sound too panicked. "Like a flash of light on the bridge. Like a big red flash. It was huge."

  "I'm not on the bridge," Claremont said wearily. "I'm in the engine room."

  "No-one from the bridge is answering," Saffron said. "Do you think I should go down and check?"

  "If you like," Claremont replied. "I'm busy with the engine. I'm not leaving this room 'til I've got it sorted."

  "I'll go and look," Saffron said, setting the radio down as he fumbled in his pockets for the key that would unlock the chains. Just as he was about to free himself, however, the boat lurched to one side, tossing him against a railing and causing him to let go of the key. Reaching out, he succeeded only in knocking the radio, which followed the key over the edge and crashing down to the deck far below.

  "Damn it!" Saffron shouted, tugging at the chains and realizing he was trapped. He wouldn't be able to get free until one of the others came up and helped him.

  Moments later, he spotted a figure emerging from the bridge and climbing down onto the main part of the deck. Instantly, Saffron could tell that this figure wasn't Efferson, nor was it Carlton. It was someone else, moving slowly and defiantly through the darkness. Saffron's heart began to race as he realized there was definitely an intruder on-board, and that there was no way he could warn the others.

  Chapter Six

  "Damn thing!" Claremont shouted as the wrench slipped yet again, almost slicing a hole in the side of his hand. With the boat still pitching and tilting as it crashed through the waves, it was proving impossible for Claremont to get a good grip on the bolts that held the old vent panel in place. Consequently, he was unable to get into the canopy, which meant he couldn't remove the old valves, which meant the whole engine was rapidly eating itself and there was no way to keep it steady.

  "That's it," Claremont muttered, sitting back and staring at the mess of engine pieces. He was hoping for a moment of inspiration, some flash of realization that would help him realize how he could do the impossible, pull another miracle out of his ass, and get the damn thing running. Instead, all he saw was a pile of broken bits that stubbornly refused to work together. Having worked in the engine rooms of cargo ships for more than thirty years, he'd never come across an engine he couldn't fix, not until now. A lifetime of engineering genius, and finally he'd hit a brick wall.

  "I guess we'll have to coast into port," he said, sighing wearily as he turned and walked across the cramped engine room. In truth, he hadn't given up, not quite. He still felt that there was a solution, and that he merely needed to wait for inspiration to kick in. Finding himself over in the far corner, facing the huge mass of oily black mold, he figured that a distraction might help. He grabbed a hammer from the tool rack, paused for a moment, and then finally he struck the mold as hard as possible. A small sliver fell to the ground, and to his surprise Claremont saw that the mass of mold seemed to be hollow.

  Taking a deep breath, he slammed the hammer down once again, this time knocking an even larger chunk of mold away. Whereas his earlier attempts had been somewhat half-hearted, this time he was filled with determination. All he needed, he figured, was to take his mind off the engine for a moment. He knew how his mind worked, and he was convinced that a
solution to all his problems would pop fully-formed into his mind as soon as he found some other focus. That was how he always came up with his most ingenious ideas, so he set about dismantling the mold until, finally, he'd managed to break through to find a hollow space that had seemingly been carefully concealed from the crew.

  "That's mine," said a voice nearby.

  Turning, Claremont saw a dark figure standing in the doorway on the other side of the engine room. Although the boat was continuing to rock as it hit the waves, the figure seemed to be having no trouble standing upright. In fact, he was conspicuously not even bothering to hold onto the bulkhead.

  "What?" Claremont said after a moment, still trying to work out what was happening.

  "Leave it alone," the figure continued. "That's mine. It's nothing to do with you."

  "Efferson?" Claremont asked, even though he was certain this figure was not one of the usual crew-members.

  "Tell me about my sister," the figure said, stepping closer. "My name is Edgar LeCompte. My sister is Madeleine. Tell me about her. It's been a long time since I last saw her. I need to know if she's changed. Her strengths, her weaknesses... Tell me everything you know about her and about my family."

  "I don't know what the hell you're talking about," Claremont replied, squinting as he tried to get a better view of the stranger, "and I don't know who you are. How'd you get on this boat?"

  "Tell me about Madeleine," Edgar said, stopping in the center of the room. Now that he was near a set of lights on one of the terminals, his face was a little easier to see. Despite having dark, intense eyes that hinted at great age, he seemed otherwise quite young, as if he was no more than twenty years old. He stared firmly and without pause at Claremont, his eyes almost burning into the old man's soul.

  "I don't know any Madeleine!" Claremont said, raising his voice a little as he strengthened his grip on the hammer. He could feel the stranger's mind reaching out to him, like dark tentacles slipping into his head. "Why don't you start by telling me who you are, eh? How'd you got on-board?"

  "She must have chosen to go into hiding," Edgar replied, seemingly lost in thought. "It's hard to believe that my sister would do such a thing, but perhaps she found that she missed me after all. She spent so long trying to trap me, and then she discovered that she needed me in her life. She must have withdrawn from the world. She's undoubtedly waiting for my return. I must get home as soon as possible and let her see that I've returned."

  Grabbing his radio, Claremont opened a ship-wide channel. "This is Claremont in the engine room," he shouted. "I need someone down here right now! There's a -"

  Before he could finish the sentence, however, Edgar grabbed the radio from his hand and threw it back across the room. Instinctively, Claremont swung his hammer at Edgar's arm, but he missed and almost fell over as the boat hit another wave. Clinging to one of the bulkheads, he tried to turn and attack again, but Edgar was too quick for him, grabbing his arm and trying to force the hammer from his hand. Despite Edgar's immense strength, Claremont was determined not to let go, no matter the strength of Edgar's grip.

  "Don't make me hurt you!" Claremont said firmly. "You might think I'm an old fool, but I've taken on bigger men than you!"

  "Release the weapon," Edgar said firmly.

  "Don't make me -"

  Slamming Claremont in the bulkhead, Edgar took hold of his arm and finally began to tear the limb away from the old man's shoulder. No matter how hard Claremont struggled, he couldn't get free of Edgar's iron grip, and slowly the flesh at the top of his arm began to rip and tear until he screamed with pain. Staring in horror, Claremont watched as the muscles and sinews of his arm were stretched until they began to tear, and finally he saw the bone itself being eased out of the stump at his shoulder.

  As soon as he'd removed the arm, Edgar tossed it to one side and smiled, before leaning closer and drinking the blood that erupted from the wound.

  Desperately reaching out for some kind of weapon, half stupefied by the pain, Claremont finally managed to grab hold of a wrench. Bringing it crashing down on the top of Edgar's head, he waited in vain for his attacker to show some sign of injury. Instead, Edgar simply grabbed the wrench and threw it to one side, while grinning at Claremont with a mouth caked in the old man's blood. It was as if he found the old man's struggles to be amusing.

  "I don't know how and why my sister's fame has vanished from your world," Edgar said after a moment, "but I can assure you, now that I'm back, that the LeCompte family will be known in every land, and our names will be feared wherever we go. There will be no more dirty, ignorant little old men who claim not to know who we are. I'm tempted to keep you alive so that you can see the error of your ways, but I still need to feed. Three hundred years is a long time to spend trapped underground, so I'm sure you'll understand that I can't turn down a meal."

  "What are you?" Claremont asked, his heart racing.

  "What do you think I am?" Edgar replied with a grin. "Are you so foolish that you've forgotten all about my kind? Have we obediently hidden in the shadows?"

  "You won't get away," Claremont said, still trying to pull free. "Whatever you think you're doing, you'll fail.

  Already feeling weak thanks to the blood-loss, Claremont turned and tried to get away, but Edgar merely pulled him closer and sank his teeth into the old man's neck. Feeling the blood being drained from his body, Claremont tried again to get free, but his old body was already starting to fail as the vampire pushed him against the wall, wrapping his hands around his neck and squeezing tight in an attempt to get the blood out faster.

  Chapter Seven

  "Come on!" Saffron yelled at the top of his voice, desperately hoping that one of the other crew-members might hear him. He knew there was no chance, of course, but he figured he still had to try. The last thing he wanted was to be chained up at the top of the boat until the storm passed. "Get me down!" he continued, but every word that left his mouth was swiftly blown away by the howling wind.

  Turning to the chain, he tried once again to pull it loose with brute force. He knew there was no way he'd succeed, but as the boat pitched against another huge wave, he reminded himself that he had to try something. He didn't much fancy the idea of being up at his post for another five hours, but that was how things were looking unless he could find some way to get down. Giving the chain another frustrated tug, he let out a roar of anger. He was annoyed with himself for dropping the key, he was annoyed with the crew for not bothering to check on him, and he was annoyed with the heavens for cooking up such a massive storm.

  Sighing, he looked down at the deck and saw, to his surprise, that there was a figure far below, staring back up at him. Saffron's blood immediately began to run cold, not only because he knew that this figure was not a part of the crew, but also because there was something steely and determined about the figure's gaze. Even from this position, almost fifty feet above the deck, Saffron could tell that he had the figure's full attention. As the boat crashed against another wave and tilted first one way and then the other, the figure stood firm, as if untroubled by the turbulence around him. And then, slowly, he stepped over to the base of the mast and began to climb.

  Grabbing the chain, Saffron tried to stay calm as he desperately worked to release the padlock that was holding him in place. As his frustration began to boil over, however, he realized that there was simply no way he could ever loosen the bond. Glancing down, he saw that the figure was slowly making progress despite the rocking of the boat. In just a few minutes, he'd be up at the top and Saffron would come face to face with whatever creature had managed to sneak onto the boat.

  "Hey!" he shouted, hoping against hope that someone might hear him. "Help! I need help up here! Someone!"

  As if to mock him, the wind picked up a little and swept past him, buffeting him with its icy shoulder while howling a hundred, maybe a thousand times louder than he could ever hope to push his voice. Looking down, he saw that the determined, indomitable stranger was alre
ady halfway up the mast, even though the entire boat was swaying more frantically than ever before. It was as if the entire storm was building to this moment, and Saffron was starting to wonder whether he might ever be rescued.

  Shuffling back from the edge of the platform, he stared straight ahead and waited for the figure to arrive. He shifted a little, positioning his feet in case he needed to kick out. He had no doubt that something was wrong, and he figured he could always try to push the stranger away. Although he was not usually someone who gave in easily to panic, tonight Saffron was filled with dread. Somewhere deep in his soul, he could tell that the stranger meant to cause him harm, and he was consumed by the fear that his crew-mates were by now probably all dead. He imagined the corpses rolling across the floor as the boat continued its tumultuous journey, and he tried to imagine what kind of creature could suddenly appear on-board and caused such damage.

  Eventually, a hand appeared at the edge of the platform, and finally the figure hauled himself up. A striking and imposing sight, the stranger stared at Saffron with a determined scowl, although there was also a hint of a smile on his lips, as if he found Saffron's situation amusing.

  "You're the last one," the stranger said, his voice just about audible over the howling wind and streaking rain.

  "The last what?" Saffron shouted back, poised to kick him away.

  "The last living creature on this vessel," the stranger replied, as thunder rumbled overhead and lightning reached down to the sea. "Not counting myself, of course."

  "Where are the others?" Saffron shouted. "What did you do to them?"

  "I used their bodies to gain strength," the stranger said calmly, as if it was the most natural and normal thing in the world. "Their blood is in me now, and for that I am grateful."

  "No," Saffron stammered, "you... There was no-one else on-board when we left Southampton. There were just the four of us!"