by Paul Magrs
Goodness. They’ve pulled out all the stops tonight.
Charlotte Bronte comes whirling by, brandishing an evil-looking knife. I so wish she was as nice as all the books make her seem. She whispers something about the witching hour being nigh. And it being time to slit my throat.
So I think I’d better say my goodbyes.
I’m so sorry about Gila. He was such a good lad. I’d like to thank Robert and Penny for helping me fight the good fight. I don’t even mind about Robert writing about my life and selling it to people. Perhaps he’ll make them all understand one day, what it’s like to be me. And I suppose I don’t mind much about Effie’s succumbing to her conditioning in various ways during the past few weeks. The poor old moo couldn’t really help it, being a sleeper agent and everything. And I don’t feel in the slightest bit guilty that we dispatched her rotten mother back to the land of the faeries. Good riddance, I’d say. She just about put me off Christmas, the way she carried on.
As for regrets, I suppose I do mind that I won’t be here to defend Whitby and its gateway to hell anymore. And I really will miss being a landlady of a luxurious but reasonable B&B.
Oh, here comes Charlotte Bronte with her flashing blade.
So, goodbye then, everybody!
See you in the life to come!
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ROBERT’S LETTER
Dear Gila,
Your letters turn up in the strangest places, you know. The most recent one I found under Brenda’s door. Tucked under there by unseen hands. I found it when I popped round the other day, just to see. To make sure the place was secure, I suppose, and to think things over. I can’t believe she’s gone. Or you, I can’t believe that you’re gone, either.
I really do love getting your letters. Hearing how it’s all going in that strange realm. Maybe I’ll find a way back some day. I don’t know. Brenda and Effie were the ones who knew all those secrets – about magic and about other dimensions and all that stuff. They’ve taken all those secrets with them.
It’s a different place here now. No mysteries. Not much excitement. Just a normal seaside town. It’s even devoid of vamps and Walkers now. The Bronte sisters spread that stolen blood around pretty liberally. Everyone was cured. Even Raf’s wife, Leena, from the convenience store under Brenda’s place, returned home as good as new.
Sorry, I must have been too vague in my last letter to you. I made you misunderstand. But when I wrote that letter I was still in a state of shock. Both Penny and I were just about basket cases after what we witnessed that night. And after everything we lost. It’s been too much for Penny altogether. She’s left her job with me and the Miramar. She’s left Whitby, and gone back to stay at her mum’s in Newton Aycliffe for a while. I think this whole business has hit both me and her far more than we even realised.
Anyway, so I didn’t make it all clear to you, the last time I wrote.
It wasn’t Brenda’s blood that the Brontes got. It wasn’t her throat they slit.
It was Frank’s. He appeared at the very last moment and caused a right rumpus. He got in among all those chanting, singing ghosts, and he roared at the top of his voice. He demanded they freed his wife. He was there to save her, and he offered himself and his own blood in exchange.
Well, Frank was even more legendary than Brenda. The Brontes seized their chance.
They set Brenda free.
She staggered out of that wicked-looking scaffold. She begged with them not to hurt Frank. Not to hurt anyone.
‘I ran from him. The whole world ran from Frank. He deserves better than this.’
They dragged Frank away to put him into the machine and he looked at his one-time Bride.
He said, ‘You deserve to live more than I do.’
But Brenda knew they would never let her live on. The witches had their bloodlust up. There was nothing any of us could do to stop them killing both bride and groom.
Effie came running out of the ring of spectators. She ran to her best friend in all the world. The two of them were reunited at the last.
I longed to go with them, but I was tied up.
I would have, you know. I would have run after them both as they made the only escape they could.
Brenda and Effie escaped, Gila. They never did die up at the Abbey with Frank that night. I’m sorry my previous letter wasn’t clear on this point.
The two of them ran to the Bitch’s Maw. They looked at each other and back at the killing and mayhem behind them. They held hands and, in the very same instant, they jumped.
Brenda and Effie leapt into the gateway that leads to hell.
Everyone watched them go. Mr Danby, his mother, Penny, Panda, the Brontes, Effie’s aunts and everyone up at the abbey – including Frank, who had only moments to live. Everyone watched in appalled horror.
So that’s what happened, Gila. That’s how it ended.
I’ll miss them. I don’t need to tell you how much I’ll miss the two of them old dames.
Everything has changed here.
And at least, I suppose, I have an end to the story I’m writing. Yet that sounds wrong. It sounds callous and cruel. But you know what I mean. I want the world to know what she was doing here, and who she was.
I think it’s time to tell her secrets.
She’s safe now.
She’s gone from here for good.
Love,
Robert.
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