His Vampyrrhic Bride (17 page)

She laughed. ‘I’ll find a cover for the Modesty Box. You grab those strawberries.’

His spirits rose again as he headed out of the garage. He’d no sooner walked on to the drive when he heard a voice call to him: ‘Tom . . . hey, Tom!’

He turned to see Chester Kenyon ambling up the driveway. ‘Hi, Tom. I thought I’d drop by.’ The big man let out a whistle. ‘What the heck’s happened to your face!’

‘Some idiots from the village don’t like my choice of friends.’

‘They made a mess of you, Tom. Have you reported it to the police?’

‘No, I’m going to settle this myself.’

‘Don’t go starting wars. These vendettas have a way of getting out of hand.’

‘Great to see you, Chester. Is there anything special you want, or . . .?’

‘Nah, just checking you’re OK. When you didn’t show up for quiz night at the pub I thought . . .’ Chester’s voice drained away. So did the smile on his face.

Tom saw what Chester had just noticed: Nicola stepping out from the garage.

‘Aw,
Tom.
’ Chester’s expression was one of total shock. ‘I warned you, didn’t I? If you keep seeing Nicola Bekk, you’re going to be in so much trouble. Man, you’re heading for disaster!’

Tom saw a brilliant opportunity. ‘Chester, talk to Nicola.’

‘No way.’

‘Do it. You’ll find out for yourself that she’s perfectly normal.’

Chester stared at her; he didn’t say a word. So Tom turned to Nicola.

‘Nicola. Talk to Chester. Prove that you’re just like us.’

With her eyes locked on Chester, as if afraid he’d suddenly attack her, she backed away a few paces, then she turned and fled into the house.

‘Trust me, Chester, Nicola can speak like anyone else. She’s perfect; she—’

Tom was talking to himself, because Chester had run to where he’d parked his van. Soon it roared away in the direction of Danby-Mask. Now he was alone with Nicola again. It was as if they lived in their own self-contained universe, while the rest of humanity shunned them.

Then something strange happened: Tom Westonby realized he did not mind one bit. Being alone with Nicola was wonderful. He loved it. While they were together like this it seemed impossible that a disaster could ever befall them. They were safe from any danger the world could throw at them. Weren’t they?

A
fter Nicola went home, Tom strolled through the orchard at Mull-Rigg Hall with a big smile on his face. He even ran his thumb over his lips to feel the size of that huge, carefree grin. Nicola made him happy.

For no real reason Dave Grice’s words popped into this head. He even imagined the hangdog face, and droopy eyes, as Dave shook his head at some joyous social gathering and intoned the mournful words:
it’s like I’m being given one last good time before I die. One last party spree before they nail down the coffin lid.

Even at that moment, Tom Westonby wondered if those lines ghosting through his head were a kind of prophecy. A whisper from the dark side: to beware of coming danger. Maybe there are times when future events can be so full of horror and terror that they send vibrations back into the past – and those ominous vibrations touch the nerves of those people who will experience the terrors first hand.

He switched on the radio and played the music loud, determined not to allow such morbid thoughts to poison a wonderful day. After that, he treated himself to a late-evening snack from the fridge, and he wondered what the future would bring with Nicola Bekk.

On the far side of midnight he heard the pounding. A fist on wood. Still in an unearthly mixture of deep sleep and suddenly springing awake he found himself halfway across the bedroom before he’d fully come to his senses. The thump of fists on the door continued. They possessed a frenzied urgency.

‘I can hear you!’ he shouted as he dragged on jeans and a T-shirt.

The pounding grew louder; even more frantic. The noise pulsated with anxiety.

Tom ran down the steps, thinking
: there’s been an accident. This is the police. They’re here with bad news. This is about my family . . . . Bad news about my family.

A pain lanced through his head. The staircase writhed like the back of a snake. He realized he wasn’t completely over the concussion yet. Those thugs had pounded his skull with a passion. Lights flickered behind his eyes again, while a headache raged. The pain made him clench his fists.

Whoever beat their fists against the woodwork renewed their assault. Dear God, the noise was like thunder. He crossed the hallway, unlocked the door and hauled it open.

Mrs Bekk stood there. Her white hair glinted in the darkness. Her eyes were shockingly huge as she stared at him.

Gulping in the night air, he tried to steady his heart, which pounded like fury. ‘Mrs Bekk? What’s wrong? Is it Nicola?’

‘Yes,’ she hissed.

‘What’s happened to her?’

‘You best come and find out for yourself. Although I’ll give you this warning: you won’t like what you see.
Because you’re going to have the shock of your life!
’

S
he asked: ‘Can’t you walk faster?’

‘Mrs Bekk, where are you taking me?

‘Stay close. If you don’t, I can’t promise to keep you safe.’

‘Keep me safe? We’re only walking through the wood.’

Five minutes ago, Tom had answered the pounding on the front door of Mull-Rigg Hall. He’d found Mrs Bekk there, a wild look in her eye. Then she’d told him to follow her.

All he knew was that this involved Nicola in some way. That’s the reason why he followed Mrs Bekk through the forest after midnight. The moon shone through breaks in the cloud. That lunar glow made the leaves glitter as if they were cast from silver. When the cloud obscured the moon the trees became black.

‘Mrs Bekk, what’s happened to Nicola?’

‘You’ll see for yourself.’

‘Has she been hurt?’

‘Once you see with your own eyes, you’ll believe everything I’ve told you. Everything!’

‘Mrs Bekk—’

‘Stay close, Mr Westonby, otherwise you’ll be in danger.’

What could he do, other than follow the woman?

What if she’s attacked Nicola? She was so dead against us seeing one another that she might have hurt her.
Tom found himself picturing a horrific scenario: Mrs Bekk and Nicola argue. Nicola tells her mother that she loves Tom. A flash of a knife. Then screams – there’s blood on the floor.

Tom Westonby felt sick. He realized that he hadn’t yet recovered from the beating. He displayed renewed symptoms of concussion. His vision became blurred again. Glittering sparks danced behind his eyes. Every so often, he needed to pause to hold on to a tree so he wouldn’t fall over. On top of all that, he suffered a monster headache. The intensity of the pain made it easy to imagine that a madman was slowly sawing his skull in half.

‘Keep up, Mr Westonby.’

‘Don’t worry about me.’ Troubling thoughts of Nicola lying in a pool of blood drove him forward. ‘I’ll be fine.’

‘Nearly there. We just need to get to the top of this hill.’

In Tom’s state, the hill that rose out of the valley seemed as big as a mountain. Nevertheless, he clenched his fists and steadfastly pushed forward. The landscape kept switching between being awash with moonlight to being plunged into blackness. Huge, threatening clouds repeatedly covered the moon.

‘We’re here.’ Her voice held a quiet fatalism. As if she’d brought him to the scene of a terrible crime. ‘Keep close by my side. It’s important you don’t move away from me. You’ll be in danger if you do.’

‘Danger? In danger from what?’ The forest stretched out below Tom: a mysterious sea of black.

‘He’ll be here soon. I want you to see him.’

‘Who?’

‘Who? Can’t you guess?’

‘This isn’t the time for games, Mrs Bekk. What have you done to Nicola?’

Even in the gloom, he saw the flash of her teeth as she smiled. ‘It’s not what I’ve done to Nicola, it’s what she is capable of doing to you.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Mr Westonby, remember when you visited me at home? I explained that my ancestors were Danish Vikings – they settled here in this valley over a thousand years ago.’

‘What has that got to do with Nicola?’

‘Because I spoke the truth. When my ancestors were murdered, the god Thor gathered up their corpses into a mound; he breathed life into them. All those bodies fused together to become Helsvir, the dragon that would protect the Bekks for eternity.’

‘Mrs Bekk, stop this. You’re not well. My God, you’re not even sane. Just take me to Nicola.’

‘But my daughter is coming to you . . . She’ll soon be here.’

‘I’m going home, then I’m telephoning the police.’

‘Shh . . .’ As she shushed him she gripped his arm. ‘The cloud’s thinning. Soon you’ll be able to see them.’

Tom watched a tide of moonlight spread over the forest. Trees turned from black to silver. A moment later he was engulfed as the moon poured its radiance down on the hilltop. Every detail of Mrs Bekk’s face became visible. Her blue eyes were fixed on an area of woodland. There was such an expression of wonder. She expected to see something marvellous. Or something terrifying. Her fingers tightened around his forearm.

When she spoke she breathed the words in awe. ‘See what stands all around you. Can you see my children?’

Her question was so bizarre that for a moment all he could do was stare at her in astonishment. Then he turned his head left and right.

Figures stood on the hillside. They were completely still. Almost like guards standing outside an important building: all facing the same direction. Their gaze locked on the same area of forest that had caught Mrs Bekk’s attention. Tom counted eight figures. They were male and female. At first glance, these people could have been in their twenties.

Tom took a step closer so he could examine the faces. Something wasn’t right about those figures. God knows what it was about them . . . Their body language? Their strange profiles?

He moved towards a female with pale blonde hair. From this angle she resembled Nicola; in fact, resembled her to an uncanny degree: fair hair, the delicate build. The defiant way she raised her chin.

Oh my God, what’s happened to Nicola?
Quickly, he approached the figure. Then stopped dead.
This isn’t Nicola. This isn’t even human.

That’s when the moon did the cruellest thing: it grew brighter.

And he found himself confronted with an abomination.

She did not move. She did not acknowledge him. She remained standing there like some evil-looking statue. Guardian of the hill. Demon of the forest. Shivers danced their way down his spine with ice cold feet.

Tom stared at the woman. No, not
woman
– this corpse thing could no longer be described as a woman. Beneath waves of yellow hair gleamed a bone-white face. Black lines snaked up her neck and over her jaw. At first, he thought they were black tattoos. However, he realized that the lines formed ridges. No . . . these were thick, black arteries that pushed upward against the skin.

And, dear God in heaven, those eyes . . .

The eyes were wide open. And they were perfectly white: a bright, glistening white. Each eye contained a black pupil in the centre. That tiny dot of blackness made the eyes fierce. As if they glared rage at the world.

The other figures, whether male or female, resembled each other – same blonde hair; same bone-white skin; the same hating eyes.

The clothes they wore – the shirts, jeans, dresses – appeared modern. Though there was something faded about them. As if they’d been left in an attic to gather dust.

A hand grabbed his arm. He spun round, expecting one of the statue people to be attacking him.

Instead, Mrs Bekk thrust her face nearer. ‘I told you to stay close,’ she hissed. ‘If you don’t, you won’t see daylight as you are now. Do you understand, Mr Westonby? You are in danger.’

‘What are these things?’ Tom gazed at those figures, and he felt that he drifted in a cold, blue haze of absolute dread.

‘Those
things
are my sons and daughters.’

‘They’re not alive. They can’t be.’

‘I warned you that you wouldn’t like what you saw tonight.’

‘There’s one that looks like Nicola.’

‘That’s my Annie. The youngest before Nicola.’

‘What on earth happened to her?’

‘The same fate befell Annie as befell all my sons and daughters. They thought I was insane. These children of mine turned their backs on their family heritage. As soon as they could, they left home for the cities. They mated with people on the outside. People like you.’ She spoke with disgust. ‘Within a few months they found themselves back here in the forest. And they turned into what you’re looking at now.’

‘Are they ill?’

‘They are cursed by the gods. They’ll stay like this forever.’ Mrs Bekk spoke in such a matter-of-fact way she might have been describing an ordinary domestic situation. ‘Some might even call them as vampires.’

T
om Westonby stood on the hillside with Mrs Bekk. The eerie figures that were her children remained absolutely still. Somehow that stillness made them even more menacing.

Mrs Bekk smiled. ‘I know my sons and daughters are so much more than vampires. They are the warriors of the gods. Now they’re waiting to be called to the final battle.’

He’d have stepped away from her, if it wasn’t for her grip on his arm. Her blue eyes gazed adoringly at her sons and daughters.

‘You’ve made them,’ he told her. ‘These are statues or mannequins.’

‘No, they’re real. They hear what you say, even though they appear to be ignoring you.’ She let go of his arm. ‘The truth of the matter is this: Nicola will become a vampire, just the same as these, if you take her away.’

‘No . . .’

‘Oh, but she will. If you – an outsider – coax her away from her home, this will be her fate: to roam out here in the forest forever. And it will all be your fault, Mr Westonby. You must tell Nicola you will never ever see her again.’

What Tom had decided were statues suddenly let out low moans. Each one shivered. Their eyes opened wider. They seemed to be reacting to something they’d seen down in the valley.