Read A Vampire Christmas Carol Online
Authors: Sarah Gray
A Vampire Christmas Carol (18 page)
34
W
ahltraud?
Scrooge turned to question the ghost, but in that blink of an eye, the undertaker, Wahltraud, and the alley were gone. Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come were still in London, but now in the heart of it. They were at the ’Change, amongst the merchants who hurried up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold seals and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often. It was here where stocks were traded and fortunes found and lost.
ahltraud?
Scrooge turned to question the ghost, but in that blink of an eye, the undertaker, Wahltraud, and the alley were gone. Scrooge and the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come were still in London, but now in the heart of it. They were at the ’Change, amongst the merchants who hurried up and down, and chinked the money in their pockets, and conversed in groups, and looked at their watches, and trifled thoughtfully with their great gold seals and so forth, as Scrooge had seen them often. It was here where stocks were traded and fortunes found and lost.
The spirit stopped beside a little knot of businessmen. Observing that the spirit pointed its hand to them, Scrooge advanced to listen to their talk.
“No,” said a great fat man with a monstrous chin. “I don’t know much about it, either way. I only know he’s dead. My wife heard it from the baker on the corner this morning.”
“When did he die?” inquired another.
“Last night, I believe.”
“Why, what was the matter with him?” asked a third, taking a vast quantity of snuff out of a very large snuffbox. “I thought he’d never die. Some said he would live forever.” He chuckled.
“Whatever do you mean?” said the fat one. “It’s one and the same, is it not?”
“I think not,” said his companion, giving him a jab in his monstrous abdomen, “if you know what I mean. There are rumors . . . that he was never one of us, but one of
them.
”
them.
”
“I don’t believe it! He was too sour. I’ve vampires next door to me, two tailors. They’re quite pleasant so long as you keep your neck covered. They pay their rent on time, speak pleasantly, and I believe they keep the riff-raff off my doorstep. Beggars and other such undesirables seem to sense where they haunt, and avoid them when possible. My lady wife does worry so about the value of our home being lost due to the vampires’ presence, but I’d far rather have them than some of the countrybred, puffed-up trash that passes for gentry in this city.”
“I’m not certain I believe you about the value of tailors for neighbors, vampire or human, but either way, he’s still dead,” said the one with the snuff, with a yawn. He had another pinch of snuff in his hand, but gradually let it drop from between his fingers to the floor, then smoothed it out with his foot, looking down at it the while.
“What has he done with all his money, that’s what I’d like to know,” inquired a newcomer, a red-faced gentleman with a pendulous excrescence on the end of his nose that shook like the gills of a turkey-cock.
“I haven’t heard,” said the man with the large chin, yawning again. “Left it to his relations, perhaps. I heard he had a nephew. He hasn’t left it to me. That’s all I know.”
This pleasantry was received with a general laugh.
“It’s likely to be a very cheap funeral,” said the same speaker, “for upon my life I don’t know of anybody to go to it. I suppose we should make up a party and volunteer.”
“I don’t mind going if a lunch is provided, and only humans are invited,” observed the gentleman with the excrescence on his nose. “But I must be fed, and not fed upon.” He chuckled at his own jest and another laugh rose from the group.
“Well, I am the most disinterested among you, after all,” said the first speaker, “for I never wear black gloves, and I never eat lunch. But I’ll offer to go, if anybody else will. When I come to think of it, I’m not at all sure that I wasn’t his most particular friend, for we used to stop and speak whenever we met. Good day.” He tipped his hat and moved away.
Speakers and listeners strolled away, and mixed with other groups. Scrooge knew most of the men by acquaintance, at least, and looked toward the spirit for an explanation.
The phantom glided on into the street. Its finger pointed to two persons meeting. Scrooge listened again, thinking that the explanation might lie there.
He knew these men perfectly. They were men of business, very wealthy, and of great importance. He had made a point always of standing well in their esteem, that is, strictly in a business point of view.
“How are you?” said one, blowing a cloud of fragrant smoke out of his nose.
“Well enough,” returned the other, a man of short stature with a tall hat. “Taken up tobacco, have you?”
“My wife says it keeps the vampires away.”
“My wife says the same and has taken up the pipe herself. I don’t know where they get such notions, women. Jebediah Cronkie’s coachman smoked a pipe the whole day long, every day for seventy years, and it didn’t keep the beasties from stealing him off the coach bench while waiting for Jebediah at the public house. Left his pipe, they did, and not a morsel more. Never seen again. He’s just now found a new coachman.”
“Pity. Good coachmen are not abundantly available.”
“Some say the vampires have taken to hiring the good ones at a higher stipend, which, if true, would be an outrage. My neighbor’s son-in-law saw two coaches pass his very door last Wednesday evening, conveyances full of vampires making quite merry. The curtains at the windows were thick, black, of course, but the driver and the footmen were as human as you and me. My neighbor’s son-in-law was certain that he’d seen those very coaches, the coachmen, and the footmen in attendance of Viscount Wiggleybottom, not a week past, and swore the viscount’s crest still remained visible, though painted over with lamp black, on the door. There should be a law against that kind of buying up the servants and coaches of gentry.”
“Well,” said the short man, “I’d make no bones about that. It’s neither right nor decent that good coachmen should be overpaid and made to think they are better than the common sort. Most coachmen, for all their snap and polish, have horse dung on the soles of their boots, do they not?” He fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief and blew his nose in a loud, trumpeting manner. “But, that’s neither here nor there, is it? As you say, Old Scratch has got his own at last, hey?”
“So I am told.” The first man inhaled and blew a fine ring of smoke. “Cold, isn’t it?”
“Seasonable for Christmas time. You’re not a skater, I suppose?”
“No. No, but my wife was, in her younger years, before the nine children and the sweets. Not that it’s safe to skate after sunset anymore, not with the you-know-whats lurking around every corner.” He tipped his hat. “Well, good morning to you, sir.”
“Good morning.”
Not another word. That was their meeting, their conversation, and their parting.
Scrooge was at first inclined to be surprised that the spirit should attach importance to conversations apparently so trivial, but feeling assured that they must have some hidden purpose, he set himself to consider what it was likely to be. They could scarcely be supposed to have any bearing on the death of Jacob, his old partner, for that was past, and this ghost’s province was the future. Nor could he think of anyone immediately connected with himself, to whom he could apply them. But not doubting that to whomsoever they applied they had some latent moral for his own improvement, he resolved to treasure up every word he heard, and everything he saw, and especially to observe the shadow of himself when it appeared. Scrooge had an expectation that the conduct of his future self would give him the clue he missed, and would render the solution of these riddles easy.
He looked about in that very place for his own image, but another man stood in his accustomed corner, and though the clock pointed to his usual time of day for being there, no matter how he searched, he saw no likeness of himself among the multitudes that poured in through the porch. Whatever could have detained him, he wondered. Not his tenants, he hoped, for though the Ghost of Christmas Present had suggested Queen Griselda would not suck him dry of his blood and kill him, having had too much time invested at this point, his confidence in the ghost’s word on this matter was not entirely solid. Not seeing himself at the stock exchange gave him little surprise, for he had been resolving in his mind a change of life, and thought and hoped he saw his new-born resolutions carried out in this.
Thoughts swirled in Scrooge’s head that must be considered, first of all being that some opportunity for profit might have presented itself, and although he did not consider himself a man of sudden impulse, he had been known to act swiftly when the right moment and the right investment presented itself. And secondly, would he know himself if he observed himself about his daily routine, for he was not a man wont to spend any amount of time admiring his visage in a mirror—indeed, just the opposite, and who among us sees ourselves as others see us?
Quiet and dark, beside him stood the phantom, with its outstretched hand. When he roused himself from his thoughtful quest, he fancied from the turn of the hand, and its situation in reference to himself, that the unseen eyes were looking at him keenly. It made him shudder, and feel very cold.
35
T
hey left the busy scene and Scrooge found himself, at once (how did they do it? the spirits, he wondered), on his own doorstep facing the very door where he had seen the face of Jacob Marley that very night. Scrooge turned to question the spirit of the purpose of the return to his home so early in their journey together (for surely the spirit meant to show him more than a few men chatting at the ’Change), but the door swung open of its own accord and he entered. The door to the cellar opened next, and though Scrooge would have liked to have protested entering the vampire’s lair for a second time in one night, he felt himself propelled down the flight of stairs.
hey left the busy scene and Scrooge found himself, at once (how did they do it? the spirits, he wondered), on his own doorstep facing the very door where he had seen the face of Jacob Marley that very night. Scrooge turned to question the spirit of the purpose of the return to his home so early in their journey together (for surely the spirit meant to show him more than a few men chatting at the ’Change), but the door swung open of its own accord and he entered. The door to the cellar opened next, and though Scrooge would have liked to have protested entering the vampire’s lair for a second time in one night, he felt himself propelled down the flight of stairs.
Together, he and the dark, silent phantom made their way through winding tunnels, all the while growing more and more alarmed as they drew near what he felt might be the presence of the beastly bloodsuckers, until Scrooge heard the sound of fiddle play. “A celebration?” he asked the phantom. “Do such creatures as these enjoy simple pastimes such as music and song?”
And if they did, would it be of mournful quality or something more restful?
And if they did, would it be of mournful quality or something more restful?
The phantom, of course, gave no reply.
Scrooge found himself in the same vaulted chamber where the previous spirit had brought him, only the atmosphere was quite different, on this occasion, on this
future
occasion. The previous pall had lifted and the king and queen, though on their dais as before, were far more animated than when last Scrooge visited. Mrs. Wahltraud was decked out in the finest and most fashionable gown, and her husband, Mr. Wahltraud, was equally attired in a new suit cut and sewn by some skilled tailor, perhaps even the ones Scrooge had heard mentioned earlier in the ’Change by the gentlemen discussing a coming funeral. The toothed host and hostess wore matching identical capes of the dearest-priced black velvet, a length of which cost more than a prudent man would wish to spend in furnishing a parlor.
future
occasion. The previous pall had lifted and the king and queen, though on their dais as before, were far more animated than when last Scrooge visited. Mrs. Wahltraud was decked out in the finest and most fashionable gown, and her husband, Mr. Wahltraud, was equally attired in a new suit cut and sewn by some skilled tailor, perhaps even the ones Scrooge had heard mentioned earlier in the ’Change by the gentlemen discussing a coming funeral. The toothed host and hostess wore matching identical capes of the dearest-priced black velvet, a length of which cost more than a prudent man would wish to spend in furnishing a parlor.
The dining tables in the room had been pushed to the outer edges of the earthen wall, making room for two girls who danced merrily together to the sound of music and laughter. With dozens of folk looking on (some pale-faced, some not), the two girls, quite unconstrained and careless, danced in the freedom and gaiety of their hearts. The girls, at least upon first glance, appeared quite human to Scrooge and not beasties at all, which was odd when he thought of it, for what human females would dare to come to this place and conduct themselves in such a careful manner unless they were under some terrible spell, but as hard as he studied them, he could detect no hint of glaze in their eyes or slackness in their features.
Despite the close proximity of the vampires Scrooge so feared, he found it charming to see how these girls danced for themselves, despite the number of spectators, including the king and queen. The young girls, while very glad to please the crowd, seemed to dance to please themselves (or at least you would have supposed so from the smiles upon their faces), and he could no more help admiring, than they could help dancing.
How they did dance! And Scrooge could not help but wonder how they had come to be in the vampires’ den, for they did not appear to be there against their will. But what human would enter a vampire’s lair of his or her own accord? Scrooge would certainly not have been there for a second visit in the same night, had he been given the opportunity to choose, and he most certainly would not be there with his current escort, an apparition as frightening as the man and woman on the dais. Could these pretty, light-hearted girls be minions like his wet nurse, Mrs. Grottweil, and his clerk, Disgut?
The girls who performed for the king and queen did not dance like opera dancers. Not at all. And not like Madame Anybody’s finished pupils. Not the least. It was not quadrille dancing, nor minuet dancing, nor even country-dance dancing. It was neither in the old style, nor the new style, nor the French style, nor the English style, though it may have been, by accident, a trifle in the Spanish style, which was a free and joyous one, deriving a delightful air of off-hand inspiration, from the chirping little castanets, nor was it the crude style recently brought from the Americas and finding followers among the higher clergy, which as far as Scrooge’s opinion, and he did not consider himself an expert on the art of dance, but knew what he liked and what he did not. The new style consisted of jumping up and down and howling gibberish to the sound of primitive drums, all the while waving wooden axes and wearing feathered head-dresses.
The merry maidens danced among the spectators and sometimes the dining tables, and down the center of the room before King Wahltraud and Queen Griselda and back again. They twirled each other lightly round and round; the influence of their airy motion seemed to spread and spread, like an expanding circle in the water.
At last, the younger of the dancing girls, out of breath, and laughing gaily, threw herself upon the floor before the dais. The other leaned against an ivory-faced man wearing a green velvet coat, riding boots, and tiny bows in his hair. The music, a harp and fiddle played by two ghoulish-looking men, left off with a flourish, as if it boasted of its freshness, though the truth is, it had gone at such a pace, and worked itself to such a pitch of competition with the dancing, that it never could have held on, half a minute longer. The crowd raised a hum and murmur of applause, and then, in keeping with the cheer, Queen Griselda rose to her feet, clapping her slender, pale hands, encrusted with rings set with priceless gemstones, most of which, by coincidence or deliberate choosing, were blood-red rubies.
When Scrooge had last seen her in Christmas Present, minutes, hours, years ago, perhaps, the vampiress had been dressed in heavy black crepe to match her countenance, but today she wore a printed gown of the most beautiful colors money could buy beneath her black velvet cape, blue stockings, and fine leather shoes tied with blue silk ribbons. Her black hair fell down her back in thick waves, pinned in place with a sparkling crown of diamonds and rubies.
“Thank you so much, so much, indeed, all of you,” she cried regally, demonstrating an easy grace. “And of course you, my dearest husband, my sovereign king, I thank you most of all for the coming of this day.” She inclined her head toward King Wahltraud, who sat upon his throne, bearing his own crown, one even larger and more magnificent than hers, and a smile of satisfaction upon his face.
“This night has been many years in the making, and many of you have been instrumental in my success.”
“Has he agreed?” shouted a short man with stout legs.
“Yes, is he ours?” called another.
“Tonight will be the final step in our journey, a mere formality,” the beautiful queen assured her subjects.
“A toast,” someone shouted.
“A toast,” chimed others.
“You promised us a toast, Your Highness.”
Scrooge recognized the voice and turned to see his clerk, Lucius Disgut, peek from behind a pillar.
“And so I did.” She opened her arms to her subjects, then glanced over her shoulder. “Would you care to do the honor, my love?”
“It is yours, my love, for this is your accomplishment, not mine,” responded the king with an equally regal eloquence.
The queen leaned over her king and kissed his lips lightly. The crowd cheered, and some of the younger men began to stomp and whistle. Disgut came from behind the pillar, and Scrooge had a mind to march over and dismiss him from his employment at that very moment, but that, of course, was not possible. This was an event that would take place in the future; as in the scenes of Christmas past and present, those who surrounded him were obviously unaware of his presence. Disgut’s presence, however, made Scrooge no less angry.
What happened next, Scrooge was not entirely sure, for the scene seemed to burst all at once with too many things occurring at the very same instant, so frightening, so shocking, that he could not comprehend what he was seeing. One moment, the young girl who had danced was seated at the queen’s feet, the very next, Griselda had caught her by the throat, lifted her lithe body up, and sunk protruding fangs into the girl’s flesh.
The victim screamed, and her scream was echoed by her sister’s. The older of the two girls had enough sense to try to escape, but not the capability. The queen’s subjects fell upon the second dancer like rat terriers upon a rodent. Scrooge could have sworn he heard barking; most assuredly he heard grunting cries of delight, even as the girls struggled and cried out, fighting for their lives. Disgut was upon the very top of the heap, ripping the older girl’s flesh and howling with pleasure.
Blood spattered and Scrooge turned away, his specter escort the lesser of the evils at the moment. “Spirit!” he cried, fallen to the cold, earthy ground and covering his face. “Take me away. I beg of you!”
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