Her Vampyrrhic Heart (10 page)

‘Sure.'

‘This afternoon?'

‘I've got a diving job this afternoon.'

‘A diving job?'

‘I make my living as a diver.'

‘Oh.'

‘I can make it over to Leppington tomorrow.'

‘Shall we say three o'clock, then? In the hotel bar?'

‘Three it is,' he said.

‘After what happened, will you leave the house and find somewhere else?'

‘No. I have to stay there.' He shrugged. ‘Call it my destiny.'

June seemed to understand that he had important reasons to remain at Skanderberg, because she nodded. ‘Tom, keep safe. Goodbye.'

A moment later, the car headed away along the narrow road.

For five years Tom had lived the solitary existence of a hermit. Life had been passing him by. Now he felt he'd finally woken up after all these years. He'd rejoined the flow of life.

‘And this is the start of something big,' he murmured to himself. ‘Lives are going to change for ever.' Then he shivered, as if he'd just caught a glimpse of a gravestone with his own name written on it.

S
aturday morning began bright and cold. Kit Bolter made his mother's breakfast and took it up to her on a tray. He noticed she'd worn the yellow cardigan for bed.

‘Don't look at my hair.' She sounded drowsy. ‘'S a mess. I'm going to get it cut off.'

‘I've opened the marmalade that Mrs Kenyon made. You said it was your favourite.'

‘You treat women well. Which means you're nothing like your father. Uh, my head.'

‘Do you want me to get you a painkiller?'

She waved his offer away. ‘It'll pass. What're your plans today?'

‘I need to buy some food for the weekend. This afternoon I thought I'd go for a walk up the valley.'

‘I don't see any harm in that. Thanks for the breakfast, son.'

Kit returned to his bedroom where he ran the footage that had been recorded on the automatic camera. He'd watched it for the first time yesterday evening, then saw it again in the company of Owen and Jez. Once more he watched the bulky creature with what appeared to be dozens of eyes studding its body. Now that was one weird animal. Fascinating, too. He longed to find out what it was. Although logic suggested that he must be seeing a stag, perhaps, or an escaped cow, and the odd sparkling points of light on its flanks were just an effect of the camera's infrared setting. Kit also wondered when he should hand the camera over to the police. Perhaps give it until after the weekend? That way he'd have more time to search the area where the camera had been discovered.

Owen Westonby had been interested in finding out about the animal, too, so Kit decided to ask Owen to come along. He'd have liked Jez to join them, but at weekends Jez worked on his parents' farm. Somehow Kit always felt more at ease when the three amigos were together – him, Owen and Jez. They'd been friends since they were tiny kids at school. Even now they were sixteen they still stuck together, which brought comments from people like, ‘Here they come, the Three Musketeers.' Or ‘I've heard of Siamese twins, never Siamese triplets. These three must be joined at the hip. You never see them apart.' Yeah, exaggerations of course, all for the benefit of a joke. Because as they grew older they did spend more time leading their own lives. In a year or so, the three amigos would go their separate ways. He knew they'd email, text and talk to one another via webcams from whatever part of the country they found themselves in. But eventually they'd lose touch. The old friendship would inevitably fade.

Sadness crept over him. He hated the idea of no longer being friends with Owen and Jez, so he decided to make the most of their time together now.

He grabbed his phone and called Owen. ‘You out of bed yet? No? My mother always told me I'd get brain worms if I stayed in bed too long. She said the worms lived in pillows and they'd migrate through my ear if I slept for too long.' After Owen had finished laughing Kit said, ‘Hey, listen. Are you doing anything this afternoon? No? Great.' Kit grinned. ‘I thought the two of us could go on a monster hunt!'

‘A
monster hunt?' Owen smiled. ‘Yeah, why not? Anything to kill the boredom.' He recalled what he'd seen last night over at Kit's. The automatic camera had caught shots of wildlife found in a typical Yorkshire forest: deer, foxes, unremarkable stuff like that. Then they'd seen the big bugger. The elephant-sized beast. Then again, he knew full well that it might have been a much smaller animal that had got in close to the camera, making it
seem
gigantic.

Owen decided to browse some websites. No harm in finding out what kind of animals did hang out in the woods. Besides, if he appeared to be busy with homework, his parents wouldn't ask him to join them on the supermarket trip. He switched on the tablet, checked his emails (nothing but junk, damn it), and then he typed ‘Danby-Mask wildlife' into a search engine. The word
wildlife
brought up some sex websites. Tempting, but he decided to focus on four-legged wild animals.

What struck him straight away was that his search took him to crypto-zoology websites that were devoted to mythical creatures, such as the Loch Ness Monster, Knuckers, Yeti and Bigfoot. Owen knew that paranormal enthusiasts regularly tried to get in touch with his brother. Owen had grown up hearing about reporters, TV crews, ghost hunters and the like turning up at Tom's door. But Owen had been just a kid then, so the appearance of inquisitive strangers had largely gone over his head.

Now here were websites with names like Swabs Always Taken that obsessively recorded sightings of strange creatures. Owen immediately began to wonder about the footage he'd seen last night of the big, if indistinct, animal. He went through website after website. When his father tapped on the door he was so deeply immersed that Dad just held up a finger, mouthed ‘Going shopping', then left again.

What struck Owen so powerfully was that his brother Tom was at the centre of so many rumours. Even though he never talked to investigators, all the stories returned to him. Tom was like a suspect caught with the smoking gun, but there was no body. In this case, no monster. There were photographs of Tom in his diving gear as he undertook salvage work in Whitby harbour, or buying potatoes at the village farm store.
Hell, it's like they kept Tom under surveillance. Did these people think that they'd catch Tom talking to monsters?
The thought had been a flippant one, yet Owen became angry. Strangers had hounded Tom. They'd followed him, stared at him, photographed him, speculated about him on websites and repeated stupid rumours.
That can't be right
, thought Owen.
There should be laws against that kind of harassment. No wonder Tom looks so haunted.

Owen clicked on to another site called Hidden Realms, Secret Beasts. This time he saw that one of the monster hunters had made a video. He touched the ‘play' icon.

He saw footage of St George's Church in Danby-Mask. A title appeared on-screen: SEARCH FOR THE DRAGON. Straight after that a confident female voice began speaking: ‘
Rumours have circulated for centuries in this remote valley that something lurks in its forest and its river. In a letter dated the tenth of September, 1654, Bishop Leonard of Sheffield writes: “Hereabouts in the parish of St George there are tales of a dragon. The creature prowls forest lands by night. Its hide is so thick that it is impervious to sword and musket shot. People are forewarned of its approach by the sound of its whispering. Old men and women have revealed under sacred oath that the dragon has troubled this valley for a score of centuries, and that it is born of pagan magic. Moreover, the creature does not consist of a single physical body, but is a mingling of much flesh from different sources.”
Sightings of the so-called dragon have been recorded in almost every century since the Dark Ages, which reinforces the belief among cryptozoologists that here, in this remote Yorkshire valley, is a monstrous survivor from a prehistoric age.
' Owen's scalp prickled as general views of the valley were replaced by a sneak shot of his brother walking alongside the river. ‘
And those who devote their lives to searching for hitherto undiscovered species are all asking the same question: “What does this man know about the mysterious creature that so many reliable witnesses have encountered?” If you are watching this, Mr Tom Westonby, confess to what you have seen. Tell us about the dragon that walks where you walk. You owe it not just to us seekers of truth, but to science and the world at large.
'

T
hat Saturday afternoon Kit Bolter sat on a wall that overlooked the forest. For mile after mile, trees stretched into the distance. With it being winter, and with all their leaves stripped away, the trees had turned this wild landscape completely black. The sky darkened, too, as clouds streamed from the north. This was the kind of sky that promised snow. There were no houses nearby. The country road snaked towards Danby-Mask in the distance, the only vehicle in sight a green bus. From a text he'd received Kit knew that Owen would be on board, no doubt grinning from ear to ear at the prospect of their monster hunt.
Crikey, this is like being ten years old again.

The bus would take at least five minutes to reach this isolated stop, so Owen decided to read a couple more pages from
The Mystery of Danby-Mask
, which he'd borrowed from the library this morning.

The flood that struck Danby-Mask was the greatest disaster in the village's history. Raging waters destroyed dozens of homes, swept away cars and buses, and resulted directly and indirectly in the deaths of at least a dozen people. Todd Bolter, who was under the influence of illegal drugs, died after falling from the church tower. Several men and women are missing, presumed drowned. So what did really happen in Danby-Mask? When the flood was at its height, a strange night time marriage took place in St. George's Church between Thomas Westonby and Nicola Bekk. The ceremony was presided over by the local priest, the Reverend Joshua Squires. No full explanation has been given for this bizarre and unorthodox wedding. The Reverend Squires said later, ‘When peoples' lives and souls are in mortal danger then God himself will not quibble over whether the rites of marriage are technically correct. What matters is that those two people, who loved one another, were joined together in matrimony.' Since then the priest has remained silent about the incident.

After the flood, many of those who were present at the wedding ceremony moved out of the area; some even left the country. Joshua Squires, for example, joined an Anglican mission in Africa. What is most extraordinary is that the bride vanished just hours after her marriage. The authorities believe Nicola Bekk drowned in circumstances that remain unexplained. The woman's body has never been found. Adding to the strangeness of it all is that men and women who were there at the wedding ceremony refuse to discuss what happened. None more so than the bride's husband, Thomas Westonby. Everyone, it seems, took a vow of secrecy never to reveal the truth about why Westonby and Bekk married in such haste the night the floodwaters lapped at the church door. Or exactly what led to Todd Bolter's fatal accident. The floodwaters have long since vanished, yet the mystery that originated on the night of the flood endures.

The green bus arrived. Kit slipped the book into his rucksack and stood up as the door opened. Owen Westonby stepped out. As soon as Kit saw the expression on his friend's face he knew something was wrong.

A second person alighted from the bus, too. For a moment, Kit didn't realize the significance of the stranger. It was only when the girl remained standing there instead of walking away that Kit realized that Owen hadn't come alone.

‘Kit. This is Eden Taylor.' Owen wore an expression that combined blushing shyness with absolute delight. ‘Eden, this is Kit Bolter.'

The beautiful, fair-haired stranger gave him a warm smile that must have melted many a heart. ‘Hello, Kit. Owen said it was alright if I tagged along, too. You don't mind, do you?'

Recovering from his surprise Kit smiled, then told his first lie of the day. ‘No, I don't mind you coming along.'

‘Thank you, Kit, nice to meet you.' Eden's voice radiated ‘posh'; she politely held out her hand for Kit to shake. ‘I'm rather looking forward to this. I must say I've never explored this part of the valley before.' Her smile was perfectly complemented by twinkling blue eyes. ‘After you, Kit.'

Kit led the way. Neither Eden nor Owen could see his expression of sheer, thunderous anger. Fortunately, they couldn't read his mind, either, as these thoughts stormed through his head:
What's Owen playing at? Why did he bring that girl with him? A stranger, for God's sake! She'll ruin everything!

E
den is paradise.
Owen Westonby smiled as the words entered his head.
Eden is paradise.
Not just the Biblical garden but the girl … because here she is: a beautiful girl called Eden.
Today was the kind of day when he wanted to start a diary. Mainly to write all kinds of things about Eden Taylor. As he walked beside her, with Kit marching away in front of them across the field, Owen found himself writing the diary entry inside his head.
Saturday, 18 November: the strangest and most amazing thing happened today. As I waited for the bus a girl walked up and started to talk. She'd been with the group of girls yesterday when Shaun played the prank with the chalk outline of a body and the police crime scene tape. Today, she just came right out with: ‘Hello, I saw you yesterday, didn't I? When that idiot jumped out of that big salt tub thing? I'm Eden Taylor. I've seen you around the village.'

They'd quickly hit it off. She told him she was sixteen, went to a school near Whitby, had a black and white mongrel called Prince and hated the boring winters in Danby-Mask. Her mother owned an exclusive hotel in London, and had begun renovating a newly acquired one in Scarborough. ‘That's why we're living here,' she'd said as she regarded Danby-Mask with those vast, blue eyes. ‘Don't get me wrong. It's such a pretty village. But what does one actually do to avoid dying of boredom?'