Michael Belmont and the Heir of Van Helsing (The Adventures of Michael Belmont) (10 page)

“Why did you shoot at him then?”

“Well the last time I met up with them I was about to be
attacked,
wasn’t I?” Michael said defensively.

“Alright,” conceded Liam.
 
“Don’t get all worked up about it.”
 
He glanced at the bow.
 
“Hey, how’s that bow working out for you?”

“It’s great,” Michael answered with a smile.
 
“I’ve been practicing with it almost every day.
 
At first I was worried because it’s so old, but it hasn’t shown any signs of breaking.”

“Excellent,” Liam told him with a grin.
 
“I’m glad you’re using it.”

“So what’s been happening with you?
 
Anything new and exciting going on?”

“Well, actually there has been something I’ve wanted to talk with you about.”
 
His smile contorted into a grimace, and he stood there for a moment like he didn’t really know where to begin.

“Well,” Michael urged him.
 
“What is it?”

Liam sighed.
 
“I’d never be telling you this if, well…if you hadn’t already seen stuff like this for yourself.”

Michael could tell he was having a hard time getting it out.
 
“It’s all right, whatever it is you can tell me.”

“I’ve been seeing my mum,” Liam said quickly.

Michael just stood there, trying to take in what his friend had just said.

“Last year, when we were leaving the forest across from the Fianna Barrows….”

“I remember,” said Michael.
 
“You thought you saw her looking out at us from the forest.”

Liam nodded.
 
“I’ve seen her there again.
 
Several times actually.”
 
He looked down at the ground.
 
“At first I thought I was just imagining it, you know, my mind playing tricks on me.
 
But now….
 
I’ve even seen her from my room in the tower, through the telescope.
 
It’s always been around twilight.”

“Did she look like a ghost?
 
Like the ones we saw in the Fianna Barrows?”

“No, she didn’t.
 
Actually she looked quite normal.
 
Like a regular person.
 
But she did look very sad.”

Michael didn’t know what to say.
 
He didn’t disbelieve what Liam was telling him, but he couldn’t exactly wrap his head around it either.

“Have you gone back into the forest?” Michael asked him.

“No,” he answered quietly, as if disappointed in himself.
 
“I was afraid of the place before, but now I’m, well, the thought of going in there alone terrifies me to tell you the truth.
 
I tried to do it.
 
Tried to go in there more than once to see if I could find her, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.”

“Have you told your dad, or Mr. Finnegan about it?”

Liam laughed nervously.
 
“And make them think I’ve completely lost it?
 
That’s the last thing I need.
 
Can you imagine what this would sound like to my da?
 
Hey, Da, you know how Mum died all those years ago when I was little?
 
Well, I keep seeing her in the forest behind the castle.
 
Why don’t we walk out there together and take a look?
 
We can make a day out of it, maybe have a
picnic
.
 
It’ll be loads of fun.”

“Come on,” Michael said with a frown.
 
“You wouldn’t have to tell him like that.”

“Well how would
you
tell him about it?”
 
He looked at Michael expectantly.

Michael thought about it for a moment.
 
Perhaps Liam was right.
 
“I don’t know,” he conceded.
 
“I don’t blame you for not wanting to go in that forest alone.
 
The next time I come out we’ll go in there together, alright?”

Liam nodded.
 
He smiled, but looked a little ashamed.

“You don’t think I’m…crazy, or anything do you?”

“Well, to be completely honest, the whole thing does
sound
crazy.
 
But it’s just like you said- with all the things we’ve seen together- who’s to say what’s crazy and what isn’t anyway?”

Liam shrugged.
 
“So what are you going to do about those wolves?”

“What
can
I do?
 
Ask my mom and uncle about it I guess.
 
I’ll be watching for them, but right now I don’t know who they are or what they want.”

Liam sighed and shook his head.
 
“And here I was thinking this might be a nice, relaxing vacation.”
 

As Michael and Liam approached the house, Abigail ran out to greet them.

“Hi Liam,” she said cheerfully.
 
“How did you like the room we decorated for you?”

“Oh, it’s great,” he retorted, glancing at Michael facetiously.
 
“Just the way I would have done it myself.”
 
He wasn’t going to let Abigail get under his skin; it would be too satisfying for her.

“Hmm,” she hummed with pursed lips, staring into his eyes trying to gauge him.
 
“Alright,” she said calmly.
 
“Oops!” she placed her hand over her mouth.
 
“I just remembered, I forgot to put shampoo and conditioner in your shower.”

As Abigail headed back into the house, Michael shook his head discreetly at Liam.
 
She turned her head briefly as she ran to make sure her brother wasn’t warning him.

“I wouldn’t use it if I were you,” he whispered under his breath.

“Okay.
 
Hey, you need to come in and meet Mrs. Stoker,” Liam said.
 
“She really is a quite, um, fascinating woman.
 
A little creepy, but pretty nice.”

“I haven’t even said hello to your dad yet.
 
How’s he been?”

“Pretty good.
 
He’s been busy lately, working with Mrs. Stoker trying to locate some old sword.
 
It belonged to some bloke called Van Helsing.”

Michael thought he’d heard the name before, but couldn’t remember where.
 
They walked into the kitchen from the back porch and headed into the living room.

Mr. MacDonald saw him and gave a toothy smile.
 
“Michael, hello lad.
 
How have you been?”

“Great, how about you?” he asked, as they met in a firm handshake.

“Excellent, thanks for asking.
 
This is Mrs. Dorothy Stoker.”

Michael greeted the old woman.
 
She was rather short, and stood hunched over, leaning upon her cane with both hands.
 
She had a solemn face, and her blue eyes were clear and piercing.

“Pleased to meet you,” she said to Michael in a thick Irish accent.
 
“Declan speaks very highly of your family.
 
I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Is everyone all settled into their rooms?” Michael’s mother asked the guests.

“Yes, thank you, Rachel,” Declan told her.
 
“I tried to convince Mrs. Stoker to take the downstairs bedroom, but she insisted on staying upstairs.”

“Stairs are one of the many enemies of the aged,” she said with eyes closed and nose in the air.
 
“I’ve always tried to confront my enemies head-on.”

Liam winked at Michael and smiled.
 
“She really is a tough old bird,” he whispered.

“Thank you, young man,” she said, startling him.
 
“I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of an owl.
 
And don’t-you-forget it,” she added while shaking her cane at him.
 
She then walked with a surprisingly brisk pace over to an armchair by the front window and flung herself down.

Michael’s father came in from the kitchen and handed both Mr. MacDonald and Mrs. Stoker a piping cup of coffee.

“So how long have the two of you been working together?” Michael asked.

“Well, Mrs. Stoker is actually an old friend of Finnegan’s.
 
He mentioned that she was traveling to Tarbet on business and I requested the opportunity to meet her.
 
I’ve been following her work for quite some time now.”

“Yes,” she said.
 
“Declan was kind enough to offer me a place to stay.
 
McGinty Castle is quite the treat for a historian like me.”

“Mrs. Stoker, Declan tells me you’ve been doing some research that I’d find interesting.
 
He wouldn’t tell me much over the phone though.”

“Mark,” scolded his wife, “don’t start prodding Mrs. Stoker for information right now.
 
I’m sure she’d like to rest for a while after such a long trip—”

“Nonsense, dear,” the old woman interrupted.
 
“I appreciate the sentiment, but we didn’t travel all this way for the coffee, did we?”

Mr. Belmont smiled at his wife and winked; she came back with a dirty look.

“To answer your question Mr. Belmont, yes, Declan has been helping me on some of my current research.
 
Or, perhaps to put it more accurately, we have been continuing the research.
 
You see, my grandfather is the one who really began it.
 
He was a historian too.”

She gave her coffee a few stirs and took a sip.
 
“The kinds of thing we’re about to talk about, in my experience, are best discussed in person, where prying ears are less likely to take notice.”

Mr. MacDonald nodded in agreement.

“When I was younger, my grandfather’s work inspired me to follow in his footsteps and become a historian.
 
After he passed away, I gained access to some of his more, shall we say- questionable work.
 
Paranormal research, accounts of monsters, demonic possessions, all things that I completely rejected as the worst kind of fanciful rubbish.
 
I actually began to think that my grandfather had gone mad, and that I was looking at the mindless ramblings of a lunatic.
 
I quietly put all of this away for safe keeping, and went on with my life.”
 
She took another drink of coffee, and looked sympathetically at the three children.

“I know about everything you went through last year.
 
I also know what it’s like to live through such experiences.
 
Having a somewhat similar encounter myself, my mind was changed and I returned to my grandfather’s research.
 
I became obsessed with it, really.
 
Nothing else seemed important to me, my eyes had been opened to the malevolent forces that inhabit this world, and they could never be closed again.”

Abigail, who was seated on the couch across from Mrs. Stoker, had buried her head in her hands the way she did when she wanted to hide the fact that she was crying.

“That is why,” Mrs. Stoker continued, “I’ve dedicated the last fifty years of my life to investigating such dark forces; assisting the best way that I could those who have taken up the struggle against evil.”

Michael and Liam looked at each other with wide eyes.
 
Michael felt a kinship with the old woman somehow, like he had known her for some time, even though they’d just met.

“Well, I guess I should get to the point.
 
Are any of you familiar with the name Dracula?”

“Yes,” Mr. Belmont said cautiously.
 
“A few years ago, not long after Abby was born- now that I think about it, I came across his story while hunting for an artifact, a very valuable sword.”

“I remember you speaking about him,” said Michael’s mother.
 
“You told me his story after you got back.
 
He was a Transylvanian prince or something wasn’t he?
 
A mass-murderer and a madman?”

“A Wallachian prince actually,” corrected Mrs. Stoker.
 
“Although he was born in Transylvania.
 
And yes, he was quite a madman, known throughout the region for his cruelty.
 
History records him as an evil man, but there are other facts that recorded history has failed to mention.”
 
Staring intently at Michael’s father she said, “Tell me, what kind of stories did you hear?”

“Well, at the time, I considered it mostly nonsense.
 
I was with some associates over in Romania.
 
Even today the people still revere and fear Dracula’s name.
 
We visited with some gypsies, got particularly friendly with a young man named Tobar.
 
He served as our guide and told us the stories.
 
According to the local legends, Dracula was a vampire.
 
He had to drink human blood in order to survive.
 
It was also said he had the ability to change his form into that of a wolf or a bat if memory serves.”

When his father said this, Michael’s heart began to race.
 
Were his recent encounters with the wolves more than simple coincidence?

Dorothy nodded.
 
“Yes.
 
That sounds about right.
 
What if I told you that those stories are more than old gypsy legends?
 
What if I told you I had proof that Dracula may
actually
have been the monster spoken about in those stories?”

“I’d say,” said Mark seriously, “that I might be inclined to believe you.”

“And what if I told you that there have been rumors recently of Dracula’s reappearance?
 
That he might never have really died? That perhaps he’s been making plans to return to power?”