Whitby Vampyrrhic (15 page)

As she went to the mirror, to don the heavy rubber apron, she heard scratching on the window pane.

‘Go away, Gustav,' she whispered. ‘I know it's you.'

Of the four in the hotel, Alec had been the only one to fall asleep. He'd sat down in an armchair with the script on his lap. The uncomfortable night spent in the lorry had exhausted him. One moment he'd been writing
Long shot of arriving lifeboat
, the next, in his dreams, he floated along Whitby's streets; a phantom-like presence. In a café he found the original director of the film (a powerfully built man with a shaved head), the casting director that he'd just taken on their first date (her lips were bright red, just like in life, yet her eyes were full of darkness); the director pushed out a chair for him to sit down and join them.

However, still wrapped deeply in the dream, Alec left the café to ghost through the night-time town. When fingernails tapped on his window, he never heard them.

Beth Layne lounged on her bed. It'd be so tempting to slip under the sheets. But like so many people now in wartime Britain, to allow oneself to relax in bed almost seemed to invite an air raid to start. Beth didn't relish the thought of scurrying down to that icy basement in her nightgown. What's more, so many thoughts swirled inside her head. They all had that irritating quality of a stone in a shoe. She wanted rid, yet they wouldn't quit. So she replayed memories of Eleanor's brother standing out on the roof, his open shirt revealing dozens of scars that resembled bite marks from human teeth. She doubted if any explanation of his injuries could be prised from Eleanor. And Sally had claimed a strange figure had lurked beneath the cellar grate. Since Beth had found a strand of white cotton caught on the bars, it quashed any hope that the intruder had been a product of Sally's dream. Thoughts of the sea washing in through the tunnel to swirl around the bottom of the pit unsettled her, too.
Whitby's a strange place
, she mused.
It occupies an other-worldly borderland between heather-covered mountains and the ocean. And in this mysterious town sits an equally mysterious hotel. Whitby isn't real. Whitby is a dream dreamt by the spirits.
The sound of the window creaking made Beth sit up straight. She realized she'd begun to drift asleep. Now, however, a draught disturbed the heavy curtains. Yet she was convinced that the window had been locked shut.

Frowning, she stood up, before advancing warily towards the curtained opening.

Concealed by darkness, the boy and his dog watched those predatory forms scuttling over the face of the hotel. They were probing the windows, searching for a weak point. Now they were joined by the woman in the nightdress who looked like a pale flame in the night. She tapped a long finger against a glass pane.

Crouching, the boy put his arm around Sam.

The dog lightly pressed the side of his head against the boy's cheek, a gesture of affection and reassurance, and shivered. Those creatures swarming over the building alarmed him. Yet he wouldn't desert the boy. The pair were fiercely loyal.

As the boy watched, one of the windows slid upwards. For some reason it didn't rise very far. It appeared to have jammed. Or was the opener of the window being cautious? Perhaps afraid that something was amiss?

A hand reached out, then ran from left to right as if checking the window ledge. The woman in white crawled spider-like across the wall to the window and darted at the extended hand.

Sally Wainwright had convinced herself that a piece of newspaper, or something, had become stuck outside her window. It must be flapping in the wind – that was causing the tapping on the pane. So, switching off the light to ensure she didn't breach blackout regulations, she parted the curtains. Beyond the glass lay the inky totality of night. Not even the cottages over the way were visible. Sally heaved at the sash window. It juddered, creaked; grudgingly, the heavyweight frame slid upwards about four inches, then stopped dead. It probably hadn't been opened in years. Never mind. This should do. Cold air gusted in. Dozens of feet beneath her lay the hotel yard. Merely the thought of her friends on the roof, just a few hours ago, made her shudder again. They could so easily have fallen to their deaths.

Sally slipped her hand through the gap. The iciness of the stone ledge. Air currents tickled her fingertips. No . . . she couldn't see any newspaper, or anything that could have caused the tapping on the pane. Maybe a mischievous gull had been to blame? She pushed her hand out further, as far as the bend in her elbow. Nothing but sea air played around her bare fingers.

Wait!

An object softly brushed her exposed flesh. A word flashed through her head:
lips.
Then:
mouth!
Before she could even wonder why someone was outside her window, it happened. Sheer agony blasted up her arm. Sally screamed. The pain grew worse, it seemed to set her nerve endings ablaze, and she screamed again.

At the sound of the scream from the next room Beth raced into the corridor. A shaken-looking Alec Reed stumbled, blinking, from the room opposite.

‘
Was that you?
' he thundered.

‘It's Sally. She's in the room next to mine.'

Before they'd even reached Sally's door, it flew open and the woman hurled herself from it. Her eyes were wild. For some reason she'd acquired a splash of freckles across her face. Then, to Beth's horror, she realized those freckles were bright, glistening red.

Sally held her right hand level with her face. ‘They bit me,' she wailed. ‘Look, I'm bleeding!'

Another figure flew along the corridor, eyes wide, long hair streaming out. ‘What's happened?'

‘It's Sally,' Alec began. ‘She says something bit her.'

‘In her room?'

‘Yes. No.' The shock had obviously confused Sally. ‘I thought something had got stuck on the window frame. Tap, tap . . . it drove me mad, so I opened the window. I put my hand out to feel . . . Ouch, ouch.' Tears rolled down her cheek. ‘It really does hurt.'

Eleanor shoulder-charged the door to Sally's room. Then she went to the window, slammed it down, twisted the lock shut, then closed the curtains.

‘I'm bleeding.' Sally turned white.

‘My God,' Alec exclaimed. ‘Blood's gushing out of the poor girl.'

‘Good!' was Eleanor's surprising comment.

Beth told her friend, ‘I'll get a towel and stop it.'

‘You'll do no such thing,' Eleanor snapped. ‘She's got to bleed it out.'

Alec shook his head. ‘Bleed what out?'

‘Just get her to my room. Quickly.'

‘But I've been bitten,' Sally cried. ‘I'm bleeding to death.'

Eleanor gripped her hand so she could examine the wound. A series of puncture wounds like so ::::

‘Oh, my dear God,' Eleanor groaned. ‘They
have
bit her.' Suddenly, she raged at the top of her voice, ‘After all these years! I thought I'd managed to stop it happening again! It's my fault! I should have destroyed them! But I couldn't. I didn't have the guts . . .' Her chest heaved with fury.

Sally shrank back in terror. ‘What's she talking about? And what's bitten me?'

‘Some animal . . .' Alec began.

‘No animal,' Eleanor contradicted. ‘I wish to heaven it were.'

Beth grabbed Sally's arm. ‘Your brother has the same bite mark. Only his body is covered with them.'

Eleanor seized her long blouse sleeve. ‘And the same as this.' She yanked back the cuff. The electric light shone down hard on to the wounds there. The same :::: pattern. They resembled tiny, red roses. The edges of the wound could have been miniature petals.

Beth shoved the woman's arm away. ‘My friend's gushing blood here. I'm going to stop it.'

‘No, let her bleed.'

Beth put her arm around Sally to guide her to her room.

Eleanor, with formidable strength, grabbed hold of Beth and swung her against the wall. ‘I said: LET HER BLEED!'

‘You're insane.'

Alec stopped Beth swinging her fists at Eleanor.

‘You want to fight for your friend's life. Good!' Eleanor pointed to the staircase at the end of the corridor. ‘Then bring her to my apartment. I've medicine.'

‘Medicine for bites.' Alec floundered. ‘But you need to staunch the bleeding before she has any drugs.'

‘It's important to bleed the contagion out first.'

‘Contagion . . .' Sally crumpled against the wall.

‘I've got her,' Alec assured them as he swept her into his arms.

Beth pleaded, ‘Let me wrap her arm in a towel; she's losing blood fast.' Eleanor didn't answer. She led the way at a run.

Alec nodded after the woman. ‘She seems to know what she's doing. Trust her.'

In moments, they arrived at Eleanor's apartment, where she instructed Alec to lay Sally on the dining-room table. Then Eleanor went to work. With swift efficiency, she examined the wound. Blood coursed from the bite marks. It pooled, rich and red, on the wooden table top. ‘Good. This flow is cleaning the wound.'

Cleaning the wound of what, exactly?
Beth glanced at Alec and knew he was asking himself the same question.

Eleanor checked Sally's pulse, then studied the woman's eyes, as if searching for telltale symptoms.

‘Beth, over there by the tailor's dummy,' Eleanor began. ‘You'll find a clean bed sheet on the shelf. Tear it to pieces – use them as swabs to wipe the table. I need an area clear of blood so I can work on Sally.'

Beth didn't question the order. Eleanor really did appear to know what she was doing. But what, in God's name, had bitten not only Sally, but also this enigmatic hotelier and her brother in the past? Lord knew, she craved answers, yet she began shredding the cotton sheet.

‘Alec. Open that cabinet in the corner of the room.' Eleanor pointed at the tallboy. ‘You'll see glass jars full of white powder in front of you. Bring one to me.'

He opened the cabinet door to reveal a line of tall jars with glass stoppers. ‘But which one?'

‘Any will do, they all contain the same medicine. Then bring me a jug of cold water from the kitchen – it's through that door there. Quickly! I might be able to catch it in time.'

Again, those mystifying references to . . . what precisely? Catch it in time? Contagion? Beth wiped blood from the table, only it kept flowing from the punctures in her friend's flesh. She tore another strip from the sheet then folded it into a pad.

Eleanor guessed what she planned, ‘Don't touch the wound yet, Beth. Blood loss is the least of our worries. Thank you.' She took the jar from Alec, unstoppered it, then shook a generous dusting of white crystals on to the bloody wrist. Sally lay there in a daze; she hardly noticed all the activity around her. ‘Beth, pass me the scissors from the top of the sewing box. Thank you.'

Alarmingly, in what seemed a shocking act of sadism, Eleanor dipped the point of a scissor blade into the powder then pushed the tip of the blade into one of the open wounds.

Sally screamed.

Beth couldn't take any more. ‘
Stop it!
'

Eleanor repeated the procedure. The white-coated point of the blade penetrated the wound, just the tip, true, yet the pain of cold metal being forced into the injury made Sally convulse upwards from the table with a heart-rending shriek.

‘I'm sorry,' Eleanor cried. ‘You've got to trust me. This is for your own good.'

Beth had to steel herself from punching Eleanor. This procedure of driving the white powder into the bite wounds seemed utter madness, yet instinct told her to allow Eleanor to work. That same instinct told Beth, loud and clear, that a battle for life and death was being fought in this little room tonight.

‘There.' Eleanor set the bloody scissors down. That done, she dusted the bite area with the white stuff again. As it mixed with the blood it formed a lurid orange. ‘Beth, on the shelf beneath the glass jars are packs of sterile bandages.'

Alec returned with the jug of water. ‘Quite a first-aid kit you've got there.'

‘It looks more like a stock cupboard for an alchemist,' Beth commented as she handed over the bandages.

‘It looks strange to you,' Eleanor said. ‘Nevertheless, it saves lives. And it should, God willing, save your friend, too.'

Alec frowned. ‘Does this mean Whitby is plagued by diseased animals? And that they are in the habit of biting people?'

‘Something like that.'

‘Shouldn't you be informing the police, Eleanor?' He watched her bandage Sally's wrist. ‘After all, there are procedures for dealing with rabid dogs.'

‘A dog – rabid or otherwise – never made that wound,' Beth told him, angrily. ‘Sally put her hand out of a window that was more than twenty feet from the ground.'

‘Now isn't the time for discussions.' Eleanor carefully measured a quantity of the same powder into a glass; that done, she added water to produce a liquid that sparkled. ‘Help her to drink this. She has to take all of it.'

‘What then?'

‘Say a prayer; it might help. If I've done my work correctly then Sally will be back to her ebullient self in the morning.'

Sally appeared much calmer now. Though blood loss might have left her with that languor. However, she managed to sit up on the table in order to drink Eleanor's medicine. Although Beth found herself thinking of it as a ‘witch potion'. The crystals sparkled with extraordinary brightness in the water. It appeared as if Sally were drinking a glass full of twinkling stars.

‘Help me get Sally back to bed. That's where she needs to be right now.'