Whitby Vampyrrhic (17 page)

‘I could tell you –' Eleanor opened a door – ‘but it's better to show you living proof. Although “living” is debatable.' She led the way. ‘Follow me. Stay close; it's too dark for comfort.'

They followed Eleanor through the hotel kitchen to a rear door. This opened on to the walled yard. In one corner, her brother's cottage. The deepening gloom made it hard to see where they were stepping in the yard. And the hotel behind them had turned into a forbidding silhouette that loomed over their heads like a raised fist.

‘Stay close,' Eleanor repeated. ‘If I yell “run” don't question me. Just follow.'

Alec began with, ‘Eleanor, what will be running from? If there's—'

She hushed him, then covered the remaining few yards to the door of the cottage. Made from heavy, black timbers, studded with iron, it possessed the disquieting appearance of the entrance to an ancient tomb. Eleanor produced a key; unlocked it. Quickly, she ushered them inside before closing and locking that grim door. That done, she switched on the light to reveal that the entire ground floor of the cottage consisted of an archaic kitchen, complete with a table and chairs that might have been roughly hewn from driftwood. Human comforts were in short supply. The floor was starkly bare – no carpet, not even a hearth rug. A biting cold filled the place. When they exhaled it manifested ghosts of white vapour.

Sally spoke in a doubtful tone. ‘Eleanor? Your brother really does live here?'

Again, she evaded the question. ‘Come with me.'

Eleanor ascended the stairs to a tiny window that remained uncovered by blackout material. Carefully, she slid the cloth over the panes to ensure that no light escaped. The stairs didn't open on to a landing. Instead, they emerged directly into a single large room. At one end, a double bed.

Eleanor spoke matter-of-factly. ‘There he is.'

Nobody approached the bed, with the exception of Eleanor. She went to her brother, who lay there, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. He showed no sign of noticing their entrance. What's more, he remained absolutely still.

‘Oh no,' Sally gasped. ‘He's died.'

Eleanor rested her palm on Theo's forehead. ‘No. Not death. Not strictly speaking, anyway.'

Beth said, ‘You didn't have to show us your brother like this. He won't want us gawping at him like he's a freak.'

‘You wanted to know what was happening here, Beth. So I'm showing you.'

They took cautious steps forward. Theo remained perfectly still; he stared upwards from where he lay flat on his back. He wore black trousers and a white shirt; the top buttons of the shirt were open.
Maybe Eleanor has dressed him for this occasion
, Beth told herself.
But it's so bizarre to reveal your sick brother to strangers like this. What does she want out of it? What's her angle?

‘This is scaring me,' Sally whispered. ‘What's wrong with him?'

Alec took another step closer. ‘I can see the scars on his chest. They're the same as the ones on you, Eleanor, and on Sally's arm.'

Eleanor merely assented with a shrug.

Beth said, ‘Theo is mid thirties. But he'd pass for twenty. Has the illness arrested the ageing process?'

‘That's perceptive of you, Beth. Indeed it has.'

‘So what now?' Alec asked. ‘What are we supposed to glean from this display of your sibling?'

Eleanor eased back the curtain. ‘The sun has set. It should be fully dark in a few moments.'

The gaunt figure didn't react to the sound of his sister's voice.

Sally took a cautious step towards the bed. ‘What about his blankets? Isn't he cold, lying there like that?'

Again no answer passed through those formidable red lips of Eleanor Charnwood. Instead, she pointed at the stairs. ‘Go back down into the kitchen. I'll follow.'

They retraced their steps to the frigid room below. Their feet on the stairs echoed. The sound of footfalls in a tomb. Alec and Beth exchanged glances, both knowing what the other was thinking.
What is Eleanor up to? She's planned something for us, that's for sure.
Sally trembled, scared-looking.

Silence descended on the kitchen. Eleanor went to a timber cabinet fixed to the wall. Producing a key from her skirt pocket, she unlocked it. Inside were more jars of the white crystals.

‘I went to Leppington in order to replenish my stocks,' she explained. ‘A family there make it from an ancient formula.' She measured an amount out into a glass, then added water from a jug. Once more, it resembled stars in solution. ‘What it is exactly, or how it's made, I don't know. The family keep its ingredients a closely guarded secret. They merely refer to it as Quick Salts.'

Beth said, ‘Quick meaning “life” rather than “fast”. At least, in relation to these powders?'

Eleanor nodded. ‘Alec, you have an extremely intelligent lady working for you. She invariably hits the nail on the head. Yes, this stuff could be termed “Life Potion”.'

Sally screamed. ‘
Look!
'

The figure – tall, thin, gaunt-faced, with a terrible light burning in its eyes – stood at the foot of the stairs.

Eleanor said, ‘Don't show any signs of panic. Just keep perfectly still.'

Sally's eyes roved anxiously around the kitchen. She was obviously searching for an escape route from this uncanny totem.

Theo didn't appear to notice them. He said nothing to Eleanor. Nor did she speak to him. He crossed to the table. His burning eyes fixed on the glass of medicine – the Quick Salts. A thin hand extended towards the glass. The fingers appeared unnaturally long; the fingernails were pale, with a whisper of blue. Before he could pick up the glass, Eleanor put her hand over it to block his grasp. At last, he made eye contact with her. She gave a shake of the head.

He didn't register any emotion at being prevented from taking the glass. Instead, he merely took a couple of steps towards the locked door to the yard. Then stood still. His eyes remained fixed on the door. If anything, when he turned his head ever so slightly, Beth guessed that he listened to sounds that she and the others failed to hear. A distant calling, perhaps. A summons – one so faint that only gaunt Theo, with the haunted eyes, could catch it on the cold night air.

Alec reacted with anger. ‘Eleanor? Is this medicine important to your brother?'

‘Of course.'

‘Then why are you depriving him of it, woman?'

Near to tears, Sally cried, ‘Don't leave the poor man to suffer. Have a heart!'

Eleanor remained calm. ‘He'll drink the medicine. But all in good time. First we must wait for him to wake.'

‘But he is awake,' Alec said.

‘Properly awake. You're going to hear the story from his own lips.'

Three

Perhaps five minutes had elapsed since Eleanor's promise that they would ‘hear the story from his own lips' when Theo changed. He'd stood a few paces from the door that led from the kitchen to the hotel yard. It still seemed to Beth that he appeared to be listening to sounds they couldn't hear. All of a sudden, he hunched his shoulders. Tremors ran through his body. He spun round to sweep a blazing stare over everyone present in the room.

‘Eleanor. Naughty sister. Why didn't you warn me that we were having guests, hmm?'

‘As a rule, Theo, you're not the listening type.'

‘No?'

‘No.'

‘But then how long is it since you've allowed me to rise to the surface, so to speak?'

Beth saw that they weren't being unpleasant with each other. It struck her as the sibling banter that they'd grown up with. As if testing each other's affection for one another. He paced the kitchen. His movements were quick now. A darting wasp of a man, taking a sudden interest in his surroundings and his visitors.

Theo clicked his fingers. ‘They're still fighting the war?'

‘Yes.'

‘How long now?'

‘Almost three years.'

‘Any bombs fallen on us?'

‘No.'

‘On Whitby?'

‘A few. We've been luckier than lots of places. London's been hit hard.'

‘Our handsome guests . . . who are they?'

Everyone had been too surprised to speak. Theo's transformation from inert statue to this lively, inquisitive man had been astonishing.

Then Sally blurted, ‘We met last night. You were on the roof of the hotel.'

‘The roof!' He eyed her with close interest. ‘How extraordinary! How utterly nuts! What was I doing on that bloody roof?'

Daunted, Sally turned to Eleanor for help.

‘You had a bit of a wander, Theo. Everyone here helped bring you back to safety.'

Beth started probing for information. ‘On the roof you appeared to be listening to a faraway sound. One that you found irresistible.'

‘Ah, I remember now. At least a little. I can hear their song. They're all like me now. Awake!' Theo paced around the table, eyeing the glass that contained the sparkling potion. ‘You don't want me to drink it, Eleanor?'

‘Not yet.'

‘Then might I skip my medicine entirely for one night?'

‘That's not a good idea.'

‘Pleased to meet you. I'm Theo Charnwood.' He held out his hand to Alec.

Alec shook it. ‘Alec Reed.'

‘Ah . . . a man of Scotland. And?' He held out his hand to Beth. ‘Charmed, dear lady.'

They shook hands as Beth told him her name.

‘An American. How cosmopolitan. And the fairest of them all?' Smiling, he extended his hand to Sally. ‘And you must be a Russian princess.'

Sally giggled. ‘From Yorkshire, actually, just a couple of hours – oh!'

Instead of taking a hand, he seized her forearm and raised it to his face.

Alec lunged forward. ‘Leave her!'

Eleanor called out, ‘Alec. Don't touch him!'

Sally stared at Theo in shock, not knowing what he'd do to her but fearing the worst.

Theo moved slowly now, raising the bandaged wrist to his nose. He sniffed. ‘Quick Salts . . . blood . . . and can I smell my old friends on you?' Glancing quickly at Eleanor, he asked, ‘When did they bite her?'

‘Last night.'

‘You managed to treat the wound in time?'

‘Yes.'

‘Ah . . . it's coming back to me. I remember standing at my window and watching them climbing all over the walls of the hotel. Like rats, they were. Scurrying, prying, sniffing. Wanting in. Wanting something tasty between their teeth. Something like this!' His mouth pressed against the back of Sally's hand.

The woman sagged, close to fainting dead away. Then she sighed as she realized he'd simply kissed the flesh – quite lightly, a courteous formality.

‘You know what kind of animal attacked Sally?' Beth asked.

‘Animal. We haven't described them as such, have we, Eleanor, dear? Demons, monsters, and if you're feeling wicked call them vampires. That's what the locals would say, isn't it, Eleanor? Fierce, blood-hungry vampires.'

Beth shot Eleanor a quizzical look.

‘No, he's sane, my dear. My brother's mind works perfectly, once the drug's cleared out of his veins.'

Swiftly, Theo pulled back chairs from the table. ‘Sit down. Sit down. Your friend here suffered an attack by people who were once my friends.'

When they were seated (and still shooting wary glances at Theo) he began to talk. ‘I don't have much time. So, I'll tell you what happened to Eleanor and me as quickly as I can. Please save your questions for the end.' His smile was surprisingly pleasant, turning that gaunt face into one that was strikingly handsome. ‘My old school friend, Gustav Kirk, loved to read. You know, the visionary, fabulous stuff by the likes of Poe, Arthur Machen, Le Fanu and William Hope Hodgson. He also had an insatiable appetite for old Norse legends. Fables about Odin, Thor, Freya – in fact, all the pantheon of gods. His favourite was the god Tiw. From his name we get Tuesday, of course. Gustav had a fanciful nature. Even back as children, he liked to speculate that Tiw, an ancient and mysterious deity, even to the Vikings who worshipped him, had become angry at human beings for rejecting him in favour of the Man from Nazareth. If a boat sank, or if a car crashed off one of the moorland roads, or if some local tyke fell under the wheels of a train, Gustav would hold his finger up like this and say, “Ah, Tiw strikes again!”' Theo spoke with fluid ease; he barely resembled the zombie of a man they'd seen just moments ago.

Alec shook his head. ‘You're saying that an old Viking god, with a taste for revenge, is responsible for whatever attacked Sally?'

‘Save your questions for later, sir. Time is running out. But, yes. That's what my old friend would claim. That behind all the rotten things in this world, including the war and the hurting of the beautiful lady here, Tiw is to blame.' Theo extended his hand towards the glass of sparkling liquid. He seemed to have a love-hate relationship with those nightly doses of medicine. Sighing, he withdrew his hand. ‘Well, that is Gustav's theory. An angry, vengeful god called Tiw. One so bitter as to be deranged. A deity with one purpose left: to make life a living hell for men, women and children everywhere. But especially Whitby. The location where Christian churches were united in the seventh century. Which, ultimately, resulted in the containment of the Viking hordes and their conversion to the Roman Catholic faith. So, if Tiw really can launch his crusade against humanity where better place? Whitby will be his battlefield. His Armageddon.'

‘All very interesting,' Beth remarked, ‘but where's the proof?'