His Vampyrrhic Bride

by Simon Clark

  Tom knew this would be a bad day for letting people down. ‘Chris, I’m sorry, I haven’t been able to get the money.’

  ‘What! You told me that you’d got a welding job in France? I promised the landlord I’d be handing over a cash deposit in a couple of days.’

  ‘I’m not taking the job. Something came up.’

  ‘Some thing came up? What’s her name, Tom?’

  ‘It’s not that easy to explain over the phone.’

  ‘Yeah, I bet.’ Chris sounded so disappointed in Tom he could barely speak. ‘Didn’t we always promise each other that neither of us would get involved with a girl until the dive school was up and running?’

  ‘You’re there with your ex.’

  ‘Yeah, as a prospective business partner! An investor! Not some screw-buddy!’

  ‘Hey—’

  ‘You know what, Tom? Piss off!’ Chris broke the connection.

  Tom headed upstairs. He towelled his hair dry, changed his rain-sodden clothes, looked in the mirror, then clenched a fist.

  I’m not letting this beat me. He was determined to keep the dive school on track. This was his dream since he was a teenager. He and Chris had been planning it for years.

  And he was going to fight to keep Nicola, too. I’m not letting Danby-Mask, Chester Kenyon, Mrs Bekk, or even Dad get in the way.

  In the mirror, he saw a flame burning in his eyes. ‘You don’t beat down a Westonby. I’m going to come out on top.’ He grabbed his phone from the bedside table and called up his friend. ‘Chris . . . shut up. Listen.’ He took the pause as acceptance of his demand. ‘You’re letting the landlord push you around. No, listen to me, Chris. This is what you’re going to do. Offer him cash payments, OK? I can transfer the money to your bank account right now.’

  ‘But he wants twelve months rent in advance.’

  ‘That’s too much. Tell him he can have three months’ rent upfront.’

  ‘We still haven’t got enough money.’

  ‘I’ll raid the boat fund.’

  ‘We need a boat.’

  ‘We’ll rent one. Greece is full of boats. Boats aren’t a problem.’

  ‘The landlord wants a year’s rent,’ Chris insisted. ‘He won’t back down.’

  ‘Persuade him, Chris – use guile, cunning, skulduggery. Make him realize that we’ll rent somewhere else if he doesn’t see sense.’

  ‘Well . . .’

  ‘I trust you, Chris . . . You can make this happen.’ Tom’s voice became more forceful. Damn it, I even sound inspirational. ‘Listen, I’ll go online now and transfer the money for the bond and three months’ rent.’ In a flash of inspiration, he added with triumph, ‘And tell him that we’ll bloody well teach him how to scuba-dive for free. Even if he doesn’t use the lessons himself he can give ’em away as a present or sell them. What do you think?’

  ‘I think you’re a genius.’

  Tom knew they were friends again. ‘Close the deal, Chris.’

  After he’d finished the call, he switched on the laptop, accessed his bank account and transferred the cash. Within seconds he’d ripped out their savings to zero. At least the money should be appearing in Chris’s account in the next few moments. Everything was up to Chris now. They’d be living on bread and water in Greece when they opened up the school, but so what? They’d be ready for business. The students would come . . . so would the money.

  What’s more, Nicola will be with me. The thought made him grin . . . and it was a huge, excited grin. What a crazy idea! But he knew to the depths of his heart this was what he wanted: a new business. A new bride. Did it get any better than that?

  Tom felt so happy he sang at the top of his voice.

  Great God in heaven! He’d turned everything round in a matter of minutes. From disaster to victory. He felt so incredibly exhilarated. Right now, he wanted to share the brilliant news with Nicola.

  But what’s she going to say when I ask her to marry me? This all seemed so crazy! Like a runaway train – like he’d taken off the brakes of his life. Everything was coming good. He felt good. He felt wonderful!

  He bounded downstairs.

  The door yawned open. A cool breeze carried leaves across the hallway floor.

  Did I leave it open?

  He turned to see three figures strolling out of the lounge.

  ‘Remember us?’

  Tom remembered all right. These were the three thugs that had chased Nicola.

  ‘Get out,’ he told them. ‘There might be three of you, but I can still rip all of you to pieces.’ He was on a high from the decision he’d made to ask Nicola to marry him. Bravado blazed in his veins.

  ‘Three of us?’ The big, slow-witted one grinned. ‘Even I can count better than that.’

  Tom felt a terrific blow in the back of the head. As he went down his last coherent thought was: I didn’t look behind me. There weren’t three of them – there were four.

  All four pounced. Boots swung as they started kicking. Then there was an explosion of blood.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  ‘Your air tank’s run out! You’re gonna die!’

  Tom Westonby opened his eyes.

  ‘Your air tank’s run out! You’re gonna die!’ That’s typical scuba-diver humour: a joke with its own heart of darkness.

  Tom stared at his phone on the hallway floor. The screen radiated a faint blue light into the gloom. Someone was trying to reach him. ‘Your air tank’s run out! You’re—’ Abruptly, the device fell silent. The caller had given up.

  He still stared at the phone as it lay there on the wooden floor. A black pool linked his head with the phone. He blinked. Why am I lying here? The question was an important one. Yet for a full thirty seconds he struggled to find the answer.

  At last, the memory came rushing back. Those three thugs from the village had got into the house. A fourth guy had attacked him from behind. Now the memories came even faster. He’d fallen, and that’s when those four heroes had started kicking him in the head.

  He dipped his fingers into the dark liquid. When he looked at his fingertips he saw that the goo wasn’t actually black. No, this is the red stuff . . . For a moment he gazed at the bloody fingers. As he did so, he found himself replaying the time he’d confronted the three thugs that had bullied Nicola. They’d ripped the plastic bag from her hand, spilling flour and eggs into the street, then they’d chased her. He’d cut them off and confronted them. He pictured each in turn: first, the big, slow-witted guy. Then there was the middle-sized one with the wispy tuft on his chin that tried desperately to be a beard. The smallest of the three went by the name of Bolter; the leader of the gang. Blisters covered the guy’s face. No doubt as a result of gorging on illicit amphetamines.

  The blows had left Tom dazed. He knew that a breeze gusted through the open doorway. He could see clouds scudding across the moon. He understood that his blood had been spilled. Only, his thoughts weren’t connecting. Kissing Nicola. The guys that attacked me. Arguing with Dad. France. The diving school . . . Thoughts poured easily through his head. Yet he couldn’t get his brain working properly . . . Maybe just sleep here. Probably feel better in the morning. He closed his eyes.

  The woman’s shout immediately made him reopen them.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’

  The words slammed into him. He knew exactly who’d shouted.

  ‘Nicola.’

  ‘I told you not to touch me. I warned you not to touch me.’

  That was Nicola’s voice alright. Only, it sounded strange. There was a flatness to the tone, which seemed so odd that he started to shiver.

  ‘Get away from me.’

  Nicola’s demand was met with laughter and mocking calls.

  What’s happening? What are they doing? Something close to an electric shock snapped through his body. In less than a second he’d scrambled to his feet.

  The blast of pain that shot through his head made him stagger back to the wall. He leaned against it, his heart thrashing wildly. There
was no strength in his legs. More than anything he wanted to rush outside to defend Nicola from those thugs. Yet all he could physically accomplish was to lean there.

  Damn it. I’ve got to help Nicola. I’ve got to stop those bastards hurting her. But his motor coordination was a wreck. His vision was screwed. Dear God in heaven, he was a mess.

  Then came the howl. The sound appalled him. The howl Nicola made resembled the scream of a siren. The sound rose higher and higher, more and more shrill.

  Just what are those men doing to her?

  ‘Come on,’ he hissed to himself. ‘Come on. Don’t stand here like a useless piece of crap. Do something . . . Help her.’

  Grabbing a huge lungful of air, he forced himself to straighten his body. Damn it. The moment he did so it felt as if a ton of rubble had cascaded on to his head. A roaring filled his ears, and all of creation seemed to pirouette right in front of his eyes. Those kicks had done some damage all right.

  The next shout from Nicola overrode everything else. The terrible sound made his feet move. He lurched across the hallway to the door and out on to the drive. The breeze blew into his face. Rags of cloud shot across the moon. There he struggled to make sense of what he saw. The scene appalled him. There seemed to be a million things happening at once. His concussed brain tried to identify the brutality of it all.

  Nicola Bekk stood in the centre of the drive. His car doors were open. The TV from the lounge leaned against the back seat. Evidently, the thugs were in the process of stealing both the television and his car. Nicola must have interrupted them. Now they circled round her. They were laughing, making jokes, and subjecting her to sneering insults. The big guy grabbed a fistful of hair before yanking her backwards.

  Tom blinked. His bruised logic couldn’t make sense of what he was seeing. Nicola still made that strange-sounding cry. Rising, falling. Yet, she did not move, unless the force of their shoves caused her to move her feet to regain her balance.

  No . . . get this. He shook his head in confusion. Nicola appeared to be calling to someone he couldn’t see. And she appeared to be calling in a foreign language. The mysterious words rose and fell on the night air.

  Her cries were hilarious to the four guys. They laughed and pushed her even harder. The big guy grabbed her by the hair again; after that, he smacked his mouth on hers to give her a rough kiss. Then he shoved her away as if she disgusted him.

  Nicola cried out again. Her face seemed so incredibly strange, as if she was sleepwalking. Her eyes were fixed on the forest.

  Tom planned to launch himself on the big guy. He’d punch the bully to hell and back. Only, his balance had been wrecked. He took five steps then slapped face down into the gravel. His head spun so much he couldn’t even sit upright. With a sense of cold dread filling him, he knew he’d be forced to lie there. All he could do was watch the thugs torture Nicola. Nobody could stop them now.

  Nicola shouted again. Her blue eyes remained fixed on the trees across the road.

  The big guy made his move. He grabbed her pale blonde hair before ripping open her blouse. Bolter egged him on to do more; his eyes possessed an eager gleam. Bolter was hungry for something more than food.

  Then Nicola said one word. The tone radiated a quiet satisfaction. ‘Helsvir.’

  Gradually, the bushes at the forest’s edge were parted. But parted by what? Tom couldn’t tell. Yet a massive shape pushed the bushes aside. Smoothly, it flowed from the vegetation. The thing was as big as a truck, and without any fuss, it seemed to swim through the gloom towards the driveway gates. After passing through those, it approached the four men.

  For a moment they didn’t notice. Their greedy eyes were locked on to Nicola’s bare shoulders.

  When the huge, pale body had reached the drive’s halfway mark, that’s when they finally did see what approached. All four stopped pawing Nicola. And all four turned to stare at the creature.

  ‘Helsvir.’ Nicola sounded pleased. ‘Helsvir, come.’

  Tom tried to stand and failed. The world began to whoosh before his eyes.

  Suddenly, the four men screamed in panic. They ran towards him, though they paid no attention to their victim lying there. They were making for the safety of the house.

  However, they were nowhere near as fast as the creature. As it breezed past Tom he glimpsed legs. There were lots of them: bare human legs. Bare arms, too.

  The big man screamed. The creature had slammed into him, sending him rolling forward across the gravel. When the man screamed again, the white gravel was on his tongue. He still screamed as the beast from the wood passed over his body.

  Tom blacked out for a moment. He dreamt he was back at the archway near Nicola’s house: the one that bore the carving of a whale-shaped creature with lots of legs. She was saying, ‘That’s the family dragon. You’ll meet him later.’

  Tom opened his eyes again. The huge, truck-sized beast swept by him. It dragged the guy with the tuft of a beard on his chin. The man’s dead face scraped a furrow in the gravel. The creature swiftly dropped Tufty on to two other male corpses. One was the dim-witted giant. The other corpse belonged to a man he’d never seen before. This must be the thug who’d struck him from behind. He had mass of spiky hair that he’d bleached into a bright, yellowy blonde. Now the three were piled up on top of each other. Blood poured from the bodies to soak the white gravel.

  So where’s Bolter? Bolter’s missing.

  Nicola stood watching with the blankest of expressions. She appeared to be in a trance.

  That’s when the creature swept smoothly up the driveway towards Tom.

  ‘My turn,’ he uttered in a groggy whisper. ‘My turn. It’s coming for me.’

  The massive shape loomed out of the night. Tom found himself looking into its face.

  No . . . that’s not correct, he told himself as he felt his wits slipping away. Not a face.

  Faces.

  He found himself gazing at the dozens of heads that studded the bulky body. The skin of each face was bluish-white. The eyes were perfectly white apart from a fierce black pupil. Did he see an expression of warning in that multitude of staring eyes?

  ‘Helsvir.’ There was a clear note of command in Nicola’s voice. The same note as if she called a dog to heel.

  The creature advanced towards Tom; air vented from the nostrils of its many faces. Blackened lips parted to expose glinting teeth.

  ‘Helsvir.’

  The creature glided even closer. He smelt wet earth. He could hear a growing chorus of hissed words. A dozen men and women seemed to be whispering the same sentence at the same time.

  ‘Go away. Leave her.’

  That’s what the words sounded like. A warning. And hissed with such venom.

  ‘Leave her. Don’t come back!’

  The faces lunged forwards.

  Before they could touch him, however, a dark wave swept over Tom Westonby. He felt nothing more.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  When he woke, he wasn’t alone. A body lay alongside of him.

  For a moment Tom Westonby gazed up at the ceiling. The sun hadn’t yet risen. Outside the window there was a pale half-light. From the forest came the swelling notes of the dawn chorus as the birds sang in the new day.

  To his surprise he felt no pain, although he clearly remembered being attacked by thugs from the village. After the attack, however, everything else was hazy.

  Concussion. Has to be. His fingers carefully explored his face. A swollen eye. Split lip. Sticking plaster above the left eyebrow. Stiff neck. A general sense that his head had expanded to twice its normal size. Though no pain. Not a single sting. If anything, he felt deliciously comfortable. That sense of well-being, he realized, had much to do with the person who lay next to him.

  ‘How are you feeling, Tom?’ Her voice was gentle.

  ‘Surprisingly good.’ What surprised him, too, was that his speech was normal. He thought he’d be mumbling through a mouthful of shattered teeth. He hoisted himself up on to one el
bow.

  In the soft light, he could see Nicola’s head on the pillow. She lay there on top of the sheet. Fully clothed, too. She wore a white blouse and blue jeans. Only her feet were bare. She must have climbed on to the bed next to him, so she’d be close if he took a turn for the worse.

  Memories roughly shunted other thoughts aside. Suddenly, his head was full of images of last night. The way the four men had brutally shoved her around. The big guy had grabbed her by the hair and kissed her roughly on the mouth.

  ‘Are you alright?’ His heart pounded. ‘Did those bastards hurt you?’

  She smiled. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Fine? Nicola, they were trying to rip your clothes off.’

  ‘You scared them away.’

  ‘Me? In the state I was in I couldn’t have scared a kitten.’ He sat up in bed. A move he immediately regretted. A wave of dizziness swept over him so powerfully that he slumped back down. Even though he couldn’t sit up, he did grab hold of Nicola’s hand. He held it tight. ‘Are you sure they didn’t do anything to you?’ The words burned in his throat. ‘I’ll get the bastards. I’ll rip them apart. Tell me where they live.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she soothed. ‘Nothing happened . . . At least, not in the way you mean.’

  ‘I watched them attacking you!’

  ‘Just a couple of shoves, and the big one pulled my hair. I’m used to rough treatment.’

  ‘You don’t have to get used to rough treatment.’

  ‘They’re gone now, Tom.’

  ‘But I couldn’t have scared them. I couldn’t even stand up.’

  ‘You were there, Tom. When you came out of the house you scared them away.’

  ‘I don’t remember it like that.’ He shook his head; the movement made him woozy. ‘I collapsed on to the driveway . . . There was something in the forest. It was big . . . enormous.’ He felt himself slipping back into darkness again. Damn it, those guys had kicked with a vengeance. ‘An animal came out of the wood . . .’

  ‘Animal?’ She lifted herself on to an elbow so she could look directly at him, her eyes full of concern. ‘There wasn’t any animal, Tom.’