His Vampyrrhic Bride

by Simon Clark

  Tom leapt from the slab to slab – each one larger than a desktop. Some were just below the surface, and he gambled they weren’t so slippery that they’d dump him off their backs into the water. Though it wasn’t deep here, he knew that the vicious creature wanted him dead. Being in that new lake wasn’t a safe place to be. Tom felt the beat of danger in the air.

  When he was ten feet from the boat he shouted, ‘Mrs Bekk! Throw me the line!’

  The woman stared at him. She’s not going to do as I say. The reason why was obvious: the moment Helsvir destroyed Tom was the moment that Nicola would be compelled to return to her old way of life: because there’d be no Tom. No fiancé. No prospect of marriage, forever and ever, amen.

  ‘Mrs Bekk, please!’ Tom held out his hands for the line.

  Helsvir entered the flooded cemetery. In fury, it slammed into gravestones, the hated symbols of Christian burial. At least that outburst of violence against the tombs slowed its progress. However, the moment the monster had vented its anger it would attack the boat once more.

  ‘Mrs Bekk? Are you going to let these people be slaughtered? Are you going to sit there and watch them become part of that bastard?’

  Her eyes fixed on Tom; there was such a grave light of despair in them, as if she knew whatever she did would ultimately lead to tragedy. Then, at last, with a deep sigh, she threw the line that was tied to the prow. Straight away, he began to haul at the craft. Chester was helping, too. He used the oar to try to push them clear of the stone cross.

  Nicola screamed as she watched Helsvir violently thrashing its way through the water. Ever closer. Ever more threatening. Danger pounded through Tom’s body. Any second now . . . Helsvir would rip people from the boat. A woman clung to a baby. A child wept.

  The multi-headed creature that was Helsvir rose above them. A menacing tower of dripping flesh.

  ‘Yes!’

  Tom managed to pull the craft free. Using the flat-topped tombs as his return route, he hauled the boat full of people towards the strip of dry land. Meanwhile, Chester did his best to fend the creature off with the oar. He attacked the multitude of heads – the man had become a born-again warrior – clubbing, stabbing, slashing. Then Chester struck one of the faces with such force that blood exploded from the nose. And, as one, all the mouths opened to howl in pain.

  Seconds later, Helsvir came back with renewed fury. A forest of arms reached out, and dozens of hands tugged the oar from Chester’s grasp – in no time at all they’d torn it to pieces.

  Tom dragged the boat up on to the grass. Nobody needed to be told what to do next: they all dashed for the church doorway. Nicola helped the woman with the baby. Tom picked up the child. That done, he raced across the strip of dry earth to the building.

  A dark-haired woman of around thirty didn’t make it.

  Helsvir caught her up in that bristling mass of arms. They heard her screams. The crack of her breaking bones was shockingly loud. As her yells dropped to a low gurgling sound, Helsvir threw her aside. This time the creature wouldn’t postpone its next attack.

  Tom stood in the doorway of the church. He was ready to face the monstrosity down until everyone was inside.

  Of course, the creature wouldn’t be faced down; it lunged forward. A mass of faces filled his field of vision. Eyes fixed on him. Mouths yawned open. He saw jagged teeth. Before he felt the force of its impact, a dark hand gripped his arm, dragged him into the church. Then the door crashed shut.

  The humans were inside, the monster was on the outside, but Tom Westonby couldn’t guarantee how long that state of affairs would last. Helsvir had tasted blood. It would be hell-bent on tasting more before the night was out.

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  After the second boat arrived everything descended into chaos. One of its passengers, a white-haired man of around sixty, ran up the centre aisle of the church. He yelled, pointed back at the door, armed himself with a brass candlestick from the lectern; then he tried to hide behind one of the tapestries that hung from a stone pillar. The baby and the child were screaming. The mother tried to calm them without any success.

  Another couple of guys were aggressively yelling at their parish priest. They demanded to know what the hell that demon was out there that had pursued them through the flooded village before killing two of their friends. Mrs Bekk sat on a pew bench. She muttered to herself in a low voice, while repeatedly shaking her head.

  Nicola stared at the locked doors of the church. She seemed to be in a state of shock.

  Chester pounced on Tom, slapping him repeatedly on the back while shouting, ‘You’re safe. Thank God you’re safe. I thought you were a dead man!’

  In that whirlwind of yelling people, Tom tried to assess how many had made it into the church. He counted seven men. A baby and a little girl. Four women, including Mrs Bekk and Nicola.

  Wait! He took a closer look at one of the men, who sat on the stone floor with his back to the huge timber doors. He had his arms tightly folded; he rocked, while muttering to himself, and he was dripping wet. What’s more, his face was bloody from a dozen deep scratches.

  ‘Bolter!’ Tom grabbed the man by the front of his denim jacket and hauled him to his feet. ‘Bolter! Have you any idea what you’ve done?’

  Bolter’s head rolled. ‘I killed you. I locked you in the room, Mr Crappy Westonby. You drowned in there.’

  Tom shook the guy like he’d shake dirt from a blanket. ‘You torched Nicola’s home. I’ve a good mind to throw you back out there!’

  Bolter grinned. His eyes had a strange shining quality – they were so glossy that they looked as if they’d been plucked out and dipped in olive oil, before being rammed into his blistery head again.

  Tom slapped Bolter’s face. ‘You’re going to tell me why you attacked Nicola’s house.’ That slap felt so satisfying that Tom raised his hand again.

  Chester grabbed his friend’s wrist to stop him hitting the thug. ‘That won’t help. The idiot’s out of it.’

  ‘I’ll beat him sober.’

  ‘While we were in the boat, he was cramming pills into his mouth. He’s high as a kite.’

  Bolter gave a screeching laugh. ‘I made sure you drowned, Westonby. Why are you standing in front of my face?’ The guy suddenly stood up straight and held his fist in front of his mouth. ‘Stay with us, ladies and gentlemen. We have breaking news. The survivors, gathered here in St George’s Church, Danby-Mask, have been attacked by a monster. Earlier this evening it tried to kill me – I managed to escape by bravely jumping through the roof of a garage . . . Cut me up pretty bad . . . But I made it here to relative safety on this new island created by the flood . . .’

  Tom was amazed. The guy was actually pretending to be reporting this live on a news channel. Maybe he really did believe that his fist was a microphone. Even his speech became clearer as the drug-induced delusion that he spoke to viewers took hold.

  Bolter dribbled. ‘There are a handful of us trapped in the church. While the monster is out there, we cannot leave. We are under siege. I repeat, we are besieged by the creature. To leave this building invites instant attack. We’ll be back after this short commercial break . . .’ He started to laugh. However, the laughter quickly turned to snotty weeping. He rubbed his sleeve over the sloppy mess at the bottom of his nose.

  Tom shoved him back against the door. The man slithered down on to the stone slabs; there he curled himself into a ball as he blubbered softly to himself.

  Meanwhile, the din continued. This was bedlam. The mother of the children had joined the two men to harangue the priest. The white-haired man peeped out from behind the tapestry where he began to shout incomprehensible comments.

  Joshua did his best to soothe them. ‘Please calm yourselves. We must discuss—’

  ‘Discuss be damned,’ yelled a big, red-faced man of around fifty. He had scraggles of black hair that hung down at either side of his balding head. ‘What’s out there? What attacked us?’

  ‘Phil,’ Joshua
said, ‘Take a seat, please, we—’

  ‘I’ll be damned if I sit there jawing while there’s some animal out there. What is it?’

  Tom grabbed the hefty man by the elbow. ‘That’s Helsvir.’

  ‘Helsvir? What the hell is Helsvir?’ The man’s anger made his face even redder. ‘And if you don’t get your hands off me, I’ll rip your bloody head off.’

  ‘Helsvir is a creature made from human corpses.’

  ‘You expect me to believe that?’

  ‘You saw it with your own eyes.’

  ‘Phil,’ began Joshua. ‘That is a real creature.’

  ‘No!’ bellowed Phil. ‘Monsters don’t exist.’

  Joshua spoke in a calm voice, driving the truth home. ‘You saw what it did to Marjorie and to Mr Green. Whatever brought it here doesn’t matter for the moment. What you need to know is that Helsvir is dangerous . . . very, very dangerous.’

  Bolter sat up straight. An idiot grin slashed across his face. ‘Now we’re fortunate enough to have Joshua Squires, priest of this crappy parish, with an explanation of what the creature is, and what harm it can do to the human anatomy.’

  Tom would have liked to kick Bolter. He resisted the temptation. Just.

  Nicola gripped Tom’s hand. ‘Why is that thing here?’

  ‘To stop us being together.’ Tom’s face was grim. ‘Helsvir is the ultimate weapon that will prevent us from being a couple. Isn’t that right, Mrs Bekk?’

  Before Mrs Bekk could answer, a tremendous crash echoed through the church. Instantly, everyone stopped shouting. And everyone turned to the big, main door. A huge object had just slammed into it from the other side. The impact sounded like thunder.

  Bolter’s eyes bulged as he stared at the door. The wood slowly began to curve inwards as a huge force was exerted from the other side. Planks creaked. The huge iron bolts that locked the door shut were starting to bend.

  Even Bolter’s voice became hushed. ‘Ladies and gentlemen – breaking news. The monster is breaking down the door. We might only have moments to live.’

  Then the door suddenly jolted again. The creature must have hurled itself at the barrier. Its fury stunned the people there. They now realized that Helsvir was brutally real. What’s more, they knew that if the door gave way they would suffer an agonizing death.

  But Tom knew that death wouldn’t be the end . . . Death would be only be the start of their nightmare.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  The church door had kept out the unwanted for centuries. Now that door shuddered as the creature charged again and again. Everyone in the church watched. Even Joshua, the parish priest, gasped as one of the timbers splintered under the onslaught.

  But the fact of the matter was this: even that massive door couldn’t stand up to Helsvir for long. Each blow from outside sounded like thunder inside. The ancient building shook. White dust swirled from the rafters. The light from the candles became hazy.

  ‘Do something,’ shouted the woman with the baby. ‘Stop it!’

  The burly, red-faced man, by the name of Phil, turned on her. ‘What can we do? You saw the size of the thing, you stupid bitch!’

  The baby began to cry. The woman hugged the child and gently rocked it back and forth – while all the time she stared in contempt at the man who’d yelled at her.

  Bolter pointed at Nicola. ‘She controls it. She tells that monster what to do.’

  The woman with the child stared at Nicola. ‘That’s Nicola Bekk, isn’t it? The strange girl that never speaks.’

  ‘Oh, she speaks alright.’ Bolter had dropped the news reporter act. He advanced on Nicola, jabbing his finger in her direction. ‘She tells that monster to do stuff. The bitch will have ordered it to attack the boat.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ Nicola protested.

  The woman with the baby stood up. ‘My God, she must be the one that’s making it smash down the door.’

  Her point got thunderous emphasis when Helsvir slammed into the other side.

  ‘If you control that thing, make it go away,’ demanded Phil.

  ‘I can’t . . . I don’t know how.’

  ‘You better,’ screeched Bolter. ‘Otherwise, we’ll open the door and chuck you right out there. You better be able to control it then, or it’s gonna rip you—’

  ‘Shut up.’ Tom had heard enough. He put his arm round Nicola’s shoulders. ‘Nicola doesn’t know when she’s controlling it. Until tonight she didn’t even believe it was real.’

  ‘Liar!’ snapped Bolter.

  Mrs Bekk rose to her feet. ‘It’s true. Ever since Nicola was twelve she’s had a kind of rapport . . . a bond of some sort with Helsvir. But it’s like she’s sleepwalking when she controls it. Nicola doesn’t know she’s giving it orders.’

  The door crashed again.

  Phil grunted. ‘Another couple of those, and it’s going to blow the door wide open.’

  Tom couldn’t disagree. One of the iron hinges had snapped clean through.

  A deathly silence followed. The air of tension tightened everyone’s nerves to the point Tom felt sure they’d soon start screaming in panic.

  ‘Here he comes,’ sang Bolter. ‘Here he comes . . .’

  Another crash tore through the building. The massive door buckled. The force of that blow knocked the key from the lock, sending it clattering across the stone floor.

  Everyone stared at the door; they expected it to give way at any moment. Of course, that’s when Helsvir would storm into the church. People clamped their hands over their ears as the furious thunder of what appeared to be fists beating at the timber grew louder and louder . . .

  Nicola ran to the door; she pressed both palms against its woodwork. In a loud, clear voice she called out: ‘Go away. Stop that. Stop attacking the door. My name’s Nicola Bekk. I order you to stop.’

  The abrupt silence that followed seemed like a physical presence. Everyone rubbed their ears, wondering if the sheer cacophony of clattering had damaged their hearing.

  ‘See,’ said the woman with the baby. ‘Nicola Bekk can make it stop. She only had to tell it.’ Her eyes narrowed as she stared at Nicola. ‘But you never really wanted it to stop, did you? You want to watch us being torn apart by your pet!’

  ‘You’ve always treated my family like vermin!’ Nicola’s blue eyes flashed with anger. ‘You turned us into outcasts. For years, people have done their utmost to hurt our family.’

  Chester shook his head in astonishment. ‘Nicola Bekk can actually speak. I’m sorry I doubted you, Tom.’

  However, before Tom could utter a heartfelt I told you so, Phil turned on Nicola. ‘Even as a child you were insane. You were always running out of school in the middle of lessons. Yes, we heard what you were like. Your damn mother was just the same.’

  Nicola glared at the man. ‘Is it any wonder I seemed strange as a child? Every day I went to school I was bullied. Even the teachers treated me as if I wasn’t human. They decided I was the peculiar little creature from the backwoods; something to be tolerated, not educated. So is it really surprising that I was too frightened to speak to other children? Or that every day I’d run home with my head down?’ She raked her finger at the people there. ‘Because your children threw stones at me. They chased me out of your precious village and back into the forest. Sometimes they caught me, then they pulled my hair, punched me – they made me feel that I didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as them.’

  In the silence that followed, the men and women stared down at the floor, too ashamed to meet her gaze. Tom realized that Nicola had made them see an important truth that they’d hidden from themselves: that the population of Danby-Mask had bullied the Bekk family for generations. The bullying and the violence had been so routine, and so deeply entrenched, that the villagers didn’t even seem to realize that this habitual abuse was wrong.

  Joshua spoke up: ‘Nicola Bekk speaks the truth, doesn’t she? You mistreated this woman and her family.’

  Nobody could look the priest in
the eye; they kept their gaze downward.

  ‘If you examine your conscience, and you recognize that it would be right to ask forgiveness from this woman, then I invite you to do just that.’

  Before anyone could speak, Nicola hissed, ‘Don’t bother. I’ve got better things to do than listen to their self-pity. I’m going to stop Helsvir doing what he was created to do. And that is ripping you sorry bastards apart.’

  Nicola suddenly ran. At first Tom was afraid that she’d open the door, which would, of course, allow the creature to storm the building and rip its occupants to bloody pieces. However, she dashed through an archway at the end of the church. He grabbed a flashlight from the table and followed.

  What was she planning to do? After witnessing her in action today, he couldn’t begin to guess.

  Other than it would be unexpected, dramatic, and undoubtedly dangerous.

  FIFTY-NINE

  Nicola must have realized that access to the church tower lay behind the archway. Tom quickly found himself following her up the spiral staircase towards the roof. What’s she going to do? he asked himself with a growing sense of alarm. She’s not going to throw herself off the tower, is she? An icy blast of fear ran down his spine. Because anything seems possible tonight . . . absolutely anything. The village lies underwater. A monster has trapped us in the church . . .

  Thoughts of what might happen to those children downstairs made his blood run cold. If Helsvir attacked them? If they became part of its grotesque body? A young child’s head, and a baby’s head, among those heads of men and women that budded from its grey flesh? He shuddered.

  Nicola paused as she climbed the steps. ‘I was harsh with those people down there, wasn’t I? When I told them that they’d made my life hell.’

  ‘They needed to know the truth. You were the victim, not them.’ He stretched out his hand.

  She reached back and gently squeezed Tom’s fingers. He could tell she was pleased to have him here.