‘You must have been hungry,’ said the Professor. ‘No vampires will be biting you tonight!’
The children laughed, although the Professor didn’t understand why they found his joke quite so funny.
The Professor went to sleep early, excusing himself from the table and retiring to bed. The children gathered in Isabella’s room, sitting in a circle on the floor.
‘We’re leaving tomorrow,’ said Anna sadly. ‘I wish you could come with us.’
‘Me too,’ said Isabella. ‘But Granny can’t run the inn by herself. She needs me here to help her.’
It didn’t seem fair to Anna. The three friends had just shared an incredible adventure together. Why did they have to be split apart?
‘We’re not allowed to talk to anyone about what happened,’ said Anna. ‘That means only the three of us will ever know what went on here. It’ll be like a secret club. So we need to stay in contact, just in case we ever need each other’s help. Who knows what other spooky things might happen to us?’
‘That gives me an idea,’ said Isabella. She walked over to her cupboard, taking out a handful of pens and a fresh new notebook with an emerald green cover. She selected a nice black pen and opened up the notebook, writing neatly across the top of the first page.
Anna looked over her shoulder, reading the words aloud.
‘THE VAMPIRE KNIFE.’
‘That’s a good name,’ said Max.
‘We have to write down the whole story,’ said Isabella. ‘Then we can send this journal back and forth between us, adding in any new things that we find out. That way we’ll always know what the other members of the club are up to, and we’ll be able to help out with any problems they might have.’
Anna was impressed. It wasn’t as good as having Isabella with them all the time, but it was still a very good idea.
For the next few hours the children wrote down their story. Anna picked out some important pages from her fairy books (finally returned to her by Mrs Dalca) that she would photocopy and paste into the journal when she got home. Isabella was excellent at drawing. She drew a picture of the vampire that was very close to how Anna and Max remembered it. Max found a picture of a cartoon vampire on one of his bubblegum cards, and they decided to stick the two pictures side by side to demonstrate the differences between the real monster and the fake one. They made a tracing of Max’s hand, which was still very much dead, although none of the adults seemed to have noticed it. Anna wondered if they ever would.
Max was halfway through telling them what had happened as the vampire carried him up the mountain (a story Anna and Isabella had not yet heard) when Mrs Dalca interrupted and insisted they go to sleep. Anna looked at the old woman closely, trying to imagine her as the little girl who met a wounded fairy in the woods. Mrs Dalca had clearly made the decision to learn as little about the magical world as possible. Who had made the wiser decision – her, or them?
‘I have something for you,’ rasped Mrs Dalca to Anna as she entered her bedroom. ‘It is to keep you warm on the coldest nights.’
She held out something black and soft. Anna recognised it as the shadowy thing the old woman had been knitting with her fingers. She took it and stretched it out. It was a thick black scarf, identical to the one Isabella wore. Anna thought it might be the most beautiful piece of clothing she had ever owned.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘It’s wonderful. It’s really wonderful.’
Mrs Dalca smiled at her.
‘Good child,’ she said. ‘Now go to bed.’
‘How does the story end?’ asked Max.
Anna barely heard him. She was busy looking out the car window, staring at all the trees that had been hidden by mist on their drive up the mountainside. They looked friendlier in the daytime, although she still wouldn’t want to walk under them alone. It would have been fun to explore the woods with Isabella, following all of the trails on the old dusty map. Maybe there were even more fairies to find.
They had decided the white knife would stay with Anna. Isabella had assured them that the monster in her part of the world had been taken care of – with all of the Professor’s work trips, it was more likely that the siblings would be the ones encountering a new danger. Max hadn’t enjoyed that part of the conversation at all, but it made Anna feel excited. Her old red fairy book contained pages and pages detailing an entire menagerie of strange creatures, each with its own wicked motives and weird powers. Which other monsters were real? Anna patted the white knife by her waist, feeling a tinge of nervousness beneath her excitement. The blade had sat under the floorboards of the inn for years without anyone finding it. Would anybody really come looking for it now?
‘How does the story end?’ repeated Max.
Anna turned to look at her brother. The Professor had forgotten to build the barricade of suitcases between them, which meant the two children could talk normally for a change.
‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said. ‘The story is over.’
‘Not the vampire story,’ said Max. ‘The story you were telling me before we got to the inn. The one where Max goes into the woods where the witch might live.’
‘Oh, right. That story,’ said Anna. ‘Give me a minute to think.’
Max nodded contentedly. He scratched his head. Anna couldn’t help but notice how horrible his pale fingers looked. She and Isabella may have accrued some interesting scars, but there was no denying Max had suffered the most of all.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Max was creeping through the wood. He dropped his last breadcrumb and stood still in the middle of a clearing, wondering if he should go any further without a trail to follow back. He didn’t know that someone was creeping up behind him, their footsteps muffled by the rustling of the trees.’
Max didn’t look very scared. After what they had been through over the last two days, Anna doubted she’d ever be able to scare him again.
‘Eventually Max felt something,’ she continued. ‘At first he thought it was just a breeze blowing on the back of his neck, but then he realised it was too warm to be the wind. Someone – or something – was breathing onto his skin. They were so close they could have touched him.
‘And then a hand came down on Max’s shoulder.’
‘Was it the witch?’ asked Max.
Anna shook her head.
‘Who was it then?’
Anna paused for suspense. And then:
‘It was Max’s sister,’ she said. ‘She had seen Max playing close to the trees, and she knew that he might be taken by the wicked witch. So she had run into the woods after him, following the trail of breadcrumbs until she caught up to him in the clearing. Max was very glad to see her, and together they walked back out of the forest. And they reached home safely, and they lived happily ever after. The end.’
‘So nothing bad happened to Max?’ asked Max. He seemed confused.
‘Nope. Not a thing,’ said Anna.
‘Oh,’ said Max.
The car wove along the mountain track. Eventually the rocky path would connect with a larger road, and then an even larger one, and then they would arrive at the airport and fly away to a whole new country. Anna didn’t feel ready to leave Transylvania, but she couldn’t help but feel excited. How long would it be before their next adventure? Where in the world would they end up next?
‘I guess that was a good ending,’ said Max. ‘Can you tell me a new story now?’
Anna grinned.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A lot of very spooky people helped bring this story into the world. If you’re curious enough, you can read their names here.
The good witches of Hardie Grant Egmont took words from my head and transformed them into a real book. They are masters of stories and ink, and it has been a privilege to work alongside them. My greatest thanks go to Marisa, Luna, Ilka, Haylee, Penelope, Annabel, and everyone else who helped bring this manuscript to life.
Ryan Andrews draws truly scary pictures; his illustrations of wolves, kni
ves and vampires are even spookier than the scenes I first imagined. I also wish I could draw letters like Kristy Lund-White, who created all of the fiendish fonts found creeping across the front cover. For their wicked designs, I give them both my gratitude.
Adel Sarkozi comes from the land of vampires, and was an invaluable asset in reviewing my use of the Romanian language. Mulțumesc!
This story was written in 2015, during the coldest winter that Melbourne has experienced in my lifetime. Thanks go to my housemates, Amelia and Daniel, who always looked after me on those freezing nights, and to all the other friends who came and played games with us until the witching hour: Corey, Marcus, Eliza, Tom, Robert, Laura, Patrick, Ava, Jacqui, Matthew and Emily (to name just a few).
Finally, I acknowledge my family, who have read to me, encouraged me, and terrified me for 25 spooky years. Thanks go to my parents, Teresa and Phil; my sister, Kit; my uncles and aunties, Danny and Beth, Jacqueline and Karl, Peter and Di, and Shane and JR; my cousins, Patrick, Harry, Gypsy, Jesse and Raffy; and to my grandfather, Kenny. Further thanks go to my girlfriend, Jemima, and to her parents, Ruth and Frank. Mt Rowan may be infested with witches, but it’s a much safer place with all of you around.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
JACK HENSELEIT was born on a winter evening in 1991, just after the stroke of midnight. When the weather is dark and stormy, he writes fairy tales – real fairy tales, where witches and goblins play tricks on unwary girls and boys. Not all of the tales have happy endings.
The Vampire Knife is his first novel. Visit jackhenseleit.com to learn more about Jack.
The Vampire Knife
published in 2017 by Hardie Grant Egmont
Ground Floor, Building 1, 658 Church Street
Richmond, Victoria 3121, Australia
www.hardiegrantegmont.com
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers and copyright holders.
A CiP record for this title is available from the National Library of Australia.
eISBN 9781743585047
Text copyright © 2017 Jack Henseleit
Illustration copyright © 2017 Ryan Andrews
Design copyright © 2017 Hardie Grant Egmont
Illustration by Ryan Andrews
Design by Kristy Lund-White
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