Fang of the Vampire

by Tommy Donbavand

  Chapter Eight

  The Book

  Luke pulled out book after book, trying to remember which title Sir Otto had moved to trigger the secret door. He reached the end of the shelf, but nothing had happened.

  “This is ridiculous!” he snapped. “I know it was one of these!” He kicked out angrily, stubbing his toe against the shelves. Pain shot through his foot and he dropped onto a nearby couch to pull off his trainer and massage the injury.

  “That hurtsh!” he hissed.

  “Hurtsh?” repeated Resus. “Have your lips stopped working?”

  Luke shrugged. “It jusht came out like—”

  Another bolt of pain hit him, this time shooting through his face as his upper jaw splintered and pushed outwards to create a wolf ‘s snout. A long tongue lolled out of his mouth and thick whiskers sprouted from either side of his nose.

  “Oh, thish ish jusht fantashtic!” he moaned, running his fingers over the length of his dog-like features.

  “You sound just like me when I first got these clip-on fangs!” giggled Resus.

  “That shkunk inshide your cloak ish decomposhing fasht,” grumbled Luke, sniffing at the air with his new, sensitive nose. He smiled as another scent filled his nostrils. “I can shmell Shir Shneer!”

  Cleo shook her head. “Nope,” she said, “didn’t get a word of that!”

  “Otto Shneer!” said Luke, wiping strings of drool from his chin. “I’ve picked up hish schent!”

  “Oh!” exclaimed Cleo. “I can smell him too; those cigars really pong.”

  “It’sh not the shigarsh I can shmell,” slavered Luke. “I can shee the booksh he wash touching!” He sniffed the row of books, following the landlord’s scent.

  “Thish one,” he announced. “And hish fingersh only touched the firsht two shentimetres.” He carefully pulled the book out a short way. There was a click, and the unit slid inwards to reveal a dark passageway beyond.

  Resus grinned. “Shuper-duper!”

  Luke’s face shrank back as he led the way down a stone staircase.

  “Doesn’t that hurt?” asked Cleo.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe,” replied Luke. “But it’s proving helpful.”

  “We need a little light on the situation,” said Resus. He reached inside his cloak and pulled out a length of wood that crackled with fire at one end.

  Cleo stared. “Why would you have a flaming torch inside your cloak?”

  Resus shrugged. “I lost the battery-operated one fighting the hellhounds.”

  In the flickering torchlight, Luke, Resus and Cleo examined Sir Otto’s secret room. Both the walls and the floor were of simple, bare stone. A series of wires and metal clamps pushed through one of the walls.

  “What are these?” asked Cleo, studying a vice that jutted out.

  “I’ve no idea,” said Resus. “But I know what that is!” Following his gaze, Luke and Cleo saw Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street sitting on top of a stone pillar.

  Luke reached out to take it, but as his hand touched the book it was surrounded by a ball of white light. He yelped and pulled his fingers back.

  “What’s the matter?” asked Resus.

  “It gave me a shock!” exclaimed Luke, sucking his fingertips.

  Resus smiled. “I’ll get it,” he said. Within seconds the vampire was also nursing a jolted hand as the ball of light wrapped itself around the book again.

  “I’ve not come this far to walk away now,” said Luke, reaching out with his other hand. There was a crackle and he spun away, cursing.

  Resus tried again with his uninjured hand. Soon both boys were hopping round the room, fingers jammed into their armpits.

  “Are you both brain-dead?” Cleo asked. “It’s obviously some sort of energy shield. Whenever you reach out for the book, the shield activates and zaps you.”

  “And what do you suggest we do about it?” asked Luke.

  “Leave it to mummy!” Cleo grinned. She unwrapped the bandages from her right arm. The skin beneath was black and wrinkled, like burnt chicken. She reached out and grabbed hold of the book. The energy shield fizzed into life and Cleo gritted her teeth against the pain as she lifted the tome off its pillar.

  “Boys!” she said.

  School had finished for the day and Luke, Resus and Cleo now sat on the floor in Resus’s bedroom. The book lay on the carpet between them, the face of a man raised up from its silver cover.

  A variety of fierce-looking weapons were hung by lengths of wire from the ceiling above them, and on the pillow of Resus’s bed was a teddy in a cape with its head missing. The walls were splashed with what Luke hoped was red paint.

  “What do we do now?” asked Cleo.

  “We read,” said Luke. He grabbed the book and opened it at a random page. It showed a recipe for gnome stew. The following page advertised disguise kits for germs, while the next was taken up with a rousing poem about toenails. Everything was written in the same, scrawled handwriting.

  A feeling of hopelessness began to wash over Luke as he flicked faster and faster through the pages. The book had absolutely nothing in it that could help him open a doorway home. Luke threw it to the floor.

  “We went through all that and the book’s useless!” he moaned.

  “I wouldn’t say useless…” said a voice. Luke glanced up at Resus and Cleo, but neither of them had spoken. Cautiously he turned the book over.

  The face on the cover now had its eyes open and it was smiling. “Thank you. I have a dust allergy, and this carpet hasn’t been vacuumed for a while.”

  “We don’t have any electricity,” said Resus slowly, not quite certain if he should be talking to a book. “We have to rely on the spiders to clean up.”

  “Ah yes, the electricity,” said the face. “I know all about that.”

  “Excuse me,” said Cleo, “but who are you?”

  The silver face grinned. “Where are my manners?” it exclaimed. “Samuel Skipstone – author of Skipstone’s Tales of Scream Street!”

  “You wrote this book?” asked Luke.

  “Wrote the book?” beamed Skipstone. “I am the book!” He gazed at the surprised faces around him, then sighed.

  “This bit always confuses people,” he said. “Most authors write their books and then their involvement ends. But I was so engrossed in my work that, as I lay dying, I used a spell to merge my spirit with the pages.”

  “So you’re trapped in there?” asked Cleo.

  “Trapped?” replied Skipstone. “Not at all! I am here by choice!”

  “But the pages, I mean your pages, are filled with silly things like poems and sketches,” said Resus. “There’s nothing serious about Scream Street in it at all.”

  Samuel Skipstone winked. “What better place to hide important knowledge than among useless claptrap? I do not discuss my work with just anyone.”

  “So you haven’t told Sir Otto what you know?” asked Luke.

  “Nor will I,” answered Skipstone. “I do not approve of Sneer’s plans for Scream Street. I have remained mute at his every question.”

  “I heard Sir Otto say you hadn’t told him anything,” said Luke. “I thought he just hadn’t found what he was looking for, but he must have meant you weren’t speaking!”

  Skipstone nodded. “However, for three such eager young minds, I am prepared to talk. Ask and I shall answer!”

  Luke took a deep breath. “I want to leave Scream Street.”

  Samuel Skipstone fixed Luke with his silvery eyes. “And why would a werewolf want to leave the place where he can live among those who accept him?”

  Cleo gasped. “You can tell that Luke is a werewolf?”

  “I am something of an expert on the subject of lycanthropy,” said the author. “There are ways of knowing a werewolf when you see one.”

  “It’s not for me,” continued Luke. “It’s for my mum and dad.” He told Samuel Skipstone about how his family had arrived in Scream Street. He explained how scared his parents wer
e and how, even though he had made friends here, he didn’t want to put his parents through the ordeal any longer.

  When Luke had finished speaking, Skipstone remained quiet for a moment, then spoke softly. “It is a noble quest to leave the place where you belong for the sake of those you love. I will help all I can.”

  “You’ll tell me how to take my parents home?” exclaimed Luke.

  “It is not that simple,” replied Skipstone. “Only the six founding fathers of Scream Street have the power to make such a thing possible.”

  “Founding fathers?” said Cleo. “Like Count Negatov?”

  “Indeed,” said Skipstone. “Allow me to introduce them…”

  Chapter Nine

  The Clue

  The silver book flicked open to a page containing an article about basic gargoyle maintenance. Luke, Resus and Cleo watched as the handwritten words faded away and an illustration took their place.

  The picture showed a street party with figures sitting around a long table, eating and laughing. As Luke watched, the image began to move. There was no sound except the scratch of pencil on paper as the illustration was constantly redrawn, but it was obvious that everyone was having a great deal of fun.

  “That’s Scream Street!” he said.

  “It can’t be,” said Cleo. “The sun’s out!”

  “The sun used to shine every day,” explained Skipstone. “It is only recently that the sky has been veiled in darkness.”

  A vampire stood at the head of the table and raised a glass. “Count Negatov!” exclaimed Resus. “The first vampire in Scream Street!”

  “These are the founding fathers and their families,” said the author.

  “What are they celebrating?” asked Cleo as the vampire’s silent toast was greeted with equally noise-free applause.

  “The completion of Scream Street,” said Skipstone. “The electricity generator had just been put in place. No longer would the residents have to cook and heat their homes with dangerous gas.”

  Resus glanced up at the flickering flame that barely lit his bedroom. “Doesn’t look like we’ve come very far,” he commented.

  The picture faded and the scrawled article came back into view. “The founding fathers can give you the power to see your greatest wish realized,” said Skipstone.

  “You mean like opening a doorway back to my world?” asked Luke.

  “If that is your desire, then yes,” said the author.

  “But surely everyone in that picture is long gone,” said Cleo.

  “Very true,” replied Skipstone.

  Luke’s heart sank. “Then we’re stuck here!”

  “Do not dismiss the founding fathers so quickly,” said Skipstone. “They all left behind something to help those who came after.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Cleo.

  “They each donated something very personal,” said the author. “Once collected, these relics will provide the finder with their combined power.”

  “What’s a relic?” asked Cleo.

  “It’s like a souvenir,” explained Resus. “Something you use to remember something or someone.”

  Cleo smiled. “So all we have to do is find these six relics and Luke can open a doorway home?” she asked. “That doesn’t sound too hard.”

  “It might not be that simple,” answered Skipstone. “The relics are hidden well, and only clues were left to their true locations. They must also be collected in the exact order in which they were donated.”

  “It can’t be impossible, though,” said Luke. “They were left behind to help people. To give them the power of the founding fathers.”

  “Indeed,” said the author. “However, they could easily be misused. You must ensure the relics do not fall into the wrong hands.”

  “You mean…”

  Samuel Skipstone’s voice was solemn. “Sir Otto Sneer! I would imagine his plans for this community are very dark indeed. If he regains possession of me, your family will never leave Scream Street.”

  “I’ll be careful,” promised Luke.

  Skipstone smiled. “Then allow me to reveal the location of the first relic.”

  The book flipped open once more. Spidery handwriting dissolved from the page, revealing a hidden portion of text:

  “There’s only one kind of slimy tunnel round here,” said Resus. “The sewer. There’s a trapdoor in our cellar that leads down there.”

  “Then that’s where we’re going,” said Luke. “Do we need to—”

  “WHICH ONE OF YOU FREAKS STOLE MY BOOK?”

  Sir Otto’s voice echoed along Scream Street. Luke, Resus and Cleo dashed to the window. They could just see the landlord standing in the central square, Dixon at his side.

  “I guess he’s figured out he’s one talking book short,” said Resus.

  Sir Otto bit down hard on his cigar and stroked the silk scarf at his neck. “I know you monsters stick together,” he roared, “but if one of you has the guts to come out and tell me who has my book, you shall be spared!”

  “Spared from what?” asked Cleo.

  “I don’t know,” replied Resus, “but I don’t like the look of that.”

  As the trio watched, Dixon uncoiled a length of wire from the gates of Sneer Hall and attached it to a plunger at Sir Otto’s feet.

  “You have until the count of ten!” yelled the landlord. “Ten, nine, eight …”

  “It’s a bomb!” whispered Cleo.

  Luke shook his head. “I don’t think so. That wire leads back into Sneer Hall. He wouldn’t blow up his own mansion.”

  “… three, two, one!” Sir Otto gripped the handles of the plunger. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, Scream Street!” He pushed down hard. Instantly there was a rush of wind and objects began to fly around Resus’s bedroom.

  Cleo jumped to avoid a falling axe as the wires tethering it to the ceiling snapped. “It’s a poltergeist attack!” she said. “He’s started another attack!”

  “That’s impossible,” said Resus. “You can’t control poltergeists!”

  “Sneer’s obviously found a way,” said Luke. “I need to get to my mum and dad; make sure they’re OK this time.”

  Resus grabbed his arm. “Are you crazy? If you go out there, the book will be torn from your hands by the poltergeist! Sir Otto will have it back in no time.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “We start searching for the relics right now,” said Resus. “The sooner your parents are away from all of this, the better.”

  As Luke and Resus made for the bedroom door, a squeal and a thump from behind stopped them in their tracks. The boys turned. Cleo was lying on the floor, a sword that had been hanging from the ceiling buried deep in her chest.

  “Cleo!” shouted Resus, kneeling beside her.

  The mummy’s eyes flickered open. “That stings,” she moaned, reaching up to pull the blade from her ribcage.

  “Stings?” said Luke. “You should be dead! It went right through your heart!”

  “I don’t think so,” said Cleo, handing the sword to Resus and rearranging her bandages to cover the hole. “My heart is in a golden casket in my bedroom.”

  “What?” exclaimed Luke. “How?”

  “I’m a mummy!” said Cleo. “We have our internal organs removed before we’re buried in our tombs. Didn’t you do history at school?”

  Standing, she stretched to ease the discomfort of the wound, then headed for the door. “Well?” she said. “Are we going down to the sewers, or not?”

  Before either boy could reply, Cleo had left the room.

  Resus pulled open the trapdoor and thrust the flaming torch into the hole. Luke was just able to make out the ground below. “You’re sure this is it?”

  “It’s the only slime-coated tunnel I know of.” Resus climbed down the short ladder, landing in a puddle with a splash. Luke followed.

  “I’m going to have to find a new bandage supplier now I’ve met you,” groaned Cleo as she joined them in the mud.
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br />   “I’ll send you a box once I’ve opened a doorway home,” grinned Luke. “Now, which way do we go?” He looked up and down the sewer tunnel.

  “If I was hunting for a vampire, I’d go as deep as possible,” said Resus.

  “Down it is, then,” said Luke, leading the way into the darkness. At each junction, Luke, Resus and Cleo followed the tunnel that led deeper below ground.

  After a while they found themselves in a vast underground cavern. Green moss clung to the walls and gave off an eerie glow.

  “Gutweed,” explained Resus, tucking the torch back inside his cloak. “They used to use it to light children’s bedrooms at night.”

  “I can’t imagine sleeping with that stuff in my room,” said Luke. “It stinks!”

  There was a crash as Cleo knocked something over in the dim light. Reaching down, she picked up a piece of broken dinner plate. “What’s this doing here?” she asked.

  The trio explored the cavern. Piles of books, clothing, toys and more lay around. Thousands of household objects were stacked from floor to ceiling, the luminous gutweed clinging to everything.

  “This is all the stuff Sir Otto’s confiscated over the years!” said Resus.

  “Well, it’s probably ruined now,” said Luke. “It’ll stink after spending so much time down here. I’m not sure I’ll be able to get rid of the pong myself!”

  “That’s not the gutweed,” said Resus. “That smells like—”

  A rasping noise made him look up. “Oh, no.”

  Luke squinted in the half-light. Hundreds of tiny creatures were watching the trio with dull black eyes. “What,” he asked, “are they?”

  Resus pinched his nose as the vile smell got stronger. “Goblins!”

  Chapter Ten

  The Great Guff

  The goblins crept towards them, leathery feet slapping against the bare stone of the floor. The nearer the creatures got, the fouler the smell became.

  Luke pressed a hand over his nose and mouth. “What is that?”