The Universe of Horror Volume 1: The Soft Whisper of the Dead (Neccon Classic Horror)
Page 13
The strength returned to Ned’s legs, and his head finally cleared. Slowly, so not to attract the Count’s attention, he brought a hand to his face and wiped it clear of perspiration, and fresh blood that was seeping through the bandage. Then he stared at Pamela’s profile, demanding silently she tum to look at him; at his eyes.
Brastov nodded when the butler returned to stand beside Squires. Then, very carefully, he lowered his arm and pushed Pamela slightly away from him. But his hand he kept on the back of her neck.
Ned swayed with a brief wave of dizziness swept over him. When he was clear again, however, he looked at his right hand. At the chain. Followed the chain up to the chandelier, down below to the bolt that held it in place. He let his fingers slide down the links, and tensed himself to jump.
Timmons saw the move and almost lost the struggle to let it show on his face.
Pamela, Ned thought; for god’s sake, Pamela!
Then Squires looked to the side, and saw Ned’s hand. “Stockton,” he yelled, “what the hell are you doing?”
“Pamela!” Ned screamed then, and threw himself over the bannister, ignoring the pain that lanced through his legs as he landed and simultaneously pulled the bolt free.
Pamela dropped instantly, the Count’s hand wrenched free of her throat. She rolled instinctively away, over the edge of the stair and down toward Timmons who darted forward to grab her.
Brastov had turned, less at the shouting than at the sound of the chain rattling through its loop. He looked down at Ned lying helpless on the floor, suddenly frowned when he saw the bolt in his hand.
Then he looked up. but it was much too late.
The chandelier plunged downward, a flaming crystal spike that caught him square in the chest before he had a chance to do anything more than utter an enraged animal scream. He was slammed to the landing, and the crystal shattered, showered, exploded outward to shatter again against the walls, the doors, the floor, the stairs.
Sparks and candles landed on the hall tapestries, their ancient threads almost instantly bursting into flame, flames that reached and strained and caught the underside of the gallery, the edges of the carpets. Parts of the chandelier framework sheered off and sliced through several gaslights on the wall, creating rows of blue furnace that torched the staircase too.
Other bits of candlewick were tossed into the adjoining rooms, and a servant who’d run from the explosion tipped a liquor tray over, spreading brandy on the refectory table and on the Persian carpet; the brandy caught. the linen flared, and it didn’t take long before the dining room was an inferno.
Ned dragged himself to his feet and staggered toward Pam and Timmons, the heat from the growing fire turning his face red. But he stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking up when there was a sudden rumbling as the remaining skeleton of the fixture began to shudder.
Despite the danger from the fire he forced himself to watch, forced himself to see what was left of Brastov’s features swell to purple, to yellow, to black, to peel away in strips like obscenely long worms and fall curling to the side to expose the man’s veins, muscles, the bone of his skull. Smoke in boiling torrents swept up through the iron frame. and a wind suddenly roared down the hallway as the chandelier trembled, shook violently, was rendered invisible inside a swirling tower of mist and red fire that writhed on the landing before catching the wind to it and using it to rise swiftly toward the ceiling, blasting through the dome and into the night sky.
There was a great deal of shouting, then, screaming as the staff raced around, grabbing what valuables they could at Squires’ red-faced direction. Ned gathered Pamela into his arms and ran out the front door to the end of the drive’s loop. There he set her down, ordered her to wait, and ran back again, struggling against the tide of servants fleeing the doomed manor. Once inside, he peered through the conflagration, grabbed Timmons by the arm and shouted Squires’ name. The butler shrugged and pushed him away, turning to grab Amy Reston and guide her to safety.
Ned saw him a moment later.
He was standing in the front room, staring up at the portrait if his dead wife over the mantel. The frame was burning and the canvas was beginning to curl, and before Ned had a chance to fight through the flames a beam crashed down from the ceiling, and Grandon Squires vanished.
18
Ned thought the silence in the small house almost too loud to bear. The three days following the fire had been spent with Pamela going through the charred rubble of Squires Manor; they found little more than bits and pieces of her life there, and most of that crumbled to ash at her touch. The village, however, rallied to her side, offering shelter and food and support if she wanted. It touched her deeply, and she wept often, and neither she nor Ned said a word about the vampire.
A tragic accident, and life goes on; and not even Lucas disputed the story.
Finally, just before midnight on the evening of the fifth day, Ned brought Pamela home from her room at the Chancellor Inn. They had dined together, and he had found the courage to tell her he could no longer stand the little house he owned, not with the silences that filled every room whenever she left them. Her eyes brimmed with grateful tears, and she told him she didn’t care what anyone thought, she would stay with him until Reverend Alden agreed to join them.
“But there are these dreams,” she said as they sat on the sofa and he put his arm about her shoulders. “I have these horrid dreams, Ned, and they won’t stop.”
He knew. He knew exactly what she meant.
“It will be that way, I’m afraid,” he said gently. “At least for a while.” His hand cupped her chin, and he smiled. “But it’s over. You know that. It’s over, and we’re still here. For all his power, Brastov is dead and we are still here.”
She sighed, and nodded. “Saundra. I still can’t believe it. We had such marvelous times together when we were younger, such wonderful times.” Then, much quieter: “But at least she’s free now. At least she’s free.”
He hesitated, and would have passed on what had just occurred to him but she caught the change in his mood and looked at him questioningly. He shrugged. “Horace,” he said. “They found his body in the cellar this afternoon.”
Her eyes closed, and her face took on such an expression of relief that he was startled until she told him Saundra’s warning.
“Well, I said it’s over, didn’t I? Now you can believe it.”
She nodded, and for several minutes they sat in comfortable and comforting silence. Then, just as Ned felt himself dozing, she allowed herself a smile. “I’m not a poor woman, you know. There’s still the business.” The smile became a grin. “Would you object to being a rich policeman ?”
He laughed and hugged her. “I would object to being a poor one more.”
“Then it’s settled,” she said with a decisive nod. “I shall make us more money — Father taught me better than he knew — and if we’re lucky perhaps Timmons will work for us again.”
“Sure. But only if the man smiles, Pam. If he doesn’t smile, he’s out.”
Her laugh was small, but he was heartened at the effort. Good spirits, for Pamela, were in short supply these days, and he knew it would be a long hard time before she was herself once again. This, however, was a start, and he need ask for no more.
“Darling,” he said softly, and turned her face to his, was about to kiss her when there was a knock at the door. She scowled, and he muttered all the way to the door about his father minding his own business. “I tell you, love,” he said as he took hold of the knob, “this dropping in at all hours is definitely going to stop.”
The door opened, and he saw the fog, and the man in the black cloak standing on the porch.
“Good lord, Jack” Ned said. “Where the hell have you been?”
“Good evening,” Foxworth whispered softly. “May I come in?”
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