by Fahy, James
Chapter Twelve –
A Most Unwelcome Caller
Life at Erlking soon settled into a natural rhythm. Robin continued his casting lessons in the atrium and his largely disastrous combat training on the grassy knoll. His spare time was spent either in the library or his bedroom poring over books. Only Henry managed to keep him sane playing top-trumps and devising ever more outlandish plans to sneak into the Netherworlde. Time passed without Robin really noticing, and slowly Erlking became his home, his school and his sanctuary from the nebulous forces beyond its boundaries.
Robin’s lessons on Fridays with Phorbas on focussing and controlling his mana were met with dubious results. They took place in the aptly-named blue parlour, a small snug room filled with overstuffed furniture, all upholstered in blue. Thick blue curtains, blue patterned wallpaper and blue carpet underfoot. Even the candles on the tables burned with blue flames. Phorbas talked him through the arts of meditation and channelling during these lessons, explaining how learning to control his mana would improve his casting in practical and combat situations. But the cosy, dimly-lit room was so snug that most Fridays were spent drowsing when he should have been contemplating his navel. He didn’t think Phorbas seemed to mind too much. His tutor merely smoked his pipe in peace while Robin snored his way to a higher plane of consciousness.
Weeks passed, and the weather turned steadily colder. Days full of rain and wind arrived, rattling the windows in their old frames and whistling down the chimneys.
Over time, Robin progressed with Featherbreath so that he could float the paper with ease. He could just about levitate the golden coin, though it made him feel like he was going to burst a vein in his head every time he did it. The heavy glass paperweight, on the other hand, had become his nemesis. It stubbornly refused to budge, no matter how hard he tried. It merely sat on the table, unmoved by his efforts.
Combat training continued twice weekly in the grounds until the constant rain churned the grass into slippery mud. They abandoned outside in favour of the large, empty ballroom. Its vast polished floor was scattered with mats and many large cushions for when Robin was inevitably sent flying through the air. Henry often joined them there when his own schoolwork permitted, sitting on the sidelines and acting as cheerleader and critic alike. Robin still couldn’t knock Phorbas off his hooves, he did manage once to part the satyr’s beard neatly in two, which had Henry in fits of laughter.
Between lessons, the two boys were often to be found up in the tower. Henry had brought his Nintendo DS round once but it stopped working as soon as he passed through the gargoyled gates. They played cards or a game Henry called ‘clackers’. It was a lot like draughts, only much noisier and Robin secretly suspected Henry may have invented it, as the rules changed every time they played, especially whenever Henry was losing.
Though Robin kept a daily eye out for Woad, the blue faun didn’t reappear. Things seemed to have quietened down. This bored Henry deeply, and he resumed with gusto his plan to steal the key to the Netherworlde from Hestia’s keeping. While the older boy elaborated on his cunning and complicated stratagems, Robin focussed on floating his socks across the room to the laundry basket with Featherbreath instead.
They were often confined to the house due to the poor weather. Robin took the opportunity to explore the great hall with its endless rooms. Aunt Irene, unexpectedly, positively encouraged him to do so.
He discovered the odd staircase in the kitchen, which Henry had mentioned once. It led up two flights and brought you out into the dark and dusty wine cellar, and when you retraced your steps, you ended up inexplicably in the large airy attic. It made him feel quite dizzy. He ran up and down them for some time, until Hestia eventually chased him out of the kitchen.
Robin avoided Hestia’s domain after that.
One unusually sunny Sunday some time later, when the rains had finally stopped, he and Henry found a wrought iron spiral staircase that led up to a small observatory. There was a large brass telescope, taller than either of the boys, through which Henry was able to show Robin his house down in the village. Robin felt a pang of longing to go and explore the small collection of houses. The tiny cottage looked snug and inviting, with ivy climbing its sides and grey smoke curling out of the chimney. At times like this, he envied Henry his freedom to come and go, which the older boy seemed, quite naturally, to take for granted.
Robin began to spend a lot of his free time alone in the observatory, watching the village through the telescope, or picking out sheep on distant hills as the great shadows of autumn clouds rolled across the grass below.
* * *
A few days later, answering a knock at the front door, Robin had something of a shock. He was confronted with the spectacle of Henry dressed in black pyjamas, upon which had been painted the bones of a skeleton in green paint. His dark hair was sticking up wildly, and his face painted to resemble a skull, with sunken black eyes and hollowed cheeks. He grinned at Robin’s wide-eyed stare.
“Trick or treat?” he said merrily.
“Eh?” Robin replied, utterly confused. Henry looked Robin up and down, disappointed to see the blonde boy wearing jeans and a very unremarkable grey hoodie. “Don’t you know what day it is?” Henry said. “Don’t tell me you’ve had your head stuck in your books so much you don’t know! It’s Halloween!”
“It is?” Robin asked. He’d had no idea whatsoever.
“Yes, I’m trick or treating. Good laugh I thought. Also thought I might make a bit of cash.”
“It’s ten o’ clock in the morning,” Robin said dubiously, glancing at his watch. “Aren’t ghosts and goblins supposed to come out after dark?”
“Yeah, well … just getting a head start on all those kids from the village, aren’t I?”
He looked past Robin into Erlking’s hallway, disappointed. “Aren’t you doing Halloween here, then?” he said, “Dad’s covered our cottage in fake cobwebs, paper skeletons and everything. We’ve got a massive pumpkin in the window. Looks good, wish you could … come and see.” He looked at Robin a little awkwardly as his brain seemed to catch up with his mouth.
“Yeah, me too,” Robin replied, shrugging and thrusting his hands into his pockets. “I don’t think Aunt Irene’s the sort to go for Halloween though.”
“Shame really, spooky old house on a hill and all,” Henry said. “It’s classic Halloween gold!” He shook his head sadly. “You’ll get some kids coming up here later, guaranteed. They come up every year, trick or treating, you know. They dare each other to. Everyone reckons it’s haunted anyway.”
Robin grinned. “Maybe we should have Phorbas answer the door if they do. But Aunt Irene isn’t going to do anything, I don’t think. She’s pretty busy.”
“Is that so?” said a cool voice behind them. Irene has just emerged from a side room, her arms today filled with odd hourglasses of dark green glass. “Too busy to indulge my young ward on this night?”
She glanced at Henry appraisingly. “Your father is not feeding you enough, young Henry.” Her blue eyes flicked to Robin. “We have never celebrated this holiday you call Halloween before. It is a mortal thing … But this is your house now. I shall speak to Phorbas and see if we cannot arrange something.” She glanced back at Henry. “Run along, Robin has a mana management lesson to attend to right now and your clumsy bones are cluttering up my hallway. Come back tonight, let us say … after the moon is up and darkness falls?” She arched an eyebrow. “And bring your father.”
* * *
That evening, Erlking Hall seemed to undergo a strange kind of transformation. Up in his room, Robin found a pile of clothing folded on his bed, and a note atop in Irene’s handwriting.
My dear nephew,
I have done some research into the mortal traditions of this night you call Halloween, and as both your tutor and I feel you have been putting every effort into your studies with little reward, I see no reason why this night should not be one of festivity. I have of course had limited time to prepar
e, but I hope you will find this costume agreeable.
Irene
Robin unfolded the clothing with raised eyebrows and a lopsided grin. It looked like an extremely ornate and gothic tuxedo, exactly his size. There was a black cape attached, with a deep red velvet lining and a blood red gem in the clasp.
Robin changed out of his clothes and put the suit on, feeling a strange sensation as he fastened the collar, a small ripple of goose bumps flowing down his body. Frowning he looked down at his hands. Beyond the frayed cuffs of the outfit, they were suddenly longer and white, and the nails very sharp.
Surprised, he passed to the wardrobe and opened the door, the inside of which was covered with a full-length mirror. His face was deathly white. His blonde hair had slicked itself back and somehow he seemed to have acquired a widow’s peak. Grinning with delight, he saw his whiter than white teeth, his long fangs.
“Brilliant!” he said, and spent a few minutes making faces at himself. When he eventually went down to the house proper, he found it lit with an eerie green glow. Cobwebs and dust, which had certainly not been there fifteen minutes earlier, covered everything. The curtains at each window floated in an unseen breeze. There were carved pumpkins dotted everywhere, each filled with a guttering green flame. How there had been time to decorate the hallways like this Robin had no idea, but they looked impressive.
Aunt Irene, Phorbas and Hestia were all waiting for him in the entrance hallway. It was newly gloom-shrouded, cobwebbed and spooky-looking. The chandelier swayed tinklingly of its own accord, and from deep in the house, mournful wailing could be heard.
Irene smiled briefly up at him as he descended vampirically from the upper landing.
“This meets with your approval?” she inquired, gesturing at the haunted entrance hallway.
“It’s fantastic! How did you…”
“The Hall? Just a few rather advanced glamours, they will not last the night,” she glanced around. “Fairly effective though, if I do say so myself.”
Hestia was staring around at the dusty cobwebbed hallway with tight-lipped, mute horror. Her fingers twitched involuntarily, searching unconsciously for a duster.
“But this costume?” Robin said. “I’m a vampire!”
Phorbas smiled, looking rather alarming in the sickly green light. “Ah yes. That would be my doing,” he said. “And, to clarify, you only appear to be a vampire, Master Robin. The stone clasp around your neck has been treated with a paste made from Mobotom mushrooms and Glam-glam jam, a very powerful illusion-maker indeed. The stone itself once belonged to a vampire. Its old mana-stone actually. Luckily we had it here. While you wear it, you take on something of its old appearance. A crude glamour, but effective nonetheless.”
“Again, it will not last,” Irene said, smiling. “But long enough for you to enjoy yourself a little.”
Before Robin could comment or question on what he considered to be the rather large bombshell of vampires being ‘real’, the doorbell rang and Phorbas crossed to answer it, his goatish shadow leaping like a demon on the haunted walls. It was Henry and Mr Drover, who made their way inside, Henry still dressed as a skeleton. Mr Drover chuckled to himself appreciatively as he looked around the crypt-like room.
“Do you have any idea how spooky this place looks coming up the hill?” Henry said breathlessly. “All the green windows and pumpkins? And there’s fog rolling over the grass everywhere outside? It’s brilliant! It … Bloody Nora, Robin!” he exclaimed, catching sight of the short blonde vampire in the foyer.
Mr Drover laughed heartily. “I understand there is to be a feast?” he said to the room in general, patting his stomach happily as mournful wails and distant wicked laughter echoed through from the inner reaches of the house.
* * *
There was indeed a feast to be had. The dining room, like the rest of Erlking, had been transformed into a haunted castle. Robin saw bats flitting around the rafters, ghostly green fire crackling in the hearth, and the many portraits which normally lined the walls of the room had been replaced with cobwebby images of shadowy creatures and ghostly shapes, some of which scuttled around in their frames or made threatening faces at the diners. One painting was dripping blood in long gloopy lines out of its frame down the walls to pool on the floor. Hestia kept staring at it, her lips tight.
There was enough food to feed fifty people. Some of it was quite normal, like sausage rolls and jacket potatoes. But there were also plates of twitching pastries shaped to look like severed hands, a large spiderweb trifle complete with struggling raisin flies, a platter of wriggling green spaghetti, the sight of which made Henry heave, and an enormous bowl containing numerous eyeballs. Robin steered clear of these, unsure of quite how seriously Aunt Irene had researched Halloween, although throughout the meal Phorbas took great delight in crunching them down like gobstoppers. Hestia, who seemed unused to sitting for a grand dinner, kept trying to get up and serve everyone and had to be almost physically restrained. Robin and the satyr floated the plates to each other in a suitably spooky way, and Mr Drover entertained them all as they ate by telling several hokey ghost stories.
Some of the village’s braver children did indeed come trick or treating as the night drew on. Phorbas, munching on a mouthful of eyeballs as he answered the door, scared most of them away, screaming before they could claim their treats.
Robin, though hugely impressed with the authenticity of his costume, found it quite difficult both to eat and to speak with long fangs. To everyone’s amusement he kept biting his bottom lip, so as they eventually moved onto dessert he took off the vampire’s old mana stone, feeling the glamour lift. Henry had been attacking the food with such gusto that his own painted skeleton face was smudged beyond recognition, and he now looked rather un-spookily like a dishevelled panda.
After they had all eaten, Phorbas led everybody outside into the grounds where a large bonfire waiting, its crackling orange flames warming them all on the chilly October night. There were clear skies overhead, dotted with many stars, and they sat around the fire on hewn logs, although a garden chair had been fetched from the conservatory for Aunt Irene.
It was, Robin thought, extremely pleasant sitting by the crackling bonfire under the stars. He had enjoyed a wonderful night. Their stomachs were all straining contentedly from so much food and Phorbas produced a set of pan-pipes. He played a wild and merry tune, which chased the white and orange sparks of the bonfire high into the night.
“This has got to be the best Halloween ever,” Robin said happily to Henry.
“Couldn’t agree more. I’m stuffed,” Henry said happily, stretching the elastic of his waistband away from his stomach. “We never did this before you came here. I never thought your Aunt would go in for something like this. Perhaps it’ll be a new tradition? Do it every year.”
Robin grinned. He sometimes forgot that he would be here for years – that Erlking Hall was his home now. He only wished Gran could be here with them as well.
They sat and talked until their faces were toasty from the flames and their feet frozen from the ground, the bonfire crackling against the cold and the merry babble of Phorbas’ music floating into the clear dark sky.
Hestia had gone inside after an hour or so from the kitchen door. Robin and Henry watched her reappear, making her way across the lawns. She crossed to Aunt Irene, bending to speak low in her ear. Irene rose and followed the housekeeper back to the Hall without a further word to anyone. It was approaching midnight now, and the macabre glamour at last seemed to be fading. The sickly green light in the windows was slowly bleeding back to a warm orange-yellow and the creeping tendrils of mist were almost completely gone.
Robin, momentarily at a loose end, looked around. He was idly scanning the gorse bushes beyond the rose gardens, when from the corner of his eye he glimpsed something moving. A swish of activity beneath the trees. He blinked. No one else had seen anything. Mr Drover and Henry were talking and Phorbas was engrossed in cleaning out the bowl of his pipe.<
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Robin stared back towards the trees, just in time to see a bush rustle and a small arm frantically waving. It was gone as soon as he saw it.
Robin rose slowly from his log and stepped slowly out of the circle of firelight and off into the shadows of the grounds. Robin made his way across the dark lawns. The ground was hard and almost frozen solid, making it lumpy and uneven, and once or twice he almost stumbled, his night vision ruined after sitting in the glare of the fire for so long.
“Woad?” he hissed as he leaned forward into the trees, squinting to make out anything in the cold darkness.
He listened for a reply, but none was forthcoming. So after a moment’s hesitation, and wishing dearly that he was wearing something warm and woolly instead of a mini-tuxedo, he stepped between the trees, hands out before him in the blackness to ward off eye-poking branches.
“Psst!” came a whisper from the darkness between the trees. Robin squinted into the gloom.
“Stop saying ‘psst!’,” Robin said quite loudly. “Nobody actually says ‘psst’.”
A small shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness, mere inches in front of his face. Robin took a faltering step backwards in surprise, but as he stumbled, losing his balance, an arm shot out of the shadows and small blue fingers caught around his wrist, pulling him upright with surprising strength.
“Jumpy little pterosaur, aren’t you?” a familiar voice piped up, and Robin saw a flash of white teeth beneath the eyes. “Jumpier than a trampoline full of fleas.”
“What are you doing here?” Robin hissed, once he had gotten over the initial surprise.
“Spying,” Woad replied, hunkering down on his haunches and looking sternly over Robin’s shoulder back at the house. “Keeping an eye out. Someone has to watch what goes on around here. You and the other pink one might as well have your eyes closed!”
“The other one?” Robin blinked. “You mean Henry? I haven’t seen you in weeks. Where have you been?”