by Paul Magrs
But the memories are still there, you are sure. You must be able to put yourself back there, in the past.
Let yourself drift back.
To 1967. That was when it was. The so-called Summer of Love.
Suddenly she could see it all.
She was in a dreadful, freezing slate quarry in North Wales. As far away from Carnaby Street and the Swinging Sixties as it was possible to get.
Caravans, mobile homes, heavy equipment, lights, cameras and electric cables were heaped about on the valley floor, tripping the unwary. The crew were mostly young, wearing trendy London clothes. Pulling their military greatcoats and shaggy Afghan coats tight about themselves in the icy wind and the lashing hail. Hail! Hail in June! They started saying that the film was cursed at first, simply because of the rotten weather. Here came the storms and the freezing rain that plagued the stark valley and heralded the arrival of the film’s svelte and slinky star.
She was notorious even then. Karla specialised in this kind of movie. Hers was the sinisterly perfect face and the frankly astonishing body that had come to stand as an icon of those tales dealing with the occult, the dark arts, with what Fox Soames had always described rather pompously as the Ways of the Left-Hand Path.
Now that Brenda had conjured up the name of that ghastly old man, he came swimming into view. How could she have forgotten his shuffling gait? His insinuating smile? His lipless grimace? He was a nasty homunculus with liver-spotted hands and a somehow eery shine on his bald pate.
Brenda had been wary of him at first sight. He reminded her of the many villains, magicians and charlatans she had encountered through the years. She could see straight away that Fox Soames was no good. He looked malign – the way he rubbed his gnarled hands together, especially when he was in the presence of Karla herself.
Karla was his starlet. She was, in a sense, his creation – at least as far as this film was concerned. Fox Soames had written the screenplay based upon his original sadistic occult blockbuster, published the previous summer by New English Library. He was there in that benighted Welsh valley to observe the progress of these talented children as they brought his vision to life before his shifty agate eyes.
And me? Brenda thought. What was I doing there?
Nothing glamorous, of course. I never do, do I?
Ah. Now she could see.
She broke through the tenebrous webs of memory and could see her younger self quite clearly, back there in 1967. She had her very own caravan, and it was one that reeked of baked beans and curry sauce and chip fat. She was there to help cast and crew to keep body and soul together. She was there to slop up tasty, savoury, steaming-hot stodge all through the day and often late into the night. She was the dinner lady and she knew everyone at work in that valley.
She got to know everything that happened during that fateful – and fatal – ten days’ shoot. All those years ago.
But the details? What exactly did go on? What did Karla actually do?
Brenda heaved herself out of bed, just as the dawn light was piercing through the heavy curtains of her attic bedroom. She almost drew them open, to bathe in that brilliant, clarifying North Sea light. But she didn’t want to wake Frank, and to break his temper. She tiptoed out to put on the kettle and start her day. She had a house to clean, top to bottom. She had new guests to prepare for. She had stuff to do.
It was Wednesday, and tonight would bring a reunion with the woman whose story she was only starting to recall.
Why would Karla remember her? Brenda wondered. Why was Karla so keen on seeing the dinner lady from the set of that schlocky sixties movie? Did she even know Brenda had been there, a witness to events?
Or does she want to see me for some other reason? Brenda mused. Something even more sinister than the fact that we both once camped out and about for ten nights in Wales?
Video Nasties
This was a little bit awkward for Effie. It shouldn’t be really, she knew. But she also knew that old women could be catty and jealous. She had to be on her guard.
‘Oh, hello,’ she said, entering the charity shop.
Teresa at the counter glanced up. ‘Effie.’ She smiled. ‘Are we still on for tonight? Are you still coming along to the Cosmic Cabaret?’
This was the awkward bit. ‘Indeed I am,’ Effie told her. ‘Though I’m afraid, if you don’t mind, I won’t be accompanying your party this evening.’
‘Pardon?’
Effie noted that Teresa’s tone had hardened. ‘I’m going along with other friends of mine,’ she went on. ‘It was very nice of you to ask me to—’
‘Had a better offer, have you?’
‘No, it’s not that . . .’
‘It sounds like that to me, lady. Well, I knew you were looking down your snooty old nose at us. I told my colleague Helen, I said, I bet she doesn’t come out with us in the end. We’re much too common and vulgar for the likes of her. Her with her antiques emporium and her lah-di-dah ways.’
‘That’s not it at all,’ Effie said, feeling both cross and ashamed because, really, there was some truth in what Teresa was saying. ‘You see, Brenda’s come back, my friend, and I’m going with her and her husband and we’ve got a special invite to a drinks do afterwards.’
Teresa reared up. ‘I see,’ she said in a leaden tone, her expression heavy with disapproval. ‘Your best pal has fetched up back in town, has she?’
Hearing that something was going on, Helen came scuttling out of the back room with a heap of Mills and Boon’s Temptation Series.
‘Have you heard this, Hel? Effie here, she’s dropped us. She’s going with her real friends. That Brenda woman.’
‘The big-boned woman? With the beehive?’
‘Aye, that’s her.’ Teresa tutted. ‘She’s not even from around here, either. Just some interloper.’ Now she glared at Effie, and it was as if she was dismissing her from the shop. ‘Well, you’ve made your choice, lady. We know who our real friends are as well.’
‘Look here,’ Effie said hotly. ‘I’m sure there’s no need for any unpleasantness.’
Teresa shrugged and went back to folding loose garments. ‘I don’t know why you want to go hanging around with that Brenda anyway. I’ve heard some awful rumours about her.’
‘Don’t you go spreading vile stories about Brenda,’ Effie snapped. ‘And if I hear any nasty talk about her, I’ll . . .’
‘You’ll do what?’ Teresa raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ll set a spell on us? A hex?’
‘I don’t have time for this,’ Effie said. The air was filled with animosity now. She had other business to attend to and one more important question to ask these two charity shop harpies, and then she could be on her way. She resisted the urge to argue with them further, making herself sound brisk and businesslike. ‘Let’s leave our personal feelings aside. There’s something I need to ask you both. When I was in here the other day, I bumped into a young woman at the door.’
‘Did you?’ Teresa said unhelpfully.
‘She was one of those Goth types. Penny, she’s called. She bought a DVD here.’
Teresa shrugged. ‘She might have. I can’t remember.’
Effie gritted her teeth. ‘It was a horror film. A very particular horror film.’
‘So?’
‘I wanted to know if you had any idea who might have donated the disc in the first place. And who might have brought it here.’
‘This is a charity shop,’ Teresa said. ‘We don’t keep records like that. What would be the point? This isn’t some posh establishment like your place.’
Effie scowled at her. ‘It would be really useful if you could have a think. Both of you.’
Teresa pulled a face. Her friend and co-worker Helen was more helpful, however. She pointed out the DVD shelf that Penny had been scouring the other day. There were two more horror movies there. New arrivals. Effie was surprised to see that they both also featured Karla Sorenson. Prehysteria! and Carnival of Flesh. She peered disapprovingly at the lu
rid objects, front and back. Either Penny had missed these on her shopping trip, or they had been donated, and appeared on the shelves at some point in the past few days. Interesting. ‘May I take these?’ she asked.
‘Five pounds each,’ Teresa snapped.
Effie fished around in her purse for the cash, and handed it over resentfully. Teresa put her purchases in a bag, even more resentfully. She said, ‘Mind, I wouldn’t have thought these video nasties were your kind of thing at all.’
Effie didn’t even bother replying to that.
Cabaret Night
It seemed like a very long time since they had all been out together. Especially to the Christmas Hotel, which, when all was said and done, was a place that Brenda, Effie and Robert tried to avoid these days. They had had some awful do’s there in the past.
Robert had worked there, of course. He had slaved away as one of Mrs Claus’s elves, tending to her mad whims and wearing a figure-hugging felt outfit. Brenda and Effie had once visited the place almost weekly, for its pie-and-peas suppers and bingo nights, or occasionally a dance. But in recent years they had encountered a few unsavoury experiences at the biggest hotel in Whitby, including human flesh in the home-made pies, vampirism, murder – and, of course, the return of Frank into Brenda’s life, a reunion engineered by a troublemaking Mrs Claus. (To be fair, Effie thought, Brenda probably didn’t think of this latter event as unsavoury. She went on as if she was quite pleased about Frank’s return now, but at the time she had been just appalled.)
Anyway, they had witnessed some funny things at the Christmas Hotel, and they were supremely wary of going back there. But tonight was different.
They had been summoned by Karla Sorenson herself, though no one knew why.
‘Same old place. It doesn’t change much, does it?’ Brenda grinned, as they marched up the prom, and came within view of the hotel’s lit-up frontage. She was in black velvet, with a purple satin wrap, and Penny had to admit she looked very nice, even for such an imposing figure. She stared at Brenda and realised that she was starting to like this curious woman. There was something about her enthusiasm for everything that was infectious. Something warming about the way she wasn’t daunted by anything at all. Even now, looking up at the tinselly glow of the Christmas Hotel and knowing that they were probably stepping into some weird adventure, she didn’t look at all worried.
Penny’s only problem was that she didn’t have a ticket for the Cosmic Cabaret. The others had managed to get hold of them earlier in the day, just in time. Penny had equivocated and decided to make a late addition to their party. Robert had promised that they would be able to sneak her into the ballroom somehow.
‘Have mine,’ Frank grunted, ambling along behind them. ‘Frank’s not bothered about seeing some daft cabaret.’
Brenda linked arms with him. ‘You’re not standing at the bar by yourself ! You’re going to sit with us, at a proper table, and enjoy the show. And when the music comes on, you’re going to twirl me around on the dance floor.’
Effie rolled her eyes. Having a man seemed like such an encumbrance. Still, a turn round the dance floor was a lovely idea.
As they crossed the road it started to rain – big, cold drops – and so they scurried hastily into the foyer, where the ringing chimes of Christmas muzak met them, and elves were waiting to take their outdoor clothes. Eyebrows were raised at Penny’s Goth ensemble. ‘It’s isn’t Goth weekend for another week yet,’ Effie said, ‘but you’re like this all the year round, aren’t you?’
‘An evergreen Goth.’ Brenda smiled. ‘Or ever-black!’ She chuckled at her own joke.
Around them, the reception area seemed even more Christmassy than ever. The tall tree was bedecked almost to the point of collapse with tinsel and presents. There were more twinkling fairy lights strewn everywhere. The pensioners gadding about between Mrs Claus’s dining room, Rudolf’s Bar and the Grand Ballroom seemed even more feverish with Yuletide cheer than ever. There was a definite febrile air of excitement to the place.
‘Shall we go straight to our table in the ballroom?’ Brenda asked them. ‘We don’t want to miss anything, do we?’
Robert – handsome in a green velvet blazer – was examining the events board in the centre of the foyer. ‘Look!’ he said. ‘Here’s the billing for tonight. The main act is Denise and Wheatley, with their knife-throwing and stage-exorcism combination novelty act. But then the star of the show, look! By special arrangement – Karla Sorenson making her debut at the Christmas Hotel. Singing a number or two from her classic album, Boogie with Beelzebub.’
Effie peered over her glasses. ‘How common.’ She sniffed disparagingly. ‘She sounds like the kind of person who’ll do anything to draw attention to herself.’
‘Who is she anyhow?’ Frank groaned. ‘Another old woman? Is that why we’re here? Just to gawp at another old bag?’
Brenda smiled ruefully. ‘You’ll see, lovey. Come on, let’s go through.’
They passed through jostling rooms: Rudolf’s Cocktail Bar, Frosty’s Billiards Room and the Three Wise Men’s All-You-Can-Eat Buffet Lounge. Then they came to the entrance to the Grand Ballroom, where the floorboards were shaking with the vibrations from the sound system. A harassed-looking elf was taking tickets on the door, and somehow the party managed to squash themselves around the petite Penny and get her in for nothing. Frank glaring down menacingly probably helped their undisturbed passage into the room, too.
‘Isn’t it lovely?’ Brenda exclaimed.
The ballroom had been decorated quite splendidly, they all had to admit. The last time they had been here – when Frank had manifested himself on the dance floor, scaring the bejaysus out of Effie – the place had been looking slightly tatty and run-down. But now it was restored to its former glories. A wonderful chandelier glittered down from the central ceiling rose. It was as big as a family car, flinging dazzling shards of white light off the seven mirror balls it shared the ceiling with. The mirror balls lowered the tone, Effie pointed out, but the others didn’t mind. In the shifting spots and splinters of light, it was like being in a gigantic jewellery box. It bestowed glamour on the guests as soon as they stepped on to the sprung floor. They felt they were gliding elegantly into the place, borne on the music and the flattering light.
As the others took up seats at their table (quite a good position, with a nice clear view of the stage), the show was just starting. Robert hastened to the bar, where he found that the only drinks being served this evening were, in Ms Sorenson’s honour, Bloody Marys.
‘Eeh, what do they look like?’ Effie hissed, as the elderly novelty double act came on stage, waving and mugging at the audience and drinking up the applause. ‘Silly old devils.’
‘Welcome to our thrill-packed programme of knife-throwing and exorcisms!’ breathed Denise huskily down her microphone as her husband set about strapping her to an upright frame.
Cheers. Effie clapped derisively; Penny and Brenda enthusiastically. Robert arrived with the tray of gloopy crimson refreshments, prompting Frank to grump: ‘What the hell’s that? Where’s my pint?’
And then the cabaret began, noisily, but with great verve. They drank, laughed and clapped along with the musical accompaniment (Denise playing the accordion as Wheatley chucked steak knives at her). Brenda kept catching Frank’s eye and passing on an unspoken warning: You and me, buster. You watch out for when the dancing starts. We’re going to be up on that sprung floor before the evening’s out.
But underneath that thought, Brenda’s mind was buzzing and churning over the adventure to come.
Agog
‘Ms Sorenson, what an honour. Welcome to my boudoir.’
Karla glanced around at the sumptuous grotto of Mrs Claus. ‘It looks to me like the best suite in the whole hotel.’
‘This is simply my humble abode. Aren’t you satisfied with your turret?’
‘Yes, of course I am, Mrs Claus. It is wonderful.’
‘Ah. I am glad to hear that. And my elf.
Kevin. He’s looking after you, isn’t he?’
‘Kevin’s services are quite adequate, Mrs Claus.’
‘Well, Ms Sorenson. My staff and I only aim to please. We know that you have got an arduous job ahead of you when you begin work here in Whitby. We know that starring in that film will take it right out of you. The least we can do is cater to your every physical, spiritual and mental need while you are in our care.’
‘Very kind of you, I’m sure.’ There was an awkward pause between them, as Mrs Claus poured her guest a tot of sherry. The hotel’s owner wasn’t used to entertaining virtual strangers in her sitting room. And something about this movie person made her feel uncomfortable. She was an unknown quantity. She seemed powerful to Mrs Claus. But how powerful exactly, she didn’t know.
Karla wore a wry, inscrutable smile. And a silver sheath dress that made her look very like something that, if you pulled it, would go off with a bang and disgorge a party hat, plastic novelty and duff joke.
‘And may I say how stunning you look this evening?’ Mrs Claus purred.
‘Oh, this old thing. Well. I thought I would make an effort. For your guests.’
‘Does that mean . . . ? Do I dare to infer . . .’
‘I’ll do the bloody cabaret, yes. No rehearsal, nothing. But who cares? I was never much of a singer. I suppose they just want a look at me. That’s all they want. They’re not expecting Maria Callas, are they?’
‘That is wonderful news. I’ll tell my technical people straight away. This will be a wonderful night, an historical night at the Christmas Hotel!’
‘I couldn’t disappoint you, my dear. You have been so kind to me already. Making me so comfortable. Providing me with a personal helper, Kevin, and so forth. I just had to do something in return for you.’