Mystery At Riddle Gully

by Jen Banyard

  And there was one more item—her most precious. After the tip, she’d gone to the cemetery, removed the old flowers from a jam-jar vase at one of the graves and, nursing the container of murky water, paid Father Perry a visit. She’d held the jar up to him and, as he’d leaned over to look at it, let fly with the gluggiest sneeze she could fake. ‘Bless you!’ the old priest had cried. And with those words, there being no one around to split hairs over how the blessing was intended, Pollo held in her hands the most powerful weapon in an anti-vampire arsenal. Holy water! A mere drop could kill! Back at home she’d decanted it into a sturdy plastic water bottle. This now rested alongside the stake, crucifix, garlic, pen-knife and mirror.

  With everything in order, she opened her laptop and checked her log entries of the last two days, searching again for something she might have missed. She clicked on the draft of the amazing special edition of her gazette. Its front page was still blank. Turning to the pile of old newspapers that Sherri had dropped off, she flicked through the pages, jotting a few things in her notepad, keeping one eye on the clock. She could see nothing worth doing a follow-up on. There was way too much of Mayor Bullock—claiming credit for this, having his say on that. Unless she could get a scoop on von Albericht, or possibly the Graffiti Kid, in the little time remaining, the final edition of the Riddle Gully Gazette was going to be as exciting as a wet firecracker.

  It was time to go. She wrote the time and her destination on a sheet of paper and propped it on her pillow. After all, it might be the last anyone ever heard of her. She wrapped her black scarf around her neck, pulled on her beanie and gathered up the rest of her equipment. Having no spare pocket, she took a huge bite of carrot and jammed the remainder into the pen jar. She left the room, her cheeks bulging.

  At the back gate she hesitated. The sky and treetops were blurring to a soft golden light. It was hard to imagine how creepy it would all become once the sun went down. She sucked in a deep breath and, before she could change her mind, ran through the gate into the dying afternoon.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Sunday 18:00

  Pollo walked quickly along the track behind the houses. As she reached Will’s yard she slowed. She could hear the rhythmic crunching of a spade into soft dirt behind the fence. Sergeant Butt’s voice was clear in the late afternoon stillness.

  ‘Jolly good idea of yours to do this for your mum, son.’

  ‘I dunno about that. I guess so.’ Will sounded glum. Good, thought Pollo.

  ‘Little and often, remember. Not too much dirt on your spade at once.’

  Pollo ground her teeth. Will had too much dirt on his spade already—way too much! But he sure had the ‘often’ bit down pat. She stood tensed in the middle of the path, twirling the wooden stake in the sand, listening to them talk as though Will were some kind of angel.

  It would be so simple to dob him in then and there. He’d broken the spirit of their deal, no question. All those juicy fat lies of his that she’d kept to herself in exchange for what? One measly night-time stroll down Diamond Jack’s Trail.

  On the other hand, he had gone to the tip to look for Shorn Connery all by himself. She owed him one for that. And the bottom line was, no matter how bad a deal she’d made, when it came to the crunch, a deal was a deal. She had to live with it. She tiptoed on past Will’s towards Diamond Jack’s Trail.

  By the time Pollo reached the cemetery the tombstones were casting long shadows. Off in the distance, on the far side of the meadow near the forest, Pollo noticed two figures. Having been deserted all through summer, the cemetery lately was like a shopping mall! The larger of the figures was standing back, as though issuing orders, while the other looked to be banging in a stake. She squinted through the half-light. Several other stakes fluttering with neon-pink tape were dotted about the field.

  As Pollo watched, the larger man touched his hairline in a gesture Pollo recognised. Mayor Bullock! What was he doing out here? She couldn’t let him see her, dressed in her surveillance gear and carrying her anti-vampire arsenal. Pushing aside a frond with her wooden stake, she hurried on.

  To reach the abandoned railway bridge she’d have to go past the ranger’s hut. A few hundred metres beyond it, the trail forked, the two halves curving away and almost meeting again, like the outline of a heart. The track on the left went down to the bridge where Sherri and von Albericht would be waiting for her. Pollo knew the spot well. She’d spent a good deal of time there spying on the citizens of Riddle Gully, though not so much from on top of the bridge as from under it, perched on the slimy rocks, fat black spiders in the nooks of giant crossbeams watching her every move.

  The other track rose to the clearing where Diamond Jack had been riddled with bullets. That’s where she was headed.

  It was eerily quiet on the trail without Shorn Connery, every twig-crunch underfoot sounding like a gunshot. She forced herself to keep marching, humming a lively tune and clicking her fingers. Through the trees ahead she caught a glimpse of the ranger’s hut. Not much further to go. She softened her tread, taking care to step on patches of moss and not the crunching limestone.

  A few minutes later she’d reached the fork. She drew back against a tree and pulled her beanie low. She could make out voices below her. Sherri’s snorting laugh shot through the trees. There was no mistaking that.

  She turned to the right and crept along the narrow, winding track to the small clearing and the clump of boulders in front of which Diamond Jack had dragged his last breath.

  Sherri might have given up on her by now. Pollo hoped so. You found out a lot more about people when they weren’t expecting you.

  She edged into position against the largest boulder, still warm from the sun. The two voices were clear. Von Albericht’s, deep and intense, was doing most of the talking, the main sounds from Sherri being admiring ooohs and aaahs. Pollo crouched against the rock, her notepad at the ready, straining to make out what von Albericht was saying.

  Suddenly the voices stopped. Pollo waited but the silence continued, broken only by the fluttering of dry leaves to the forest floor. Still nothing. Pollo inched her nose up the side of the boulder, barely breathing. She’d be able to see them ... over the top ... of the rock ... any second.

  As a frog in warming water realises too late the danger it’s in, she became aware of another sound above the gentle stirring of the forest. A sound soft and regular. Sneaking up behind her. The sound of someone breathing.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Sunday 19:00

  Pollo grabbed her stake with both hands and spun around. The point of her elbow caught the intruder smack in the face, sending him reeling. He circled twice in a whirl of dead leaves before thumping to a halt against the trunk of a tree.

  Will bent from the waist, his face scrunched, the fingertips of both hands pressed against the bridge of his nose.

  Inside Pollo, relief and anger jostled to be first in line. Anger won. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed, tiptoeing across to him. ‘Couldn’t you just say “hello” like a normal person?’

  Between Will’s fingers, blood welled. It trickled down the backs of his hands. It began to drip from his wrist-bones and splash onto the spiky leaves of the bush at his feet.

  ‘Hello,’ croaked Will through his cupped hands. ‘I thought you’d be pleased to see me.’

  Pollo stood motionless, staring at the dark liquid brimming through Will’s fingers. With each drip, somewhere in her brain an alarm clanged more insistently.

  All at once, it came to her. Blood ... vampires ... Viktor von Albericht! She jigged from one foot to the other. ‘Will!’ she rasped. ‘You’ve got to stop bleeding! He’ll smell it!’

  ‘Smell what?’ said Will.

  ‘The blood, numbskull! Lie down or something. Make it stop!’

  Just then they heard the scraping of footsteps along the winding track to the clearing. Through the trees Pollo caught glimpses of a tall, black shape moving closer.

  ‘It
’s him! He’s coming!’ She fumbled the cloves of garlic from her pocket, scrunched off their papery skins and began rubbing them all over her face and arms.

  ‘What are you doing?’ said Will, screwing up his face and trying to duck as Pollo rubbed them over him too.

  ‘It should slow him up. Quick! Hide in there!’ she said, shoving Will down into the spiky bushes at the foot of the tree. She snatched the silver crucifix from beneath her T-shirt so that it hung in plain sight. She thrust her hands in her pockets and drew out the mirror. She patted her hip pocket and felt the bump of the pen-knife.

  Yanking the bottle of holy water off its shoulder strap, she tossed it to Will. ‘My life could be in your hands!’ she whispered. ‘If he comes at me, throw this on him. You’ll only get one chance—so don’t miss!’

  ‘Err ... good ... right ... got it.’ Will rolled the hard plastic bottle in his blood-sticky hands, frowning.

  Pollo edged back to the clump of boulders. She backed up against them, half-closing her eyes to focus better through the dim light. In one hand she held the mirror and in the other the sharp-pointed wooden stake. Was this how Diamond Jack had felt? She hoped she had better luck than him.

  They waited, barely breathing, listening to the footsteps drawing closer along the path.

  ‘Hey, Will!’ Pollo whispered.

  ‘What?’ came a voice from the bushes.

  ‘I didn’t mean what I said at the rubbish tip. I’m sorry. Thanks for coming.’

  ‘No worries!’ In his patch of prickles, Will smiled. Maybe he’d done something useful at last.

  His smile didn’t hang around long. At that moment, the tall outline of von Albericht loomed among the dark trees. It hovered at the edge of the clearing.

  Pressed against the boulders, Pollo waved the mirror towards the man. A wild succession of reflections—sky, rocks, her runners, treetops, Will—leapt before her eyes. Not one contained the image of von Albericht. She threw the mirror aside and with a white-knuckled hand raised the wooden stake.

  Von Albericht stalked into the centre of the clearing, his eyes on the move, searching. They fell on Pollo, flattened against the boulder, her stake at the ready.

  He took a step towards her.

  Pollo grabbed her silver crucifix and brandished it towards him.

  Von Albericht’s eyes flickered. He smiled slowly and took another step.

  Pollo couldn’t wait any longer! She sprang from the rocks! Forgetting about aiming for his heart, she swung the stake wildly. With a quick thrust of his hand von Albericht caught the end of it. He and Pollo looked at one another for a second, then each began pulling at their end of the stake in a frantic tug of war.

  ‘Go back to Transylvania!’ screeched Pollo. ‘I won’t let you kill Sherri!’

  Abruptly von Albericht stopped pulling, sending Pollo flying onto her backside in the dirt. His mouth was open, his eyebrows knitted. He leaned over Pollo. ‘You think that I—’

  He didn’t finish the sentence. From out of the scrub a hard plastic bottle, heavy with holy water, whizzed through the air. It caught von Albericht square on the temple to a loud ‘Howzat?!’ from the bushes.

  For several moments, von Albericht teetered from side to side like a bowling pin. Then, slowly and silently, the tall man crumpled to the ground.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sunday 19:10

  Will, his face still smeared with blood, dashed from his hiding place to join Pollo. Von Albericht lay sprawled on his back. His deliriously deep brown eyes were closed.

  ‘What did you do to him?’ squeaked Pollo.

  ‘What you asked me to,’ Will croaked. ‘He’s not dead, is he?’ He nudged von Albericht with his toe.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Pollo crouched beside the fallen man, taking in his plaster-white skin, his long bony fingers, his placid expression.

  ‘He doesn’t put up much of a fight for a vampire,’ said Will. ‘Aren’t they meant to be super strong? My mum could have licked him without too much trouble.’

  Pollo didn’t know what to think. She held her palm close to von Albericht’s mouth. ‘He’s still breathing. That’s good ... maybe.’ She looked up at Will. ‘You were supposed to throw the holy water on him, not at him.’

  ‘Holy water?’ said Will. ‘So that’s what it was. I get it now!’ He smiled. ‘Same result, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Afraid not,’ said Pollo. ‘A vampire needs to get wet from it for it to kill him.’

  Will picked up the bottle of holy water from the dirt and brushed it off. He wrinkled his nose at all the flecks of slime floating around in it.

  ‘We probably shouldn’t leave anything to chance, should we?’ said Pollo. ‘I mean, we’ve still got the holy water. It’s ready to go.’

  ‘I dunno,’ said Will. ‘Maybe just a little bit.’

  ‘A few drops,’ said Pollo. ‘A test patch.’ She got to her feet and nudged Will. ‘Go on.’

  Will unscrewed the lid and, holding it loosely against the mouth of the bottle, trickled a stream of grimy liquid onto von Albericht’s outstretched palm. The palm twitched, then went still.

  Will looked at Pollo. She nodded. He stepped across von Albericht’s torso and wet his other hand. This time he groaned. Will and Pollo sprang backwards.

  Suddenly von Albericht began to drag both hands across the ground towards his head. His eyelids started to flicker.

  Pollo’s nerves were jumping like electric sparks. ‘Maybe they take longer to die in real life!’ she squawked. ‘Here, gimme that!’ She grabbed the holy water from Will. ‘Hold him down!’

  Will planted a foot on von Albericht’s chest while Pollo stood over his head. Von Albericht gave another, much louder, groan and his eyelids fluttered open. As his eyes began to focus, Pollo, with deadly accuracy, upturned the rest of the slimy holy water onto his bewildered, and then alarmed, face.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Sunday 19:15

  Pollo was shaking out the last drops when a familiar voice cut across the clearing.

  ‘Apollonia di Nozi! What in God’s name are you doing?’ Sherri rushed across the clearing to where her picnic companion lay spluttering. She knelt beside him and glared at Will, who hastily removed his foot from von Albericht’s chest.

  Sherri narrowed her eyes at Pollo and helped her friend to sit up. ‘This had better not have anything to do with that silly vampire business!’ she said. ‘I asked you to come and meet Viktor—not to accost him!’

  Pollo’s nerves were still zinging. She stepped back, avoiding Sherri’s eye. There was still one more test to do on von Albericht—and she’d never get a better chance. It was for Sherri’s sake, after all! True friends did what needed to be done, didn’t they? She pressed the bulge of the pen-knife in her pocket.

  Sherri had relieved Will of his T-shirt and was using it to clean Viktor’s face and hair. Will, who feared that attempted murder would now be added to his rap sheet, crouched next to her, pointing out the bits she’d missed.

  Sherri looked up at Pollo. ‘Well, don’t stand there like a letterbox! Come and meet the man you nearly killed.’ Pollo shuffled forward.

  Sherri cleared her throat. ‘Everyone, this is the world renowned bat specialist, Dr Viktor von Albericht. Viktor, this is Pollo di Nozi and this, I take it, is Will.’

  Will and Viktor shook hands. ‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Viktor, sounding as pleased as someone who’d got a toilet brush for Christmas. He offered his hand to Pollo.

  Pollo didn’t move. Will and Sherri looked at her, then at Viktor’s hand, hanging in mid-air, then back again. She was rigid and glassy-eyed.

  Her mind, on the other hand, was whirring. The stakes were too high! Just one more test and she’d know for certain, once and for all!

  She snapped to life and plunged her hand into her pocket. She grabbed Viktor’s hand and squeezed hard with both fists.

  ‘Eee-aah-ooo!’ Viktor’s howl of pain sent a flock of cockatoos squawking an
d flapping into the dusky sky.

  Viktor clutched his hand, pressing his left thumb into his punctured palm, and looked up at Pollo, his face distorted by puzzlement and pain.

  ‘Why do you wish to kill me? I am a zoologist. I love the animals.’ Viktor looked as though he might cry. ‘I am a nice person!’

  But his protests weren’t heard by Pollo, her ears, along with her head, being clamped under Sherri’s armpit as the older woman dragged her across the clearing. Pollo’s arms cartwheeled, but Sherri held her firm in a headlock mastered in countless jujitsu classes from her cruise-ship days.

  Through her squished face, Pollo shouted. ‘Will! Check his hand! If there’s no blood on it, run for your life!’

  Sherri jiggled her. ‘Stop this nonsense immediately, Pollo, or I’ll tie you by your tonsils to that tree over there.’ She swung Pollo around to show her the one she had in mind.

  Will trotted over and tapped Pollo on the top of the head. ‘Err, Pollo?’ he began.

  ‘Sherri’s gone to the dark side!’ shouted Pollo. ‘And it’s too late for me! Just do me one favour, Will! Look after Shorn Connery if he ever comes home!’

  ‘Umm, Pollo?’ said Will. ‘Viktor’s actually—’

  ‘What? Healing? Tell me straight! I can take it!’ wailed Pollo.

  ‘Viktor’s actually bleeding quite a lot, Pollo. Look.’ He gestured to Viktor to hold up his hand.

  Pollo stopped struggling for a moment and screwed her head sideways to eye the man. Looking away and pouting, Viktor held up his palm, from which dark blood oozed like sap.

  Viktor suddenly waved both hands in the air. ‘I do not understand!’ he said. ‘Why is this good that I bleed like a stuck pig?’