Vampyrrhic

by Simon Clark

  ‘These are poor, atrophied creatures, David,’ Stroud said with a smile. ‘See for yourself. Look at the size of its brain. It’s withered to little more than the size of a peach — a dried and shrunken peach at that. That’s right, these things have the mental abilities of little children. They can’t think for themselves. So I do the thinking for them. And in a little while I’m going to put a little mental picture in here.’ He touched his golden temple and smiled. ‘And that little mental picture will be of these pathetic little creatures rushing in to finish you once and for all. Oh, you’ll kill a dozen or so more. Mr Black operates that chainsaw with quite some aplomb. And you, David, well, I believe some ancestral memory carried in your genes is guiding your hand when you wield Helvetes.’

  Electra said under her breath to Jack, ‘This black light you told me about. Does it come from him?’

  ‘No…no,’ he shook his head, puzzled. ‘It’s coming from up there somewhere.’ He raised his eyes to the tunnel roof. ‘I can see it like a great black lightning, flashing through the clouds. It’s filling the sky. It’s running through the whole fucking town.’

  ‘Speak up, Mr Black,’ Stroud’s voice rose to a boom as if addressing a mischievous child at the back of the class. ‘I’m sure we’ll find what you have to say most fascinating.’ He smiled. ‘What’s wrong? Afraid to speak in front of our little gathering? Fair enough. I warrant you have little of interest to say after all. Well, perhaps, I could say my own little piece. And it is simply this: David Leppington, you inherited this army, as you inherited the divine quest to conquer the world. However, you chose to reject your inheritance; a very foolish choice, if I might add my own opinion. Therefore, I have stepped into your role as leader of these poor, benighted creatures. And yes, Electra, my dear, I am in charge now. I have the power of life and death over you all. And, David, your uncle’s power too is now at my disposal.’

  David’s scalp prickled. ‘So that’s the answer, then,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You’re controlling all this. But it is my uncle who is providing the power. He is the source of the black lightning!’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Bernice, bewildered. ‘Who brought all these creatures to life?’

  David spoke with a bitter satisfaction as the realization struck him. ‘My uncle. He did it through the force of his own obsession, through the power of his own twisted mind. Somehow old George Leppington, without him even knowing it, tapped into some ancient power source. But Stroud here has now hijacked that power for his own evil purposes. To satisfy his own warped ambitions. Isn’t that right, Stroud?’

  ‘Oh, no, David.’ Stroud gave that affable yet superior smile. He was like a millionaire condescending to speak to someone living homeless in the street. ‘That’s not correct and you know it, my dear David. I am merely stepping into your shoes after you abandoned your God-given quest. I am to continue your divine mission to reinstate the true deities of old: Othin, the father. Loki, lord of mischief. Heimdall, the guardian god of the eighth hall. Ull, god of justice, and, of course, your blood ancestor, Leppington — mighty Thor, the thunder god, who even now lies in his timbered hall awaiting Ragnarok. Yes, Electra, Ragnarok is the day of doom. The day the world ends.’

  ‘The old gods are dead, Stroud.’

  ‘Not dead. Merely waiting.’

  ‘They’re dead.’ David spoke in a low, controlled way. ‘It’s just your sick obsession that’s driving this show now. It’s time to realize that there never will be a great flowering of Nordic culture, or a great new empire devoted to Thor or Othin or any of the others. They’ve had their day. Humankind retired them centuries ago.’

  ‘Oh, David, please,’ Stroud chuckled. ‘You know what goes around comes around. It’s time for the old gods to make their great comeback.’

  ‘Stroud —’

  ‘Don’t waste my time, Leppington.’ Stroud’s voice was suddenly angry. ‘You scorned your inheritance. You scorned me. And now I have this.’ He slapped his chest. ‘I have the power to do exactly as I wish. I am immortal. And I am more than content for you to remain with the sick, miserable group of people you call your friends. In any case, you will become one of these.’ Grinning triumphantly, he jerked a thumb at the white-headed creatures in the shadows.

  ‘We’re not giving up without a fight,’ David told the grinning vampire. ‘You’ll have to come and take us.’

  ‘To fight to the bitter end is your prerogative,’ the creature acknowledged with a tilt of the head. ‘But I think we shall conduct the final scene under a veil of complete darkness, don’t you?’

  David didn’t have a chance to realize what Stroud meant until something flashed out of the shadows: it was a girl, or had been a girl. Like lightning it shot out a hand and snatched the torch from Electra. The light bobbed away down the tunnel, lighting swathes of brick; then the light jerked sharply. There was a crash. The light went out.

  The torch, David knew, had been dashed against the wall.

  The darkness was total.

  The man’s voice floated out of the darkness. Inescapably, now the voice had all the cadence and rhythm and phrasing of someone in total control.

  ‘So, this is how it ends for you, Leppington,’ Stroud boomed. ‘If I were you I wouldn’t struggle. It will be much easier and less painful and stressful if you submit now to that final bite.’ David could imagine those lips still wearing a complacent smile. ‘Because now I’m implanting the image of you five people in the heads of these creatures that surround you. I’m imagining that they advance slowly on you, their bare feet slopping through the little stream in the middle of the tunnel; I’m imagining them coming closer, their arms extended towards you, their mouths open, their tongues wet with drool as they anticipate the taste of your blood — your fresh, hot blood, sweet as honey on their tongues. Now…now…can you hear them moving towards you? Can you hear their excited breathing? Can you hear them grunt with hunger? I’ve planted that image in their heads. They are my puppets and I’m pulling all the strings. Oh, and believe me, they have a dark-adapted eye. They see you perfectly as you cower there against the wall. Electra with her hands over her mouth trying not to scream. Jack Black holding the chainsaw above his head, why, as if it was the hammer of Thor itself. David there, the sword Helvetes gripped in both his hands while the blood of his ancestors — divine blood at that! — thunders through his traitor’s veins. Fool that he is, he’s prepared to die nobly to protect his friends. And there we have Maximilian Hart wringing his hands together, scared half to death he is, poor devil. And last of all, chin held high, defiant to the end, we have little Bernice Mochardi, my very own dear bloofer lady. David? Do you think she’ll live long enough to curse the first time she clapped eyes on a town called Leppington? Don’t fret, my dears, soon you will be joining us.’

  David strained his eyes into the darkness. He saw nothing. Beyond his eyes there was only a wall of black.

  But he heard, though. Rustling. The sound of feet lightly splashing through water. Excited breathing. Then a rising hissing that rose in fury as the creatures prepared to strike.

  CHAPTER 43

  1

  David heard a voice in his ear — a great full-blooded roaring voice — driven by fury and defiance. ‘I’ll kill the bastards!’

  It was Jack Black.

  The man’s voice roared again. ‘Get down as low as you can! Crouch down! Electra, you too! Get down on your hands and knees!’

  David crouched, tucking his head down until his chin bumped against his knees. He heard the sound of the chainsaw motor being revved until it became a rasping scream; the exhaust smoke bit into the back of his throat, making him cough. But he didn’t raise his head so much as a centimetre, because he knew what Black was going to do.

  Even though it was so dark he couldn’t see a thing, he could picture it all in his mind’s eye. Black would stand there, with Electra, Bernice, Maximilian and David clustered at his feet. Then he would scythe the chainsaw from right to left in conti
nuous sweeps as the monsters attacked.

  No sooner had the image hardened into crystal clarity in his head than he heard the sound of the chainsaw’s wicked teeth ripping into flesh.

  David screwed his eyes shut. Fluid sprayed onto the back of his neck. A piece of some material that felt like a piece of raw steak landed on the back of his hand.

  Black was felling the vampires like stalks of corn as they pressed forward their attack.

  ‘Run!’ Black yelled. ‘I’ll hold them here. Go on! Run! Run!’

  David felt a concussion in his rump; the pain that followed felt like a piece of red-hot wire being driven up the length of his spine, and he realized Black had kicked him.

  ‘Run!’ Black yelled again.

  And again came a kick. Black wasn’t pussyfooting around with the people he was protecting, either. ‘Get into the tunnel behind me,’ he roared at them.

  The chainsaw howled. The monsters shrieked in an inhuman harmony with the machine as the spinning steel teeth of the saw shredded flesh, slashed through bone.

  David shuffled backwards on all fours into the tunnel that branched off behind them. When he put a hand down to the ground to steady himself his palm rested on a severed head. He could feel the face still twitching, a tongue curled around his thumb. He pulled his hand away sharply and moved back fast.

  Still there was total darkness. Without being able to see they’d be split up from each other in seconds. Once separated, the vampires would pick off the fragile human beings one by one in the dark.

  Still gripping the sword, he held out his free hand. ‘Get hold of my hand!’ he shouted. ‘Everyone get hold of someone’s hand. Bernice? Electra? Hold out your hands.’ He grasped someone’s fingers and grabbed tight. ‘Who’s this?’

  ‘Bernice,’ came her voice from the darkness, ‘I’m holding Maximilian’s hand.’

  Electra’s voice came above the howl of the chainsaw. ‘I’ve got a hand, too. Come on. Run!’

  David ran first. He was running into that utter darkness; his eyes strained into it until he was seeing the darkness bloom with phantom purples and crimsons.

  Christ, he thought, here we are, running to God knows where, all holding hands like some kind of human paper chain: him first, then Bernice, then Maximilian, then Electra bringing up the rear.

  The sound of the chainsaw receded, and he realized that Black must be staying to hold the vampires at bay for as long as possible. He saw him there in his mind’s eye, standing so as to block the mouth of the tunnel. A tattooed warrior, roaring obscenities at the monsters while sweeping the chainsaw from left to right; the creatures would press forward only to have their heads sliced from their shoulders.

  David still held the sword in his free hand, pointing with it as he ran, partly using it like a blind person uses a stick, tapping the point against the wall, and partly as a weapon: if there was one of those things ahead it would be impaled on the sword before it could reach him.

  Behind him Maximilian was shouting, he couldn’t make out what exactly: the sound of the chainsaw motor echoing along the tunnel drowned out everything.

  They could only keep running. God willing, they’d find a way out soon.

  2

  Hell, Electra thought, as they ran. This is madness. They couldn’t run through the dark forever. Any second now a pit might yawn open there right in front of them; they’d plunge down into a well of raw, stinking sewage. Or someone would slip on the slimy stones and break a leg. What could they do then? Just what the hell could they do? Crawl whimpering across all this oozing shit like wounded animals, waiting for their throats to be ripped open by the vampires?

  Her mind whirled: she was as disorientated as if she’d just downed a tumbler full of vodka; she was dizzy and sick and confused by this lunatic dash through the tunnel — this endless tunnel choked with darkness and this dirty, sour air that hurt the back of her throat.

  And for pity’s sake, the Down’s syndrome boy was gripping her hand so hard she was sure the bones would give way with a sudden cracking crunch, as if they were nothing more than a bunch of dry sticks. She could hardly breathe. Her head spun. Her chest felt so tight with exertion and a sheer terror that held her in its hard blue fist.

  Her elbow caught the wall as she ran. Pain flashed up into her neck like crimson lightning.

  ‘Slow down,’ she shouted over the clatter of the chainsaw. ‘Slow down. Someone’s going to fall…please, slow down. Let me get my breath!’

  Then, just a little way ahead, came a misty pool of light. It was the grey light of dusk, empty of any magnitude. Nevertheless, it was light, and thank God for that, Electra thought with feeling.

  ‘Look, there’s light,’ she panted, relieved. ‘Slow down. And for pity’s sake don’t hold my hand so hard’

  Suddenly they ran into the light. Electra looked down at the hand gripping hers. It was a woman’s. She looked up at the face in shock. And screamed.

  Instantly she wrenched her hand free, then backed away until her back hit the wall of the tunnel and she could go no further.

  ‘Remember me, Electra,’ hissed the girl, smiling through the most voluptuously red lips Electra had ever seen. ‘You once invited me to your birthday party.’

  Electra stood trembling, seeing the creature in the thin grey light.

  My God, I held hands with THAT?

  ‘I’m Samantha Moberry. You do remember me, don’t you?’

  Electra stared. Her breath came in sobbing pulls. Her strength leaked from her body; she didn’t feel as if she could take a single step, never mind fight this monster if it attacked.

  ‘You do remember me.’ The creature smiled. The full red lips slid back, exposing teeth as sharp as a panther’s. The eyes glittered diamond-bright. ‘I’m Samantha Moberry, Dianne’s sister. I’m eighteen years old. I sang on the karaoke for you? Remember, Electra?’

  The voice dropped to a whisper.

  ‘You know how the song goes: It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to, cry if I want to…’ She sang the words in a low breathy voice that was dry as a husk.

  ‘Cry if I want to…’

  Dry as a husk: that’s what this creature was. A husk. A shell. A simulacrum of a human being. A phony. A counterfeit person. Electra pushed the words through her head, trying not to allow herself to be mesmerized by the diamond-bright eyes that fixed on hers, or the seductive sound of the whispery voice, singing to her.

  ‘I’m in a tunnel. I’m going to die,’ Electra spoke slowly, deliberately, struggling to control the panic rising inside herself. ‘But I’m sure as hell not going to listen to you.’

  ‘But I’m singing this song for you, Electra. It’s my party…cry if I want to…cry if I want to…I always thought the song could have been written for you. You’ve always been unhappy, haven’t you? Even on your birthdays? I saw the sadness in your eyes, and I just wanted to hug you, and whisper nice things to you. You’ll let me do that now, won’t you, Electra?’

  ‘You are not Samantha Moberry. Samantha Moberry’s dead.’

  ‘Some of my friends told me that you prefer girls to boys, or that you have no preference either way. Is that true, Electra?’

  ‘Samantha Moberrry is dead…dead!’

  ‘But you can see me in front of you, can’t you? Here…take my hand again. You can feel my fingers, can’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Here. Electra…Electra. Feel how sharp my fingernails have become? Aren’t they the longest fingernails you’ve ever seen?’

  Electra kept her hands balled into fists, ‘I don’t care what you look like. Samantha Moberry is dead. You’re a monster. You’re a vampire.’

  ‘And I desire nothing more than to drink your blood?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘But I do have other needs, Electra, my love. I’m not quite a corpse yet, you know?’

  ‘Go away…’

  ‘Does this look like dead flesh?’

  ‘Leave me alone.’

  ‘Look a
t me, Electra. Don’t I still look…nice?’ Despite herself, Electra felt compelled to look. She watched the vampire smile as it unbuttoned the silk blouse it wore; it unbuttoned slowly as if to please and titillate. With its long fingers it pulled open the blouse, then straightened its arms and allowed the blouse to slip off the arms to the floor of the tunnel. Then it stood there in the light filtering down from the grate above. It turned round, still smiling, still maintaining eye contact, as if to allow Electra to admire its slim waist, its flat stomach, its small firm breasts cupped by the black lace of its bra.

  ‘See, my darling Electra, aren’t I perfect?’ The vampire Samantha smiled; the teeth glinted. ‘What do you think to my breasts?’ It unhooked the bra, letting it fall. ‘Sometimes I wonder if they’re too small. But they’re a nice shape, aren’t they? Can you believe how pointed they are?’

  ‘Stop this.’

  ‘And look how dark the nipples are?’

  ‘Please…’

  It twirled provocatively again, arching its back and lifting its luxuriant chestnut hair in both hands. ‘I used to worry about my hair — it was dry, like straw. But see how rich and healthy it looks now.’

  Electra saw the gash in the side of the vampire’s neck. That must have been how she’d been brought over to the other side. How she’d been converted from human to vampire. With a single tearing bite in the neck. Now, yellow, urine-like fluid — not real rich blood as red as a Valentine’s rose — flowed through the neck.

  ‘Beautiful, aren’t I?’ it whispered. The smile grew more hungry — but this was an erotic hunger; a craving for sexual gratification. Not a craving for blood — at least, not yet. The creature that had been Samantha Moberry held out its hands to Electra.

  ‘Oh, I want you to touch me, Electra, darling. Won’t you kiss me? I want to feel your mouth here.’ It ran its long finger down its breast from chest to nipple. Then it pinched the nipple lightly between finger and thumb. Electra stared, fascinated by the undead girl’s long red fingernails, how they lightly scraped her own nipple; how it toyed with the dark tip of skin. And all the time the girl talked in that breathy, husky way that sent thrills prickling up and down the length of Electra’s legs and back. Those eyes held hers. They shone. Perhaps it was the darkness of the skin surrounding them that set them off; but there was a jewel-like brilliance. They were grey — a pale, pale grey; somehow cold and fiery, both at the same time.