The Last Resort

by Yvonne Morrin

  #

  “Fisher by name, fisher by nature,” Albert said to Christopher as the two of them sat on the pier. Christopher had heard his father’s favourite witticism many times of course, but he nodded and chuckled anyway, as this was expected of him. Next his dad would go on to explain the lures to him. Again.

  “You see, your jig lure, well, that’s got a weighted head, so it stays in one place, and you jiggle it to get the fish’s attention. Jig lure, jiggle – get it? Whereas your crankbait lure, well that has to be cast out into the lake, and then you reel it back so it seems to swim through the water. Crankbait, crank the reel – get it? Then there’s the daisy chain…”

  Christopher tuned his father out. He smiled and nodded, acting the good son, knowing that by playing along, sucking up and pretending to enjoy this lame family holiday he’d probably score a dirt bike at the very least.

  “Alright, I think we’re all set to go,” Albert said. “You want to cast first, my boy?”

  Christopher nodded. Actually, it wasn’t so bad being out here with his dad. Fishing was fun. The best bit, he thought, was holding the flopping fish in your hands, watching it gasp for air, struggle and fight for life, getting weaker and weaker, then finally lying still, its bright eye turning milky and dull. His dad always said it was better for the taste to bop the fish on the head as soon as it was out of the water, killing it instantly. Christopher enjoyed this too. It felt good to have the power of life or death in his hands.

  He grinned at his dad and cast. The lure sailed out over the lake and plunked into the water with a satisfying sploosh. He began to flick the rod back and forth as he reeled, causing the lure and its deadly hook to dance through the water.

  “Good man,” his father said, and then cast his own line.

  Christopher had reeled almost all the way in with no nibbles, so he re-set the line and recast. Almost at once, his line went taut and then began to pull against him. He nearly lost the rod altogether. “Dad – I’ve got one! And it’s huge!”

  Albert wedged his own rod in between two boards making up the pier and came over to help his son. “Good man!” he said again. “What a chip off the old block!”

  #

  Blake felt the morning was going as well as could be expected. He had made a mistake by not getting a snorkel for himself, of course, and he had felt a moment of panic when he first tried to use it – as soon as he was underwater his gills had started to work and his lungs had shut down, but he now had the hang of faking it. Being in the pool with the others had made him nervous of exposure, but the woman and the boys hadn’t got that close, and thankfully the old ladies seemed incapable of seeing him as anyone other than the handsome, bronzed and chiselled Blake Lagoon of their memories. It had been more than fifty years since those days, but their constant twittering was a painful reminder of all he had lost. Fame. Fortune. Babes. Still, he was eighty-five now, but fit, healthy and strong, thanks to his condition. And thanks to his changed physiology, he was a superb swimmer. It was a joy to be out in the lake sharing the underwater splendour with other people, even if they had to view it through facemasks.

  Blake popped up momentarily to check on everyone’s location. A pair of snorkels – his elderly fanclub – was bobbing about near the rocks, and a trio of snorkels – the woman and the two boys – was a bit further out. He nodded with satisfaction. Maybe this resort idea was going to work after all. He knew the old women at least would be putting in a favourable report with their club back in England.

  Blake had been too nervous to eat breakfast, but now that he was feeling calm, he realised that his stomach was rumbling. Kicking out away from the castle, and keeping his back to the others, he spat out the snorkel and lunged after a passing minnow. It slipped down easily, so he had another. Suddenly, his eye was caught by a dazzling flash, zipping by. A squid – delicious! With another quick lunge, he took the small squid into his mouth.

  The vicious barb inside the fake plastic squid tore through the inside of Blake’s mouth and emerged through his cheek, hooking him. Horrified and in agony, Blake found himself being towed through the water, dragged by his cheek. He began to thrash, kicking against the motion. He had to get rid of the hook, but his mitten-covered hands were useless. In frustration he pulled off the mittens, and tried to tuck them under an armpit, but they slipped away and slowly sank into the depths. His hands finally free, he was able to painfully work the hook back through the flesh of his cheek and release himself. There was a big ragged hole left behind, and he could see blossoms of red in the water, his blood, even now attracting fish.

  What he didn’t see was that his violent thrashing had also attracted the younger snorkelers. Lisa had arrived first, stopping a few metres away – close enough to see two blue webbed hands, and a man seemingly breathing underwater without a snorkel, flaps in the neck of the wetsuit sucking in and out like gills.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Della lay on her back, listening to the soothing sounds of a harp melody which filled the salon. Her face was smeared with honey and oil, and slices of cucumbers covered her eyes. Doreen lay beside her, covered from head to toe in strips of seaweed, and Beryl reclined in a chair, head tilted backward into the sink, her hair being covered in hot oil by Callie, who hummed along to the harp music as she worked.

  Peaches slouched into the salon, dropped her backpack and flopped down into a spare chair, pouting and sighing dramatically. Doreen winced.

  Callie looked up. “Oh, dear,” she said, pausing the scalp massage. “Bad day?”

  Peaches snorted. “This place is crap,” she said. “Do you know what that stupid old man did?” She didn’t wait for an answer, but began to rummage in her backpack.

  Callie’s stomach started to flutter. Things were going so well with the three travel agents all enjoying their treatment sessions. She didn’t need this child coming in and ruining the vibe. “Why don’t you tell me all about it while I give you a free facial and new hairstyle?”

  Peaches stopped what she was doing and considered Callie for a moment. “Can you do my makeup?” she asked. “And dye my hair?”

  “Sure thing,” Callie replied. “Let me just get Beryl’s hair wrapped up and pop her under the dryer… There you go, thirty minutes should be good,” she said to the travel agent, pulling down a heavy plastic hood and turning on a blast of hot air. Then she turned to Peaches. “Why don’t you come into the back room and look through the colour selections?” She looked at Peaches and considered the dark roots and bleach blond hair scraped back into a ponytail. “A honey blonde would look nice. Or maybe an auburn?” Peaches dragged herself into the back room and looked apathetically at the colour samples. “And maybe you can choose some makeup too,” Callie added, tossing her a bulging makeup bag.

  She walked through to the main room and roused Della and Doreen. “Time to get those treatments off,” she said, helping them to their feet and leading them out a side door. “The showers are right through here, and then you might want some time in the steam room,” she suggested, pointing out the small stone chamber. Della and Doreen giggled and thanked her. With them out of the way and Beryl safely under the loud hairdryer, eyes closed in relaxation, Callie felt a lot more confident in tackling the irritable teen. She retrieved the girl and brought her through to the salon, sitting her down in the chair furthest from Beryl.

  “What is this terrible music? It sounds like something from a kid’s fairy tale,” Peaches demanded.

  “Oh,” Callie replied. The music was actually supplied by Callie’s own enchanted harp, safely locked away in a closet, its sounds piped into the salon using a system of speakers rigged up by the Professor. “It’s harp music,” she told the girl, pointing out the large copper trumpet-shaped speakers.

  Seeing them, Peaches let out a howl. “The Professor put those in, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, but…” Callie began, but Peaches was rummaging in her backpack again. She pulled out a tangle of wires and metal bits and tossed
them onto the bench which ran along the mirrors in front of her.

  “Look what he did to my ipod!” Callie had no idea what an ipod was, but during the staff introductions she had observed the girl carrying some sort of mechanical device in sleek pink plastic, wires trailing up to her ears, and figured that maybe this was what the girl meant. Callie had thought perhaps it was some sort of artificial hearing aid at the time, but now she wasn’t so sure. The device on the table was still recognisable in that it was the same basic shape. Its pink plastic case, however, had been replaced by polished wood and gleaming brass. An ornate wind-up clockwork key protruded from the bottom, and from the top, two braided cord cables extended out to two speakers – copper trumpets affixed to a sort of headband. “He’s ruined it!” Peaches lamented. “Course, I’ll make him pay. I’ll get my dad to sue him, or maybe sue the resort, or something. I’ll get the cost of a new ipod…” she thought for a moment. “Plus a little something for mental anguish, I expect,” she added.

  “Oh dear,” Callie murmured. She would have to warn Viktor about this potential headache. “Never mind that now. A lovely new hairdo and makeover will make you feel better, I’m sure.”

  Peaches considered Callie for a moment, staring intently at her reflection. “How do I know you’re not crap too? Like the Professor?”

  Callie looked at the girl in confusion. “How do you mean?”

  “Well,” Peaches explained, “My friend always says you can’t trust a hairdresser with a bad hairdo. If a hairdresser can’t look after her own hair, Keely says, how’s she going to look after yours? And I’ve never seen your hair. You always wear that turban.” Suddenly, the teenager reached up a hand and twitched at Callie’s turban, trying to dislodge it. Surprised, Callie moved too slowly to prevent the elastic parting from her forehead, and two snakes sprang out. One of them launched itself at the podgy fingers, striking just above the knuckles. Peaches squealed and pulled her hand away, staring in horror and disbelief at the gorgon. “You’ve got snakes!”

  Callie tucked the snakes away as she looked over to the hairdryer. She was pleased to see that Beryl appeared to have nodded off. This wouldn’t last for long, however. As she realised exactly what had happened to her, Peaches began to get worked up, wailing at an increasing volume. Moving quickly, Callie pushed a flannel into the girl’s mouth, deftly pulled her hands behind her back and tied them together with a rolled up towel. Wide-eyed, Peaches stared at her in the mirror. Callie was grateful that the salon chairs were on castors. She pushed the struggling girl out into the back room and locked the two of them inside. “Boo, Sue, Lou – this is an emergency!” she said into the air. “Tell Ankh I need an anti-venom kit, and tell Viktor I need him too!” At once, she felt three taps on her shoulder – the signal that she was heard and understood. Callie sighed. She looked over at Peaches who glared back, fuming. “Everything’s going to be okay,” she told the girl. Peaches kicked out and struck Callie sharply in the shin. “Ow!” Callie cried out. She glared back at the girl, and then unlocked the door and slipped back into the salon.

  Beryl was just stirring. “I must have drifted off. Did I miss anything?”

  “Oh, no,” Callie assured her. “Just an ordinary day here. Shall we get that hair of yours clean?” She led Beryl to the sink and began to wash her hair. Ankh came rushing in at this point, medical bag in tow. Callie nodded towards the back room, and Ankh returned her nod. He stepped inside. There followed a lot of crashing and banging. Callie despaired for the pots of potions she had stored out the back. Maybe she should have secured the girl’s feet.

  Beryl sat up abruptly, alarmed, her wet hair dripping. “What’s going on?”

  “Just some construction work out the back,” Callie reassured her. “Nothing to worry about.” She pushed Beryl back against the sink and continued the shampooing.

  Ankh emerged looking dishevelled, but he gave Callie the thumbs-up sign. Good – at least he’d managed to give Peaches a dose of anti-venom. As he left the salon, he passed Viktor entering. Callie knew that Viktor had rushed here, but he didn’t look ruffled in any way. “Good morning, Miss Spitofino,” he said formally, an edge of steel in his voice. He was wearing gloves and carrying a clipboard which he held to the side of his face. This was so that any guests who happened to be in the salon wouldn’t notice his lack of reflection in Callie’s mirrors.

  Callie swallowed. “Good morning, Count Romanoff,” she replied in kind. At hearing who had just entered, Beryl, knowing she looked a fright, let out a little squeak and pulled a towel over her face. “Um… that package that came for you is in the back room,” Callie told Viktor.

  “Indeed,” Viktor replied.

  #

  Sue was having the time of her life – or rather, her afterlife. She pushed a trolley loaded with cleaning supplies, fresh towels and linens from room to room along the guest wing. Once Sue and the trolley were inside an empty guest room, Boo and Lou floated invisibly through the walls to join her and together they used their telekinetic powers to tidy up each room making sheets shimmy, towels tango and brooms boogie. As soon as the room was made up, they spent a few minutes having a nosey through the guests’ belongings, looking at what books they read, and what underclothes they wore. In their young days the three Victorian sisters had worn camisoles, corsets, crinolines, petticoats, and voluminous bloomers. They were scandalised by the tiny lacy underthings modern women wore, and blushed and giggled when they discovered Albert Fisher’s big blue Jockey Y-fronts.

  As she pushed the trolley along to the next room, Ken Trepid’s, Sue wondered what underwear they would find in the handsome single man’s room. Absentmindedly, she reached out her thoughts and inserted the room key in the lock. She put one mental hand on the doorknob, twisted and pushed. The door creaked open. Sue got behind the trolley and rolled it forward into the bedroom, floating just above the floor behind it. The trolley slid into the room easily, but as soon as her ghostly form touched the threshold it felt as if she had smacked into a brick wall. She reeled backwards, one hand flying to her nose, surprised at the pain, the core of her body materialising as she forgot to maintain invisibility. Gathering her thoughts she concentrated on decomposing her body and then checked the corridor to make sure no one had seen her fade in and out. Thankfully, she was alone. What just happened? Sue had been a ghost for more than a hundred years, and one of the best things about being a ghost was that you no longer experience physical pain. Not unless magic was involved.

  Suddenly she felt the energy of Boo and Lou swirling around her head. We can’t get in, they told her. We can’t get through the walls. What’s going on? Frowning, Sue reached out her hands towards the open doorway, encountering an invisible blockage sealing the way. She slid her hands all over the force field, feeling like one of those terrible French street mimes who pretend to be locked in an invisible box. I wonder if Barbara or that wizard fellow has accidentally put some sort of spell on it. That would explain the problem, Sue thought. I must remember to ask them.

  At that moment, the ghosts became aware of a call. Their psychic energy was attuned to respond to their names and to the word ‘emergency.’ “Boo, Sue, Lou – this is an emergency!” Callie was saying in the salon. “Tell Ankh I need an anti-venom kit, and tell Viktor I need him too!” There was a quick unspoken conference between the sisters and then Boo went to get Ankh and Lou to get Viktor. Sue rocketed through the walls of the castle taking a direct route to get to the salon. There, she tapped Callie twice on the shoulder to let her know that help was on its way.

  #

  Viktor had expected some teething troubles. It stood to reason that a group of monsters would struggle to maintain professional standards in their first attempt at running a luxury resort. However, it was only day two, and he was already putting a fourth guest in thrall – and for the fourth time, it was for a silly mistake that needn’t have occurred. He should have insisted that Callie put beads over the heads of her snakes again – although he could unde
rstand her reluctance to render her powers useless once more after being held at gunpoint by Big Jim.

  The problem was that the non-vampire residents of the castle didn’t properly understand the thrall. They thought that all Viktor or Violetta had to do was look into someone’s eyes, issue a command and the person would be permanently mesmerised. If that was the case, of course, all Viktor would have to do was enthral every guest, telling them they had enjoyed a marvellous stay at the castle and insisting that they make good reports to their clients and write good reviews in their magazines. However, the thrall didn’t work like that. It had evolved merely as a tool to allow vampires to feed – to make suggestible humans compliant. It was not infallible. For the thrall to work in the long term, the human had to remain in close proximity to the enthralling vampire. Once they were back in their home countries, Beryl, Dan and Mike, and now Peaches, would all remember what had happened to them. Putting them in thrall now was merely damage limitation – preventing their complaints from reaching the ears of the other guests. It was now vital that these other guests had a good time at the resort, otherwise running this expensive trial week would be in vain.

  Viktor considered the girl who was tied to the chair in front of him. She glared back defiantly. She did not look suggestible. Beryl had been easy to enthral – she just wanted to be consoled. Dan and Mike were easy too – they had wanted a rational explanation. This girl looked like she wanted revenge. Viktor stared into her eyes. “Everything in the castle is fine,” he said, cautiously removing the flannel from her mouth.