‘Some, er – some perfume. It was red.’
‘Perfume? You wouldn’t use perfume!’ I was completely astounded. ‘I mean perfume’s corrupt, isn’t it, by your book?’
‘It belonged to my grandmother. Guess it’s sentimental … Anyway, I’ll get some stain remover and –’
Suddenly, a sinister, amplified voice came from the garden below.
‘CARRIE HEWLETT – YOU OF THE PURE SOUL–’
She froze, turning towards the sound with wild eyes, as if the age of miracles had finally arrived and she was about to witness Armageddon – the end of the world.
‘What’s that?’ she whispered.
‘YE WHO HAVE LIVED FOR PURITY, HEAR THIS.’
Carrie flattened herself against the wall.
‘YOU ARE THE CHOSEN ONE. YOU ARE TO BE OUR GUIDE. YOU MUST GO TO THAT GREAT CITY OF PURITY.’
I watched Carrie gradually move away from the wall, the suspicion growing in her eyes. Her suspicion turned to anger. Could she have recognized that amplified voice?
The music blared out without warning and the singer relentlessly proclaimed, ‘NEW YORK, NEW YORK. IT’S A WONDERFUL TOWN.’
Carrie’s eyes flashed with fury and she turned to me. ‘Your brother –’
‘Er –’
‘It’s your brother, isn’t it?’
‘It’s only a joke.’
‘Mocking me.’
‘Just a joke!’ I repeated.
‘He’ll mock me no longer!’
‘What are you going to do?’
‘Take him into the pit.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ I said, trying to leap out of bed, but she gave me a hard shove that sent me flying back over the duvet.
‘He shall be punished.’
‘Don’t hurt him.’
She smiled at me mockingly, but it was more like a snarl than a smile.
‘Don’t hurt him,’ I whispered again. ‘It was only a joke.’
She laughed, and when Carrie opened her mouth I could see her teeth. They were even and clean and white. But it was the one in the centre that terrified me. The tooth was long and pointed and razor sharp. Her eyes burnt with a terrible longing.
I followed Carrie, but she ran like a gazelle, and I soon lost her in the wild part of the garden.
But then I heard Zak give a sudden cry – a cry of terrible fear. I came to an abrupt halt, frozen, trying to detect where he was, but realizing I had lost all sense of direction in the wilderness.
After what seemed ages I heard Carrie’s voice howling with rage. ‘You are corrupt,’ she screamed. ‘All boys are corrupt.’ This was followed by the repeated sound of breaking and smashing and I knew she must be hitting his cassette deck against a tree. ‘Now,’ she said finally. ‘Now.’
I knew she was going to attack Zak. There was no sound from him and I guessed he was rooted to the spot with fear.
But he must have made an amazing recovery because suddenly I could hear him running through the undergrowth, with Carrie howling like a banshee behind him. The noise of the chase continued, sometimes coming closer to me, sometimes dying away. Then there was a silence which lengthened and deepened. Had she caught him? Had Carrie strangled my brother? Or had he, by some miracle, got away?
Then I heard her voice, loud and commanding and vengeful. ‘You will be punished,’ she said.
And the silence returned.
I found Zak by a stream, unharmed but shaken. ‘You OK?’ he demanded.
‘Yes.’
‘What’s that mark on your neck?’
‘I went to sleep and lay on my comb,’ I said. ‘It cut me.’
‘A comb wouldn’t do that.’
‘Carrie said it did.’
‘Carrie would …’ He paused, panting slightly, still trembling.
‘Where is she?’
‘Gone. Did you see her tooth?’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought she was going to attack me. She was in a furious temper. But she didn’t touch me.’
‘Why not?’
‘She ran off.’ Zak pointed at the dusty leaves of the white-flowered plants illuminated by the pale moonlight.
‘I don’t understand –’
‘That stuff down there. It’s wild garlic’
‘I still have the scar,’ said Joanna. They had moved away from the tombs now and were huddled together in a corner on the cold stone floor.
‘It’s strange, isn’t it?’ said Jud. ‘I had an experience I’ve never wanted to talk about, but I s’pose it’s a bit similar. It happened at school actually. Are you going to share this with me, Alex?’
‘Share?’ asked Jon.
‘We went to the same boarding-school, in Northumberland,’ replied Alex. ‘And we had this awful experience, didn’t we? But neither of us has ever talked about it. We thought we’d be laughed at, and anyway, we were scared out of our minds. Maybe it’ll help to talk about it now. Shall I start, Jud?’
4
Matron’s Madness
The school stands high up on a cliff overlooking the North Sea, and we both remember it as being really bleak. My mother used to call it a ‘Gothic pile’ – it was a bit like a fortress, I suppose. But I used to think the tall, black, huddled buildings, which pointed to the sky, were like a big black crow, ready to take off over the wide dark sea.
It was actually hell being there. Jud and I soon found that out, and we’d only been there half a term. There were five hundred boys, all-male staff and the head a bachelor – a strange guy called A.A. Kimber. He was like a hawk, with his thin head and tall body and black gown. He told the parents the school was a ‘much needed return to traditional values’. Well, the traditional values were cold showers, running down the cliff paths – and up again, with the gym master behind you – freezing dormitories, bad food, and a fine view of the sea.
Anyway, the awful experience started when we got a new matron. Her name was Jane Dixon and she was very young and pretty. The staff made her feel at home at once, partly because they liked her and partly because the head couldn’t keep any matrons at all. They kept leaving, and the rumour was that he fancied them and made their lives difficult.
Shortly after Jane Dixon came to the school I was doing a bit of exploring and discovered that A.A. Kimber had one of the biggest and most interesting wine-cellars I’d ever seen – much better than my father’s, and his is fantastic. He’s a connoisseur. I’ve always liked the taste of wine and thought Jud, my best friend, should be introduced to it too. So, one afternoon when we were both recovering from colds and were off games, I led him down to the cellar.
I was just looking for a place to dispose of a half-empty bottle we’d drunk, when I discovered a crate of about forty bottles, all unlabelled, at the back. In the light of a torch we had found in an alcove, we could see that they contained a bright-red liquid. We both guessed that it was tomato juice, probably used when the Bishop of Baxbury turned up. He’s the chairman of the governors and a well-known teetotaller, who’s always banging on in his sermons about the ‘evils of drink’.
‘I’ll take over now, Alex,’ said Jud. And he continued…
That wine was good, so Alex and I used to nip down quite regularly to sample the headmaster’s claret. Now, there’s something about Alex I know he won’t mind me telling you. He may be curious and nosy, but he’s not so good at observing people, and it’s here that I score. For instance, I saw that our new matron was getting a little nervous and that A.A. Kimber always seemed to be ‘checking on’ or ‘supervising’ something or other in the sick-bay. And Matron was also worried by the large number of boys who kept coming to her looking pale and washed out. One of them told me that Jane Dixon was giving them iron tablets to try and pep them up a bit.
Then I happened to overhear the head inviting her to dinner in his flat in the annexe. ‘Just a small tête-à-tête,’ he told her. ‘So we get to know each other – and our working practices.’
I happen
ed to be hanging around the cellar, waiting to see if the coast was clear for a gulp or two, when I saw old Conger, one of the head’s cronies who often hung around the school, staggering down the steps. I hid in an alcove and watched him go in and come out with two bottles of the tomato juice. I didn’t know if Jane Dixon was teetotal or not, but I certainly knew A.A. Kimber drank like a fish. So it seemed weird just to have tomato juice for their first cosy dinner together.
Jane Dixon was right to be nervous of A.A. Kimber. There was something about this long, lean stick of a man that really gave me the creeps. He seemed to get on well with some of the boys and they often went to his flat for tea, but I knew he disliked me, and several times he kept me in detention after his Latin class. He was mean-minded to the boys who weren’t his pets – and too kind to the ones who were. Worse still, the boys who were unpopular with A.A. Kimber were usually unpopular with certain other members of staff – mainly those who had been there for a long time.
I also felt sorry for Jane Dixon. She was all right, really warm and caring. She didn’t deserve a dinner party with Kimber, but it would be interesting to see how their cosy evening went.
In the light of all this, Alex and I decided to spy on Kimber’s session with Jane Dixon by creeping up his back garden and getting a quick squint through the window. Alex knew from a previous surveillance that one curtain didn’t quite close in the lounge – and would give us a reasonable view of cocktail time at least.
When we got there we were in luck. Not only was it a hot summer night, not only was the curtain still not fitting, but the window was also ajar so we could hear as well as see.
The rather dingy lounge, with its heavy oak furniture and funereal-looking sideboard, had only one shaded light in operation. On the central table were some sickly-looking cyclamens and a tray of drinks, which included a bottle of vodka and two large bottles of the tomato juice. Not a teetotal evening then!
A.A. Kimber was dressed in a hideous sports jacket with leather patches on the elbows, flannels and the school tie, with a crest and Latin motto which translated as ‘BE NOT FAINTHEARTED’. He was like a gaunt, grey giraffe as he hovered over Jane Dixon, who was sitting in an armchair, looking awkward and nervous.
‘I’m so pleased to have you on our staff, my dear,’ the head was saying in his thin, slightly nasal voice.
‘Thank you.’
‘Your youth makes a big difference to staff and boys. Your youth and enthusiasm and – if I may so – dedication.’
‘There’s something I’d like to mention,’ she said hesitantly.
‘Yes?’
‘It very much concerns me how many boys are suffering from anaemia. It’s really quite serious.’
‘But you know we do specialize in providing education for some delicate boys here.’
‘Yes, I realize that, but have you ever had the situation investigated?’
‘Investigated?’
‘Yes. The medical officer of health. A visit can be arranged.’
‘I’m sure there’s no need.’ Kimber paused. ‘And now – will you have a cocktail?’
‘Well –’
‘Vodka and tomato juice?’
‘I don’t usually –’
‘Just tomato juice perhaps?’
‘Well –’ She was hesitant.
‘I’d like you to try this. It’s a little hobby of mine.’
‘You make it personally?’
‘From the tomatoes in my greenhouse – with the addition of some herbs. It’s very nutritious.’
‘Yes. I’d love to try some.’
With a smile, he poured out a generous quantity into her glass and then mixed himself a large vodka and tomato juice. ‘Santé,’ he said.
‘Cheers,’ she replied.
Then A.A. Kimber gave grunt of annoyance. ‘That window –’
‘Window?’
‘The curtain’s come off its runners …’
He came towards the window. We fled.
Just before lights-out Alex and I went to the boys’ toilet on the ground floor, hoping to see Jane Dixon returning to her own quarters in the school. After a while she came through the back door. We had expected to see her hunted-looking, alarmed, fed up, angry – instead she looked happy and contented. We just couldn’t get over it. What had happened? She couldn’t have liked Kimber, could she? The very thought was impossible. We were completely thrown – and that’s why we got caught.
‘Bilson and Timberlake – what do you think you’re doing skulking behind that door?’ Her tone was quite different: sharp and impatient and horribly like Kimber’s. ‘Go back to the dormitory immediately. It’s after lights-out. I shall report you to the headmaster.’
We ran back up the stairs and managed to get into bed before the prefects came round. But we had the feeling that she would report us, and wondered why. She didn’t seem to be the same person any more.
‘I’ll tell the last part, Jud,’ said Alex.
It was me who woke up and heard the sounds of crying. Getting out of bed I saw Jimmy Brunson quivering under his duvet. He was the nervous type, often homesick and very pale. In fact, he was the only boy in our dormitory who was.
‘What’s up?’
‘Nothing,’ Jimmy snivelled.
‘Come on –’
‘I’m scared.’
‘Why?’
‘Can’t tell.’
‘What are you scared about?’ I asked angrily, realizing I was making him afraid of me now. ‘I want to help you,’ I persisted.
‘You can’t,’ he replied hopelessly. Then he seemed to change his mind and began to speak quickly and desperately. ‘Old Kimber and the others – they make us give blood. We’re all the same blood group, you see – it’s Group B – but I’m the only one in this dorm.’
‘What?’ I stared at him unbelievingly. ‘You can’t be serious –’
‘I am. We have a blood test directly we get into school. Don’t you remember?’
‘Well – yes.’ I remembered all right, but at the time I’d thought it was just a routine part of the school medical records. ‘They can’t make you do that. You’ve got to go to the police.’
‘They wouldn’t believe me.’ There was a depressing certainty to his voice. ‘They’re coming.’ Jimmy was terrified. ‘They’re all coming. Go back to bed. Fast.’
‘I can’t hear anyone.’
‘I can feel them. I can feel them already. Please go back to bed.’
‘Why hasn’t anyone – any of the other boys – tried to report what’s going on?’
‘Because they drink.’
‘Drink what?’ This was ridiculous, but I could hear the footsteps on the thinly carpeted stairs now, so I dashed over and quickly woke up Jud.
‘There’s something really odd going on,’ I said. ‘I think –’ But I was interrupted.
On the threshold was A.A. Kimber, his eyes alight with pleasure. Behind him, holding a candle, was Jane Dixon, followed by four or five masters and a crowd of older boys. Then Jimmy gave a snivelling cry, and Kimber and Jane Dixon began to walk towards him, drawing back their lips.
Seconds later, Jud and I had thrown open the window and were shinning down the drainpipe. No one attempted to stop us. They were all too intent on the task in hand.
‘Of course, no one ever believed us,’ said Jud.
Sarah stood up. ‘I can’t stand much more of this. I’m going back to bed.’
‘On your own?’ asked Alex. ‘Into that big, empty dormitory on your own?’
‘I’ve never been able to live with my experiences as easily as you two did,’ Sarah said suddenly. ‘I’ve never been able to talk about it. Now I suppose it might be different.’
5
The Mounds
Most years, we went for our holidays in France, staying in houses well off the beaten track. It was always just the three of us – me and my parents. My father is a priest and my mother a nurse and we loved our precious times together. Some of my friends
would say ‘Fancy going on holiday with just your parents – that must be incredibly boring,’ and although I told them it wasn’t, they never believed me.
The year I remember in particular, we went to the Loire. The countryside felt remote, with the huge meandering river, sandy river-beaches, and small towns.
Our house was just outside a village, square and stone-built, with flaked paint shutters, and a well in the paved courtyard. At the very back of the walled garden there were these mounds. They looked like graves, and they were. Dogs’ graves, according to the estate agent. The odd thing was that it looked as if no grass had ever grown over the cracked, hard earth. ‘It must be the climate,’ said my father, and dismissed the curiosity from his mind. For some reason, I couldn’t.
The agents said the house had only just come on to the market for letting, was owned by an old lady called Angelique Dubois and had originally been lived in by her daughter and her husband, Marie and André Benoit. When my parents inquired about them in the local charcuterie, the shopkeeper changed the subject quite pointedly and discussed the weather instead, in what I thought was a more British than French way.
Next day, I decided to have a look round the village while my parents sat reading in the garden. I always like to walk around places on my own, because I can drink in the atmosphere and get the feel of the community. There was a small church, a couple of shops in the rundown square, a closed-up village school and one single, lonely-looking petrol-pump. Chickens ran everywhere and there was a farmyard smell, even in the graveyard that was jam-packed with ancient tombstones, all leaning over at crazy angles.
I strolled back through the square, feeling rather thirsty. It was near midday and I thought I’d pop into the village shop and buy a cold drink. But directly I tried to open the door, it was slammed and locked against me. I stared through the glass questioningly at the madame, who shrugged and turned away. I looked at my watch. Ten to twelve. Did she normally close this early? Oh well, I thought, I’ll have the drink at home.
Feeling slightly vexed but nothing more, I strolled past the petrol-pump and saw an old woman, clad in layers of cardigans and with black stockings, sitting on a wooden chair. She had her eyes closed, but when I passed she opened them and gave me a strange sign, holding up her thumb and forefinger and making them into the shape of an O. Then she crossed herself and looked away. Sweating now, I hurriedly headed for home.
Vampire Stories to Tell in the Dark Page 3