by Mike Mannion
“Go on boy,” said Lord Percy. “Fetch.”
Claude bounded off across the road to an imposing building with rows of leaded windows on four storeys. An iron railing ran along the front and there was a gate with steps leading down to an uncovered passage at cellar level. Six tramps were sleeping down there on cardboard, with ragged blankets and empty cans of beer.
Claude bounded over the railings and shot down into the passage, putting clawed feet onto one of the tramps, who opened his rheumy eyes and screamed as he saw a growling ferocious beast baring sharp pointed teeth. An instant later Claude had sunk his jaws into the tramp’s throat.
Lord Percy sat on Beauty with eyes fluttering, muttering a complex curse in a strange language. At that moment, he was at one with the dog, inside the creature’s mind. It was almost like he himself was growling, barking and flashing sharp teeth. A minute later all was silent. Claude trotted up the stairs, pushed the gate open with his paw and crossed the road back to Percy. The fur around his mouth and neck glistened with dark, partially congealed matter.
As the dog had passed on the Curse of Og, so had Percy; but he he knew that Og didn’t feel satiated. He himself felt bereft and frustrated.
The voice was once more inside his head.
Foolish man! They be of no use to me. Life has almost flown their tired old bones.
Percy was about to hit his head with his hand to try to dislodge the voice, but realised what it was saying was right. The blood that Claude had drunk was feeble, malnourished and lacking in vitality. It was the blood of old men. It was nothing like the rich and nourishing feast that was Lilith’s blood. He’d learnt a valuable lesson, to seek out young people. The blood of youth was required, if he was to gain the good grace of Og.
Lord Percy rode on a little further, the urge to please the voice still raging within him. To his right was a gap in the tree-line and he could see that Old Road was still there, a narrow lane cutting a path through the woods. The route home was open to him! He could follow it all the way to Underwood, then on to Brimstone Manor.
The sky was beginning to lighten as dawn approached. He thought of Rowena, her skin smoking in the sunlight and her hands growing blistered and sore. He knew he couldn’t be caught exposed in the woods with nowhere to shelter from the sun’s terrible rays. He saw, a little further up the road, an old house set back with outbuildings and a sign on a gatepost that read ‘Loft House Stables’ – a perfect place to rest Claude and Beauty. Maybe here he could shelter there and find some satisfaction for Og.
Lord Percy guided Beauty off the road and put her into one of the stables. Claude shot inside and curled up on the straw lined floor.
“You rest my lovelies,” said Percy, patting Beauty on her neck and stroking Claude. “For tomorrow night we have a perilous journey ahead, if we are to win back our home.”
He left the stable block and went over to the house. It was a fine old place with white washed walls and a slate roof. He walked around the back and noticed one of the upstairs windows was open slightly. A moment later he’d climbed up the drainpipe, forced the window open and had stolen into the house.
He stood at the head of a dark landing. There was a stairwell to his right and three doors to his left. He could hear faint rumbling sounds coming from the nearest door. He opened it, went silently through and stood at the bottom of a brass bed, listening to snoring and snuffling. The voice inside his head sounded very annoyed.
These two little piggies need awakening! What infernal clatter!
The snoring stopped, there was a moan and a bedside light came on. Percy saw a tubby man in striped pyjamas and a woman with a tight blonde perm sit up and gaze at him in astonishment.
“A burglar George,” shriek the woman. “Get the gun.”
“Yeah Lilly,” said George, climbing out of bed, fixing Lord Percy with a glowering look. “Prepare to have your head blown off. Nobody burgles me and lives.”
Percy watched the man pull a shotgun from out of the wardrobe.
“I always keep this handy,” he said.
Lord Percy was at the man's side and slashed a shallow wound across George’s cheek with the knife he'd taken in the church. He wiped it with his finger and licked the blood, then muttered a long indecipherable curse. Lilly screamed. It was gratingly high pitched. George had the gun pointed upwards and pulled the trigger. There was a loud bang followed by falling plasterwork – he’d blown a large hole in the ceiling. Lilly screamed louder. Her face turned purple.
Lord Percy released George, who fell to the floor unconscious. He gave Lilly an impatient look. “Madam, please be silent! You are giving me a most fearsome headache with that infernal racket.”
Lilly threw a pillow at Lord Percy but before it had left her hands he was already sucking at a wound on her arm, muttering the Curse of Og between sucks. When he’d finished he tossed her out of bed and she rolled onto the floor unconscious. He’d cursed two more people but he yet again knew that Og wasn’t feeling satisfied. This was most frustrating! These people were both fat and middle-aged. The vitality that had once flown through their veins had, like the old men, long since departed.
I grown a’tired of these old windbags! Bring forth a spring chicken.
There was a knock at the bedroom door and a girl’s voice.
“Everything okay mum? I thought I heard screaming.”
Lord Percy pulled the door quickly open. A young girl stood before him, around fifteen years old. She was pretty with large eyes and long brown hair and was wearing a white flannel night dress. The girl shrieked, making a very similar sound to her mother.
Lord Percy was a fearsome sight: tall, gaunt, shadowy in the dim light, with fresh blood smeared all over his face and dripping off his chin. His facial expression was one of ravenous anticipation, like a cat about to pounce on a canary.
The girl turned to run but Percy had already torn into her soft young neck and was drinking blood of exquisite delicacy. As he muttered the curse his head soared with blissful delight. This is what it was to be at one with the great God Og! He’d never felt more alive. The girl had given him and Og a wonderful gift. He finished drinking and she fell unconscious in his arms.
“Og thanks you, my dearest spring chicken,” he said with a gracious blood splattered smile.
He picked her up and carried her across the landing and into what he guessed was her bedroom. It was pink and messy and the walls were filled with posters of young men in strange clothes with spiky haircuts, singing on stage. Percy thought this most peculiar for a young lady’s boudoir. He tossed her onto the bed, still unconscious.
He went back into her parents’ room and opened the bedroom window. Looking outside he could see a long drop into a wide yard. He picked up the two sleeping parents, one in each arm, and casually tossed them out of the window. They landed on the concrete floor quite heavily, twisting limbs into unnatural positions and cracking skulls, but remained peacefully unconscious.
Lord Percy closed the window, got undressed, jumped into the brass bed and settled down under the soft blankets. He was tired now, but happy because Og was at last pleased with his offering. Within a couple of minutes, he’d fallen into a deep sleep.
*
Early next evening, when an almost-full moon had begun to rise in a cloudless sky, Lord Percy woke up. He felt like something very strange had happened during his sleep. His arms and legs were more muscular and his stomach felt tighter and firmer. Lifting a curious hand to touch his face, he could feel it had become more aquiline, sculpted. His cheek bones were higher, more pronounced and his eyes had sunk a little into his head. There was also two small bulges in his skull either side of his forehead.
This was a most curious transformation and very alarming, but then he realised the biggest change of all had taken place in his mind. The bond with his victims’ consciousness had become much more than mere whispered phrases or the placement of vague desires. He could reach out and know what they were thinking, what they wer
e doing, or had done, even shape their opinions and personalities – like a potter at his wheel. What astonishing powers had Arddhu Og given him! He tried to ask Og about it in his thoughts and heard the whispered reply.
I am pleased with my young Lord's obedience. My thoughts flows easy in your mind so I have gifted some small powers. If proven worthy you shall have more of my blessings.
Percy was amazed that his mind could perceive such miracles. He knew Lilith had been back at Conatus College, arguing, angry. She’d cursed another. The six homeless men had spent yesterday wandered the streets, their skin smoking and blistering in the sun. They were all confused and in pain. One had drunk the blood of a rat, three had skulked in the shadows under railway arches or inside sheds. Two had stayed out in the midday sun for too long, burst into flame and were now ceare.
The couple he’d thrown out of the window had woken up when the sun began to blister. They’d wandered round outside but couldn’t get back into the house. The man, George, had walked off to the police station to inform them of his burglar but had burst into flames before he got there. The lady possessed of that most annoying of screams, Lilly, was currently hiding in one of the outbuildings, lonely, in darkness, feeling the power of Og slowly take hold.
Lord Percy directed his attention to the young girl he’d bitten and was surprised to know that she was in the room with him. He sat up and saw her sitting on bottom of the bed. She’d got dressed and was wearing a striped knitted hat, yellow polo neck, purple trousers and white patent leather boots. Lord Percy knew she was called Grace. She was very scared but had a gritty, determined personality that kept her from fleeing the room.
“I knew you were still in the house,” she said in a quiet voice, “so I’ve decided to kill you.”
Lord Percy could see a carving knife grasped tightly in one of her hands.
“My dear child, I’m most terribly sorry for the wound in your neck. My moral compass seems to have gone awry.”
“You bit me, you freak!”
“I’m afraid I had to bring you to Og, my dear. And you were as sweet as honey.”
Grace gave him contemptuous look. “Why couldn’t I do it? You’re a beast but I’ve sat here for hours.”
“I’m afraid you may find an obsessive love has blossomed in your young heart. It’s called Amor Lepore.”
Grace dropped the knife on the floor. “Where are my parents?”
Lord Percy quickly pulled on his clothes as he got out of bed. “Come dear child, I shall take you to your mother.”
She was grateful at first but then became confused. “Are you going away?”
“I must be off to my home, Brimstone Manor.”
Lord Percy took Grace gently by the hand, led her down the stairs and out the back door to one of the outbuilding across the yard. Sitting in a darkened corner, looking wild eyes and terrified, with blistered skin and ragged blood splattered clothes, was Lilly. Grace ran over and wrapped her arms around her mother.
Lord Percy turned and left the building. He walked to the front of the house and got Beauty and Claude out of the stable. With a single bound he sat on his horse and was about to gallop away when his path was blocked by Grace, who stood with her arms outstretched, looking wide-eyed and tearful.
“What a beautiful horse,” she said. “I’ve worked these stables my whole life but I’ve never seen anything like her. His eyes are all fiery and yellow, just like yours. She’s magnificent!”
“You are most kind,” said Percy with a slight inclination of the head, feeling himself warm to this most perceptive girl. “May I introduce myself? I am Lord Percy Valentine, squire of Brimstone Manor and Master of the Underwood Hunt, at your service madam. I can see that you, like me, hold an appreciation for these fine animals.”
Grace ran forward and was surprised to find that she could do exactly what she’d seen Percy do – leap up high in the air and land on Beauty’s back. She sat behind Percy and put her arms around his waist.
“Please take me with you.”
“What about your mother?”
“She treats me like a baby. We hate each other. Take me with you!”
Lord Percy was about to politely decline her request and take this girl – whom he perceived was full of confused emotions – back to her mother, when the voice once more whispered in his head.
This young girl will find us more young'uns. You ‘ave a thought as to where you be and what you are a’knowing.
It had been a hundred years since Percy had last walked the Earth and he could see that there were many strange things he knew nothing about. Drinking the blood of Grace and Lilith has been akin to the sweetest of opiates and he desperately wanted more. Doing so had transported him to delights he’d never imagined. He knew the fearsome will of Og was going to hold him forever. The voice grew stronger every time it spoke to him, was now becoming his own opinions and desires. He felt compelled to spend this strange second life hunting out youth, cursing it in that most alien of languages and drinking its blood.
Yes, and doing so ‘till you are gorged like the fattest of leeches.
Grace would be useful. In this bizarre land of unfamiliar customs and mysterious machines she would take him to places where its young people congregated.
“Away!” he cried.
Beauty whinnied and stamped her hooves then bounded off at great speed, galloping out the front gates and turning down Old Road – into the overreaching darkness of Wych Elm Wood. Claude followed closely behind.
They cantered through the cold claustrophobic woods for a while. It was very dark under the leafy canopy but Grace was surprised to find that she could see every twig, stone and plant without any trouble whatsoever.
“I’m confused,” she said. “There’s something I crave. I wish I knew what it was.”
“My dear sweet innocent child – it’s a victim’s blood for your new master – Arddhu Og.”
“Blood?” replied Grace, thinking hard. “Oh yes, you’re right! How very odd.”
From somewhere off in the darkness they could hear the thrum of engines. The sound grew louder until – with a deep screaming roar and the illumination of trees – two large motorbikes came flying past, causing Beauty to rear and whinny with fright.
Lord Percy saw red carriage lights and the backs of two people riding away on fat noisy bicycles. Their black leather jackets were painted with a crude rendition of skull and crossbones.
“What the devil was that?” he said.
“That’s the local biker gang. I think they call themselves The Pirates. When I’m out with the riding school we sometimes see them at the campsite.”
Lord Percy watched with interest as the bikes turned off the road some distance ahead. Beauty trotted on until they got close to this turn-off. Percy notice a yellow light flickered through the trees – someone had built a fire. He could hear voices, laughter and a strange form of string instrument music.
He saw a sign that said ‘Wych Elm Camp Site’. There was a wooden hut with nobody inside and a gate that had been left open.
“Are these ‘Pirates’ young?” said Lord Percy, pulling Beauty to a halt.
“Teenage thugs, a bunch of trouble makers.”
“You go and introduce yourself. I want to see the cut of these Pirate chaps.”
“You mean you want me to go into a bikers’ campsite, at night, on my own? Dad would kill me if he knew.”
“You are perfectly safe, my child. They have more to fear from you, now you’re with Og.”
Grace was about to laugh at this strange statement but somehow knew Percy was right. She jumped off Beauty and set off up the side road and into the trees, towards the flickering fire. She counted thirteen motorbikes, parked up in a row and saw a number of tents pitched in a field. The fire was in a clearing, at the centre of a wide shallow hollow. There were wooden benches all around and Grace could see a number of people sitting, drinking cans of beer and smoking what she could see were long white cigarettes. They wor
e jeans and boots and some had on black leather jackets. One man in a brown suede waistcoat seemed to be the leader. He was at the centre of the group and everyone was listening with amusement to something he had to say.
Grace marched straight over and stood in the centre of them all. She knew she should have been terrified, but for some reason felt very calm and relaxed.
The leader stopped talking when he noticed Grace and turned to give her a bemused stare. His face was very pale and peppered with spots. He had sideburns and cropped hair.
“What have we got here? Little girl lost?”
“I want to join your gang,” said Grace.
She could hear a voice deep inside her head, which she assumed was Percy’s. It said it was absolutely ravenous. So was she! The voice wanted to know how old these bikers were, if they were suitable for games and merriment.
“You need to introduce me to everyone,” she added. “I want to see what they look like. Are they old?”
The leader looked very surprised when he heard this and laughed loudly.
“What’s all this, eh?” he said to all the other bikers. “Maybe we should have a bit o’ fun with her.”
He pulled out a flick knife from his pocket and showed the blade to Grace. The voice in her head directed her to think hard, to make him do what she wanted. She imagined him dropping the knife.
The leader dropped the knife onto the floor. His face fell and he looked quite subdued, a little shocked. “My name’s Bulldog. They call me that ‘cos a bulldog once bit me on the bum and I couldn’t ride for a month.”
“It was a poodle – but you didn’t like that nick name,” said another biker.
“That’s Joker,” said Bulldog pointing at a young lad with a fresh-faced grin. “He thinks he’s funny.”
He indicated two other young long haired lads and someone a little older. “That’s Davy, Jimmy and Mick. They’re the Underwood yokels who look after our bikes.”