The Transylvania Pocket Watch

by Tyler Jolley

“Did I forget to mention he’s on a horse?” Glenda asked. “He seemed a little mad.”

  A black mare skidded to a stop a few feet in front of them. A short, fat, hunchbacked man dismounted. He wore a cracked leather jacket, thick wool knickers with large pockets, and black boots that went to his knees. His wide nose looked like it was connected to his mouth, but a closer look revealed a cleft lip. Crooked teeth peeked out as he snarled at them.

  “For the last time, show thyself!” the hunchback yelled. “How did you get out of your trance?”

  “No,” Ali said. “Please, she’s not a vampire. She’s just a bat, and we’re here to help. But we’ll need your help first.”

  Figgy brayed loudly. Ali turned. He was almost up to his neck. Bait’s jar was covered with mud. Chicaletta flipped over Figgy and pulled the mason jar off his neck, wiping it clean with her paw.

  “Thank you, Chicaletta.” Bait waved his fin like he was trying to wipe his brow. “Don’t worry, Figs, we’ll get you right out.”

  “Why should I help you?” the hunchback asked.

  “Because without us”—Ali turned to Chicaletta for a moment—“the world will turn dark forever and the vampires will be unleashed. We are here for the Nobil Fel pocket watch.”

  The man turned pale as a moon above.

  Chicaletta had been right: Ali was foolish for not being prepared for the journey. But she had heeded the wise monkey’s advice and utilized the information in her mom’s journal.

  Alison Liv Isner finally understood the value in being prepared.

  Chapter 4

  “We’ve been expecting you,” the hunchback said. “But I thought you’d be older.”

  Ali blinked hard. “I’m sorry, I’m not Eloise. I’m her daughter, Ali.” She felt a calloused hand grasp hers. “Now, sir, if you may, please help us with our friend, and I’ll explain everything.”

  “Yes.” He took the end of the rope that was tied around Figgy’s neck and carried it toward his horse. Without saying anything, the hunchback tied the rope around the bridle. He directed her to walk backward, and she pulled, neighing when the rope became taut. “Come on, Crystal, pull out the nice little mule.”

  “Excuse me, but he’s a mini burro,” Bait said. “Not some common mule. Isn’t that right, ol’ boy?”

  Figgy’s legs dragged through the thick muck until the it became shallow. Then he freed his hooves one by one. They made a slurping sound as they surfaced, as if they’d been suctioned into the mud.

  “Come on, girl, just a little more,” the hunchback said.

  Figgy fell forward and landed on the soft but solid ground. Mucus dripped from his foamy lips. Ali ran to him and helped him up. Chicaletta rummaged in Figgy’s pack.

  “Are you okay?” she asked. “Is anything broken?”

  “I’m fine, human,” Figgy said. “I’m just tired.”

  Chicaletta presented him with a carrot and a bowl of water. Figgy lapped up the water and ate the carrot in two bites. Refreshed, he trotted a safe distance away and shook the mud off like a wet dog.

  “Can I have my friend back?” Figgy asked.

  “I thought you’d never ask, chap,” Bait said as Chicaletta placed the jar around his neck.

  “Thank you,” Figgy said, then he turned to the hunchback. “I’m Figgy.”

  “Herning,” the man grunted. “Follow me. There’s been some major Geese activity. I found white feathers near the castle yesterday.”

  The rest quickly introduced themselves, then followed the hunchback. He didn’t seem interested in the pleasantries and rushed them forward. Fog had started to creep in and settled near their feet. Ali nervously pulled drying chunks of mud off her clothes and kicked her boots against each other, shaking dirt clods loose.

  She walked near Figgy, stroking his side every so often, reassuring that he was all right. They walked up a steep hill with switchbacks. Herning walked his horse and limped his way toward the castle. The moonlight cast menacing shadows from the castle on the ground. They passed an unkempt cemetery. Concrete headstones covered in moss, some partially crumbled from age, littered the graveyard in no discernible pattern. Ali wondered if there were vampires buried on the grounds.

  “How did you know we’d be coming?” Ali asked.

  “I’ve been waiting for seventeen years. The caretaker before me told me he’d been waiting too. He said one day a group of adventurers matching your description would come for the Nobil Fel. Although, I don’t remember him saying there’d be a bat and a young girl.”

  Glenda gulped.

  Ali shrugged.

  “I’ve been watching over the remaining vampires, letting them live out their lives as best as they can, being beet-a-tarians and all.”

  “They only eat beets?” Tristan yelled. “Disgusting!”

  “It’s better than the alternative,” Herning said. “They’re still nourished. But without blood they are slow and tired and don’t bother leaving the grounds. If they eat anything else, they’ll crave, well, you know, blood.”

  “How long must you care for them?” Ali asked.

  “Until I am released or a new caretaker comes for my spot.”

  Ali stopped in her tracks, right before the gates to the castle. “Oh, right. I forgot, they’re undead. Or dead forever. I’m not too familiar with vampires. Why keep them alive?”

  “It’s not my job to decide who lives and who dies.” Herning stopped in front of the gate. “We’re here.”

  He swung the rusty iron gate open. Ali was first to step onto the castle grounds.

  Drums beat loudly as they approached the castle doors.

  “That’s odd,” Herning said. “I’ve never heard thunder like that.”

  “Chuwen,” Ali whispered. “This is it; the drums mean we are in the right spot. Thank you, Herning.”

  Ali studied the huge wooden doors. Carved into them was a scene of vampires chasing humans: fangs on necks, sucking their blood, torching their homes, and chasing them out of the city. The pools of blood depicted in the carving were inlaid with red rubies. Ali rubbed her finger over one of the small gemstones. Etched above the rusty handles was a watch. Numbers were replaced with moon phases.

  “Better check your journal, love,” Bait said.

  She pulled her mom’s journal from her pocket and studied a sketch of the pocket watch. It was the exact same as the carving on the door.

  “This is it.” Ali pointed to the watch. “This is the watch we need to rescue and keep safe.”

  “Your mother was an excellent researcher,” Chicaletta said.

  “And a great cook,” Tristan added. “I sure could go for something to eat.”

  “We have beets,” Herning offered.

  “Pass,” Tristan said.

  “Tristan, stop being rude,” Glenda said.

  “You’ve been awfully quiet,” Tristan responded.

  “I’m totally trying to lay low,” Glenda whispered. “I’m not positive he believes that I’m not a vampire.”

  Ali grasped the door handles. They were rough and pocked from years of weather wear. She pulled but struggled.

  “It should never be beneath you to ask for help,” Chicaletta said.

  Ali looked at her group of friends. The whites of their eyes stared back at her.

  “Could someone please help me pull these open?” she asked.

  Herning dismounted Crystal quicker than Tristan falling into a puddle of Egyptian bird poop. “It would be my pleasure.”

  He waddled toward the doors, grasped both handles, and pulled. They slid open with little effort.

  Wow! He’s strong, Ali thought.

  The doors creaked as Herning pulled them outward. Inside was a grand two-story foyer with dual staircases on either side of the entrance. Black-and-white tile, once polished to a high sheen, was now dusty and
chipped. A threadbare rug covered a portion of the floor. Moth-eaten curtains hung over most windows. Candelabras illuminated the large room, along with three-foot-tall candles lining the u-shaped area below the staircase. A long balcony overlooked the entryway. Along the wall behind the balcony were roughly a dozen doors, all with carvings on them. They were too far away for Ali to see exactly the drawings depicted.

  Ali opened her journal and thumbed the pages. Herning touched the top of her hand, closing it.

  “No need for that,” he said. “I know exactly where that pocket watch rests. It’s in the third tower, inside a vest belonging to the great vampire Gaspare.”

  “Gaspare? How on earth are we supposed to tell these stiffs apart?” Tristan asked. “If you’ve seen one vampire, you’ve seen them all. They all are pale, have slicked-back hair, and are dead.”

  “Technically,” Bait said, “they’re undead.”

  “He’s the only one in the room,” Herning said. “And Gaspare is dead dead.”

  “Oh,” Tristan said. “Well, that’ll narrow it down.”

  “Just look for the vampire with the stake in the chest,” he said. “Before you go, I need to warn you of a few things. But first let me check on the grounds.”

  The hunchback walked toward a round pie-crust table. On top was a glowing crystal ball set atop a clawed-foot stand. Purple haze lazily swirled inside.

  “Surveillance,” Herning said. “I used to date a witch, and she set this up for me.” He winked, then stared into the ball. “Wait here. There’s a development.”

  He ran out the door, fog rolling in before he slammed it shut behind him. They scrambled to the crystal ball and saw an image of the castle’s gates.

  Geese.

  Herning approached them on his horse, Crystal. Ali couldn’t hear anything, but she saw the black horse rear up on her back legs and the Geese pull Herning off the back of the mare.

  Alison Liv Isner watched the Geese tie up their new friend and drag him off into the darkness.

  Chapter 5

  Ali stood shell-shocked only for a moment before jumping into action.

  “Follow me,” she said. “Let’s go to the windows up there and see if we can tell where the third tower is.” She pointed to the top of the balcony.

  “Wait,” Figgy said. “Shouldn’t we help him? He helped us.”

  Chicaletta moved to follow Ali. “One must understand when an enemy is simply trying to draw you out. The Geese want nothing from Herning. They are using him. Look for yourself. No harm has been inflicted on him or his horse; they are just pawns. Moreover, we cannot overpower that many Geese men. Alison is right: we must forge ahead.”

  Ali ran up the left side of the staircase, and her friends followed. Figgy smiled his toothy grin at Ali, then galloped past her. The old wood moaned and creaked with each step, increasing in volume until Ali placed her foot on a stair and it moved beneath her.

  “Wha—” She fell backward, onto a flat surface instead of the sharp angles of the staircase, which had shifted forward and up to become a long, treacherous slide.

  Dozens of spinning blades whirred loudly, ready to chew them up at the bottom of the stairs. Ali recognized the device from the butcher shop, a meat grinder. A bloody shirt flapped around the spinning blade.

  Ali reached for the banister. Her shoulders were nearly yanked out of their sockets, and her crossbow slapped hard against her back with the sudden force. She’d completely lost her footing, but she hung on for dear life. Figgy already had his front hooves on the landing. He kicked his back feet and forced himself up.

  Safe from the grinder.

  Chicaletta had also grabbed the banister and used her long monkey arms to climb up to the top. Glenda had taken flight as soon as the stairs flipped. Tristan slid down past Ali, she awkwardly stuck a leg out, and he grabbed on.

  “Climb up,” Ali said. “Get in my utility belt!”

  “Ah!” Tristan screamed. He scurried up the outside of her pant leg and jumped into her utility belt. He held on as if he were on a rollercoaster. “Did you see what’s awaiting us at the bottom of the stairs?”

  “Yes,” Ali said. “Don’t look down. It makes it worse!”

  “Hang on,” Bait yelled. “Chicaletta is on her way to help.”

  Ali’s palms became slick with sweat; her forearms burned. But she persevered and held as tightly as she could. It wasn’t just her life on the line.

  “Don’t fall,” Tristan said. “I can’t die. I’m too young, I have so many things to do, so many hamburgers to eat.”

  “Tristan . . .” Ali’s voice shook. She couldn’t find the words to finish her sentence.

  Ali focused her vision on Chicaletta, who was expertly climbing down the banister with her feet and holding the rope in her hands.

  As she approached Ali, she said, “You are brave. You are Eloise’s daughter.”

  The shirt loosened from the grinder, and, now unencumbered, the blades spun at dizzying speeds. Ali gagged at the putrid smell of rotten meat fanning toward them from the rotating saws. Chicaletta tied the rope around Ali’s waist, then ran back up the banister using both hands and feet.

  Ali stared at her friends, who pulled her and Tristan up.

  “Hurry!” Tristan gagged. “If you don’t, I may never be able to eat meat again!”

  Glenda was closest to the front and pulled with her tiny claws, wings flapping feverishly. Chicaletta pulled hand over hand. But the real power was Figgy, planting his hooves with each step. Ali and Tristan slowly but steadily slid up toward the hallway. Once Ali was at the top, she slid on her belly and rested on her hands and knees.

  “Thanks.” She panted. “You saved Tristan and me.”

  “That’s what friends are for,” Figgy said sheepishly.

  The moment all weight was off the stairs and banister, the grinder folded back into the floor and the stairs reappeared.

  “What was that thing?” Glenda asked. She nervously touched up her lipstick.

  “If I had to guess,” Bait said, “I would say it was the thing that Herning wanted to warn us about.”

  “Speaking of the hunchback,” Tristan said. “Who’s coming through the door?”

  They all turned to face the door. Fog and leaves rolled into the room, along with a fierce late-autumn wind. It blew out a section of candles. The smell of paraffin and burnt candlewicks spread through the room.

  Alison Liv Isner watched a feather-covered man enter the castle.

  Chapter 6

  Ali and her friends ducked and peeked through the wrought-iron spindles on the balcony banister. The Goose man wore only pants covered in white feathers and a huge necklace made of goose bills that adorned his bare chest. Atop his head was a feather headdress that gave him the appearance of being six inches taller than he truly was. In his left hand was a long pole with a spear at the top. He lurked around the foyer and sniffed the air, then started up the right side of the staircase.

  “What do we do?” Ali whispered. “The trap! We can’t let him die.”

  “He’s on the opposite side—maybe there isn’t a trap there,” Figgy said.

  “But what if there is?” Ali asked.

  Chicaletta placed her hand on Ali’s hand, then moved them both over her heart. “Inside, you will know what to do.”

  The man crept up the stairs, staying low. The wood creaked.

  Ali stayed hidden but yelled, “Stop! The stairs are booby-trapped. They’re not safe.”

  The Goose man laughed, then snarled. Now that he’d been spotted, he ran. The stairs folded in like they’d done on the left side and turned into a slide. He reached for the banister and caught himself just before he fell. At the bottom of the stairs were axes attached to an oval mechanism. As the oval axle spun, the axes chopped wildly. The Goose man pulled himself up toward the top, and Ali froze
in horror.

  “Run,” Chicaletta yelled.

  Ali ran and tried a door on the far side of the balcony. Locked. She turned to her friends, who were also trying to open doors. All locked. She tried door after door to no avail.

  The Goose man’s hand slapped the top of the balcony floor. Ali turned in his direction, swallowed hard, puffed out her chest, and did her best to be brave. She slowly backed up, still facing him. With nowhere to go, the gang watched in horror as the Goose man pulled his way to the top of the stairs.

  He stood to his full height and took a step toward them. Then another. He outstretched his arms.

  “Stay behind me,” Ali said to her friends. “I can do this. Stay back! Don’t come any closer.” She drew her crossbow.

  The man ran toward them. Ali had almost readied an arrow when she felt the ground give way under her.

  Alison Liv Isner screamed.

  Chapter 7

  Warm water broke Ali’s fall. Whatever she’d fallen in was deep enough that she didn’t hit the bottom. She swam to the surface and looked around.

  The square stone pool separated a rudimentary jail of sorts. Barred dungeon cells lined one side of the room. Torches lazily hung in-between cells. On the opposite wall was a desk and a cot. Must have been for the warden, Ali thought. Above them hung human cages with skeletons still chained inside. Ali gasped. The water smelled like rotten eggs, and without warning, a column of flames shot up from the water’s surface, cooking one of the cages. She didn’t know how fire came out of water, and she didn’t want to find out how.

  She thrashed around, looking for her friends. Her crossbow floated by, and she quickly grabbed it and awkwardly swung it over her shoulder. Figgy surfaced and bobbed closest to her.

  “Are you okay?” she asked.

  “I’m great,” Figgy said. “It’s actually nice; I can get all this mud off me. Good thing Bait’s lid is on.”

  Bait bubbled something below the surface in his jar, but Ali couldn’t hear him underwater.