The Vampire of Downing Street and Other Stories

by Amy Cross

  “I'm not,” he replies, his voice trembling slightly. “I'm really, really not.”

  “The Tenderling was real,” I continue, with tears in my eyes. “The book was right, I swear there was a Tenderling in our house!”

  “I saw it,” he whispers, clearly shocked. “I was awake but I couldn't move. I...” He pauses. “I saw it, Cally. You were right. I don't know what was wrong with me, but I couldn't think straight back there.”

  “It's gone now,” I continue. “I found out its name and I killed it, just like the book said. I just had to get its real name for it to work.” Turning toward the house, I see that now the fire is out, some policemen are going inside. “They're going to find Mary Madison's bones in the attic.”

  “Mary Madison?” Joseph says, coming over to join us. “She disappeared years ago, Cally. The police searched the house over and over again.”

  “She was hiding from them,” I tell him.

  “Why would she be hiding?” he asks.

  Staring at the house for a moment, I try to work out what happened.

  “I think there was a different Tenderling in there before,” I say finally, “and it killed Mary's parents and then it turned her into a Tenderling. That must be how they make new Tenderlings, since they don't like being around each other. And then it left her behind, and she was the new Tenderling in the house. And if I hadn't stopped it...” I shiver as I imagine what it must have been like for Mary to be turned into that creature. If it had managed to kill Dad, I'd have been next. That must just be how Tenderlings keep their species going.

  “You're both going to be okay,” one of the ambulance men says with a smile. “You're very lucky.”

  “I told you,” I continue, turning to Dad. “I told you it was real, and you didn't listen to me!”

  “I'm sorry,” he replies, before looking over at a car that's pulling up nearby. “Cally, I think -”

  “Cally!” a voice screams.

  Turning, I see that Mum is running toward us. Jumping out of the ambulance, I run over and put my arms around her.

  “Oh my God,” she continues, pulling back and picking me up so she can see my face properly. “Are you okay? Is Dad okay?”

  “We're fine,” I tell her. “I found the Tenderling and I killed it.”

  “You...” She pauses, staring at me as if she can't believe that any of this is happening. “I woke up about an hour ago,” she continues, “right there in the hospital, as if suddenly I was okay again.”

  “That's when the Tenderling died,” I continue. “It's name was Mary.”

  “Mary?”

  I nod.

  Still staring at me, she shakes her head, as if she can't believe or understand everything that has happened. Finally, setting me back down, she gives me the biggest hug of all time.

  “I killed it,” I whisper, suddenly feeling sad. “Part of it was the Tenderling, but part of it was still Mary Madison. I killed her.”

  “You released her,” Joseph says, as he and Dad come over to join us. “Think about how horrible it must have been for her, Cally, if she had even a shred of awareness about what she'd been turned into.”

  “I guess we can start looking for a new house now,” Dad adds, putting a hand on my shoulder. “You win, Cally. After everything that's happened, I think moving would be a good idea.”

  Staring at the house for a moment, I suddenly realize that he's wrong. Pulling away from Mum, I take a couple of steps forward, watching as the police bring out Mary's bones. They probably won't believe us about what really happened. I don't think anyone would believe us unless they'd seen it for themselves.

  “No,” I say finally. “There might be lots of Tenderlings in the world, and we might just end up moving to a new house where there's another one. Think about it, this house right now is the one house in the whole world that we know for certain doesn't have a Tenderling. Not any more.” I turn to them. “We have to stay here. We'd be crazy to go anywhere else.”

  Epilogue

  Eleven years later

  “Thomas, go to bed!”

  “But Dad -”

  “Go to bed!” He stares at me, clearly annoyed at having been woken up again. “This is ridiculous,” he continues, “you can't come and do this every goddamn night. There's not a monster in your room, okay? You're just getting used to a new house.”

  Realizing that he's never going to believe me, I turn and make my way back along the corridor until I reach the door to my room. Just as I'm about to go inside, however, I hear a faint shuffling sound from the other side of the door. I want to run back to my parents' room, but I know I'll just get in more trouble so instead I go to the stairs and head down to the kitchen. Mum and Dad don't usually care if I stay up a bit by myself, so I'll just watch some TV and -

  Suddenly I hear a faint tapping sound at the window. Turning, I'm shocked to see a figure standing out there in the darkness.

  “Hey,” the figure hisses, “let me in!”

  I stare for a moment, completely shocked. “Who... Who are you?”

  “I'm here to help you,” the figure continues, leaning closer to the glass, which allows me to see that she's a girl, and she looks to be in her late teens or early twenties. “It's about the thing in your room! Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, because you do!”

  Figuring that she seems friendly enough, I head over to the door, turn the key, and then pull it open. The girl immediately steps through and drops a large backpack on the floor, before kneeling down and starting to pull things out, including a laptop, a mirror, and several old books which she stacks by the chair.

  “Who are you?” I ask again.

  “I got your email via my website,” I tell her. “You're Thomas Barnes, right? This is 312 Ocean Road?”

  I nod.

  “Great.” She turns and reaches out to shake my hand. “My name is Cally Taylor. I'm a professional Tenderling extraction agent, and I'm here to save you from a whole lot of grief.”

  “But -”

  “You're going to be okay,” she continues. “Trust me. This is my job.”

  Frozen Charlotte

  One

  Summer 1982

  “Well... Jumping Jehoshaphat,” I mutter, putting my hands on my hips.

  I turn and look around at the dark trees, and then I sigh again. I could stay here at the car, or I could explore the crash site and look for clues, or I could take a closer look inside the car. I just have to decide.

  I really want to head out and check the surrounding area, just to prove to Pickles that I'm inquisitive, but at the same time I'm worried that this is a test. My boss told me to stay put and keep close to the wreck, and I guess that means I really do have to stay put. Glancing out at the forest, I let my mind drift for a moment as I try to imagine what might be out there in all the snow and darkness, but I quickly focus once more on the task at hand.

  I was left to stay with the car, and that's exactly what I'm gonna do.

  Absolutely.

  I'm gonna be obedient, even if Pickles ends up thinking I'm a little slow. There'll be time to prove myself some other time. I'm sure there's nothing too bad out there in the forest, but my job is to stay with the car.

  Decision made.

  Besides, heavy snow is falling all around, and the last thing I need is to start trekking out there through the wilderness. I look at the trees for a moment longer, before leaning down and once again forcing myself to peer at the poor frozen woman who died in the car.

  Immediately, my chest tightens as I see that her eyes have opened.

  No, her eyes haven't opened.

  Yes, they have.

  No, they haven't.

  I tilt my head.

  Have they?

  No. I mean, they're open now, but I guess that just means that they've always been open. As I raise the flashlight and lean a little closer, I realize that her frozen, dead eyes must have been open all along. They just looked like they were closed a few minutes ago,
on account of being pale. I mean, it's not like I examined them very closely before, and her pupils are definitely pretty faded. This is creepy, sure, but I'm way above being easily creeped out.

  Her eyes were open from the beginning.

  They must have been.

  “They were open from the beginning,” I say out loud, forcing myself to keep staring at her as her dead eyes look toward the shattered windshield. “They were always open. Yep, that's it.”

  I take a deep breath.

  My heart is pounding, but finally I can't help smiling. It took, what, all of about two minutes after Pickles left for me to completely freak myself out? That must be some kinda record. Feeling a little relieved that I managed to get past my weaker instincts, I take a moment to regather my composure.

  “Okay,” I continue, “I'm just going to look in your trunk, okay? I need to see what's in there.”

  Wait, why am I telling the dead woman my plans? I was raised to be polite, but I think being polite to a corpse is maybe taking things a little too far.

  “Okay,” I mutter, starting to get to my feet before suddenly noticing a faint hint of red beneath the ice that's stuck to the woman's knife.

  I lean closer, and sure enough I can see that there must have been some blood on the knife before it froze. I'm tempted to freak out again, but I quickly force myself to remember that I didn't look very closely at the blade, so obviously the blood was always there. Still, that thought doesn't exactly put my mind at ease, and I can't help wondering why the woman was holding a bloodied knife as she froze to death. It's not like there's a massive amount of blood. I mean, there's so little, Pickles and I must've both missed it the first time. But there's just enough to make me wonder, and I've always been a world-class wonderer.

  I start wading through the snow, heading to the back of the vehicle. I keep telling myself that investigating the circumstances of this tragedy is a job for the police, and that they'll take over when they get here. The last thing they'll want is for some puffed-up rookie mountain patrol officer to start meddling in their investigation, so as I reach up and try to open the car's damaged trunk, I focus on reminding myself that I have to stay calm and professional.

  Suddenly the trunk spills open and several boxes come tumbling out, landing on my head and sending me slipping to the ground. I let out a loud “Oof!” as the boxes rain down on me, and I have to cover my face with my arms until finally the trunk has emptied itself.

  I sit in silence for a moment, and I can't help feeling just a little dumb. I mean, without a key I wasn't really expecting to get the trunk open at all, but I guess either the crash forced it loose or the woman never locked it to begin with. Either way, I've got a painful bump on the top of my noggin now, and as I get to my feet I'm pretty relieved that nobody was around to see what just happened. They'd just make fun of me even more than they do already.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I look out into the forest, staring at the gaps between the dark trees. I've been out here before, of course, but never alone and never at night. For a few seconds, I can't help feeling a little freaked out by the thought that hundreds and hundreds of miles of empty forest stretch into the distance around me. This must be just about the emptiest, loneliest place in the whole world.

  And a very bad place to be stuck if you need help. A bad place to be screaming, and hoping someone hears you. I reckon you could scream for hours without anyone noticing at all.

  Days, even.

  Looking around, I see that several backpacks and small boxes fell out of the trunk. It's definitely starting to look as if Doctor Charlotte Cole was packing for a move, and when I reach over and start pulling one of the backpacks closer, I find that it's pretty heavy. Opening the top, I look inside and see several large sweaters along with various other items of clothing. If this isn't a woman who shoved her entire life into a bunch of bags and set off across the country, then I don't know what is. Grabbing another bag, I unzip the top and take a look.

  Food.

  Lots of food.

  I guess I should probably leave everything as I found it, so the police can have a good look around, but I figure it can't hurt too much to root through just a little. The backpack turns out to be full of canned food, along with sachets of powdered soup and noodles. Rifling down further into the depths, I find several bottles containing vitamin supplements, along with a battered book about how to identify edible mushrooms.

  “Camping trip, maybe?” I mutter under my breath, as I pull another backpack closer and take a look.

  More food.

  In fact, as I check the rest of the bags, I find that Doctor Cole seems to have been prepared for a very long period away from the stores. She has hundreds of packets of instant soup, along with scores more tins of beans. I know there are some cabins a couple of hundred miles to the west, so I guess we might have an inkling of where she was headed. I reach for my radio and try to call through to Pickles, but all I hear is static. Still, those cabins are worth checking out, and I wouldn't be that surprised to find that someone was waiting for her there.

  Then again, if that's the case, why didn't they raise the alarm when she failed to show up?

  I take a moment to close the bags, and then I haul myself to my feet. I'm feeling pretty stiff after getting rained on by luggage, so I take a moment to wander around to the side of the car and stretch my legs. Looking out between the trees, I see the vast, dark expanse of the forest stretching out before me, and I take a moment to remind myself how small I am in relation to the workings of the cosmos. Having grown up in New York, packed into an apartment with three sisters and a brother, I'm still not quite used to the way of life out here in the sticks, and even now I take a deep breath and appreciate the clear, crisp air.

  No pollution here.

  Suddenly remembering the purse we found earlier, I head back to the car and crouch next to the broken window. I hesitate for a moment, not really wanting to disturb the dead body, but finally I reach past her and carefully take her purse. Pickles already examined it, of course, but then he tossed it back inside on account of not wanting the cops to show up later and criticize him for moving stuff. Still, I guess I can do the same, so I open the purse and take out Charlotte's license, and then I find another card that seems to be an I.D. tag for a laboratory.

  “Doctor Charlotte Cole,” I whisper, seeing her smiling face in the tag's photo. She looks happy, with a big, broad grin that reveals a row of glistening white teeth.

  Glancing at the frozen body, I feel a shudder pass through my chest as I see how she's ended up.

  “Sorry, Doctor Cole,” I mutter, looking back at the tag and seeing that there's a logo on the top right side. “Meltringham Institute for Advanced Research,” I read out loud. “Huh. Never heard of it.”

  Turning the card over, I find a spot on the back where someone – presumably Charlotte herself – added a scrawled, illegible signature.

  “Typical doctor, huh?” I say with a smile, as I slide the tag back into her purse. “My Grandma always used to joke about that. She said doctors have the worst handwriting she ever saw in her life. She worked as the receptionist at a doctor's surgery for a while, and she said she always struggled so much to read what they'd written, and sometimes she even -”

  Stopping suddenly, I realize that this might not be the best time for me to start telling dumb stories.

  “Sorry,” I mumble under my breath, before looking back down at the purse and opening the back section.

  My eyes widen with shock.

  Reaching inside with a gloved hand, I slowly pull out a wad of money. More than a wad, really. This is a real stash of cash, at least ten grand but probably even more.

  “Holy cow,” I whisper, trying to work out why anyone would be driving around with so much money on their person. I look at the dead woman again, and I'm not sure whether to be suspicious or impressed. “You really needed this much on you? Seriously? You weren't, like, into drugs or something like that, were you?”
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  I wait, before realizing that it's crazy to start talking to her like this.

  “I guess someone'll figure that all out,” I continue, putting the money away. “The police'll be smarter than me, that's for sure.”

  I flick through the rest of the purse for a few minutes, but there's nothing hugely exciting inside. Some credit cards, membership cards for a library and a bunch of clubs, insurance details... All things considered, excluding the cash, this seems like the very ordinary purse of a very ordinary woman.

  Suddenly something drips down onto my hand.

  Looking up, I'm surprised to see that some of the ice on the edge of the broken door has begun to melt. A moment later, I see that a few trickles of water are also starting to run down Charlotte's face. I stare in horror, wondering why everything suddenly seems to be melting, but then I feel a very faint touch of warmth on my cheek. Turning, I see the flashlight that I propped here earlier, and I realize with a rush of relief that the light has simply started to run a little hot, causing nearby ice and snow to start melting.

  “Sorry,” I mutter, grabbing the flashlight and setting it down on the ground. “I guess I didn't think about that.”

  I start getting to my feet, but I stop suddenly as I see that more water is running down Charlotte's frozen face and dripping to the ground. At first I tell myself that snow must be thawing above her, but after a moment I realize that it's the ice in her hair that seems to be turning to water.

  I swallow hard as I realize that, by placing the flashlight where I did, I accidentally started thawing the poor woman's corpse.

  “I am so sorry,” I stammer, getting to my feet. “I didn't mean to do that, I swear.”

  Taking a deep breath, I tell myself not to worry. After all, it's not like I can offend a corpse. Still, I was raised to respect the dead, so I take the flashlight and step away from the car.

  “Rest in peace,” I whisper, before making the sign of the cross against my chest.

  I stand completely still for a moment, watching as several distinct tracks of water dribble down the poor woman's face. Now that I've moved the flashlight, I'm certain she won't thaw out any further, and I guess there's really no need to go mentioning this to anyone, least of all to Pickles. I mean, he might count it as a screw-up, and I need him to rate me.