Panic! It was a feeling hitherto unknown to Jack, and it hit him, like a fastball, right between the eyes. Not only had he dozed off but he’d slept through almost the entire following day. Dwelling on this impossibility, however, would have to wait. He checked Clara; sleeping peacefully; he’d wake her in a minute. But first things first, he opened the door. And venturing out onto the upstairs balcony (giving him an unobstructed view of a goodly portion of the house), Jack stretched his perceptions to their limits. Other than his heartbeat, which pounded like a kettledrum upon his ears, not a sign of life could he perceive.
Clara, looking none too happy, had awakened. With arms folded, she was on her feet, one shoulder up against the wall. She’d almost been tapping her foot.
“So let me ask you something,” she said, as Jack walked back into the room. “Isn’t it a court martial offense to fall asleep on guard duty?”
“Look, I don’t blame you for wanting to rake me over the coals—but can it wait until we get home?”
“You still don’t get it, do you? I know perfectly well there’s no way you’d have fallen asleep; not without some outside force at work. Face it Jack. We’re doomed.”
“Dammit Clara, we’re not doomed. Now I’d appreciate it if we could just stay focused on getting out of here.”
“Any word from the old lady?” Clara said, as they made their way downstairs.
“Not so much as a peep. Take a look around. The place is a goddamned tomb.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t noticed.”
“I guess we should have brought the battering ram, huh?” Clara said, shaking her head at the sight of the front door.
Jack, however, reserved any comments until after he’d given the object in question a thorough inspection.
“Right again,” he said when done. “I’d say this door was set in place by whoever designed the entrance to Fort Knox.”
“You’ll be sure to let me know when it’s time to panic, won’t you?” Clara said, congratulating herself on the steadiness of her voice.
“Let’s not despair yet, okay? There’s gotta be any number of ways out of this place. What do you say we just go find one of them?”
Getting no argument from his wife, off they went.
“She wasn’t kidding when she said she had no need for modern conveniences.” Clara was marveling at the kitchen’s turn-of-the-century furnishings: an ice box; a wood-burning stove; an antique kitchen table that would have done the Metropolitan Museum of Art proud.
“What’s this?” Jack picked up a folded sheet of paper leant against the kitchen table’s candelabrum centerpiece.
“How thoughtful,” Clara said, “to have left us a note. Do shower us with her prose.”
“Dear Children of the Night,” he read aloud.
“I find myself called from home on a matter of some urgency; fret not, for upon the golden wings of sunset I’ll return. Is it too much to ask, I wonder, that you consider spending one more night? My life is such a lonely one and merely the thought of an evening spent in warm company and pleasant conversation has renewed my spirits quite beyond what I deserve.
“I’ll be damned,” Clara said. “That’s actually a nice note.”
“Yeah—warms the cockles of my heart. But just the same I think I’ll take a rain check.”
Jack extended his hand; Clara took it; and lacking only a yellow brick road to make the scene complete, off they went again.
The sun, having already set, dragged behind its usual blanket of darkness. And electricity being another of those newfangled technologies which the owner of the house found of little use, the dim light filtering its way through the filth-encrusted windows quickly dwindled turning dim to scarce; and scarce to nothing left at all. So with only time enough to have determined there was no obvious exit other than the front door, and that all the downstairs windows were adorned with metal bars, Jack and Clara felt their way back to the living room sofa.
“Come on babe, take heart,” Jack said, his arm around his wife’s trembling shoulders. “This game she’s playing?—I guarantee I can play it at least as well as she can.”
“I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I don’t think handling her is going to be quite the walk-in-the-park you envision.”
“Why? We’re talking about a little old lady here. Just because she’s completely off the deep end doesn’t make her a serious threat. And whether I wind up using reason or force, our stay in this place is quickly drawing to a close.”
“Yeah, right. Have you forgotten this little old lady of yours controls the comings and goings of wolves? Care to explain that one?”
“I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I have to attribute it to anything supernatural.”
“And another thing—have you noticed there’s something missing from this house? Something every other house in the world has in abundance?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Mirrors. There isn’t a single mirror in the place.”
“Which leaves no explanation other than she’s a vampire. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Oh God, I don’t know. I guess I’m not so far gone as to think that yet. But whatever she is, she scares the living daylights out of me. Feel my heart—it’s like it’s going to explode right out of my chest.”
Clara went silent; her eyes filled. And the sight of her despair tore at Jack’s insides as if to make them bleed.
“Don’t you know,” he said, trying to wring the trembling from out her shoulders, “that as long as I’m alive no harm will come to you?”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, barely above a whisper. And she covered his hand with hers to let him know she hadn’t lost all faith.
Then, as if to test that faith, the evening took a decided turn for the worse. Suddenly and one by one, and just as if an invisible hand had stricken a match to each in turn, the wall mounted candles came to life. And with her entrance thus illuminated, she appeared. Splendidly bedecked in her best and blackest silk gown, complete with veil and petticoats—and not unlike the heroine in an old Bette Davis movie—she descended the stairs. Had, at that moment, a chaise and four* come clip clopping across the courtyard to gather her up for the palace ball, it would have been of no surprise to anyone.
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am to find you’ve decided to stay another night.” Spoken with one hand on the bannister and the other daintily holding the hem of her gown. “Indeed I dressed for dinner—optimist that I am—in the hopes that my note would touch your hearts; and so, I see, it has.”
Jack cradled Clara’s terror-stricken face between his warm, steady hands. “Have a little faith, okay?” And stood up to greet their hostess. Clara, not feeling much like being left by herself, stood up along with him. And using his body as a shield peered at the witch from over his shoulder.
“It’s strange,” Jack said, but in a most pleasant tone of voice, “that you were able to get back into the house without our knowledge. May I ask how?”
“Is that important, child? Here we are—you, I, your lovely companion; and an evening of good food, good cheer, and merriment awaits. Why concern ourselves—under such delightful arrangements—with the comings and goings of an eccentric old woman?”
“You’re right, and I beg your pardon; it was rude of me to ask. But as far as this pleasant-sounding evening is concerned, I’m afraid we have to pass. We’re already a day late getting home, and my wife's family has got to be worried to distraction over what’s keeping us. I’m sure you understand, with children of your own, no doubt, tucked away somewhere. Truthfully we’d have left earlier, but your front door had other ideas.”
“Oh! Dear me.” Again those heartfelt lamentations issued forth. “To think I could have, and so unthinkingly, held you children captive; it’s simply too much to endure. On bended knee I ask for your forgiveness. But you needn’t reply; your eyes tell me it’s already been forgotten. I hope you’ll pardon my taking liberties so early in our acquaintance, but I must be permitted to express how struck I am by a charm and graciousness quite unique in recent memory. Matched, I have no doubt—though I’ve yet to hear her speak a word—by your lovely, albeit shy companion. More’s the pity that my table, once again, is destined for a setting of but one.”
Jack remained unswayed; and so, with a resigned sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, the old woman went to the door.
“Good-bye, children. May your journey home be a safe one.”
Whereupon a key appeared in her hand—how, even Houdini couldn’t have told. Then, having given Jack a long and lingering look (hungrily, Clara could have sworn), she unlocked and opened the door.
The sight of the courtyard reminded Jack of a pertinent concern; and so he asked, with all his usual graciousness, where she thought her pets might be.
“Good heavens, how should I know? Off sticking their mischievous little noses into places they don’t belong, I imagine.”
With Clara as if glued to his side, Jack ventured a step or two out of the house. All that stirred the cool night air were some bats—two, and sometimes three—playing tag among the moonbeams. As for wolves? Nary was there one in sight.
“If it were just me,” Jack said, as they walked back into the house, “I’d take the chance.”
Determined to reason their way to safety, Jack tried a different tack. “I realize it’s a lot to ask, but—can I prevail on you to drive us to wherever the nearest phone might be? We’ll be happy to fend for ourselves from there.”
“It’s not a lot to ask. And, alas, if I but could. However, I don’t own an automobile. Another modern luxury I do without quite nicely, thank you.”
“You did write in your note that you were out tending to an urgent matter. I can’t help wondering how you managed to arrive at your appointment.”
“You think then that automobiles are the only mode of transportation?”
“Well, since there’s no public transportation within fifty miles of here, and you’ve no way of phoning for a cab—yes.”
“Did you ever hear the one,” she said, her evil smile never more evident, “about the cat and its fatal case of curiosity?”
At a question so obviously rhetorical, Jack made no reply.
“Now children, I must insist you either stay or take your leave; this indecisiveness is wreaking havoc on a lonely heart which knows not whether to break or rejoice.”
At this, Clara couldn’t help but roll her eyes. A subtle act which the old woman caught from a very perceptive corner of her eye; it was followed closely by a trace of drool running down her chin.
Jack gave it another try. “What about just accompanying us through the brush?—only until we reach the main road. I wouldn’t be so concerned about the wolves if you were with us.”
“My being at your side would give you no less to worry about. They’re quite the protective little devils, and the sight of their mistress in the company of strangers—one with which they’re wholly unfamiliar—would not be treated lightly. And since they’re not given to listening patiently as reasoned explanations are handed out—well, perhaps it would be best to leave the remainder of this scenario to your fertile imaginations.”
Jack glanced at Clara and shrugged his shoulders; the old woman actually made sense.
“Splendid.” Their hostess closed and locked the door. “Now as I’m sure you must be ravenous, I’ll see to dinner.” And with the performance of quite a graceful curtsey, the old woman exited the room.
Jack steered Clara to the sofa—her limbs having been stricken useless by equal parts terror and despair—and sat her down. He put his arm around her shoulders as they heaved in unison with her sobs.
“Why can’t we go now?”—words and weeps intertwined, like a counterpointed Bach fugue—“You can handle the wolves. I know you can.”
“Out in the open, yes; but the path back to the main road is completely hemmed in by trees; it would put me at a disadvantage. I can’t take the chance; not with you there.
“Look at me.” His eyes drilled through and past her hopelessness. “My word of honor—we’re going to survive the night, and tomorrow morning we’re out of here.”
“Word of honor, Jack? No lie?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die. Now what do you say we go put on an award-winning performance for the wicked old witch?”
Sniffling, Clara nodded okay while wiping her nose on her husband’s shirt sleeve. Because Jack’s word was set in stone, steadiness had returned; confidence had been restored.
“All right,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “If she wants a show, I’ll give her one she can write home about.”
And hand in hand they set out for the kitchen where the stage was just then being set for a performance that, had it been shown upon the silver screen, would have been a shoo-in for at least one, and maybe even three, Academy Awards.
Clara, looking none too happy, had awakened. With arms folded, she was on her feet, one shoulder up against the wall. She’d almost been tapping her foot.
“So let me ask you something,” she said, as Jack walked back into the room. “Isn’t it a court martial offense to fall asleep on guard duty?”
“Look, I don’t blame you for wanting to rake me over the coals—but can it wait until we get home?”
“You still don’t get it, do you? I know perfectly well there’s no way you’d have fallen asleep; not without some outside force at work. Face it Jack. We’re doomed.”
“Dammit Clara, we’re not doomed. Now I’d appreciate it if we could just stay focused on getting out of here.”
“Any word from the old lady?” Clara said, as they made their way downstairs.
“Not so much as a peep. Take a look around. The place is a goddamned tomb.”
“Thanks. I hadn’t noticed.”
“I guess we should have brought the battering ram, huh?” Clara said, shaking her head at the sight of the front door.
Jack, however, reserved any comments until after he’d given the object in question a thorough inspection.
“Right again,” he said when done. “I’d say this door was set in place by whoever designed the entrance to Fort Knox.”
“You’ll be sure to let me know when it’s time to panic, won’t you?” Clara said, congratulating herself on the steadiness of her voice.
“Let’s not despair yet, okay? There’s gotta be any number of ways out of this place. What do you say we just go find one of them?”
Getting no argument from his wife, off they went.
“She wasn’t kidding when she said she had no need for modern conveniences.” Clara was marveling at the kitchen’s turn-of-the-century furnishings: an ice box; a wood-burning stove; an antique kitchen table that would have done the Metropolitan Museum of Art proud.
“What’s this?” Jack picked up a folded sheet of paper leant against the kitchen table’s candelabrum centerpiece.
“How thoughtful,” Clara said, “to have left us a note. Do shower us with her prose.”
“Dear Children of the Night,” he read aloud.
“I find myself called from home on a matter of some urgency; fret not, for upon the golden wings of sunset I’ll return. Is it too much to ask, I wonder, that you consider spending one more night? My life is such a lonely one and merely the thought of an evening spent in warm company and pleasant conversation has renewed my spirits quite beyond what I deserve.
“Hopefully,
“Mrs. Trollope”“I’ll be damned,” Clara said. “That’s actually a nice note.”
“Yeah—warms the cockles of my heart. But just the same I think I’ll take a rain check.”
Jack extended his hand; Clara took it; and lacking only a yellow brick road to make the scene complete, off they went again.
The sun, having already set, dragged behind its usual blanket of darkness. And electricity being another of those newfangled technologies which the owner of the house found of little use, the dim light filtering its way through the filth-encrusted windows quickly dwindled turning dim to scarce; and scarce to nothing left at all. So with only time enough to have determined there was no obvious exit other than the front door, and that all the downstairs windows were adorned with metal bars, Jack and Clara felt their way back to the living room sofa.
“Come on babe, take heart,” Jack said, his arm around his wife’s trembling shoulders. “This game she’s playing?—I guarantee I can play it at least as well as she can.”
“I don’t want to rain on your parade, but I don’t think handling her is going to be quite the walk-in-the-park you envision.”
“Why? We’re talking about a little old lady here. Just because she’s completely off the deep end doesn’t make her a serious threat. And whether I wind up using reason or force, our stay in this place is quickly drawing to a close.”
“Yeah, right. Have you forgotten this little old lady of yours controls the comings and goings of wolves? Care to explain that one?”
“I can’t. But that doesn’t mean I have to attribute it to anything supernatural.”
“And another thing—have you noticed there’s something missing from this house? Something every other house in the world has in abundance?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Mirrors. There isn’t a single mirror in the place.”
“Which leaves no explanation other than she’s a vampire. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Oh God, I don’t know. I guess I’m not so far gone as to think that yet. But whatever she is, she scares the living daylights out of me. Feel my heart—it’s like it’s going to explode right out of my chest.”
Clara went silent; her eyes filled. And the sight of her despair tore at Jack’s insides as if to make them bleed.
“Don’t you know,” he said, trying to wring the trembling from out her shoulders, “that as long as I’m alive no harm will come to you?”
“Yeah, I know,” she said, barely above a whisper. And she covered his hand with hers to let him know she hadn’t lost all faith.
Then, as if to test that faith, the evening took a decided turn for the worse. Suddenly and one by one, and just as if an invisible hand had stricken a match to each in turn, the wall mounted candles came to life. And with her entrance thus illuminated, she appeared. Splendidly bedecked in her best and blackest silk gown, complete with veil and petticoats—and not unlike the heroine in an old Bette Davis movie—she descended the stairs. Had, at that moment, a chaise and four* come clip clopping across the courtyard to gather her up for the palace ball, it would have been of no surprise to anyone.
“I can’t tell you how pleased I am to find you’ve decided to stay another night.” Spoken with one hand on the bannister and the other daintily holding the hem of her gown. “Indeed I dressed for dinner—optimist that I am—in the hopes that my note would touch your hearts; and so, I see, it has.”
Jack cradled Clara’s terror-stricken face between his warm, steady hands. “Have a little faith, okay?” And stood up to greet their hostess. Clara, not feeling much like being left by herself, stood up along with him. And using his body as a shield peered at the witch from over his shoulder.
“It’s strange,” Jack said, but in a most pleasant tone of voice, “that you were able to get back into the house without our knowledge. May I ask how?”
“Is that important, child? Here we are—you, I, your lovely companion; and an evening of good food, good cheer, and merriment awaits. Why concern ourselves—under such delightful arrangements—with the comings and goings of an eccentric old woman?”
“You’re right, and I beg your pardon; it was rude of me to ask. But as far as this pleasant-sounding evening is concerned, I’m afraid we have to pass. We’re already a day late getting home, and my wife's family has got to be worried to distraction over what’s keeping us. I’m sure you understand, with children of your own, no doubt, tucked away somewhere. Truthfully we’d have left earlier, but your front door had other ideas.”
“Oh! Dear me.” Again those heartfelt lamentations issued forth. “To think I could have, and so unthinkingly, held you children captive; it’s simply too much to endure. On bended knee I ask for your forgiveness. But you needn’t reply; your eyes tell me it’s already been forgotten. I hope you’ll pardon my taking liberties so early in our acquaintance, but I must be permitted to express how struck I am by a charm and graciousness quite unique in recent memory. Matched, I have no doubt—though I’ve yet to hear her speak a word—by your lovely, albeit shy companion. More’s the pity that my table, once again, is destined for a setting of but one.”
Jack remained unswayed; and so, with a resigned sigh and a shrug of her shoulders, the old woman went to the door.
“Good-bye, children. May your journey home be a safe one.”
Whereupon a key appeared in her hand—how, even Houdini couldn’t have told. Then, having given Jack a long and lingering look (hungrily, Clara could have sworn), she unlocked and opened the door.
The sight of the courtyard reminded Jack of a pertinent concern; and so he asked, with all his usual graciousness, where she thought her pets might be.
“Good heavens, how should I know? Off sticking their mischievous little noses into places they don’t belong, I imagine.”
With Clara as if glued to his side, Jack ventured a step or two out of the house. All that stirred the cool night air were some bats—two, and sometimes three—playing tag among the moonbeams. As for wolves? Nary was there one in sight.
“If it were just me,” Jack said, as they walked back into the house, “I’d take the chance.”
Determined to reason their way to safety, Jack tried a different tack. “I realize it’s a lot to ask, but—can I prevail on you to drive us to wherever the nearest phone might be? We’ll be happy to fend for ourselves from there.”
“It’s not a lot to ask. And, alas, if I but could. However, I don’t own an automobile. Another modern luxury I do without quite nicely, thank you.”
“You did write in your note that you were out tending to an urgent matter. I can’t help wondering how you managed to arrive at your appointment.”
“You think then that automobiles are the only mode of transportation?”
“Well, since there’s no public transportation within fifty miles of here, and you’ve no way of phoning for a cab—yes.”
“Did you ever hear the one,” she said, her evil smile never more evident, “about the cat and its fatal case of curiosity?”
At a question so obviously rhetorical, Jack made no reply.
“Now children, I must insist you either stay or take your leave; this indecisiveness is wreaking havoc on a lonely heart which knows not whether to break or rejoice.”
At this, Clara couldn’t help but roll her eyes. A subtle act which the old woman caught from a very perceptive corner of her eye; it was followed closely by a trace of drool running down her chin.
Jack gave it another try. “What about just accompanying us through the brush?—only until we reach the main road. I wouldn’t be so concerned about the wolves if you were with us.”
“My being at your side would give you no less to worry about. They’re quite the protective little devils, and the sight of their mistress in the company of strangers—one with which they’re wholly unfamiliar—would not be treated lightly. And since they’re not given to listening patiently as reasoned explanations are handed out—well, perhaps it would be best to leave the remainder of this scenario to your fertile imaginations.”
Jack glanced at Clara and shrugged his shoulders; the old woman actually made sense.
“Splendid.” Their hostess closed and locked the door. “Now as I’m sure you must be ravenous, I’ll see to dinner.” And with the performance of quite a graceful curtsey, the old woman exited the room.
Jack steered Clara to the sofa—her limbs having been stricken useless by equal parts terror and despair—and sat her down. He put his arm around her shoulders as they heaved in unison with her sobs.
“Why can’t we go now?”—words and weeps intertwined, like a counterpointed Bach fugue—“You can handle the wolves. I know you can.”
“Out in the open, yes; but the path back to the main road is completely hemmed in by trees; it would put me at a disadvantage. I can’t take the chance; not with you there.
“Look at me.” His eyes drilled through and past her hopelessness. “My word of honor—we’re going to survive the night, and tomorrow morning we’re out of here.”
“Word of honor, Jack? No lie?”
“Cross my heart and hope to die. Now what do you say we go put on an award-winning performance for the wicked old witch?”
Sniffling, Clara nodded okay while wiping her nose on her husband’s shirt sleeve. Because Jack’s word was set in stone, steadiness had returned; confidence had been restored.
“All right,” she said, squaring her shoulders. “If she wants a show, I’ll give her one she can write home about.”
And hand in hand they set out for the kitchen where the stage was just then being set for a performance that, had it been shown upon the silver screen, would have been a shoo-in for at least one, and maybe even three, Academy Awards.
*Chaise and four: A light four-wheeled carriage drawn by four horses. Most notably, the vehicle in which Mr. Bingley, in Pride and Prejudice, arrives at Netherfield Park.
just finished chaptaer 2 i be back for more Again ibe back:),em
Posted by: emma doran | September 30, 2009 at 05:47 AM
I could also see the whole scene play out in my mind. I think I even felt the evening breeze when Jack stepped outside. Thanks for sharing!
Posted by: Amber | May 10, 2009 at 10:04 PM
I've made my way through to this chapter and I like what I've read so far......
Posted by: Strogan(twitter) | April 26, 2009 at 05:41 PM
Excellent story! Please do keep me posted on publication info. I would like to review it for Patricia's Vampire Notes. Will an ARC copy be available?
Posted by: Patricia Altner | March 01, 2009 at 01:53 PM
Very well done, Martin. I am intrigued enough to read more if you're so inclined to post the next chapter. I enjoy your style--very classic.
Jinxie_G
Posted by: NL Gervasio | February 15, 2009 at 09:09 PM
Wow Martin,
This is awesome. I love the way you set the scene. I'm hooked and waiting for more. Great use of...well...English! Can't wait for this book to come out. I don't usually read horror, but I would devour this book in no time. Keep up the great work!
Posted by: Courtney Odell | January 27, 2009 at 08:30 PM
aaagghh...I need to know what happens next!
Posted by: avocado | January 27, 2009 at 08:30 PM
This is deliciously creepy, and completely compelling, and I've just read all of it (Thank you for following me on Twitter so I would get to find out about your wonderful writings.), not just this chapter, since I hadn't read the beginning yet.
More, please?
Posted by: MissMeliss | January 27, 2009 at 08:10 PM
Eerie, scary and enticing. Succulently goth.
Posted by: twilightprincess28 | January 27, 2009 at 04:12 PM
Astounding. This is unbearably good.
Posted by: Elizabeth | January 27, 2009 at 04:05 PM
This is getting really creepy now - love the way you referenced the Oscars - there was an article yesterday in the Globe about movies which incorporated Oscar scenes. You create such vivid images that I could see the entire scene in my mind's eye!
Posted by: Mary McManus | January 26, 2009 at 03:28 PM