Vernon is dead – a stake through his heart!
But is Vernon dead? Or just playing a part?
Victor tried the door and it opened. He and Valeeta entered a small room that seemed to have been hewn out of rock. As they looked around the room they noticed another door in the opposite wall. Victor walked over and tried to open it. It was locked. He stepped back and looked around the door. A piece of parchment was sticking out, resting on the top hinge. Victor took it down and read it:
Will you please wait until the door opens automatically. It was signed by Inspector Speekup.
He showed the letter to Valeeta who nodded, saying, ‘Well, there’s very little we can do but wait, is there?’
‘True, mine little dandelion, very true.’
They both looked about for a place to sit down and wait. Sitting close together on a piece of jutting rock, Victor folded his hands over his stomach. He heard a few ‘tut tuts’ as she watched him.
‘Victor, aren’t you ashamed?’
‘Of vot, mine little elderberry?’
‘Of being so fat that you can’t fold your arms over your stomach. We’ve only been in here two minutes and I guarantee that you’ve put on three more pounds.’
Victor looked down to the much talked about offending part. ‘I tink dere is sometink wronk wit me, mine little mushroom.’
‘Yes there is. You’re too fat, that’s what’s wrong with you.’
He looked up at her and nodded and smiled the cheeky little smile that had first attracted her to him. She picked up Victor’s hands and held them in her own, warming and squeezing them.
‘Oh Victor,’ she sighed. ‘I hope it isn’t Vernon whom the Inspector has found. But, I think that it must be. I mean to say, who else but a Vampire would have a stake through his heart? Surely we would have heard something about another Vampire in our district. Who can it be if it isn’t Vernon?’
‘I’m not knowink, mine little sweetpea.’ Victor thought a little longer before saying, ‘I saw Vilf the Verewolf the other night ant he never said anytink, ant he would be the first to hear anytink of that kind. He may be the last to buy a round but he’s always the first vith the news.’ Here he sighed heavily. ‘Try not to vorry, mine little locust blossom.’
‘Lotus,’ the ex-Queen corrected.
‘Ya, as I’m sayink, Lotust.’
They fell silent.
The door Victor and Valeeta had used to get into the small room opened and in came Valentine. The three of them looked at each other as if to say, ‘What are you doing here?’ After the surprise of seeing each other, Victor took charge.
‘Vot are you doink here?’ he asked.
‘Yes, what are you doing here? I thought this was to be a private affair?’ The Queen seemed a little annoyed.
‘So did I,’ Valentine said. ‘I received a letter from Chief Inspector Speekup asking me to come here and …’
Before he could finish the sentence, the outer door opened again and Igon came in. They all looked at each other. Victor was the first to speak.
‘Vot are you doink here?’
‘I was telling you …’ Valentine answered.
‘No, not you, him,’ Victor said, pointing to Igon.
‘Yes,’ said Valentine. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I was told by a letter to come here and …’
Once more the door opened. This time, Wilf the Werewolf put his head around the door. Once more, everyone looked at each other as Victor took charge again.
‘Vot are you doink here?’
Igon answered, ‘I was just telling you …’
‘Not you, him,’ Victor snapped back.
‘I told you, I had a letter …’
‘No, not you, Igon,’ Victor said sharply. ‘Him.’ He pointed to Wilf.
‘Whom did you have a letter from?’ asked the ex-Queen in her best royal calming-the-situation voice.
‘Speekup,’ said Wilf.
‘All right, if it will help.’ The old Queen shouted, ‘Whom did you have a letter from?’
‘Wait a minute,’ Igon said. ‘Don’t you see, we all had a letter from Inspector Speekup. I don’t want to broach a delicate subject, but I think we are all here for the same reason, to identify the, er …’ He looked at Victor and Valeeta.
‘That’s right,’ interrupted Valentine, also not wanting to hurt his mother’s and father’s feelings any more than necessary.
Everyone nodded.
Wilf said, half aloud to himself, ‘I hope it is him.’
The nodding continued – with the exception of Victor and Valeeta.
The room was so small that they all had to stand very close to one another. Eyes avoided eyes and conversations were kept at a trivial level. ‘Haven’t we had a wonderful summer?’ was heard and ‘Three krooms twenty? I said, no way, that’s too expensive’ followed by ‘When we lived here the place was spotless.’
This kind of nervous conversation was kept going, partly out of respect for the mother and father of the body they were supposedly going to identify, and partly out of fear, the fear that none of them knew what was going to happen there, or when. They were all in one small room, trapped, each wondering why they had all had the same letter.
A new voice joined the conversation, a voice known to no-one in the room, except maybe Wilf. It said, ‘Are those pearls you’re wearing real, Mrs Vampire?’
Everyone’s conversation stopped as each person looked at someone else, thinking that the other person had asked the rather impertinent question.
‘Real? Real?’ a rather astonished ex-Queen said. ‘Of course they’re real.’ She looked in the direction where she thought the voice had come from.
‘They must be worth a lot of krooms,’ the voice said, this time from behind her, seemingly from where her husband was standing.
‘Is that you talking, Victor?’ the perplexed ex-Queen asked.
‘No,’ replied an equally perplexed ex-King.
Everyone, with the exception of Wilf, looked around the room at each other. Wilf thought he understood but, if he was right, he couldn’t ask Mr C Menott if he was there – he would look and sound silly.
Victor thought it was time he took over again, so he said to no-one in particular, ‘Yes, whoever you are, they are real. I bought them for the Queen to celebrate our 75th anniversary, wedding, that is.’ He looked at everyone in the room – well, everyone he could see. ‘Isn’t that true, mine little box of snuff?’
‘Yes, my dearest,’ the ex-Queen said with pride. ‘I remember it as if it were only ten years ago. It was like this year, a leap year.’ She nodded to the polite murmurings of congratulations.
Wilf stepped forward and, in a slightly agitated voice, asked if this year was a leap year.
‘Ya,’ said Victor as Valentine and Igon and Mr C Menott nodded. Victor continued like a school teacher, ‘Thirty days hast September, April, June ant November. All the rest haff thirty-one, except for May alone …’
The old Queen thumped him hard on his back.
He continued, ‘Except for July …’
Another thump landed on his back.
‘Except for December alone, maybe?’
Another thump.
‘February,’ whispered his wife.
‘Ya, February alone, vitch has dirthy-six …’
The thump on his back landed.
‘Er, tventy days, er, tventy days … clear …’
Valeeta took over from the completely confused Victor. She spoke loudly and with precision, ‘Which has twenty-eight days clear and twenty-nine in each leap year.’
She beamed, Victor nodded, Valentine seemed to have lost all interest and Igon applauded. Wilf was thinking, trying to work out when he would turn into a Werewolf or a turkey or anything and, according to his fingers, he was very close. A lot closer than he had thought, because he had forgotten that this was a leap year, which had put his calculations well and truly out of alignment.
He was holding his fingers up to count, when he noticed that the back of his hand was starting to swell and change colour. The main thought in Wilf’s mind now was to get out of the room as quickly as possible before he changed into whatever it was he was going to change into. There was no guarantee that he would change into the old familiar Werewolf any more. The last time he had been a rabbit and he hadn’t forgotten that he had been a turkey once.
He thought, ‘If I do change into something other than a Werewolf, I hope it’s something pretty. I’ve never been anything pretty.’
He made for the door to let himself out but it seemed to be locked. He put his almost-changed hand on the doorknob and pulled. The door stayed closed, very closed. Wilf felt at a loss. He didn’t want to remain here while he changed. He liked to change in private. Even his own mother hadn’t seen him change.
Once more he tried the door but it was still locked. He felt along the door hoping to find a secret lock, more in hope than anything else.
A quiet voice whispered in his left ear, ‘It’s no use, Wilf. The door is locked and your ear is now very furry.’
Wilf put his hand to the left ear and felt the fur.
‘Is that you, Mr C?’ an agitated Wilf asked.
‘Of course it is.’
‘Tell me what I’m turning into,’ Wilf whispered once more.
‘Something I’ve never seen before. I think they call them Kangaroos but, never having seen one, I’m not too sure.’
‘Am I pretty?’ Wilf asked out of the corner of his now pointed mouth.
‘I wouldn’t say that.’
‘Oh. Well, will you stand in front of me, so the others can’t see me changing?’
‘Certainly, but it won’t be of any help. I’m invisible.’
The others looked at Wilf and watched him change into something that none of them had ever seen before. To his credit, Wilf tried hard to be casual about the whole thing. But it’s very difficult to be casual as your arms shrink, your ears grow and your legs become a completely different shape, not to mention the pouch that you are developing.
Wilf smiled a sad smile to his small audience as he sat on his huge tail. Valeeta was the first to come to her senses and she was also the first to speak.
‘I think I’m going to be sick,’ she said, as the little colour Vampires have drained completely away.
‘Please, my little lettuce leaf, try ant get a hold of yourself,’ Victor said as calmly as he could. ‘Surely,’ he continued, ‘you have seen a giant gerbil before?’
‘That thing is not a gerbil,’ the ex-Queen said, pointing to a rather embarrassed kangaroo sitting on its tail in the corner of the small room. ‘What is it?’ the ex-Queen almost screamed.
Igon said, ‘I read a book once and I think they call them kangaroos. If I’m not mistaken, they’re Australian,’ he told the company brightly.
‘Well,’ the Queen said. ‘If all Australians look like that, we should break off all diplomatic relations with them, as of now.’ She looked straight at Valentine. Valentine kept his thoughts to himself.
Wilf said in a rather sad voice, ‘I was hoping I would turn into something pretty.’
‘You have,’ the ex-Queen snapped. ‘Something pretty awful.’
‘Mrs Vampire, that wasn’t nice, not nice at all,’ a voice said from Victor’s direction.
The ex-Queen, in fear and fury, wheeled round and hit Victor hard across the cheek.
A startled Victor said, ‘Vot are you doink, mine little puff of pastry?’
Before anyone could answer, a large rock creaked open like a door. Everyone looked towards it. It opened on to blackness. No-one could see inside. Out of the blackness came a voice. A voice very similar to that of Chief Inspector Speekup.
‘Ladies and gentlemen, and whatever Wilf is, will you please come into the laboratory. First ex-King Victor and ex-Queen Valeeta, then ten minutes later, please, Igon, then Valentine and last, but by no means least, whatever Wilf is. Thank you.’
‘I’m a kangaroo,’ Wilf said with a certain amount of pride.
‘Are you?’ said the voice. ‘Well, whatever you are, Wilf, you will enter last. Is that understood?’
Victor and the ex-Queen composed themselves and majestically walked into the blackness. The door closed.
Once inside Vernon’s old lab, the light began to get a little brighter and vision became reasonable. They walked forward to what looked like a coffin. It was on a table, ten yards away from them, with a candle at the head. Victor held on to his wife’s shaking hand.
The ex-Queen, very proud and erect, suddenly took control of herself and slowly took her hand away from Victor. They looked at each other and gently held each other’s throats with tender affection, smiled, then turned and made their way to the coffin while the one candle flickered. The lid was off as they both looked inside. Lying there, with a stake through his heart, was Vernon. He looked at peace.
The ex-Queen swayed a little as Victor held on to her. ‘Oh my poor little boy, oh my dear, dear little boy. Why did this happen? Where did we go wrong?’
Victor blew his nose into his handkerchief, almost blowing the candle out.
‘Who did this to you, my sweet little child? Tell your mummy who did this to you and I promise you, my boy, that I will avenge you.’
Victor put his arms around his wife’s shoulders to try and gently take her away from the coffin. But she was strong and wasn’t to be dragged away that easily.
She went into an old Vampirian death chant:
Dracular, Dracular, Dracular Great,
Look after my son who is now in this state.
Keep him in peace in your arms, oh so good,
And once every year touch his lips with your blood.
After one last look they turned away. As they turned, Vernon pressed down hard with his left foot at the bottom of the coffin. A net floated down, landing on top of a distraught Victor and Valeeta. As they tried to get out of the net, Vernon leaped out of the coffin, taking the false stake off by undoing the string holding it in place. His mother and father were now on the floor; a pathetic sight, as the two old people struggled to free themselves.
‘Hello Mother, hello Father.’
Valeeta and Victor stopped struggling and looked at Vernon. Both of them were confused.
Vernon laughed at them saying, ‘Oh, this is good, this is. Oh yes, this is really good. Three years I’ve waited for this.’
‘But I thought you were dead. We both did,’ said Victor.
‘You mean, you both hoped I was dead.’ Vernon laughed a laugh that would have sent a chill down the back of the Great Drac himself.
‘Why should we want you dead?’ Victor asked from a sitting position. ‘Your mother has been beside herself with worry about you.’
‘That’s true,’ said the ex-Queen as she stirred to rise. ‘You are still my little boy and we both love you so very much.’
‘In a pig’s eye you do,’ Vernon’s voice whipped out.
‘Vere do you learn such language? Vere do you learn such bad talkink? How dare you talk like that to your mother.’
‘Oh, shut up, you,’ Vernon snarled. ‘I’m the boss now. You’re too weak to do any more magic and your flying is a joke. I’m going to kill you,’ he hissed, ‘I’m going to kill you both. Then I’m going to kill Igon. But I’m going to kill him very slowly.’ Vernon’s dark eyes lit up with pleasure. ‘Then I’m going to kill Valentine, either quickly or slowly, I haven’t made up my mind yet. Then it’s that stupid Wilf’s turn. The next thing he’s going to turn into is a corpse. Then I’ll rule the Land of Gotcha and I’ll rule with a rod of iron as in the old days before you were king and everything became soft.’
Vernon’s mother and father were now both standing up in the net, dignity being out of the question. Gradually the net was hoisted up to the roof, a matter of fifty feet, give or take an inch.
Vernon tied it up and shouted to them, ‘If you as much as whisper when Igon comes in, I’ll loosen the cord and you will drop fifty feet to the ground, give or take an inch. That, my lovely, sweet, caring parents will, I assure you, be very painful!’
He laughed as he watched them hanging in the net fifty feet above him, give or take an inch. He put the wooden stake back in place, as if it was stuck into his heart, and carefully climbed back into his coffin. He settled himself down to the one-breath-every-thirty-minutes routine. With his right foot, he opened the waiting-room door.