65 Proof (39 page)

It didn’t help. When the water came back up, it was tinged pink.

“Hang in there, Colin. It isn’t far.”

Bollocks it wasn’t far. They walked for over three hours. The night air was a meat locker, and the ground was all slope and hill. Wooded country, overgrown with trees and high grass, dotted with freezing bogs. Colin noticed the full moon, through a sliver in the canopy, then the forest swallowed it up.

They walked by torchlight; Butts had swaddled an old undershirt around a stick. Colin stopped vomiting, but the shivering got so bad he fell several times. It didn’t help that Butts kept getting his reference points mixed up and changed directions constantly.

“Don’t got much left, Butts.”

“Stay strong, mate. Almost there. See? We’re on the road.”

Colin looked down, saw only weeds and rocks.

“Road?”

“Cobblestone. You can still see bits of curbing.”

Colin’s hopes fell. If the road was in such disrepair, the house was probably worse off.

Stinking Heysham. Stinking Butts.

“There it is, mate! What did I tell you?”

Colin stared ahead and viewed nothing but trees. Slowly, gradually, he saw the house shape. The place was entirely obscured, the land so overgrown it appeared to be swallowing the frame.

“Seems like the house is part of the trees,” Colin said.

“Was like that years ago, too. Worse now, of course. And lookit that. Windows still intact. No one’s been inside here in fifty years, I bet.”

Colin straightened up. Butts was right. As rundown as it was, the house looked untouched by humans since the turn of the century.

“We don’t have to take everything at once. Just find something small and pricey to nick now, and then we can come back and —”

The scream paralyzed Colin. It was a force, high pitched thunder, ripping through him like needles. Unmistakably human, yet unlike any human voice Colin had ever heard.

And it was coming from the house.

Butts gripped him with both hands, the color fleeing his ruddy face.

“Jesus Christ! Did you hear that? Just like when I was a kid! What do we do, Colin?”

A spasm shook Colin’s guts, and he dry-heaved onto some scrub brush. He wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve.

“We go in.”

“Go in? I just pissed myself.”

“What are you afraid of, Butts? Dying? Look at yourself. Death would be a blessing.”

“My life isn’t a good one, Colin, but it’s the only one I’ve got.”

Colin pushed past. The scream was chilling, yes. But there was nothing in that house worse than what Colin had seen on the street. Plus, he needed to get fixed up, bad. He’d crawl inside the devil’s arse to get some cash.

“Hold up for me!”

Butts attached himself to Colin’s arm. They crept towards the front door.

Another scream rattled the night, even louder than the first. It vibrated through Colin’s body, making every nerve jangle.

“I just pissed myself again!”

“Quiet, Butts! Did you catch that?”

“Catch what?”

“It wasn’t just a scream. I think it was a word.”

Colin held his breath, waiting for the horrible sound to come again. The woods stayed silent around them, the wind and animals still.

The scream cut him to the marrow.

“There! Sounded like hell.”

Butts’s eyes widened, the yellows showing.

“Let’s leave, Colin. My trousers can’t hold anymore.”

Colin shook off Butts and continued creeping towards the house.

Though naive about architecture, Colin had grown up viewing enough castles and manors to recognize this building was very old. The masonry was concealed by climbing vines, but the wrought iron adorning the windows was magnificent. Even decades of rust couldn’t obscure the intricate, flowing curves and swirls.

As they neared, the house seemed to become larger, jutting dormers threatening to drop down on their heads, heavy walls stretching off and blending into the trees. Colin stopped at the door, nearly nine feet high, hinges big as a man’s arm.

“Butts! The torch!”

Butts slunk over, waving the flame at the door.

The knob was antique, solid brass, and glinted in the torchlight. At chest level hung a grimy knocker. Colin licked his thumb and rubbed away the patina.

“Silver.”

“Silver? That’s great, Colin! Let’s yank it and get out of here.”

But Colin wouldn’t budge. If just the door knocker was worth this much, what treasures lay inside?

He put his hand on the cold knob. Turned.

It opened.

As a youth, Colin often spent time with his grandparents, who owned a dairy farm in Shincliffe. That’s how the inside of this house smelled; like the musk and manure of wild beats. A feral smell, his grandmum had often called it.

Taking the torch from Butts, he stepped into the foyer, eyes scanning for booty. Decades of dust had settled on the furnishings, motes swirling into a thick fog wherever the duo stepped. Beneath the grime, Colin could recognize the quality of the furniture, the value of the wall hangings.

They’d hit it big.

It was way beyond a simple, quick score. If they did this right, went through the proper channels, he and Butts could get rich off of this.

Another scream shook the house.

Butts jumped back, his sudden movement sending clouds of dust into the air. Colin coughed, trying to wave the filth out of his face.

“It came from down there!” Butts pointed at the floor, his quivering hand casting erratic shadows in the torchlight. “It’s a ghost, I tell you! Come to take us to hell!”

Colin’s heart was a hummingbird in his chest, trying to find a way out. He was scared, but even more than that, he was concerned.

“Not hell, Butts. It sounded more like help.”

Colin stepped back, out of the dust cloud. He thrust the torch at the floor, looking for a way down.

“Ello! Anyone down there?”

He tapped at the wood slats with the torch, listening for a hollow sound.

“Ello!”

The voice exploded up through the floorboards, cracking like thunder.

“PRAISE GOD, HELP ME!”

Butts grabbed Colin’s shoulders, his foul breath assaulting his ear.

“Christ, Colin! There’s a wraith down there!”

“Don’t be stupid, Butts. It’s a man. Would a ghost be praising God?”

Colin bent down, peered at the floor.

“What’s a man doing under the house, Colin?”

“Bugger if I know. But we have to find him.”

Butts nodded, eager.

“Right! If we rescue the poor sap, maybe we’ll get a reward, eh?”

Colin grabbed Butts by the collar, pulled him close.

“This place is a gold mine. We can’t let anyone else know it exists.”

Butts gazed at him stupidly.

“We have to snuff him,” Colin said.

“Snuff him? Colin, I don’t think —”

Colin clamped his hand over Butts’s mouth.

“I’ll do it, when the time comes. Just shut up and follow my lead, got it?”

Butts nodded. Colin released him and went back to searching the floor. “Ello! How’d you get down there!”

“There is a trap door, in the kitchen!”

Colin located the kitchen off to the right. An ancient, wood burning stove stood vigil in one corner, and there was an icebox by the window. On the kitchen table, slathered with dust, lay a table setting for one. Colin wondered, fleetingly, what price the antique china and crystal would fetch, and then turned his attention to the floor.

“Where!”

“The corner! Next to the stove!”

Colin looked around for something to sweep away the dust. He reached for the curtains, figured they might be worth something, and then found a closet on the other side of the room. There was a broom inside.

He gave Butts the torch and swept slowly, trying not to stir up the motes. After a minute, he could make out a seam in the floorboards. The seam extended into a man-sized square, complete with a recessed iron latch.

When Colin pulled up on the handle, he was bathed in a foul odor a hundred times worse than anything on his grandparent’s farm. The source of the feral smell.

And it was horrible.

Mixed in with the scent of beasts was decay; rotting, stinking, flesh. Colin knelt down, gagging. It took several minutes for the contractions to stop.

“There’s a ladder.” Butts thrust the torch into the hole. His free hand covered his nose and mouth.

“How far down?” Colin managed.

“Not very. I can make out the bottom.”

“Hey! You still down there!”

“Yes. But before you come down, you must prepare yourselves, gentlemen.”

“Prepare ourselves? What for?”

“I am afraid my appearance may pose a bit of a shock. However, you must not be afraid. I promise I shall not hurt you.”

Butts eyed Colin, intense. “I’m getting seriously freaked out. Let’s just nick the silver knocker and —”

“Give me the torch.”

Butts handed it over. Colin dropped the burning stick into the passage, illuminating the floor.

A moan, sharp and strong, welled up from the hole.

“You okay down there, mate?”

“The light is painful. I have not born witness to light for a considerable amount of time.”

Butts dug a finger into his ear, scratching. “Bloke sure talks fancy.”

“He won’t for long.” Colin sat on the floor, found the rungs with his feet, and began to descend.

The smell doubled with every step down; a viscous odor that had heat and weight and sat on Colin’s tongue like a dead cat. In the flickering flame, Colin could make out the shape of the room. It was a root cellar, cold and foul. The dirt walls were rounded, and when Colin touched ground he sent plumes of dust into the air. He picked up the torch to locate the source of the voice. In the corner, standing next to the wall, was…

“Sweet Lord Jesus Christ!”

“I must not be much to look at.”

That was the understatement of the century. The man, if he could be called that, was excruciatingly thin. His bare chest resembled a skeleton with a thin sheet of white skin wrapped tight around, and his waist was so reduced it had the breadth of Colin’s thigh.

A pair of tattered trousers hung loosely on the unfortunate man’s pelvis, and remnants of shoes clung to his feet, several filthy toes protruding through the leather.

And the face, the face! A hideous skull topped with limp, white hair, thin features stretched across cheekbones, eyes sunken deep into bulging sockets.

“Please, do not flee.”

The old man held up a bony arm, the elbow knobby and ball-shaped. Around his wrist coiled a heavy, rusted chain, leading to a massive steel ball on the ground.

Colin squinted, then gasped. The chain wasn’t going around this unfortunate’s wrist; it went through the wrist, a thick link penetrating the flesh between the radius and ulna.

“Colin! You okay?”

Butts’s voice made Colin jump.

“Come on down, Butts! I think I need you!”

“There is no need to be afraid. I will not bite. Even if I desired to do so.”

The old man stretched his mouth open, exposing sticky, gray gums. Both the upper and lower teeth were gone.

“I knocked them out quite some time ago. I could not bear to be a threat to anyone. May I ask to whom I am addressing?”

“Eh?”

“What is your name, dear sir?”

Colin started to lie, then realized there was no point. He was going to snuff this poor sod, anyway.

“Colin. Colin Willoughby.”

“The pleasure is mine, Mr. Willoughby. Allow me. My name is Dr. Abraham Van Helsing, professor emeritus at Oxford University. Will you allow me one more question?”

Colin nodded. It was eerie, watching this man talk. His body was ravaged to the point of disbelief, but his manner was polite and even affable.

“What year of our Lord is this, Mr. Willoughby?”

“The year? It’s nineteen sixty-five.”

Van Helsing’s lips quivered. His sad, sunken eyes went glassy.

“I have been down here longer than I have imagined. Tell me, pray do, the nosferatu; were they wiped out in the war?”

“What war? And what is a nosfer-whatever you said?”

“The war must have been many years ago. There were horrible, deafening explosions that shook the ground. I believe it went on for many months. I assumed it was a battle with the undead.”

Was this crackpot talking about the bombing from WWII? He couldn’t have been down here for that long. There was no food, no water…

“Mary, Mother of God!”

Butts stepped off the ladder and crouched behind Colin. He held another torch, this one made from the broom they’d used to sweep the kitchen floor.

“Whom am I addressing now, good sir?”

“He’s asking your name, Butts.”

“Oh. It’s Butts.”

“Good evening to you, Mr. Butts. Now if I may get an answer to my previous inquiry, Mr. Willoughby?”

“If you mean World War Two, the war was with Germany.”

“I take it, because you both are speaking in our mother tongue, that Germany was defeated?”

“We kicked the krauts’ arses,” Butts said from behind Colin’s shoulder.

“Very good, then. You also related that you do not recognize the term nosferatu?”

“Never heard of it.”

“How about the term vampire?”

Butts nodded, nudging Colin in the ribs with his elbow. “Yeah, we know about vampires, don’t we Colin? They been in some great flickers.”

“Flickers?”

“You know. Movie shows.”

Van Helsing knitted his brow. His skin was so tight, it made the corners of his mouth draw upwards.

“So the nosferatu attend these movie shows?”

“Attend? Blimey, no. They’re in the movies. Vampires are fake, old man. Everyone knows that. Dracula don’t really exist.”

“Dracula!” Van Helsing took a step forward, the chain tugging cruelly against his arm. “You know the name of the monster!”

“Everyone knows Dracula. Been in a million books and movies.”

Van Helsing seemed lost for a moment, confused. Then a light flashed behind his black eyes.

“My memorandum,” he whispered. “Someone must have published it.”

“Eh?”

“These vampires… you say they do not exist?”

“They’re imaginary, old man. Like faeries and dragons.”