Disappeared: MANTEQUERO BOOK 2 (7 page)

Some of the others looked over and gave the old man warning glances, but he ignored them. “It was at Christmas, or thereabouts,” he said, stopping to light a cigarette and taking an unconscionably long time to find his lighter. “A
very
fat English lady.” He paused to take a long, appreciative drag on his cigarette. “She wasn’t so fat when he’d finished with her, though.”

“José,” one of the other men said, warningly.

José gave him a dismissive glance. “Here’s these two chicas,” he went on, as if no-one had interrupted him. “One of them as fat as butter, coming here with no idea of what is going on.” He leant over and spat into the hearth. “And nobody’s telling them.” He turned back to Alison. “You,” he said, pointing a trembling finger at her, “are in danger and your fat friend is in even more danger. He likes them fat. She will call to him. You keep your doors and windows locked and don’t go out after dark without a couple of strong men beside you.”

“What happened to her?” Alison whispered. “The other fat English lady. What happened?”
“What happened?” the old man repeated furiously. “What do you think happened? He killed her, that’s what happened. He sucked every bit of fat off her body. When they found her she was nothing but skin and bone.”

Alison drew in her breath. She felt sick. Even though she had suspected right from the beginning that something dreadful may have happened to Miss Blacker, somehow hearing it boldly stated like that was a terrible shock. Heather, suddenly aware of the change in the atmosphere, looked up. “Are you all right? You’ve gone white.”

It was all Alison could do to answer her and, when she did, her voice came out in a strange, whistling breath. “He says she’s dead. He says the mantequero killed her. He says” – she stopped and burst into tears.

Heather got up from her seat and came round the table to sit next to her friend. “It’s just a legend,” she said, putting her arm round Alison’s shoulders and speaking in the sort of soft, soothing voice people use to calm children. “He’s not real. He can’t actually be real, can he? You know that.”

Alison gulped and nodded.

“So it must be something else. Something else happened. Just keep talking to them and sooner or later someone will say something that makes sense.”

José, having achieved exactly the effect he was hoping for, patted Alison’s hand in an avuncular manner. “Never you mind, Guapa. You’ll be quite safe as long as you don’t let him in.”

****

That night Alison made absolutely sure all the windows and doors were locked, then she went through the house and checked them all again.

“It’s not real, you know,” Heather said, following her round. “It’s just a load of old guys getting a buzz out of giving us a scare. “You can’t really believe this.”

Alison pressed her lips together tightly and carried on testing the latch on Heather’s window.

“You realise you’re being totally OCD, don’t you?”

Alison turned round. “Look, I may be being totally OCD, but even if there is no Mantequero, and I admit it’s very unlikely,
something
happened to Miss Blacker and it looks like it was very unpleasant at the least, possibly lethal. It won’t do any harm to lock up.”

“It’s just . . .” Heather bit her lip, “I don’t want to spend my holiday in a state of paranoia. I was just beginning to enjoy it.”

Tears sprang up in Alison’s eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry Heather. After you’ve been so kind and done so much to help me afford it. I really am. I’ll try to be more relaxed.” She gave Heather a fierce hug.

“It’s OK. It’s all right, baby. It is worrying. I’m worried, too. But I’m still buggered if I can work out what happened.”

Oddly, Alison had no trouble sleeping that night. Whether it was because she had very little sleep the night before, or simply the reassurance of being absolutely sure she’d locked all the windows and doors, she closed her eyes as soon as her head hit the pillow and slept like a baby till dawn.  She neither heard strange noises, nor did she have disturbing dreams, and when she woke up she felt marvellous. The more her mind worried at the problem of Miss Blacker, the more the whole thing seemed surreal. She half expected that they would
return to England to find Miss Blacker had returned of her own accord, or at least been in touch explaining why she hadn’t returned on time.

She crossed the landing to Heather’s room to give her a shout before going down to make the coffee.

“Now the elastic’s gone in my pyjama trousers.” Heather tugged at her pyjama bottoms whilst at the same time trying to tighten the belt of her dressing gown. “Why is it that everything goes at once?”

Alison laughed. “Give me your trousers and your pyjama bottoms after you’ve got dressed and I’ll sort them out for you. I’m sure we can get elastic at the village shop but I might get away with just shortening it a bit.”

“Alison, you’re a star!” Heather grabbed her mug and took a large gulp of coffee. “Did you sleep all right last night?”

“Fine. No funny noises, or if there were I didn’t hear them. And no nightmares. How about you?”
“Blissful. Had the dream again. Oh, if only such men existed in real life.”

Heather stared ahead with a soppy smile on her face.

“Steady or you’ll want to spend all your time asleep and give up real life altogether.”

“That’ll be the day.” Heather gave a theatrical sigh. “If only. But it’s back to work in just over a week.”
“Oh, shut up! I’m trying not to think about it,” said Alison, and got up to put the toast on.

****

“That’s much better.” Heather’s trousers sat snugly at her waist, showing no inclination to slide down. Alison eyed her critically. “You don’t think it could be that you’re actually losing weight, do you?”
“I wish,” Heather said. “I gave up dieting years ago.”

Nevertheless, Alison thought she looked slimmer. She didn’t remember that Heather
had
a waist when she first met her.

V

The next few days seemed to pass very slowly. Alison felt fidgety. She had become determined to find out what had happened to Miss Blacker. Somebody must know and she was prepared to shake it out of them if necessary. But all she had was this preposterous story about a fat-eating vampire. She seemed to have come to a dead end and she couldn’t think what to do next.

Heather was no help at all. She had been very quiet the last couple of days. Doing a lot of staring into space, sleeping in in the mornings and over-sleeping the siesta, reluctant to do anything more energetic.
Alison had taken to going for long walks in the afternoons just to burn off all that pent-up energy, leaving Heather to sleep as long as she liked. In the evenings they went to the bar and Heather showed a brief reanimation whilst playing dominoes, but it was short-lived and she went straight up to bed when they got back.

Alison still found the walk back in the dark unnerving. An evening with the old boys was guaranteed to make the strongest sceptic look over their shoulder at every passing shadow. And she maintained her practice of locking all the doors and windows every night before she went to bed.

A couple of times she had walked back up the street where Miss Blacker had stayed and looked at the house from a discreet distance, trying to decide whether it looked inhabited. But there were no clues – no open windows, no smoke rising from the chimney – just the flowers round the door stirring in the breeze and that strange, disturbing cross standing guard.

She had tried to get the woman in the village shop to talk to her, trying the `do you get many tourists?’ approach, but her replies were monosyllabic and unfriendly and Alison was glad to escape. The old boys at the bar were more forthcoming.

Then one evening, when she had walked rather further than she intended, she met him.

She had been looking out over the valley at the almond groves in late blossom, pink and white and utterly beautiful, and when she turned there was a young man standing behind her. She almost screamed and put one hand to her chest.

“Hola, Guapa,” he said, taking off his hat and giving her a courteous bow. “I am Ignacio. I am sorry if I startled you. It is very beautiful, is it not?” He gave a great sweeping wave of the hand, taking in the panorama below them.

Alison just stared at him, unable to speak, her hand still clutched to her breast. He was an extraordinarily beautiful young man, with high, aristocratic cheekbones and sensitive lips. His eyes were a very dark brown, almost black, and they looked at her now with a hint of amusement as she struggled to regain her equilibrium.

“Perhaps you would allow me to escort you home,” he said, proffering his arm in an old-fashioned gesture.

Feeling as if she were in a trance, Alison took his arm and they walked off together into the gathering dusk.

She stopped as they got to the top of the street, and turned to him. Under her calm exterior she was horribly afraid. She knew who he was – had known from the moment she saw him. And now she believed it all, every word. Here before her stood the man who had killed her dearest friend and colleague. He looked like an angel, but was actually some dreadful, demonic, vampiric creature. And she was afraid, very much afraid, that his attention had now become focused on her new friend, Heather. But still she had to say it.

“Ignacio, did you know another English lady? Her name was June – June Blacker.”

Ignacio’s face lit up. “Juno,” he exclaimed. “My beautiful Juno. Do you know where she is?”
Alison reared back in surprise. “Don’t you know where she is?” she said. Then, mustering all her courage, “I thought you had killed her.”

An expression of utter despair crossed the young man’s face. “Juno? Kill my beautiful Juno? How could I do that? All I did was love her.” He raised his face to the sky, now fully dark, and all she could see were his eyes, glowing red. “They locked her away from me. The doors were shut against me. I have been calling for her ever since.” He looked down again, his face a mask of agony in the moonlight. “I call for her every night. But she does not come. Only the other one came. The one who cannot speak.”

Alison looked into his eyes – those dark eyes that had been black but now glowed red in the darkness – and what she saw was madness.

She turned and ran down the street, banging at the door and crying for Heather, terrified he would catch her before she could get inside. But when she turned and looked back, he was gone.

“It’s all true. I’ve seen him. He’s real.”

Heather was laughing at her. “Listen to yourself. You are seriously suggesting that this – vampire – killed June and nobody reported it to the police. They just sealed up the house with dog-roses and God knows what else – holy water probably – and waited for him to come back for them. Does it seem likely?”

“It’s not them he’s coming back for,” Alison said. “It’s you.”
Heather burst into a storm of laughter, her shoulders shaking with mirth.

“Look at yourself. Come on, have a proper look at yourself.”

“No!” Heather tried to pull away as Alison dragged her to the mirror.

“What size were you when we came here? Twenty-four, twenty-six?”
Heather muttered something that might have been ‘twenty-six’.

“Look at you now! You can’t be more than size eighteen. In less than a week, Heather. You’ve gone down five dress sizes in less than a week. What do you think could have caused that? There is no sensible explanation for that amount of weight loss.”

She stopped and stood in front of her friend, her arms crossed, her expression severe.

“We’ve got to go now. We’ve got to get out before he completely consumes you. Pack your things. I’m going to ring Johan.”
“No!” Heather screamed, and she turned and ran out of the house.

“Heather! Heather!” Alison screamed her name down the street – but she had gone. The night had swallowed her. For a moment Alison stood in the doorway, uncertain what to do. Then she went into the house and rang Johan.

The bar was crowded. Every man in the village and some of the younger women were gathered there. When Alison had run to him with her tale of the mantequero, Rafa had called the villagers together. Johan had arrived shortly after, his grey hair in disarray, as if he had been showering and not had time to dry it and comb it.

The men were angry, muttering and glaring at Alison and Johan.

“No,” Rafa said. “They did not bring the mantequero upon us. He was already here. The fat one, she has brought him out, that’s all. We have been given the opportunity to drive him into the open and kill him.”
Alison looked at Johan gratefully. When she had rung him with her garbled tale of vampires, he had not questioned her, but dropped everything and driven straight to the village. She had told him the whole story in whispers as they watched the villagers assemble and he had nodded, showing no sign of scepticism.
“You believe me?” she said. He nodded. “We are not entirely devoid of folk lore in The Netherlands,” he said. “And one can’t help thinking that there may be a basis for some of these tales.”

Now he sat very upright, facing the angry villagers, one hand firmly gripping Alison by the shoulder.

Rafa climbed on to the bar, his giant frame bending to allow him to stand.

“This is our chance,” he bellowed. “He is out there and he is not far away. We can hide behind our closed doors or we can seek him out.” He raised his eyes and looked directly at Alison. “This girl can take us to him.”
Alison looked around her in some alarm. “I don’t know” – she faltered.

“She saw him on the road tonight. She can take us to the spot.”
A ragged cheer went up and Rafa jumped down, seized Alison by the arm and began to march her towards the door. Johan, still holding her other arm, marched along beside them. “Come on,” Rafa said, “Which way?”
Alison hesitated, then pointed up the street, back up to the house. Behind them, the men lit torches and marched along in a straggling group. “Does it remind you of anything?” Alison whispered to Johan. He looked blank. “The last scene of Frankenstein, when the villagers march on the castle.”

They searched for hours, but they found no sign of Heather or the mantequero. She must have gone with him to his lair, wherever that was. Alison looked about in panic. “What are we going to do?” she asked Johan. “What are we going to do?”

He went to Rafa, who was standing a little apart from the others, mopping his brow and looking up into the high mountains. “Has anyone got a dog?” he said. “A dog that can follow a scent?”

An expression of delight crossed Rafa’s face. He grabbed Johan by his shoulders and laughed. “Good man.” Then, raising his voice, “Jeromo! Jeromo! Come here!”

One of the old boys shambled up. “Yeah?”

“Do you still have the old dog? The one that could find anything?”

The old man shrugged. “Sure, but he cannot track the mantequero. He does not know the scent.”

“No,” said Rafa, “but we have the scent of the fat lady.” The old man grinned. “Wait here, I will get him.”
“I’ll come with you,” said Johan, “and bring something of the fat lady’s.”

“Get her pyjamas,” Alison said. “They may have his scent as well. On her bed in the room at the front. Pink with white rabbits.”

They found them together just as dawn was breaking lying in a tangle of sprawled limbs, and dragged Heather away. She looked pitifully thin compared to her impressive bulk of a few days before. “Nooooo!” she screamed as they fell upon Ignacio with their pitchforks and scythes. Alison turned away and felt sick.

“What did they do with his body?” she asked Rafa the next day.

She had left Heather with Johan. She had not spoken since they brought her down from the mountain – just sat staring with an occasional slow tear trickling down her cheek.

“We cut off the head,” he said, “and threw it down the barranco. Then we staked the body and buried it under stones.”

“Staked it?”
“To stop it walking,” he said. “You cannot always kill these things, but you can tie them to the earth.”

Like vampires,
she thought.
I always thought it was to kill them, but of course, they’re already dead. It’s to stop them walking.

“How is your friend?”

She smiled up at Rafa. “Physically she seems to be fine. She’s lost a lot of weight, but, quite frankly, she had  a lot to lose. It is here.” She pointed at her head, “And here.” She pointed at her heart. “I think she will grieve for him for a long time.”

“She did a good thing for us,” Rafa said. “She led us to him. Maybe she will see it as a good thing one day.”

“I hope so,” Alison said, she turned as if to go, then turned back again. “What did you do with her, Rafa? With the other fat English lady?”

“La Señora? She is in the cemetery. I will take you.”

The cemetery was like a little village itself, with rows of tombs built into the walls, looking for all the world like streets of houses. Many of them had urns containing flowers or little shrines with a photograph of the deceased built into the end. The one right at the end of the row was bare. Alison laid a bunch of wild flowers in the niche and stood silently for a while thinking about her friend.

“I’ll look after Jessica for you,” she said. “And Patsy.  I’ll bring Patsy out here one day to say goodbye.” Then she stood back from the tomb and walked briskly away.

“You will come back again?” Rafa asked, as he hastened to catch up with her.

“Oh yes,” she said, smiling up at him through her tears. “I’ll be back.”