The Last Resort

  As she ate, Eleanor slyly watched Viktor from under her eyelashes. Viktor took slow, careful sips of his soup, patting his moustache with a white linen napkin between swallows. The napkin remained spotlessly clean.

  Twice more, Eleanor tried to raise the subject of the castle’s future, but each time, Viktor smoothly redirected her attention. Eleanor was able to twist most men around her little finger, but wondered if she had met her match in this suave, handsome man. However, Eleanor reasoned, she did have the law on her side. Trevor Romanoff was legal owner of the castle – that was clear enough. If worst came to worst, and these people refused to leave – well, the police were just a phone-call away.

  Finally, dinner was over. Viktor extended a hand towards Eleanor, in a strangely old-fashioned gesture. “Shall we?” he said softly. Eleanor felt compelled to place her hand in his, and smoothly, Viktor stood, and Eleanor stood too. “I think you will find the library more comfortable,” he said, leading the way.

  The library, was, as expected, filled with antiques, and floor-to-ceiling shelves were packed with leather-bound books. There was a slightly sour note, however, as if mould and mildew had set in. It was cold in here too. She shivered slightly, rubbing her bare arms. “Boo?” said Viktor, but he said it as a question, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it, but at once, a fire sprang up in the grate, just as it had in the dining hall. How had he done that, she wondered? Some sort of gas release sparked by a remote control? Maybe even voice-activated?

  Two glasses of port stood on the mantelpiece. Viktor took one for himself and handed her the other. He gestured towards a pair of large wing-back chairs, and they sat in front of the fire. Eleanor was anticipating more dithering, but Viktor got right to the point. “Miss Davies,” he said. She thought about correcting him – it was Ms. – but bit her tongue. “I have of course received the letter from your client, and I am aware also of your role here. As you can see, there has been some… miscommunication. Clearly, I do not require the services of a nursemaid, and have no intention of living in a retirement village. Furthermore, I will not be vacating these premises, nor will my guests, and I will not be allowing you to sell any of my possessions either.”

  Eleanor took a deep draft of her port, and opened her mouth to reply, but Viktor went on. He leaned forward in his chair, dark eyes pinning her in place, as if she was a butterfly on a collector’s board. “Tomorrow, you will return to England, and inform your client that the castle and its contents are of no value whatsoever, and that you recommend he abandon his plans to sell them.” His manner was solemn, and he intoned his words as if they were a command. Ordinarily, Eleanor would have laughed in his face. He couldn’t be serious! But when she opened her mouth, the only sound that came out was a murmur of agreement. She was shocked at herself. Viktor smiled, and leaned back in his chair, satisfaction etched on his face. He closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the fire.

  Eleanor blinked. What had happened? The port! She figured it had to be drugged. Why else would she have agreed so readily with his ridiculous order? Go back to England indeed! There was no way she’d abandon the castle, and her fat commission cheque. She stole a glance at Viktor. His eyes were still shut, and so she quickly switched glasses. She took a deep breath, and spoke. “No, I’m afraid that’s unacceptable. I am here to do a job, and do it I will. Mr. Romanoff is the rightful owner of this castle, and…”

  Her voice trailed off as Viktor sat upright, and stared at her again, with his dark, penetrating eyes. “… and I’ll go back to England and tell him that the castle has no value,” she concluded in a small voice. Then she let out a sob. She felt wretched, utterly wretched. What was the matter with her? It was as if she had no will of her own. Fumbling for Viktor’s glass, she took a large, consoling swig of his port, then spat it out in a torrent, gagging and choking. She sprang to her feet. Her dress, her hands, the table, Viktor’s trousers, all were soaked in the foul liquid Eleanor had almost swallowed. Blood! Warm and salty, she could taste it still.

  Viktor had also leapt to his feet, and was looking at her warily. She stared back at him in horror. “B...b...blood,” she stammered. “You were drinking blood!” She looked at her hands, splashed with red. Viktor stood stock-still, assessing the situation. Suddenly, Eleanor bolted from the room, pushing past Harriet, who stood in the doorway, and fled up the stone steps as fast as she could. Mercifully, the key had been left in the door to her bedroom. She wrenched it out, dashed into the bedroom, slammed the door behind her, and locked herself in.

  Chapter Four

  “Oh dear,” said Harriet. “That didn’t go very well. Plan B then, is it?” She came in and sat down, looking at Viktor with concern. Viktor had fallen back into his own chair, and was running a hand through his thick hair.

  “She had a very strong will, but the thrall was working. She was most definitely in my command, and we’d have been rid of her tomorrow. Then, somehow, she drank from my glass, and now she knows, or at least suspects, what I am. The thrall won’t hold anymore.” He sighed. “So, yes, it is Plan B, I’m afraid. Scaring her stupid is our last resort. I guess the others will be pleased – particularly the sisters. They do so love an old fashioned haunting.” Now he rubbed his eyes with a weary hand.

  “Um,” said Harriet.

  Viktor looked at her sharply. “What? What is it now?”

  “Well, it’s Boo, Sue and Lou, actually. They admitted to me that they sort of started Plan B on their own.”

  “What! After I expressly told them not to?”

  Harriet suppressed a grin. “Well, they haven’t haunted anyone for so long, I just don’t think they could resist. Besides, it apparently had no effect. They just tried a few of the old standards, but it seems that Eleanor thought the moving armour, billowing curtains and self-lighting candles were all tricks. We might have to up the stakes a bit.”

  Viktor nodded. “Times have changed. People aren’t so easily frightened these days. Well, you’d best alert the troops,” he said. “There’s no need for them to hide any more.”

  #

  Covers pulled up to her chin, Eleanor lay awake, staring into space, thinking things over. Viktor couldn’t be the Uncle Viktor that had been known by her client’s grandfather. He was too young. He dressed strangely, moved silently, had those odd pointed teeth, a hypnotic voice… and he drank blood. Yes, all weird by English standards, but she was in Mortavia now. Maybe here drinking blood was a culturally accepted practice. After all, didn’t her own Granny back in England enjoy blood pudding, jellied eels and ox tongue? Suddenly, Eleanor felt embarrassed. She had run away like a frightened child, right in the middle of negotiations. Tomorrow, she’d get on with the job of valuing the castle and appraising the furnishings.

  Alright, it was clear from Viktor’s words that the people at the castle wouldn’t be leaving voluntarily, but this wasn’t her concern. One man and women wouldn’t be a match for a decent security team determined to evict them.

  She was just drifting off to sleep when a dreadful scream ripped through the night. Eleanor sat bolt upright, listening. Straining her ears, she picked up a faint gurgling sound. This was followed by metallic rattling, as of someone dragging chains over concrete, the slow creaking of a door, and finally, a long, drawn-out shuddery moan of despair. She flopped back down on the bed, rolling her eyes at all the clichés. Enough already! She got the picture. Viktor and the others were trying to convince her that the castle was haunted. It fit in with the business of the candles and the armour earlier on. She hadn’t fallen for it then, and she wouldn’t fall for it now.

  Except that in the darkness, she could see the armour moving again. This time it wasn’t just the arm lowering itself. The right leg dragged against the floor with a screech. Next, the left leg scraped forward to come into line with the left. It looked for a moment like the whole suit would topple over backwards, but then the torso lurched to catch up with the legs, the arms flailing at the sides. Excruciatingly slowly, the process rep
eated itself, the armour moving closer and closer to the bed, pitching and staggering like a drunk. In spite of herself, Eleanor scooted back against the headboard, thinking hard, trying to rationalise what she was seeing. Could it be robotic? Possibly, but the movements were too chaotic. If it was a robot, it was a very clever one. What about a puppet? No – no strings were attached, and clearly there was no one up in the ceiling controlling it. Someone inside the suit then? Suddenly, the visor raised itself, and she could see that the helmet, at least, was empty.

  Now one arm mysteriously lifted up, accompanied by a very earthy “oof” sound, then one finger of its metal gauntlet straightened out, and pointed at her.

  Unseen by Eleanor, Boudica, Suzanna and Louise were regretting their decision to use the armour a second time. It was deliciously spooky, granted, but also awfully heavy. In life, the sisters had been petite and slender, and had always hired a local handyman to do any heavy lifting. When the inseparable sisters had at last expired, all within two days of each other, their ages had totalled two hundred and ninety one. The supernatural strength that came with being a ghost did not compensate much for their frailty and age. Now, as Boo pushed the right leg of the armour forward, Sue pushed the left, and Lou stabilised the top, they found themselves tiring. Boo signalled that they stop, and scooted round to lift up the arm. Suddenly Lou lost her grip on the torso, and the armour came crashing down in a heap. This did the trick. Eleanor hopped out of bed and ran for the door, turning the key and flinging herself out into the corridor.

  Unfortunately for Eleanor, Barbara Yaga was standing outside her room. Seeing Eleanor emerge, she cackled with joy, threw a handful of chicken feathers at the fleeing woman, and began intoning an incantation in a language no one at the castle understood. Eleanor stumbled down the stairs, away from the crazy old woman, unsure where she was heading. It was in the entrance foyer that she smacked into the brick wall. Or at least that’s what it felt like. She fell backwards onto her rump. Sitting dazed on the cold marble floor, she rubbed her head ruefully, thinking what an idiot she had been, running crazed from her room like some frightened little girl. The mysterious armour had to have been a robot, or a puppet. She should have investigated it properly.

  “Daaaaa…” a deep voice said. “Pretty…lady. Are…you…okay…?” Eleanor looked up. What she had run into was not a brick wall at all. It was a man – and what a man! He was at least seven foot tall, and perhaps five foot wide at the shoulders. His skin was tinged green, and he was covered in scars – around his forehead, his neck, his wrists, and his ankles. His ears were mismatched, and there was something very odd about his hands. She stared at them for a moment, before realising that the thumbs were on the same side. He had two left hands. This new vision Eleanor had more trouble rationalising. The man’s complexion and scaring could just conceivably be a hell of a makeup job, but his sheer size was inexplicable, not to mention the creepy hands… Now he was reaching down towards her with one of the creepy hands, and Eleanor scooted back in horror. She staggered to her feet. She had to get away. Desperately, she ran through the lower level of the castle, looking for some safe haven. She passed the door to the dining hall, and saw just beyond it, a bright light illuminating the kitchen. She felt drawn to the comforting light like a moth to a flame. She skittered to a stop as she realised that someone was already in the kitchen – a slim woman, standing at the bench, preparing some sort of food. Relief washed over her, and Eleanor could have wept in gratitude at so normal a sight. She began to control her breathing, and felt ready to call out to the woman, when Callie, having finished her preparations, turned away from the bench, holding up a plate of what appeared to be finely chopped meat. Suddenly Callie’s hair erupted into life, a sea of serpents writhing and twisting, snapping at each other as they fought to be first to grab a portion of the meat. Eleanor gasped, and Callie now noticed her standing in the doorway. She smirked and waved her free hand.

  Eleanor spun away from the kitchen. She couldn’t go back into the foyer where the monster man was, so she ran the only way she could – deeper into the castle.

  She needed to stop and think – to come up with a plan. She recognised the library, and crept in. The remains of the fire in the grate provided some light and warmth. She sat down in one of the high-backed chairs, pulled her legs up, hugged her knees to her chin, and began to cry.

  After a moment, there was a small cough from the other chair. What Eleanor had taken for a small pile of dirty rags was actually a person. Well, sort of. The slim figure was covered from head to toe in bandages. Now it scooted forward to the edge of its seat. Eleanor regarded it warily. It pushed its glasses up to the bridge of its nose, peered at her and said. “Er… I…um… curse you in the name of the Pharaoh.”

  “What?” said Eleanor.

  “I said…I curse you. In the name of the Pharaoh.”

  “Oh,” said Eleanor. “Why?”

  “Well,” said the figure. “Because you’re trying to take our home away from us.”

  “Oh,” said Eleanor again.

  They stared at each other for a moment longer. Then the figure leaned forward and opened his hand. In the palm of his hand was a second tiny figure, also wrapped in bandages. It squeaked, and the larger mummy stroked it gently with one finger. “We’ve nowhere else to go,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” said Eleanor, and really, she was.

  “I’m sorry too,” said the mummy. Then he reached up and began to unwrap the bandages from his face. His eyes started to glow fiery red. Large strips of skin peeled away, attached to the bandages, leaving raw open wounds below, and the stench of rotting flesh. Eleanor stared in terror, trying not to choke on the terrible fumes. This man was a walking corpse! There was no way he could be alive with such hideous wounds on his body. As she realised this, horror rose anew, pushing her sympathy aside. She leapt to her feet, and fled the room through the far door, into another section of the castle.

  Ankh sighed, and rewrapped his face. He cradled the tiny mummy mouse in his hands, leaned back in the chair, and stared into the softly glowing embers which were all that remained of the dying fire.

  #

  Boo, Sue and Lou were located high up in the rafters in strategic locations around the castle. Every so often they would materialise in Viktor’s private chambers to report what was happening. It was the first time they had been allowed in, and they were relishing the opportunity. Here, Viktor sat in consultation with Harriet, who was feeling uneasy in Viktor’s domain. Very few were ever invited into Viktor’s inner sanctum. It was in this stone room that he slumbered during the day in a satin-lined coffin. When needed, he was summoned by a bell, which was struck by pulling on any one of a number of velvet ropes elsewhere in the castle. Harriet felt that the residents of the castle were making a poor job of the business of frightening poor old Eleanor. Boo, Sue, Lou and Barbara had done their best, but Norm, Callie and Ankh had only been discovered by Eleanor’s own blundering about. And there had been no contribution from Blake, nor Skully, two of the castle’s most freakish-looking residents. Not that she had done much herself, but at least she had an excuse. She was merely a middle-aged woman with a hair-growth problem – at least she was for three out of every four weeks. Sure, she was pretty darn scary when the moon was full, but the timing was all wrong for this particular crisis.

  She looked over at Viktor. Of all the residents in the castle, Harriet figured Eleanor had the most to fear from Viktor. Yet he hadn’t done much either. He had just nodded slowly at each report the sisters delivered. “She’s just crashed into Norm in the foyer. Scared the life out of her. You should have seen her face! Eyes as big as saucers!”

  Finally, Harriet spoke. “Are you going to finish this?”

  “She looks a bit like Rose,” Viktor said softly, looking down at his lap. “I don’t think I can.” Then he looked up at Harriet, his dark eyes wet and shining. “Will you do it?”

  Viktor had never once directly asked for Harriet’s hel
p, but he had provided her with sanctuary when she was fleeing from her own demons. She nodded, and left the room, grateful to be out of the oppressive atmosphere. When she looked back, Viktor had dissipated into a black cloud of particles.

  #

  Harriet returned to her room for a quick shave, sent Lou off with a message to Skully, then caught up with Eleanor back in the dining hall. Eleanor was standing ram-rod straight against one broad stone wall, clutching a candelabra containing three lit candles and swinging it from side to side, as if to ward off invisible foes. Actually, she was quite justified in this action, as Boo and Sue were also in the room with her, occasionally throwing silverware in her direction. Nevertheless, Harriet pretended to be alarmed by what she saw. She padded into the room in her pyjamas and slippered feet, rubbing fictional sleep from her eyes, hair tousled. “Ms. Davis?”

  “Monsters!” Eleanor said. “And ghosts!”

  Harriet ignored Boo and Sue as they stood in the corner, giggling. She looked at the cutlery on the floor in consternation. “Ms. Davis,” she said gently, taking Eleanor by the elbow. “I think perhaps you have had a nightmare. There are no monsters or ghosts here.”

  “But…” said Eleanor. “But… I saw them! There was a man, all in bandages. A mummy. And a big green man… a monster. And the witch… and the girl with the snake hair. I saw them!”

  “Shhhh,” Harriet said, soothingly. “Perhaps you’ve been working too hard. Maybe the strain of your job is too much for you, hmm? There’s nobody in the castle but me, and old Mr. Romanoff.”

  “Old Mr. Romanoff? But… I thought…” Now Eleanor really looked at Harriet. “Where’s your beard?”

  Harriet pulled a puzzled expression. “My… beard?”

  “Oh!” said Eleanor, confused. “Oh… I don’t feel too well. Maybe I am working too hard. I had better go back to bed.”

  Harriet uttered a few more cooing, soothing sentiments, and then pointed Eleanor back in the direction of her bedroom. Still invisible to Eleanor, Boo, Lou and Sue streaked ahead of her, getting into position, eager to witness the next event. Harriet almost envied them. This was going to be good.