‘We could run for it?’ Jez suggested.
Owen snapped, ‘There are vampires waiting out there for us to do exactly that. We wouldn’t stand a chance.’
June’s eyes flashed with fear. ‘Is there a basement we could hide in?’
Tom shook his head. By now, he had to shout over the thunder of demolition, ‘The only way we’re going to survive is by killing Helsvir.’
‘How?’
Again he could only repeat the painful admission: ‘I just don’t know.’
Kit stared out of the window at a pale figure lying on the ground. ‘She’s not moving,’ he moaned. ‘That bastard killed her.’
‘Kit,’ Tom crossed the room to him, ‘she’s not alive.’
‘She is. Freya liked me.’
‘Freya’s not alive in a way we understand. She was a kind of robot. Evil forces controlled her body.’
‘Liar!’
Tom knew he didn’t have long, but at that moment he decided to tell the truth. They had to know what was happening here. ‘Listen … everyone listen.’ Even though the creature ferociously tore at the roof, they did listen to what he told them. ‘Over a thousand years ago the Vikings believed that their lives and destinies were controlled by a whole family of gods headed by a deity called Wodin. I can’t even begin to understand how it happened, but the gods still have some residual power. Their sole reason to exist is to get their revenge on human beings, because people stopped worshipping them.’
Tom saw that they believed him – perhaps they felt they had no choice. Because it might be that just one splinter of this information would be vital for their survival. Helsvir abruptly paused its demolition work. Tom couldn’t help but wonder if the monster was eavesdropping on what he had to say.
Regardless of the monstrous eavesdropper Tom continued, ‘In my mind’s eye, I see them, those old gods of the Vikings: they’re no longer worshipped, they’re bitter, resentful. They hate human beings. They want to make us suffer. So how do they manage to hurt people? Well, those pathetic creatures that were once gods still control Helsvir and the vampires out there. They’re like a bitter man who’s no longer respected and who has no authority over others, so what does this bitter failure do in order to feel big and powerful? Imagine he owns a vicious dog. Whenever he sees a neighbour’s cat in his garden he opens the door and orders the dog to kill his neighbour’s pet. There’s nothing to actually gain from killing the cat. The crime doesn’t bring him respect again, or make people like him. In fact, his neighbours hate him all the more. And the more he’s hated, the more isolated and bitter he becomes, and the more he’ll use his dog to carry out his sadistic work.’
June put her arm round her mother’s shoulders. ‘So these gods have no special reason for attacking us?’
‘They might get the pleasure a sadist experiences from hurting people. That’s all. There’s no grand master plan other than inflicting misery and pain on human beings.’
Kit yelled, ‘What the hell are you waiting for? Kill the monster! That’s what you promised, isn’t it?’
Eden’s eyes were trusting. ‘Try something. Please.’
Owen bunched his fists. ‘I’ll go with you. I’m not afraid.’
‘Thanks, Owen, but we need to find its weak spot; its Achilles’ heel. Ordinary weapons, even if we had them, wouldn’t destroy it.’
With a tremendous crash the chimney stack fell on to the path outside.
Tom thought hard. What did Nicola tell me? She said that Helsvir acts as the power line of the gods. They feed power through Helsvir in some way. That in turn controls the vampires. So Helsvir is the key. Destroy him and you kill the power.
Dust swirled down the staircase, followed by splinters of woodwork. Helsvir must be breaking through the boards in the attic. Soon he’d lower that ugly body of his into the bedrooms. After that, probably the weight of all that flesh alone would be enough to cause the bedroom floor to collapse. That’s when he rips us apart. We’re helpless as chickens in a cage.
Nobody moved. They stared at Tom in mute hope.
It’s all down to you, Tom, he thought. Their lives depend on you getting smart.
The sounds of destruction intensified. Wood splintered. Dust poured through gaps in the ceiling boards.
Tom began to speak his thoughts aloud: ‘Helsvir is strong enough to simply bust through the walls. So why has it chosen to come down through the roof?’
Eden nodded at the carving. ‘Probably doesn’t want to damage his ugly portrait.’
Tom’s backbone tingled. ‘You might have something there. Yes! He’s being careful not to damage images of himself.’
Jez shrugged. ‘They’re just old carvings.’
‘Not just old,’ Tom pointed out. ‘Ancient. Very ancient. Over a thousand years old. In fact, they’re supposed to be as old as Helsvir.’
‘So, they are important?’ Eden’s eyes flashed with hope.
‘Wait, let’s think this through.’
A ceiling board crashed down on to the floor beside him.
‘Think it through fast, Tom,’ June warned. ‘That thing’s going to come through the ceiling any minute now.’
‘We’re only going to get one chance at this.’ Tom ran his fingers through his hair, trying to speed up the flow of thought. ‘Think, think! Ancient buildings, churches, temples have sacred components to them.’
‘Architecture?’ Jez shook his head. ‘You really want to spout about architecture at a time like this? We’re all going to end up being part of that ugly bastard!’
Tom studied the wall carving. ‘Ancient buildings often had specific parts that were sacred – altars, shrines, sacred chambers. In the past, even domestic homes would have good luck symbols, or rooms that were dedicated to gods or ancestral spirits. So why is this so special?’ He slammed his hand against the carving of Helsvir. When he did so, the creature upstairs suddenly halted its destruction. The thing seemed to hesitate, because it sensed a threat nearby. Tom said, ‘These carvings are dotted throughout the house. They’re not here for decoration – THEY’RE HERE FOR A PURPOSE!’
Eden nodded. ‘Ancient Egyptian tombs had magic bricks. They were supposed to keep grave robbers and evil spirits away.’
Owen gripped her hand. ‘Listen to Eden, Tom, she knows what she’s talking about. She’s got brains.’
‘Magic bricks. Magic carvings. These are the key!’ Tom slapped the carving again, and Helsvir grunted loud enough to shatter a light bulb. Tom ran towards the kitchen. He was fired up, ready for action.
Owen shouted, ‘What are you going to do?’
Exhilaration blasted through Tom. ‘These carvings aren’t just pictures of Helsvir. SOMEHOW THEY’RE PART OF HIM.’ He gave a wild grin that might just have been the wrong side of crazy. ‘It’s time to start some demolition work of my own!’
EIGHTY-ONE
Tom grabbed a large hammer from the storeroom that led off from the kitchen. When he returned to the lounge the others stared as if he’d gone insane.
‘It’s the carvings!’ he shouted. Meanwhile, Helsvir continued to rip its way through the roof. ‘Somehow, these are part of the circuit! Nicola told me that Helsvir acts as a power cable for the gods. Gods – vampires – Helsvir – these carvings! They’re all connected!’
Owen, June, Eden, Kit and Jez gawped in amazement (they even seemed scared of him). Tom approached the carving of Helsvir that had been made over a thousand years ago. Gripping the wooden shaft in both hands, he raised the hammer above his head. More plasterwork cascaded down; clouds of dust misted the air. Helsvir undertook the demolition work with a vengeance. Soon he’d smash his way in. After that … well … Tom shuddered. Best not imagine what comes after. Because that’s when Helsvir starts demolishing us.
With a fierce yell, Tom Westonby swung the hammer. Sparks flew from its massive steel head when it struck. The carving of Helsvir split in two, right through the centre of its body.
Suddenly, the beast stopped its destruc
tion. In fact, it stopped making any noise whatsoever. Tom sensed its utter shock, as if it had felt a stab of pain.
Eden gasped. ‘It worked. You broke the stone, and it stopped!’
Helsvir did pause. But only for a moment. With renewed fury, the monster began its attack on the building again. Woodwork screamed as planks were torn apart.
Owen shouted: ‘You’ve got to smash them all!’
Quickly, he broke the carving in the back of the fireplace – this had been hidden under a thick coating of soot for years. Did he imagine it, or did Helsvir pause yet again, if only for a second? Tom ran into the kitchen. There, another slab portraying the brute had been embedded in the stonework. Tom rained down hammer blows. With each SMACK of the hammer he heard the creature upstairs give a grunt of pain. On the tenth blow the carving exploded. Shards of rock hit Tom in the face. In the reflection of the kitchen window, he saw blood pour from a cut in his cheek. Yet he felt no pain; instead, there was exhilaration. Because Helsvir stopped dead again. The monster seemed to be hurting, but couldn’t understand what inflicted the pain.
Tom had smashed the carvings downstairs. Now for the two upstairs. When he ran through the living room to the staircase Owen joined him.
Tom thundered, ‘No! Stay here!’
‘I want to help.’
‘It’s too dangerous.’
‘I’m not frightened.’
‘Owen, if you follow me up those stairs I’ll throw you back down them. Stay here!’
A massive thump shook the walls. One of the ceiling boards fell to the floor. Helsvir would be in the living room in no time at all. With a glare at Owen to stay put Tom ran up the staircase.
Chaos dominated the upper floor. Dust covered everything. Furniture had been upended by the tremors caused by Helsvir’s powerful assault. There were huge holes in the ceiling. Red roof tiles littered the carpet. Ceiling lights swung wildly. Tom’s shadow lurched along the walls. The sheer noise of the roof’s destruction deafened him. It sounded like a series of explosions. Ceiling boards, planks, sections of water pipe, electric cables – they all hung from the ceiling.
There were two carvings of Helsvir upstairs: one in his bedroom, one in the spare bedroom. Shouldering the door to his room, he plunged through the doorway.
BIG MISTAKE.
Helsvir’s gargantuan form bulged down through a gash in the ceiling. Only the black oak beams, which were as strong as steel girders, prevented the creature from slithering into the bedroom. However, as soon as it accomplished that manoeuvre, its bulk would fill the entire room. No doubt the weight of the thing would be enough to collapse the floor beneath it, enabling this vicious predator to enter the living room below. Then it would claim its next victims.
The carving had been fixed into the wall by his bed, meaning he had to cross the room directly beneath the monster. Up there in the attic crawl space it seemed as if a whale had been dropped through the roof. Of course, this was a ‘whale’ with human arms, legs and heads.
The instant Tom charged into the room the heads twisted to look at him. Eyes blazed with fury. Naked arms reached down. Fingers raked his head; he felt a burning pain as hanks of hair were ripped from his scalp. Smash the stone! Then get the hell out! He lunged deeper into the room. A hiss of fury came from that ugly array of heads. Helsvir knew what Tom intended.
Just five more feet – he could smash that engraving. Another part of the circuit would be broken. Helsvir would be a step closer to destruction.
CRASH! Following that explosion of sound the light went out. Blackness engulfed the room. Tom couldn’t see – as simple as that. He’d been rendered sightless. When he raised the hammer, hoping to strike the carving blindly, he felt hands grip his wrist. Helsvir was fighting back.
Tom struggled to break free. But more hands grabbed him. A moment later, he felt himself lifted clear of the floor. Damn it! He’d be the first of Helsvir’s victims tonight. He’d be torn to pieces. His limbs and head would be married to the monster’s flesh. Fingers dug into his throat – blazing spikes of agony – he screamed.
He could see nothing. Helsvir would dismantle him in the darkness. He’d feel everything, though. This wouldn’t be a delicate, pain-free dissection. Tom could do nothing but wait for the tidal wave of agony as his joints gave way under the pressure.
Suddenly a brilliant light filled the room.
‘TOM!’
Tom blinked. His brother was there, carrying a lantern above his head. The hammer fell from Tom’s hand, and in a flash Owen grabbed it. With the lantern in one hand, he swung the hammer up at the monster’s pale limbs.
Tom managed to croak, ‘No … the slab … break the slab.’
Owen set the lamp down. After that, he gripped the hammer shaft in both hands and took a massive swing at the carving. The first blow cracked it wide open from top to bottom, bisecting the monstrous teardrop shape.
Helsvir convulsed with pain. The hands lost their strength, fingers uncurled – a second later, Tom slammed to the floor. Straight away, he was on his feet.
Owen threw him the hammer. He caught it one-handed.
Tom could breathe again. ‘There’s one last carving inside the cottage … it’s in the spare room. Quick! Before it recovers!’
Owen snatched up the lamp and they ran under the vast bulk of Helsvir; its arms and legs had been hanging limply; now they twitched as it regained its senses.
They made it to the spare room. Ceiling boards had been torn away, as if they were no more substantial than tissue paper. Helsvir quickly repositioned itself in the attic, so it could stretch its arms down between the ceiling timbers to grab the pair. Tom didn’t hesitate. Once again he swung the hammer. The carving in the wall exploded with such force that both men were blown back off their feet. Clearly these slabs contained a potent energy. With all his heart, Tom hoped that energy had now been released harmlessly.
Every face above them that budded from Helsvir twisted in expressions of agony. Eyes scrunched shut. Groans erupted from pale lips. The monster was hurting. Tom had been right about the carvings being vital to Helsvir’s existence.
Owen whooped. ‘You did it! The circuit’s broken!’
Flashes of light filled the room. Searing burst of blue. Lightning in miniature. The air smelt like burnt toast. Tom realized that the odour of burning was, in fact, the atoms of the air being scorched. That lightning seared the atmosphere in the attic. Up there in the crawl space, the whale-like Helsvir began convulsing.
‘The walls!’ Owen shouted.
Now every building block in the wall began to split in two. A sound like a gunshot accompanied every crack in the wall.
As the brittle snapping grew louder, Tom shouted, ‘Get downstairs.’
Tom noticed that gloops of black stuff were dropping from Helsvir – the creature had begun to melt. Its many heads started to lose shape. Faces grew soft – they slid from their skulls as smoothly as an omelette slipping from a pan.
Tom followed Owen downstairs. Even as they entered the room they heard screams from outside.
Eden stared through a window. ‘They’re dying,’ she breathed. ‘The vampires are dying.’
‘Nicola!’ Tom’s heart plunged. ‘Nicola!’ Unlocking the door, he flung it open. There, an extraordinary sight met his eyes. So extraordinary that he stopped dead in order to witness what happened next.
EIGHTY-TWO
The moon shone down on to the forest that surrounded the cottage: the trees formed a silent, black ocean.
Eden was right. The vampires were dying.
Male and female vampires could barely stand. Their legs gave way, dropping them into a kneeling position. They cried in pain. And at the top of the ruined cottage, in the wreckage of the roof, Helsvir cried out, too – or rather the heads that budded from its body screamed in pain. What struck Tom so forcibly was that exactly the same cry came from different mouths.
The vampires’ flesh began to dissolve. Faces slid off in one piece – soft mask
s of wet flesh. Beneath the faces were naked skulls. Helsvir was dying. The vampires were dying. Breaking the stone carvings had worked.
Two more slabs remained outside. Perhaps enough damage had already been done to the mechanism which fed the occult power to the creatures. Maybe Tom didn’t need to smash the last two carvings. Yet he knew it would be foolish to leave them intact. There could still be a chance that the creatures might regenerate in some way. He quickly took the hammer to the engraving embedded in the house above its front door. With two swift blows he shattered it.
Immediately, a man began to shout in a loud voice – angry, bitter words. Tom sensed that – yet he didn’t understand the words themselves. A gut instinct told him that what he heard was the dead language of the Vikings. The angry, shouting voice brought Owen, Kit, Jez and Eden from the cottage. They walked along the path, completely unafraid now, as they watched the end of the vampires.
The deep male voice thundered from the mouths of the dying creatures. The same words poured from all those different mouths at the same time – a perfect lip sync.
Eden marvelled at what she saw. ‘They are puppets, aren’t they? Nothing more than ventriloquists’ dolls? Something’s speaking through them. They never did have minds to think for themselves. This is remote control.’
Kit ran forward. ‘Freya … Freya. …’
He caught her as she sank to the ground. For some reason she didn’t speak with that guttural voice. Instead, she resembled a young woman who’d been overcome by exhaustion.
‘Kit …’ she smiled. ‘Everything’s alright now. I’m happy you’re safe …’
Seconds later, she trickled away through his fingers as her body instantly liquefied.