The Vampire’s Revenge. Eric MorecambeЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Vernon’s mother and father, Victor and Valeeta, the ex-King and Queen of Gotcha, opened the curtains the second the sun dropped behind the distant hills and looked out on to a beautiful moonlit night. Victor was always agitated at this time of evening, when he had only just got up. He hadn’t even made his coffin yet and making the coffin wasn’t a thing he looked forward to. As he refused to make his wife’s coffin, she refused to make his, and so they both had to make their own. But, to be fair, the old King did polish both their coffins twice a year. He quite enjoyed doing that; therapy, he called it.

      He went to the front door and picked up the paper, The Nightly Express. It was lying face down on the mat so he read the back page first. Wilf the Werewolf, a big friend of Victor’s and now the manager of Gotcha’s football team, had picked the Gotcha team to play Gertcha. Gotcha v Gertcha was the match of the season. Victor walked slowly, reading the sports page as he went.

      In all probability he would be able to see that game as it was being played at night. Wilf had thought of the idea of playing at night under what he called floodlights; it was a very clever idea and it was typical of Wilf to think of it. Victor thought, ‘I’ve got a lot of time for Wilf.’ It was really very simple: at the ground they had installed four huge candles (one at each corner), ten foot thick and sixty feet high, so that on still, clear nights you could see the game.

      Of course one or two of the hooligan element tried to stop the game, if their team was losing, by climbing to the top of the candles and blowing them out. But, as they got closer to the flame, the hotter and greasier the candles became, so they soon slid down and were then carted off to the sin bin at the back of the ground. The punishment meted out was short and sharp: the afternoon before the next game they had to reclimb the candles, right to the top, and clean the wick. On the evening of the match they had to climb the candles once again to light them. So hooliganism was down to a minimum.

      The only problem with night football was that the game had to be postponed if it was windy, because the wind blew the candles out. A windy summer could cause havoc with the league fixtures.

      Victor was reading the sports page as he sat down at the table waiting for his evening breakfast, blood red jelly, a double strength tomato juice and three red black puddings. Valeeta looked at him and the headlines of the paper were facing her:

      VERNON’S STATUE SMASHED,

      VERNON THE VAMPIRE WAS

      NOT ENCLOSED AS THOUGHT

      She snatched the paper out of Victor’s hands, leaving him reading empty space. It was quite some seconds before he realised the paper was gone.

      With a surprised look still on his face, he said, ‘Vot are you doink?’

      Valeeta showed him the headlines. ‘Look,’ she said.

      He read them quickly, then again slowly. He looked at his wife and asked, ‘Vot does it mean?’

      She put the paper down on the table and said, ‘If it means what I think it means, then we are in for trouble, all of us.’ She picked up the paper and read the article out loud:

      ‘Last night your Nightly Express reporter was first on the scene. In our lovely well-kept park, last night’s storm in its fury lashed out and hurled down the statue of Vernon the Vampire. As it crashed to the ground it smashed open. Vernon the Vampire was not inside it …’

      Victor and Valeeta looked at each other.

      ‘Of course he vos,’ said Victor.

      Valeeta carried on reading:

      ‘If Vernon the Vampire was still alive when the statue was broken into fragments like a cheap mirror on the concrete surround then, in the opinion of the park’s spokesman, “He will be on the prowl and he will be out to get those who planned his downfall.” When asked if he thought that Vernon would be out to kill the President, the park’s spokesman, Mr Spadenfork, nodded his head in agreement saying, “Vernon is still alive ’cos when I’ve cleaned that statue I’m sure I’ve seen it breathe, seen it move as you might say.”’

      Valeeta looked once more at her husband.

      ‘Ivor Spadenfork. He’s no spokesman, he’s a park attendant,’ Victor continued. ‘I’ve known him for years.’

      Valeeta smiled, saying, ‘It must be over four years, dear.’

      ‘No, I’ve known him for years, not four years.’

      ‘Darling, how can you have known him four years and then over four years, you silly billy?’

      They looked at each other, both thinking, ‘You’re mad.’

      Victor forced a small smile and said, ‘Vot else does the paper say, mine orchid petal?’

      Valeeta looked down at the paper and found where she had stopped, ahemmed, and carried on:

      ‘It is not the policy of this newspaper to spread fear or panic, but until the Vampire is caught, please keep your children indoors and no-one should venture out between sunset and sunrise. Please do not talk to strangers. The advice of this newspaper is:

      If you think you’ve seen the Vampire Vernon, keep calm and, if he grabs you and starts to squeeze the life out of you, do not fight back, as this could annoy him. If you think he is going to plunge his teeth into your throat then, and only then, scream. If you have a sore throat and can’t scream, you must wave your arms about frantically until help arrives.

      According to an inside source, the President, when asked if special precautions were being made available to protect the public, said, “That’s very possible.” Once again, I tell the readers of The Nightly Express: “Do not panic.”’

      Valeeta put the paper down. Victor stared across at his wife. They saw fear in each other’s eyes. Valeeta thought that Victor would find it very difficult to compete magically with Vernon as he was so out of practice and also completely out of condition – so much so that he became out of breath falling asleep. They slowly and quietly finished their evening breakfast, each with his own thoughts. Victor had silently made up his mind to see his son Valentine, the President. After all, what were friends and relatives in high places for?

      * * *

      Vernon strolled about Katchem in secret. No-one saw him, he made sure of that. The village was almost deserted, hardly a soul was to be seen, except for the police, and even they were not walking alone as usual, but in sets of eight. Vernon was thrilled that he had caused so much confusion and fear. Considering the fact that Katchem only had eight policemen, Vernon found it relatively easy to avoid the whole of Katchem’s police force at once. He walked in and out of the shadows of the streets he knew so well, past Motherscares and Boots the Cobblers.

      Fear was beginning to show itself, from the highest person in the land to the lowest.

      * * *

      In the oblong room at the presidential house Valentine sat with his wife Areta. His young son, Virgil, had been packed off to bed, with a nanny they could trust and a servant to sleep outside the young boy’s room. It was the first time Valentine and Areta had seen each other all day as he had been so busy trying to get things planned and organised with regard to Vernon while still running the whole country.

      ‘How did things go, my dear?’ she asked with concern in her voice.