The Quill Pen Killer (Vampire DeAngeliuson Book 1) Page 11

  Away across the continent, and an ocean, in a European town, in Spain, it is morning. A bat flies into an attic window. He crawls around some of the old furniture stacked there; and then, he drops down onto the wooden board, slated floor where he transforms into a vampire. It is Jessica's father. He shakes off the cold dampness.

  "O sadist souls! I hate the cold!" he complains, "Ugh! I haven't had to do that in years!" He pulls himself together, arranges his clothing, neatly, and sneaks out of the attic door at the end of a flight of wooden stairs. Out in the hall there is a commotion, so he quickly ducks behind the door.

  A young, woman in her bathrobe, dark hair, and curls throws down a glass and breaks it.

  "And I won't go! I've seen it all!!!" She picks up a vase from a pedastal. She holds it over the stairway railing. She looks at the man at the end of the hall.

  "I'll do it. I will," she says. The man pleads, in a tired voice, as if he knows he must say his part, but doesn't really want to, or maybe it’s just a vase he doesn't really like, but he does try to sound as if he's pleading.

  He speaks to her in spanish, "Pour que... mi amoure.... Non! Non... non..."

  His wife, Jessica's father presumes, shakes her head from side to side and screams, stamping her feet,

  "Ahhhhhhhhh!!!!" She drops the vase. The loud sound causes Jessica's father to breathe in and press up against the wall. He waits, listening.

  "Do you want me to go alone?" her man asks her.

  His wife replies only with another frustrated cry, "Ahhh!!!" She stomps her slippered feet into a room across the hall and slams the door.

  "Ay-yie-yie," her man complains. He turns and walks down the stairs. Jessica's father peeks around the door, gives the hallway a once over, to see if the coast is clear. Since it is, both from the drama scene gone, he quickly walks to the end of the hall. He looks down the stairs and sees the man going

  out the front door. He walks down the stairs after him, catches his reflection in the hallway mirror and smoothes his hair with his hand. He opens the front door, looks both ways, and exits. The door shuts behind him.

  Back into the foyer, three more vases are heard hitting the door of the room that the wife disappeared into. A maid walks by, cringing at the noises. She covers her ears with her hands and runs out of the foyer. One more scream from the inside of the closed door and then a pause. Suddenly, a translucent figure slips through the crack in the door and out into the hall, a quiet smile on her face. She slips silently to the left and up into the attic. Jessica's father follows the man from the house down the street and around the corner. He goes into a bar. Jessica's father waits a minute at the door and then also goes into the bar. He sees Mansta sitting at the counter, putting down a bill for a beer. The bartender pulls the tap at the counter while Jessica's father sits down next to the man

  from the house.

  "Hello," Jessica's father says to him.

  "Uh, hi," the man says.

  "So, you speak English?" he comments.

  "Yes. And about 14 other languages," the man tells him.

  "Hmm," her father says and also orders a beer from the bartender.

  Back in the house the men just came from, in the foyer, the maid opens the door to enthusiastic pounding. A woman, looks the same age as the one who'd just been screaming, with her hands full of shopping bags enters.

  "O for Pete’s sake, what took you so long to answer that door?!"

  She doesn't wait for the maid to answer before she says,

  "Grimminy is Forna home? Yes, she is!... here, take these," she answers her own question shoving three packages into the maid's arms. The maid curses many phrases at her in Spanish, turns to set them on a table and by the time she turns around again, the woman, named Bistoff is up the stairs and opening the woman of the household's, Fornadad's, bedroom door.

  The maid cautions, but not too loudly, "I wouldn't go in there..." she says demurely, not really caring if the impatient, self-absorbed visitor does wind up getting hit with a vase to the head by accident; but, as it often goes with impatient, self-absorbed women, she does not listen and she waltzes right into Fornadad's bedroom anyway. Bistoff her friend, still with one shopping bag in her hand, says, "Humph! Knock, knock. (Although the door has been already walked through.) Get up! What are you doing in your nightgown?" Bistoff crunches right through a pile of broken glass, that would have been just as easily stepped over, but she's that type to avoid anyone else's down time without a flourish of acknowledgement.

  "Oooh, oh, oh horses of pestilence!" she complains tapping glass from the bottom of her shoes.

  "There, there, what has gone on here?" she asks Fornadad.

  Fornadad wails and covers her head with a pillow. She wails again, muffled.

  "You know what you need?" Bitstoff asks her. She opens the shopping bag and grabs one of the two small packages she is still carrying. She opens a thin book. I just bought it," she says.

  "Suzy Smith's Guide to Popularity," she reads out from the cover. She opens the book. She giggles.

  "Isn't that fun?!

  1. Do whatever the popular 'they' say.

  2. Don't ask questions.

  3. Make love spells for people you don't like.

  4. Remember, good skin comes reddily but bad skin fails a lot.

  Reminds me, I bought you some new cream." She pulls out a red jar.

  "Let me do your face, humh?" Fornadad wails, again, out loud.

  Up in the attic. The translucent, artist girl opens a box to reveal the 'same' red jar. Her expression is satisfied at the sight of it.

  Back at the pub, Mansta, as it turns out the man of the household is named, tells the bartender and Jessica's father, "I just didn't know she had so many demons to battle. They just keep coming," he complains in a very, tired sounding voice.

  Jessica's father offers him a little advice, "Have you tried talking to her?"

  "O, yes, ofcourse," he says.

  "Well, don't you know he's a cad?"

  "No, she's my wife," Mansta corrects him, "and don't go calling her a cad! You aren't from around here, so I won't fight you this time, but if you slip your tongue again on words like that about my wife, well..."

  Jessica's father interrupts, "No, I meant the demon. He fights you... for her.. I just assumed you knew. You said demons." Jessica's father looks at the bartender for back-up,

  "He did say demons. O, I guess it could be a girl with a very bad temper. These in-the-marriage things though... usually a guy. Like I said, a cad - but not your wife!"

  Mansta looks at Jessica's father puzzled, "No, I meant emotional demons, emotions that she doesn't process well, that kind of thing."

  "O, I don't know. If I were you, I'd try some type of religious article.... I know just the thing. A statue.... of a saint... from this very area. Sculpted by a young artist centuries ago. I could have it shipped here. You could purchase it... if you like it."

  "Well, you think it would help? I don't buy in to this, you know."

  "I see," Jessica's father says, "but if you have the statue I'm talking about in your own home, there would be much happiness in your world. Isn't that worth a try?"

  "You aren't a salesman, are you?"

  "No. Just a concerned father and shoulder for you to cry on. What do you say?"

  "I guess it's worth a try," Mansta tells him and then asks,

  "It's nice looking, isn't it? No something horrible?"

  "No, no, it's very nice. Lovely," he says.

  "There's been some difficulty... um... housing it in the states, you see, the town it's in has to get rid of it - problems with a girl there, my daughter, actually, and-"

  Mansta interrupts, "O, I see where this is going. Chump at the bar with a low, down hump and you've got a statue to unload, huh? Well I'm not as chump as you think, mister."

  "No, no," Jessica's father insists, "You must listen to me. I think this'll solve both problems. You see, my daughter's researched the statue and it belongs here. It was created
here; and, she'd like to see it returned. We can't keep it in the town it's in. Let me bring it over. I'll come over myself. If there's a calmness you keep it, if not, I'll take it home. Plus, you might get your wife back."

  Mansta remembers fondly, "She was so lovely on our wedding day. You know? She really was."

  Jessica's father clears his throat, "Was that the last time?"

  Mansta stops daydreaming, "Huh? No, no, o no, but since-"

  "Since the house?" Jessica's father asks.

  "Since we moved in..." Mansta thinks back.

  "This'll help. I know it will!" Jessica's father tells him and slaps his hand down onto the bar counter and stands up.

  "It's decided then. I'll return in a couple of days – with the statue."

  Up in the attic, back at the house in Spain, the translucent girl holds up the red jar and watches it sparkle as it catches the light that streams in through a small, open window, the same window Jessica's father flew in through. The girl ghost twirls around and around, holding her jar and watching it sparkle. Other ghosts in parts of the attic go about doing different things. An old lady ghost with a handbag and nylon stockings that end at mid-calf while her skirt ends just below the knee, vexes wandering back and forth using a cane and holding one hand to the back of her hip.

  "Veda!" the girl ghost calls out to her, "do you think this is lovely? The loveliest jar of cream you've ever seen?" She twirls again.

  "I'd like to sculpt it, from glass! I'd make a twirling girl, holding a jar of cream, up to the light.... You know what's in this? Seeds of passion for a man who does not love me when he's with her! O how I hate her!" The girl ghost's face droops angry-sad and her twirling slows to a stop.

  "O how I'd like to see her face explode when she puts on this cream. I'd like to see her cry and sob in the mirror, I would. O Veda!" She begins to twirl again.

  "Isn't this the loveliest jar of cream you've ever seen?" Her twirling slows again.

  "I'm going to make her face explode with ugly bumps! She's spoiled! She doesn't know the bite, the sting... Not like I've had. He'll love me, then... Me! I'm going to make her act naughty! O I'm going to make her look bad, bad, bad! O Veda!" She begins to twirl again.

  "Isn't this the loveliest jar of cream you've ever seen?"

  Underneath, in Fornadad's bedroom, Fornadad sits up in bed. Her friend sits next to her, reading. Bistoff closes the book, and reaches for a jar of cream she set on the night stand. Her hand darts around in thin air and over books, picture frames and other objects that dot the nightstand.

  "Now, where is that jar of cream that I brought you?" Bistoff asks. Then, she gets up and moves things around on the night stand looking. She looks under the bed at the foot of the night stand. The artistic girl ghost, the very one of Old Nostramadeus' nightmare, zooms through the wall and sets the jar she'd been holding on the night stand and stands back in the corner to watch as Bistoff stands up, and looks back at the night stand.

  "O, there it is! Now here. Sit up. Come on. This is just what you need. You'll like this. You'll feel better. It'll make you happy. Come on now." She helps Fornadad out of bed. The ghost of Old Nostramadeus' young artist waits in the corner and looks on with giddy anticipation.

  Two hours later, up in the attic, a bat tipsy from one pint of ale (that's too much for a bat, you know) stands hiccuping and staggering, trying to 'get his wings about him' for an attempt to fly out the window.

  He lifts off, wobbles, "Uh, o -," he hits the wall, and smacks down onto the wooden floor. This time he gathers himself together and walks back a few paces to get a running start at the window.

  He tries again; flies a little too much to the right, swerves to pull back to center, but over compensates a bit too much to the left, "Up... up... nope..." He circles back around flying, this time, toward the back of the attic and then proceeds, again, toward the window. Too much air... and then a little too low and then-

  "O, I think I've got it! Center now... steady... uh..." He smashes into the sill just above the window and falls back to the ground. He mumbles, gathers his wings around him, shaking them out, along with the humiliation.

  "Fresh start tomorrow, then," he tells himself. He tips backwards and flops over onto the floor, "Ahh..." he exhales. He closes his eyes and passes out, middle of the floor, wings wrapped around him.

  He is not even awakened when wails and screams come from the room downstairs. More smashing sounds, things being thrown. The artist girl's ghost emerges through the door crack, laughing. She laughs, holding her stomach with both hands and flops into an armchair laughing.

  "It was fabulous! Hysterical!" She says, kicking her legs up, rocking the chair back against the attic wall, rocking and laughing. Downstairs, in Fornadad's bedroom, as the thump of the chair against the attic wall is heard, Fornadad pulls back from Mansta's arms, who has returned home from the bar, just in time for the new drama of his wife's (and the girl ghost he doesn't know about living upstairs in the attic). They both look up, startled, when they hear the thumping the sounds. Fornadad's complexion, ruined, red, bumpy and swollen, she hasn't let Mansta see her face, until now. Now at the sound of attic thumps, they look, wide eyed, at each other. A mistake! She remembers quickly what she looks like and buries her head in Mansta's shoulder. Once again, she wails and cries. Back up in the attic the Artist girl's ghost has caught sight of the bat asleep in the middle of the attic floor. She stares at it for a minute or two, then eventually gets up and creeps over to it.

  "What have we here? Veda?" She looks around. The attic is empty except for herself. She scoops her hand under the bat who is snoring by now and holds it up to her face. He makes some sleepy sounds and rustles his wings in a little bit closer, nuzzling his chin against them.

  She puts him right up by her nose and looks at him.

  "You're cute!" she whispers.

  The Quill Pen Killer

  Chapter Ten: Head House Batty

  The bat, Jessica's father, begins to wake in the pitch dark of the earliest hour of morning - or is it the latest hour of night? Anyway, he awakens to the horror that his normally distinguished self is dressed in a baby doll's bonnet and frilly, white nightgown. He is laying in the middle of a doll bassinette, half covered by a soft, flannel blanket upon which pink and blue lambs leap over yellow and lavender colored flowers.

  "Dear Lord of the bellfry! Where am I?" he exclaims.

  He looks up at a child's ghost, looking down at him, the bat, who is humming a nursery rhyme song. He peers over the edge of the bassinette and sees the artist girl's ghost twirling and dancing in the moonlight in front of the open window. An old lady ghost paces back and forth with a cane, one hand on the back of one hip. The child ghost brings its face close in to the edge of the bassinet and looks at the bat, blinking. She presses a plastic baby bottle toward him, trying to get him to drink and pokes him in the nose.

  "Oww!" He tries to put his claw out against the intrusion, to get it away from his face, but the nightgown binds into his wing and he isn't able to move his claws close enough.

  "Get this thing off of me!" he skreeches. The child pokes the plastic bottle at his nose again.

  "Ow! Stop that!" he says and begins to bite at the trim of the nightgown. The child starts to cry. She looks at the twirling figure and points at the chewing bat, furiously biting the edge of the nightgown trying to tear the wretched thing from the finery of his leathery bat wings.

  Finally finished with crying, Fornadad has taken to the bathroom to help herself, a rather brave moment for her, since Fornadad is used to just yelling, "Do something!" and crying about it until somebody makes it stop. With a deep breath and a new resolve, she pats a towel against her just washed face, not letting the sight of its red bumps in the mirror bring the tears trickling, again. For one reason, her worrying is interrupted by a howling sound. She pricks up her ears and listens to approximate where, and from what distance, the howling is coming.

  "Mansta!" she yells (one step at a time, she is, af
terall already helping herself, he could help too).

  "It sounds like the wind... do you hear that? Mansta?" She walks into the bedroom and sees that he is gone. She listens again, walks out into the hallway to the attic door and rests her ear against it for a moment.

  "Man-sta! I think the window in the attic has flown open again...." Fornadad looks out over the banister. He does not answer her.

  "Devil's timepiece! Never where I need him if I need him." She opens the door and stomps up the stairs.

  "Barbaric! Absolutely barbaric!" As she reaches the top of the stairs, the three ghosts have scrambled to the corners of the attic, hiding behind furniture. The child ghost lets out a little wail. Veda covers her mouth and shushes the child quietly. At the sound, Fornadad looks to the east. She sees the open window.

  "There! You see!" She crosses the attic to close the window. Just then, the bat has wiggled free from the last of the atrocious outfit and climbs to the edge of the bassinet.

  He takes flight just as Fornadad turns from the window. He swerves as he just misses crashing into her hair.

  "Ahhh! O horrors!!" the bat turns and darts away. Fornadad flails her arms and runs around in circles, yelling, "Get out of here! Get Out!!" the bat, Jessica's father, circles back to get away, but Fornadad grabs onto an old broom and goes running. Finally the bat sees clear to the window and flies away. Fornadad ducks as the bat flies past her just before he goes and turns to run, but she becomes twisted in her skirt, and falls down onto the floor with a thump.

  "O!" Mansta comes running up the stairs, just at that moment. He does not see anything at all but his wife, twisted up in her clothing, lying on floor, complaining at him.

  "I can't even believe you!" she yells. "Don't you ever help! Don't you ever help! Pull me up, here. Pull me up!"