SHADOW OF THE IMPALER-A VISITOR FROM THE SHADOWS
By Red Star
Dr. Eve had arrived at Professor Oak's ranch, and set to work examining the documents that Mr. Graves had brought.
"Remarkable. Absolutely remarkable!" she gushed in a French accent, "These scrolls are indeed over four hundred years old! What a find!" Professor Oak could only smile a little helplessly as he said, "Well, Mr. Graves would be happy to loan it over for study to you, I'm sure. But his express wishes were for its translation."
"Oh yes, that." She smiled at us quite happily. "I'm sorry, I don't know Gaelic."
We fell over from the shock.
"What? But you're supposed to be the genius here!" I cried.
"I'm sorry, Monsieur Ketchum, but this Jonathan Graves is right: Gaelic is a dead language. Only a few people know it completely, and no one is willing to try and revive it now that Ireland is independent. In fact…" her face became thoughtful, "I'm surprised that Monsieur Graves knew enough about it to identify the language."
Professor Oak cringed. I knew why; I wanted to hear what this thing had to say about Mews too.
"However, I do know someone who may be able to help Monsieur Graves."
"Who?" I asked.
"A brilliant man from London: Dr. Albert Van Helsing. He was the one who got me started on studies of ancient civilizations. In fact, he helped bring support from the Royal Archeological Society to my travels. If anyone can translate these scrolls, he can."
Professor Oak nodded. "All right, let's get him here. Oh, Ash, could you please call Mr. Graves' room? I want him informed about this."
As even the tiniest tike in the land knows, I-I, Dracula-must rest during the day.
Of course, this restriction on my freedom applies to the times of my own exhaustion. So, I rolled out my flat bag of earth upon the bed, put a do-not disturb sign on the door, and gratefully fell asleep.
"Ringringring, ringringring, phone call, phone call,"
After an excruciating minute of listening to that racket, I had managed to pull myself out of my sleep enough to roll out of the bed and stumble toward the phone, muttering medieval curses all the way. I grabbed the receiver.
"Yes?" I growled, hoping to frighten them away.
"Uh, good morning, Mr. Graves."
Ash Ketchum was looking at me through the screen. I attempted to rally myself into a state capable of continuing a conversation with him.
"Ah, good morning, Ash. Forgive my rudeness; I'm a little tired today."
"Oh, well," he was silent for a moment, "Professor Oak wanted me to tell you that Dr. Eve is here, but sorry, she doesn't know much about Gaelic."
I nodded. "Thank you, Ash, I appreciate…"
The screen flashed for a second. "Oh, excuse me, Mr. Graves, there's another call."
"Mom?" I said, a little shocked.
"Hi, honey! I just wanted to see how things were going!"
I smiled at her unconsciously. "Everything's fine, Mom. Eve's just looking over Graves' stuff."
She smiled back. "That's good. I have an idea: why don't you invite them over to dinner tonight!"
"Okay, Mom." Then she said something that I didn't think of much at the time, but afterwards would burn into my mind forever.
"Why don't you invite Mr. Graves over too? I'd like to meet him."
I frowned. "But, Mom…he's a little…"
"What?"
"Well…creepy."
"Now, Ash, I'm sure he's a nice man once you get to know him."
After this conversation with his dear mother, Ash turned his attention back to me.
"Uh, Mr. Graves?"
I smiled calmingly. "Yes, Ash?"
"My mom wants to know if you would like to come over for dinner."
I am somewhat pleased to report that I did not blink once at this strange occurrence. Lord Ruthven had already provided me with the dossier on this woman, and she tended to act in this friendly manner.
"At what time do you eat?" I asked.
"About seven,"
"Ah," I gave him my most benevolent gaze, "I'd be delighted. I'll be there at seven sharp."
Later on…
Dad sat in the living room with James watching TV. Dad…Giovanni…had built a cottage for Jesse, James, and Meowth next door. It wasn't anything really fancy; they had lived in much worse. They worked in the gym that Dad built at the end of town.
"Now, back to our top story. A few minutes ago, the Russian Army crossed the Danube River and completely occupied Budapest, the capital of Hungary, without firing a shot. Thousands of jubilant Hungarians are in the streets, hoisting portraits of Russian Emperor Dane I everywhere and greeting the Imperial Army with flowers and wine. To the south, Russian troops have taken over Romanian bases and are proceeding across the border to Yugoslavia."
The familiar face of Dane I appeared on the set, making a speech to a packed room.
"The dream…the Great Dream of every Russian…the dream to unite all Slavs under our banners is as old as Russia herself, and after all this time, after centuries of work and labor, our efforts are finally being rewarded!"
Loud applause echoed from the set as I settled into a seat between James and Dad. We all watched the Emperor wave down the crowd's roar.
"Our victory comes by the road built by all Slavs, who have suffered through centuries of oppression by foreign powers; this road was built under a tempest of tyranny to reach a land where the sun of freedom burns brightly. Let the world know that…"
Ding-dong!
I quickly changed into my human self, which caused James to move nervously away. I'm not sure what unsettled him more, my being Giovanni's son, or my being a Mew.
Everybody was there by now; Professor Oak, Mayo, and Eve.
Mom looked anxiously out the window. "I wonder where Mr. Graves is, it's almost seven."
"Well, Mom, he said he'd be here at seven sharp."
"You're sure?"
"His words, not…"
Ding-dong!
Dad was closest, he
turned the knob and swung the door open wide.
There he stood. His
clothes were finely tailored, black, with a black tie covered with little red
designs. His black shoes were excellently polished, and his piercing blue eyes
stared out from under closely combed hair. In his right hand, he held a bottle
of wine.
"Ah, Mr. Ketchum, I
presume?"
Dad nodded and…
But now, allow
me-Dracula-to tell this piece of the tale again. I bowed a little at the hips
in a fashion that I have found to flatter most people in these modern times,
and presented the wine.
"Than you for
inviting me into your home, sir; forgive me if I cause you some discomfort, I
am yet a stranger to your beautiful town."
The Ketchum father
was a little off-put by my manners. He never really cared for members of high
society, and I was obviously-as some put it-born with a silver spoon in my
mouth. Ah, the expression on his face if he knew I was really born to the
purple! But I digress…
Delia had laid out
her usual feast in the dining room, I smelled it from outside the house as I
approached. Dispensing my greetings to the females as we were introduced (I
believe Eve and Billie blushed at my bow and the words 'Your servant.')
After sitting down
to dine, I began to regale them with tales of a fake military service between
bites.
"…And so," I said
as I swallowed a piece of beef covered with an unfamiliar sauce, "The Colonel
arrives, takes one look at my tank and says 'Mom?'" Laughter made it's rounds
around the table as I cut off another piece and ate it.
The Breathers
surrounding me made sounds of approval as they sampled each of the dishes that
Delia had placed on the table.
"This is great,
Mrs. Ketchum; where'd you learn to cook such good food?" said Billie, with her
gray eyes flashing with delight.
Her grandmother, Amanda, was the Blue-Prize winner of the
Vermillion City Cook-Off Jamboree for twelve years before retiring from the
public scene to teach Gyradoes training to zoos nationwide…
"Oh, I just picked
it up along the road…"
"I remember when
Sarah was alive. She was a brilliant woman, but she insisted that she couldn't
cook toast," said Professor Oak.
Professor Sarah Oak. Died of cancer three years before Ash was born. Samuel Oak could always rely on his neighbor Delia for support more than his son, who'd moved to Cerulean City where he died in a car crash eight years ago.
"Our chef at the
estate was highly recommended. I wonder where he is now…"
Monsieur De Leou. Left soon after little James ran away.
It seems that the youngest scion of the Monroe family was the only one that the
master chef could stand to be around.
"I could eat a
sweaty old shirt, and it would still be a big improvement over the food that I
ate at the Academy."
She graduated from the Archeological Academy of Paris with honors at the age of fourteen. Since then, she has returned thrice to lecture on Pokemopolis.
I looked down at my
plate. The meal was over.
"Excuse me, Mrs.
Ketchum; may I use your washroom?"
She smiled at me in
that sunny manner of hers.
"Certainly. Its up
the stairs, to the right."
I thanked her, put
down my napkin, and walked calmly toward the stairs. Already, my system growled
in protest at the worthless trash that I had shoved into it. As soon as I could
be certain that they could not hear my progress, I ran to the bathroom, hurled
open the door, slammed it shut and opened the toilet. I curled over and vomited
into the bowl, throwing out the food that was of no use to my ancient body.
'Don't give me this crap! ,' I could imagine it would scream, 'I need blood!
Lovely blood! You can't live on this filth!' At the end, I wiped my face clean
of the waste with a Kleenex, which I promptly threw into the toilet bowl. After
this, I fell on my side and waited for my strength to return.
Such a pity. Delia is
a wonderful cook.