9. Sleeping Beauty.
It's half seven and we've just eaten our dinner. Five invitations lean against the wall on the breakfast bar, each one the same as mine but with the name of my mother, father, two brothers, and sister. Chloe's has been sellotaped back together. My own invitation is still nestled in the pages of my Art History textbook. The topic of the dinner party has been raised and I have shot it down.
"No one's going to the castle. End of."
"Just because you didn't get an invitation," mocks Ian. I grab my school bag that I discarded under the breakfast bar earlier, open it up and pull my invitation from the book. I rip it up and throw it at Ian before sliding myself to my feet and traipsing towards the stairs.
I pause and look over my shoulder to them, "I'm still feeling dodgy, so I'm hitting the sack early. Good night." My feet thump upstairs and I slam my bedroom door behind me. I lean against it, eyes closed as I listen to the soft sound of laughter drift up from the kitchen. My hand slinks into my coat pocket and closes around a bulb of garlic rustled from the veg box earlier. I wish I had more, but there's not much call for garlic in a kitchen that favours traditional Welsh recipes over continental. I lick my lips and sling myself to my knees, pulling out a dusty forgotten box from under my bed. It's full of old junk; holiday souvenirs and unwanted birthday presents from distant relatives. About half way down I find what I'm searching for. Three giant novelty pencils bought on various seaside holiday trips. I survey the tips and wonder if they'd manage to pierce through a chest plate ok. Somehow I'm doubting it, but it's the best I have without traipsing around Stokely woods after nightfall. They're too large to fit in my coat pockets, so I snap them in half and add them to the garlic. I don't think I'll be needing them. I think I'm just a bit crazy now. But if it means my mind is appeased enough to get over whatever it is that's making me want to steer clear of that castle, then it's fine by me.
Just as I'm climbing onto my windowsill I hear my door handle turn. I press my lip with my teeth and jump back to ground as Chloe walks in. Her brows shoot up and her hands go to her hips.
"Where do you think you're going?!" she asks like she's my mother.
I snap back my reply. "The castle."
"I thought you said they were all freaks up there, that no one's going to the castle, end of."
"Yeah I said that."
"So why are you going?"
I flare out my nostrils, sigh out my lungs and shake my head. "I don't have time for this, Chloe. I'm going to the castle and I'm pulling whatever this is out into the open."
"I don't think you should go alone. I think I should come with you."
I shake my head. "Not happening. Things got heavy last night and there's no reason why it'll be any different tonight. It's not safe."
"So stay."
"I've got to get the straight, Chloe. After this I can move on with things and stop mulling over whatever it was that went down when we lost our memories. I'm close to cracking it. So I have to do this. I'm late and you're making me later." I climb back onto the windowsill and shoot her a heavy look. "Cover for me. Keep the others away from my room. I'll debrief you tomorrow."
When I get down to the driveway I look up at my window and see Chloe with knives in her eyes, staring down at me. Turning my back to her and the house I walk up the hill with a fast pace, keen to catch up on lost time. The long-haired guy said early evening was best. I check my watch. 7.58pm. Cutting it fine.
The castle is quieter than yesterday. The place feels a lot different without the bright white light illuminating the exterior and the flashing disco affects pouring from the windows. I take a moment's pause to survey the situation. It's quiet. Too quiet. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or a bad thing.
It smells like it might rain. My heels crunch on the gravel as I approach the heavy front door and push against it. They should really oil the hinges on this thing. It creaks loudly. I dart into the castle and hover in the shadows. It's all black and orange in here. Tangerine spills in from Stokely streetlights drifting through a window. Ticks clicking out of a clock shrouded under the blackness sound like drips falling into a puddle. I stand and wait, then press onwards. My eyes adjust to the dark quickly and I can make out the shapes of doorways I went through yesterday. Following the pattern of yesterday's feet, I lead myself down the same corridors. These are lit with flame torches. I keep an ear out for sounds other than mine and an eye out for movement. There is none. It's a free passage all the way to the room we stopped in yesterday. I stand at the door to what I believe is the crypt. Candle light flickers shadow theatricals on the stone wall. Breath drifts from me slowly and steadily. I am the only thing alive in this place. I step down into the room.
There are four or so coffins in a line, all open. One is occupied. With hesitant steps I make my way over to it, palms sweaty and pulse rocketing. He's a kid about my age and he looks dead. My warm fingers drift softly over his marble cold skin. No pulse. There's a flutter of recognition. I've seen him before. Vlad. The shy loner kid who was in some of my classes a few years ago. I don't remember having ever spoken to him. But I definitely do recognise him. This is more than a coma he's in. I clap my hands above his face, to see if he stirs at all. I know this is really dumb. The kid's dead. I don't know how long he's been this way. There's not a sign of decomposition. Not a hint of rotting flesh. I stand over the coffin and stare down. It makes me feel sad in a way to see someone my age dead. All that life unlived. Makes the reality of things come into clear perspective. Some day I'll be dead in the ground, as cold and pale as this kid right here. My veins feel hot. I am vibrant. I am alive. What have I been doing these past three years? Wallowing around half-dead, trapped in a fishbowl staring out at a world I couldn't understand. It doesn't matter that I don't understand it. I'm in it, but I won't be for long.
Coming here was a mistake. I turn my back to the coffin, my intention to go home and sleep, wake up a new person. My lips part as I see Ingrid standing in the doorway, a cocked smile slapped on her face. A stone slides into the pit of my stomach. I slip a hand into my pocket, fist clasping around the garlic bulb.
"I told you not to come back until you were invited, breather boy," she snaps through clenched teeth. She steps into the room and I step back, hitting against Vlad's coffin. "What are you doing in here?"
"Leaving," I say, side-stepping the coffin and backing further into the room. There's another door at the far end.
"So soon? But you haven't done your Prince Charming act yet."
I don't follow, and she sees that I don't so she clarifies. "Isn't that what you came for? To kiss Sleeping Beauty back into the land of the living."
"There's no amount of kissing that's going to bring that guy back," I mutter. "And I don't kiss guys," I add, feet heading slowly backwards towards the door. Ingrid laughs shallowly and floats further into the room towards me, chin raised and manner haughty. I take my hand and the garlic slowly out of my pocket.
"You don't kiss anybody. I can smell the virginity in your blood. Delicious! Post-16 virgins are a real treat. The very finest. It took all of my self-control not to drain you yesterday. I don't think I can resist it any longer." Her eyes flash golden and my stomach falls outside of itself. My grip on the garlic goes soft and it hits the floor with a dull distant thud. The world slips away and I'm left only with her eyes. She drifts closer to me. I part my lips and surrender to it all, turning to liquid. She runs her hand down my cheek, moving my head to the side so she can more easily put her teeth to my neck. I let her. Blood screams through my veins like fire. Electricity bursts all around me, tingling every cell in my body. It feels so good. So damn good. My entire being is aching for it, lusting for those teeth to rip through me and pull out every last drop of blood. I want it so badly, but it does not come.
I hear a thud, a lot like when my garlic bulb hit the floor. Then Ingrid screams out, smoke cascading from her. She lets go of my eyes and the room comes crashing back into focus. I almost fall to my knees, the release is so sudden.
"Run!" I hear Chloe's voice echo around the room. My eyes flash across to see my little sister with another bulb of garlic that she's waving out in front of her as a shield against Ingrid.
"Chloe!" I shout. Ingrid has stopped smoking, at least literally. She shivers with rage, turning the whole room icy with her temper.
"Who dares attack the Princess of Darkness in such a crude manner!?" I break into a run but don't get anywhere before Ingrid grabs me and throws me across the crypt. I land with a crack, half in a vacant coffin.
"Robin!" Chloe screams. I push myself up and look across. Chloe is backing away from Ingrid, one small step at a time, her eyes locked onto Ingrid's.
"Don't look in her eyes!" I shout. But it's too late. Chloe drops the garlic, mesmerised and blank-faced. I push my lips together and get to my feet as Ingrid bends over Chloe, moving her blonde hair to the side. I'm half way to reaching them when Ingrid's two sharp teeth sink into my sister's neck. My mouth fills with saliva and my stomach twists. I take a novelty pencil from my coat pocket, eye focused sharply on the place in her back that I should drive it in order to get the heart. Putting everything I have into it, I plunge the pencil point home. There's a loud crack followed by an animal growl. The pencil has snapped uselessly against her back, not even breaking the fabric of her cloak let alone skin.
"You!" she screeches at me, Chloe's blood staining red on her chin. Panic lifts my chest up and down. Chloe is still out of it, mesmerised and lost with a euphoric smile on her face.
"Chloe! Snap out of it!" I holler, dodging an arm-sweep from Ingrid.
"Patience, Robin. I'm saving the best 'til last. You're next in line. Until then wait patiently like a good boy." I feel myself being lifted up like a rag doll. Everything happens too fast for my brain to process. She shoves me into the nearest coffin and slams the lid closed. When I try to get out I find that it's locked tight. I slam my fist into the wood, screaming at it. Ingrid's laughter comes through, dampened with the thickness of my coffin walls.
"CHLOE!" I yell, punching the wood over and over, writhing in this tiny space, scratching at the walls. "Chloe! Please. Don't hurt her!" ragged breaths tear out of my lungs. There's such panic, such heat and rage inside me, it feels like I can do anything. I can break this cage. My knuckles split and bleed. This is too much. I am screaming her name over and over, kicking, punching, scratching, crying and spitting. Futile. Useless. Used up. I come outside of myself. I am screaming my sister's name, but I am no longer a part of myself. I pant, relaxing and staring through the darkness. My major organs have turned to Styrofoam. I've screeched out all of my oxygen. The space is hot and stale.
Sorry about the cliffhanger. It's something us Young Dracula fans are used to by now. The next chapter should be up by Tuesday, maybe before if I can upload the stuff from the place I am going to over the weekend. I like to get reviews. They make me happy. Please review, thanks.