|
|
Zak, Zooey and the monster murder mystery
story & illustrations by Samir Asran Rahman
CHAPTER 2
Tall tales around the table: Part I
THE study was spacious and lit with scattered scarlet candles: the flames flickered and flared in a fluid dance. Thick hardbound books lined the walls of the room from one end to the other (except for where a big mirror hung in the centre) but they were so old and faded that Zooey could not make out their titles. The children and the monsters took their seats around a creaky, oak poker table in the middle of the room. A globe of the earth rested on a stand in front of Zooey. She reached out her finger and twirled it gently. To her horror, it spun off the stand, bounced off the table and began dribbling itself on the floor as though it were possessed.
‘I barely touched it,’ she said.
‘Don’t worry,’ said the Vampire waving a dismissive hand. ‘That’s just the fifth member of our little group – the resident poltergeist. Ignore him. He just craves attention.’
The Poltergeist grew bored of bouncing the globe and started to shuffle tarot cards on the poker table with great flourish. It got carried away and ended up splaying the cards in all directions. They landed face down except for The Death Card. The Werewolf turned it over, unnerved by the portent. ‘Quit messing around!’ he said to the Poltergeist. ‘If you can’t behave, we’ll have to send you out.’
The petulant Poltergeist mollified itself by scraping its chair’s legs on the floor, ever so slightly.
‘Now then, where were we?’ said the Mummy as he mixed some drinks from a trolley laden with gruesome ingredients.
‘You were going to tell us why you were hiding.’ Zak shook his head politely when the Mummy offered him a slimy concoction that had a chopped lizard’s tail wriggling to and fro within it. He shrugged and drained the drink himself, much to Zooey’s disgust. ‘Ooh, that tickles delightfully going down,’ he declared, beating his chest.
The Werewolf thumped his leg against the table. ‘Just show them the blasted notes and let’s be done with it.’
The Mummy nodded and passed out white A4 sheets of paper that had words written in bold, blood-red magic marker: I am going to kill you all, The End is Nigh and You’re all Doomed.
‘These notes were passed under our door last morning,’ murmured the Mummy.
‘You’ve been getting death threats?’ Zak examined the letters. ‘Who could possibly threaten a motley crew such as yourselves?’
‘Out of the mouth of babes.’ The Vampire nodded approvingly at Zak. ‘That’s exactly what I’ve been saying to these dim-witted fools. Yet they continue to quake in their boots for no discernible reason.’
‘Hey! Who’s quaking?’ challenged the Werewolf hotly. ‘And what do you mean no discernible reason, huh? Show them the photos!’
The Mummy fanned out a bunch of black and white photos on the table. They looked like still photography and the objects included: a stake of wood, a vicious looking scalpel, a silver bullet, a vacuum cleaner and a bottle of holy water.
‘These came with the death threats,’ said the Werewolf.
‘Whoever it is knows all our weaknesses,’ added the Mummy with a quaver in his voice.
‘This evidence brings new light to your predicament,’ said Zak. ‘This house doesn’t seem to be safe for any of you. Maybe you should leave.’
‘Leave?’ sneered the Vampire. ‘Now why would we want to do that?’
‘Well first of all, this isn’t even your own house. I happen to know it’s on the market.’
‘We’re not squatters if that’s what you’re implying, pup,’ The Werewolf bared his teeth. ‘We didn’t randomly decide to set up camp here.’
‘My furry friend has a point,’ said the Vampire. ‘We were all invited here.’
‘Invited? By whom?’
‘There’s the rub. None of us know who our hospitable benefactor is. We received anonymous letters inviting us to come and reside here for as long as we needed but nobody was here to greet us when we arrived. There was just a note tacked to the door telling us to make ourselves at home. I’m sure the house owner has good reason for withholding his identity.’
‘Why wouldn’t the house owner want you to know who he or she is?’ asked Zooey.
‘Let’s just say, all of us have a few skeletons in the closet, kid,’ said the Werewolf.
‘It’s not as sinister as he makes it sound,’ protested the Mummy. ‘But it’s true that we are all trying to escape certain undesirable elements in our lives. Our host could get into trouble if it became known that he or she was harbouring us.’
‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ said Zooey.
Zak stood up and smacked his fist on the table. His eyes gleamed with sudden epiphany. ‘I don’t think it’s a coincidence that all of you were invited here. Someone, who wants to remain anonymous, has planned meticulously to bring you all together in an attempt to kill you.’
Zooey gaped at her brother. He seemed to be channelling the essence of a detective in a parlour mystery.
‘And why, pray tell, would anyone want to bring us together?’ asked the Vampire. ‘We all met each other here for the first time a few weeks ago and have nothing in common save for the fact that we were all in need of refuge.’
‘Actually, there is something else you have in common,’ said Zak.
‘Oh and what might that be?’ asked the Vampire.
‘Isn’t it obvious? You’re all monsters.’
‘I beg your pardon,’ said the Mummy, slightly miffed. ‘That’s just rude.’
Zak apologised. ‘I only meant that by human standards you would be categorised as monsters. Personally, I have nothing against your ilk.’
There was a moment of silence as the Monsters digested the boy’s words.
‘The pup has a point,’ said the Werewolf. ‘We never thought of this from a human perspective. Maybe there’s some kind of monster slaying psychopath on the loose. I’ve seen TV Shows about these crazies.’
‘Perhaps we need to think out off the crypt,’ agreed the Mummy. ‘The boy may be able to help us to figure out who our enemy is.’
‘That’s preposterous,’ said the Vampire. ‘As if a mere human could be any match for us.’
‘It could be more than one,’ said Zak. ‘But even if it’s just one human, he or she has managed to accumulate a great many deadly weapons.’
‘This whole thing smells like a prank to me,’ said the Vampire. ‘If this human wanted to attack us, why would he send letters and put us on alert?’
‘If I had to hazard a guess, I would say that he’s toying with you.’
‘Toying with us?’ The Vampire’s thin lips curled in derision. ‘Toying with me? I have no time for this balderdash. I have more important things to do.’
‘Listen to the boy, Lesbat,’ pleaded the Mummy. ‘His words are sprinkled with a smidgen of sense.’
‘O Noble Count Lesbat,’ said Zak. ‘You could be right about this whole thing being an elaborate prank but there is no harm in being cautious. I went through a phase of reading parlour murder mysteries, in my youth, and I believe that if I delve into your pasts I’ll be able to shed some light on this current predicament.’
Lesbat liked the way Zak had addressed him. ‘I suppose I can let myself be entertained by this soiree a while longer,’ he grunted. ‘But after that, I have equipment to set up. What is it you wish to know?’
‘To prove the authenticity of these notes, we need to establish whether you’ve made any enemies in the past. You said you were all looking for a refuge. Would you mind elaborating on that?’
Lesbat poured himself a glass of blood red orange juice and sipped it sparingly. ‘How much do you know about vampires, boy?’
‘I’ve viewed a lot of TV on the subject.’
Lesbat frowned. ‘And all of these TV programs were created by humans, no doubt.’
‘I suppose so,’ said Zak.
‘Well then, you don’t know a lot about the subject because what you see on TV is human propaganda. We of the vampire ilk have been living secretly among you human beings for centuries. You could pass us on the street and never suspect our true nature, so skilled are we at the art of deception. We hold normal jobs, and go to normal cocktail parties. I myself am a documentary filmmaker. Perhaps you have heard of The Bloodsucker Proxy by Remy Lesbat?’
‘I can’t say that I have, no.’
‘Oh,’ Lesbat looked slightly dejected. ‘I suppose that is to be expected when it’s only been viewed in underground circles. I can’t get widespread distribution, thanks to the very community I was trying to help.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘The film is a hot potato in our vampire circles. It was an expose of Blood Drives all over the world. Are you familiar with that term?’
‘Isn’t that when people donate their blood to charity?’
‘Yes, but sometimes people are also paid money when they donate blood to hospitals and shelters. A lot of this blood goes to waste because of the lack of proper freezing facilities. Do you know how many gallons of blood are wasted every week all over the world?’
‘No, I usually don’t like thinking about blood.’
‘It’s enough to feed the entire vampire community, let me tell you that. In my documentary, I proved that if we set up blood drives for ourselves, it would be akin to opening a chain of gas stations all over the world. A win-win situation for everyone. Humans would receive monetary compensation for their blood and we would not have to skulk around at night, hoping to find a stray mortal to feed on.’
‘Sounds like a good idea to me. It boils down to a simple demand and supply transaction.’
‘Exactly. But nobody in the Vampire Community would rally behind it. So backward are my people, so miserably mired in the old ways, that they could not embrace this brilliant solution. They wished to remain hidden. They said that coming out into the open was against our sacred scriptures so they shut down the film and blackballed me from the community.’
‘That’s rough,’ said Zak. ‘I really think you had something with that idea. I would most definitely have given blood if the cash was right.’
‘Unfortunately there’s no hope of releasing it anymore. I’m trying to appease the Vampire Community by going back to my roots and making a safe art film. You may not have heard about The Bloodsucker Proxy but perhaps one day you’ll watch a warm, feel-good documentary called Imaginary Sunrises.’
‘I’ve seen some of his work in progress,’ said the Mummy. ‘He films sunrises from all over the world. The locations are gorgeous.’
‘Why sunrises?’ asked Zooey.
‘Humph! I can see that perhaps you humans would not be interested in my twenty-four hour documentary,’ said Lesbat. ‘After all, you don’t appreciate what you are saturated in every day. We vampires have been cursed to never look upon the sun. But thanks to technological advancements, I can set up video cameras in ideal locations and edit the captured footage so that the vampire world can look upon the sun in all its deadly hues. I have travelled to Peru to film a solar eclipse. I have perched my camera over a canopy of deciduous trees in the forests of Africa. I just spent three months scouting for new locations in Prague when I received an invitation to this house and an all expense paid ticket. I had never recorded a sunrise, in this part of the world, so I thought why not. Besides, I needed a rest cure.’
‘Have you ever seen a sunrise from the land of clouds?’ asked Zooey. ‘If you ever go there, you should put that in your documentary.’
‘I don’t go for gimmicks, little girl. I’ve spent most of my time here editing my early footage but in a few hours I’m going to set up my camera on the hill while it’s still dark. The view of this sleepy town from the hill is minimalist enough to suit my needs.’
‘Lesbat! You can’t go out there,’ warned the Mummy.
‘Not until we know more.’
‘Grow a new backbone, Prunes,’ said Lesbat. ‘It seems to me that your old one has eroded over the ages. I’m going out whether you like it or not. No phantom killer can dictate my movements.’
***
‘Why don’t you tell us about yourself, Mr Prunes,’ said Zak, anxious to keep the conversation flowing. ‘Maybe we can dig into your past and excavate something of import.’
The Mummy took a deep breath. ‘Call me Prunes, it matters not to me,’ he said. ‘It’s the nickname my new housemates gave me. In truth, I don’t even know what my own name is. My memories have shrivelled up like my internal organs and my past is shrouded in mystery. All I can tell you is that approximately one year ago, in the farthest reaches of ancient Mesopotamia, a team of archaeologists discovered me in a hidden tomb underneath the sand dunes. They hailed me as the most important archaeological find in decades until they examined me closely and found this watch on my wrist.’
Prunes stretched forth his hand so that Zak could see the watch. It had metal alloy casing, a graphite finish and an LCD display with a multitude of neon-coloured buttons.
‘This was on your wrist?’ asked Zak. ‘I thought you only had sundials in the ancient times.’
‘The scholars thought the same as you do and began to quarrel amongst each other. They believed someone had played a hoax on them, when it happened…’
‘What happened?’ asked Zooey.
‘An alarm went off on the watch and I awoke from my long slumber.
Pandemonium erupted when they discovered I could converse fluently in many of the modern languages. They ran tests and found that I had, indeed, been mummified many thousands of years ago. Television crews poured in and reporters tried to get exclusive interviews. They all wanted to sign me up for talk shows and commercials. It was too much: The media blitz, the paparazzi. I wanted to get away from it all and ponder the nature of my existence in solitude. And then the unexpected happened.’
‘You got the invitation to come here?’ asked Zak.
‘No, a team of world-renowned scientists lobbied for a new research project that involved dissecting me to figure out what made me tick. They said that I was a miracle of reanimation, and that my organs should be donated to science so that they could explore my DNA and find out how to reanimate themselves. They claimed the study would benefit mankind.’
‘Mmm, DNA,’ the Werewolf smacked his chops.
‘Yes, DNA,’ continued Prunes. ‘The whole thing was quite frightening. The science lobby was attracting supporters – people in high places. Billionaires, rock stars and politicians who wanted to reanimate themselves and wake up in the future. I began to unravel just thinking about it and that’s when the invitation came in the mail. It promised me a chance to get away from the media circus. I’ll admit that I was suspicious at first but I decided to take my chances. There was a plane ticket with the invitation. I boarded the next available flight and have been here ever since. And that is my tale.’ Prunes wiped sweat off his brow and poured another drink. ‘I’m parched,’ he said and drained it in one gulp.
‘That’s fascinating,’ Zooey’s eyes shone with the possibilities. ‘Maybe you were a time traveller who got captured and mummified in the past.’
‘A time traveller?’ said Prunes. ‘That sounds exciting. I’m certain that the alarm on the watch went off for a reason. I just didn’t expect to be chased by mad scientists and threatened by an anonymous killer. I certainly would not have woken up, willingly, for all this.’
‘Pah!’ Lesbat snorted. ‘Time travel? Isn’t that a little far-fetched?’
‘How would you explain the digital watch then?’ asked Zooey.
‘I don’t know and I don’t care.’
‘Lesbat,’ said Prunes. ‘This watch is as hi-tech as your expensive video cameras. It has the most wonderful features – I don’t even know how to access all of them. It’s solar powered to boot. You should think about investing in a similar one.’
‘And what good would solar power do me, you bandaged buffoon? Have you forgotten how easily I tan? I don’t go in for gimmicky digital watches anyway. Now, what I have is a sturdy pocket-watch: Old and reliable. Takes a licking and keeps on ticking.’ Lesbat produced a polished, bronze pocket-watch for everyone to see.
‘That looks quite valuable,’ said Zak. ‘May I hold it?’
Lesbat beamed. ‘It pleases me that you have some redeeming qualities, half-ling. You obviously have an eye for beauty.’
Zak admired the watch for a few minutes and handed it back. ‘Exquisite craftsmanship. You have good taste.’
‘Argh!’ The Werewolf tore his hair in frustration. ‘If I have to hear you three girls talking about the latest watch fashions, I’m going to break something. Let’s either wrap up this late night special or let’s go and throw the ball around.’
‘No-one’s throwing the ball around,’ said Zak sternly. ‘Not until I’ve learnt more. But you can speak next if you want. You look like you’ve got quite a story to tell.
CHAPTER 4
Tall tales around the table: Part II
‘DUDE, listen to me. Listen. My name’s Rufus. I come from a long line of lycanthropes. My family lives in a small backward town and preys on the witless townspeople. They’re simple folk and are content with their lives but I always felt that I had a different calling.
‘When I was a teenager, I snuck into a movie theatre to see Dances with Wolves. I’m not ashamed to admit this but that movie made this stoic, unfeeling werewolf cry. That’s when I realised that I could either be a nobody in a dead-end town or an actor on the screen making everyone else cry.’
‘You wanted to make people cry?’ asked Zooey.
‘Cry in a good way,’ explained Rufus. ‘The way people do when they’re moved by something. I told my parents about my plans but they didn’t take the news well. My father stopped speaking to me and my mother said that my words were like silver bullets through their hearts – and they wonder where I got my dramatic inclinations. Anyway, my mind was made up and so I packed my bags and left for Hollywood. I couldn’t find any werewolf parts at first but I bided my time and waited tables at a café where tinsel town big shots hung out. I wasn’t getting noticed, except when people found hairs in their soup – like I can help it if I shed, so I started writing a script based on my life, mingled with elements of popular werewolf movies.’
‘Popular werewolf movies,’ Lesbat raised his hands in mock terror. ‘There is no accounting for the public’s taste.’
‘Hey, I don’t bite on your documentaries, Lesbat,’ said Rufus. ‘With their boring bar-graphs and pie-charts. Show me a little respect. Where was I? Oh yeah, so I managed to get my script under the nose of this producer who used to come by the café. He showed it to a studio and I heard back from them in a week. They said I had a great script full of excellent angst and they dug how I got under the skin of a 20th century werewolf.’
Lesbat snorted but Rufus chose to ignore him.
‘Needless to say, I was pumped. An Oscar-nominated producer became involved and he bought in this big time director. They wanted to meet and flesh out the script some more. We went back and forth over it for a month and then they told me to come to the first day of shooting. Mind you nobody had said I’d be starring in the movie but hey, I wrote the script, drawing from life, and I was a bona fide werewolf. Of course, I’d be starring in it, right?’
‘Right,’ said Zooey.
‘Bzzt! Wrong!’ said Rufus. ‘Here’s what went down: I went to the studio lot and saw a guy acting against a blue screen background. I asked the director when I was going to shoot my scenes. He looked surprised and said I wouldn’t be in the movie. They wanted me to be a story consultant and help the actors understand their character’s motivations. The studio wanted some fresh-faced kid, from some teeny soap opera, to star.’
‘Was he a werewolf too?’ asked Zooey.
‘No, he wasn’t a werewolf,’ said Rufus bitterly. ‘He barely had five o’clock shadow. The director told me that the werewolf parts would be done with special effects because that’s what the audience had come to expect.’
‘CGI?’ asked Zak.
‘CGI,’ said Rufus, his fur bristling. ‘I told him that I had written the part with me in mind but he had the nerve to say that I wasn’t right for it. He made me so mad that I ate him, right there on the spot.’
‘You ate him?’ said Zooey startled.
‘You’re not serious,’ said Zak.
‘I ate him, man,’ said Rufus. ‘What do you want me to say? I hadn’t eaten all day and the guy was pushing my buttons. I’m a werewolf, remember? My bestial side gets the better of me sometimes.’
‘What happened then?’ asked Zooey.
‘The film crew went nuts. They didn’t know if they could get a new director in time for shooting. I was told I would never work in Hollywood again and then they set the cops after me. Seems werewolf or not, you can’t eat directors and not be wanted for manslaughter. I’ve been running from town to town ever since, dodging the law, fighting street dogs for food in garbage cans. I cooled my heels for a while in a ramshackle shack in the middle of nowhere when the invitation was slipped under the door with plane tickets. I knew I couldn’t camp out in the shack for much longer so I flew here and was comfortable for the first time since I left home. I wasted no time in marking my territory.’
‘Eww,’ Zooey covered her nose. ‘I thought that was what I smelled when I walked in.’
‘This town suits me,’ said Rufus leaning back in his chair with his arms behind his head. ‘Nice movie theatre, clueless cops, great selection of restaurants that have glorious garbage cans for me to binge on. The only problem is the last time I was out, the dogs of the neighbourhood caught my scent and gave me a hard time. I challenged the alpha male, got into a brawl and they threatened to run me right out of town. I’ve been going stir crazy for the last few days but can’t go outside just yet because I can sniff them out there looking for me. They’re a large, mean bunch but they’re bound to give up the hunt soon. And when they do, I’ll be able to prowl the streets once more.’
***
‘This is the umpteenth time I have heard this story,’ said Lesbat glancing at his watch. ‘I’m going to my room to catch some shut-eye before heading out. I bid you all adieu.’
‘But we’re on the cusp of figuring this out,’ protested Zak.
‘Save it for someone who cares,’ said Lesbat. ‘I have a movie to shoot.’ And with that he waltzed out of the room, with the disposition of a dignified director who had no desire to dawdle.
‘Are we really on the cusp?’ asked Prunes.
‘I’ll admit I spoke prematurely to make him stay, but I feel we’re getting close to something,’ said Zak.
‘If we’re not on the cusp, is it okay if I go to the bathroom?’ asked Prunes.
‘By all means, go relieve yourself. You’ve been knocking back the drinks like a pro.’
‘I just get dehydrated easily, that’s all,’ said Prunes. He left in a hurry, almost tripping over his own bandages, which trailed behind him on the floor like slithering snakes.
‘How about we move on to the next person,’ Zak turned to the chair that the Poltergeist was still scraping against the floor.
‘He doesn’t speak,’ said Zooey. ‘How is he going to tell us anything?’
In reply, the Poltergeist placed a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings on the table.
‘Great, am I going to have to read now?’ groaned Zak. ‘Here Zooey, make yourself useful and give me the gist of it.’
Zooey pulled out a magnifying glass and poured over the clippings. ‘Well, according to these, the poltergeist used to haunt Studio 66, a movie set they used for talk shows and live skits. It says he used to do silly things like pull the actresses’ hair while they were being interviewed and spill coffee on the presenters.’
‘Hair, coffee, got it,’ Zak scribbled notes on a pad of paper. ‘What else?’
‘The studio people were looking for ways to get rid of him when they found that the ratings for their show were starting to go up. Viewers were tuning in to watch the Poltergeist’s antics and so the network allowed him to stay on. The problem started when the show became popular. The Poltergeist kept getting bolder and bolder, trying to top himself by doing more outrageous things when one day he pulled down the pants of a popular actor on live TV.’
The Poltergeist made a tittering noise at this.
‘It says here that this did not fly with the censors. The public was outraged that they had been privy to a person’s privates on primetime TV. The studio people held an exorcism to try and get rid of the Poltergeist but it turned the tables on them and then the sprinklers too. Wet, fearful and given no choice, they demolished the studio and made it into a vacant lot. Having nothing to haunt, the Poltergeist grew dejected and withdrawn. He was last seen opening a mailbox on the lot a few weeks ago.’
‘Which is probably when he got an invitation to come here,’ Zak snapped his fingers. The Poltergeist creaked his chair against the floor in assent.
‘And then there was one,’ Zak turned to the Ghost, who clinked his chains together lightly. ‘We’re progressing nicely.’
‘Hah! Good luck getting his story,’ said Rufus. ‘He doesn’t speak either.’
‘Not at all?’ asked Zak.
‘Wooooo,’ said the Ghost.
‘That’s all he’s capable of getting out,’ shrugged Rufus. ‘It could be a speech impediment or maybe that’s just the way ghosts talk.’
‘None of you have ever spoken with him?’
Rufus scratched his head. ‘We don’t communicate that often but when he wants to tell us something he gives us this.’ The Werewolf handed Zak an ouija board.
‘Uh-oh!’ Zooey eyed the board suspiciously. ‘Cousin Zane said some really weird things happened to him and his friends when they tried using one of those things to summon spirits.’
‘I wouldn’t put any stock into anything Cousin Zane says,’ said Zak as the marker began to slowly move over the letters on the board. ‘I’ll handle this if you’re too scared.’
Forty-five minutes later, the ghost had managed to spell out the following:
Hello Zak. I am pleased to meet you. My name is Bradley. The light in the study flickered anxiously as the scarlet candles guttered and pooled melted wax like miniature mountains all around the candleholders. Zooey and Rufus were both sound asleep at the table. The Werewolf’s snores reverberated around the room and sounded like a motorcycle revving up.
Zak stifled a yawn. ‘I don’t suppose you have a scrapbook, do you?’ he asked Bradley.
The Ghost shook its head sadly.
‘I think that’s enough for tonight,’ Zak roused his sister from sleep. ‘We can pick up where we left off tomorrow.’
‘Are you leaving us then?’ said Prunes walking into the room.
‘Have you been in the bathroom this entire time?’
‘It takes me a long time to get in and out of bandages. It’s not like I have a zipper,’ said Prunes. ‘But have you figured out who the killer is? You can’t leave without helping us.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ said Zak gallantly. ‘My sister and I will stay here the night. I would not dream of letting you poor monsters go through this alone. I promise we will get to the bottom of this…tomorrow.’
‘Excellent, excellent,’ said Prunes. ‘There’s a spare bedroom on the second landing that is quite cosy. There used to be moths there but Rufus ate them. Would you like me to fetch a hot water bottle for you?’
‘No, thanks,’ said Zak. They left Rufus in the study and followed the Mummy to their quarters.
Zooey tugged at her brother’s sleeve. ‘Zak,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t want to stay here the night. It’s filthy and creepy.’
‘Zooey, you wanted a haunted house experience and now you’ve got one. What are you complaining about anyway? You get to be my assistant and help solve this mystery.’
‘Assistant? Me?’
‘Of course! Your first task, tomorrow, is to get whatever information you can out of the Ghost.’
‘Oh,’ said Zooey. ‘That could take a while.’
‘Yes, but remember – patience is a virtue. I need your help Zooey. I can’t do this without you.’
‘But it’s so filthy in here.’
‘Why don’t you spruce the place up in the morning? Maybe you could even fire up your easy-bake oven and make some treats? These poor guys have had a hard time and we should make things as pleasant for them as possible.’
It was rare for her brother to display any sort of moral fibre. Zooey decided that if he could be so selfless, she could put up with the dust and insects a little longer. ‘That’s true,’ she said to him. ‘We should be nice to them. It can’t be easy living liking this. I think I saw a broom under the staircase when we were coming up.’
‘Make sure you grab it bright and early tomorrow,’ said Zak as Prunes opened the door to their room.
‘The bathroom down the hall is the only one with proper plumbing,’ said the Mummy. ‘It helps to hold your breath while you are in there.’
Zak felt his sister’s sudden intake of breath and quickly pulled the door shut before she tried to flee.
CHAPTER 5
Things that get bumped in the night
WHILE the others drifted off to dreamland, the Vampire Lesbat began to stir from his batnap. His back ached from the soft mattress. What he would have given for a nice, sturdy coffin. According to his pocket-watch, there was almost two hours before dawn. Plenty of time, he thought, to set up his tripod on the hill, point the camera towards the horizon and get back indoors before the sun came out. He gathered his equipment and glided down the staircase. Upon passing the study, he heard Rufus half-snarling, half-snoring in his sleep. Lesbat slipped out the front door, hoping the Werewolf hadn’t drooled all over the poker table like the last time he’d dozed off in there.
It was dark outside but he had no problem seeing, so keen were his vampire eyes. He was surprised to see that the birds had already started getting up. ‘That’s why they catch the worm,’ he murmured sagely. The Vampire followed a narrow path that led to the back of the house, occasionally parting the big, brambly bushes that infested the area. Wildflowers wilted as he walked by; their scent hung like a memory in the air and dissipated. Lesbat kept walking until he came to the edge of the hill, which provided a nice panoramic view of the town below. It was the perfect place to frame his shot.
As he adjusted the height of his tripod, he began to think back on the events of the night. The intrusion of the two children seemed harmless enough but did the others actually think that the boy, Zak, could figure out who was leaving the notes? Lesbat was convinced that the threats were just a prank by some one – probably a twitchy neighbour – with too much time on his or her hands. Well, there was no harm done. Let the rest of them enjoy their role-play games. Still, there was something niggling at the back of his mind. Something to do with the young girl. Something he had seen in the study but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Lesbat rummaged though his camera bag and fished out a lens filter. He stared into the pale yellow glass when it hit him. It wasn’t something he had seen but rather something he had not seen. When Zooey had walked by the mirror hanging on the study wall, she had not cast a reflection. The Vampire had stopped looking into mirrors so long ago, himself, that it had not registered at first. Now, the revelation chilled him. The girl had to be a vampire like himself. But why hadn’t she said so? He began to feel uneasy. According to the legends, there was one infamous child vampire – a cunning killer who harkened back to the dark ages. There were whispers that she was controlled by the upper echelons in the Vampire Quarter, who used her as an assassin to bump of anyone they had quarrels with. She had a talent to disarm victims with her youthfulness and strike when they least expected. A cold fear gripped him, clammy like a hand from the grave. Why would she be here of all places?
Had the Vampire Community sent her to make him ‘disappear’? Had he underestimated the lengths they would go to get rid of him and his documentary? His agent had warned him that some of the bigwigs were worried he might leak The Bloodsucker Proxy onto the Internet. Lesbat had not really believed, at the time, that they would want to see him dead but his agent advised him to pack up his things and get as far away as possible just in case. Since he had already been thinking about shooting his art film, he had decided to travel extensively around the world and wait for the furore to calm down.
So lost in paranoid thought was the Vampire that he did not see the unexpected attack coming before it was too late. His assailant snuck up on him, like a speedy stealth missile, and bit out of a scrap of his left cheek. Lesbat howled in pain and fell down on all fours. Blinking rapidly, he saw what he was up against and his face became ashen. How had this happened? He had taken precautions.
The Vampire got up to flee but his attacker was hot on his heels. He stumbled over his camera bag and felt a vicious tug at his legs. The pain burnt all the way to his very being. Legs rendered useless, he gritted his fangs, concentrated and transformed into a bat. He had to fly and fly fast. Every second counted. Unfortunately, his pocket watch still clung to him in bat form. It weighed him down like an albatross around his neck and he fluttered clumsily into a thicket. Fearful for his life, he mustered up all his strength and burst free of the tangle of leaves and branches. Documentary forgotten, he flew for all he was worth until he reached the House but alas, the door was locked. Had he locked it on the way out? He could not remember. Hurriedly, he looked for some other means of entry. All the windows were shut. He panicked and would have rattled the doorknobs if he had had the energy to transform himself back. The enemy would be upon him at any moment. Helplessly he looked around, saw the welcome mat and remembered the trapdoor. He flew towards it and bounced up and down on it a few times before realizing that Rufus had boarded it up from the inside. Just then the enemy leapt out from on top of the house and blindsided him. It meant to make an end of him once and for all. Writhing in agony, with no breath left even to scream, it dawned on him that perhaps his death had been elaborately planned.
***
Zooey woke up bright and early and armed herself with the broom from underneath the staircase. The house was stuffy so she opened the windows to let in some air and sunlight. Just because it was a haunted house didn’t mean the place had to be depressing. She tied a handkerchief around her hair, gripped the broom like a bo-staff and gauged the situation. ‘Let’s Dance,’ she whispered to the layers of grime and then leapt into the fray like a Jedi Knight. She swept the place, quickly and efficiently. Dust clouds floated into the air like smoke signal warnings. Insects, mice and other icky things darted this way and that to try and evade the oncoming onslaught; some even managed to get away. It took Zooey over an hour to dust and sweep the bottom floors. Smiling with the satisfaction of a job well done, she opened the main door to sweep the dirt out and froze when she saw a big pile of ashes on the welcome mat. A bronze pocket-watch was peeking out from within it, glinting wherever the sun caught it.
© Samir Asran Rahman, 2007
From Zak, Zooey and the Monster Murder Mystery
|
|
Poetics and politics of jokes