Читать книгу The Vampire’s Assistant - Darren Shan - Страница 8

CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS a dry, warm night, and Stanley Collins had decided to walk home after the Scouts’ meeting. It wasn’t a long walk – less than two kilometres – and though the night was dark, he knew every step of the way as surely as he knew how to tie a reef knot.

Stanley was a Scout Master. He loved the Scouts. He’d been one when he was a boy, and kept in contact when he grew up. He’d turned his three sons into first-rate Scouts and, now that they’d grown up and left home, he was helping the local kids.

Stanley walked quickly to keep warm. He was only wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and even though it was a nice night, his arms and legs were soon covered in goosebumps. He didn’t mind. His wife would have a lovely cup of hot chocolate and currant buns waiting for him when he got home. He’d enjoy them all the more after a good, brisk walk.

Trees grew along both sides of the road home, making it very dark and dangerous for anyone who wasn’t used to it. But Stanley had no fears. On the contrary, he loved the night. He enjoyed listening to the sound of his feet crunching through the long grass and briars.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

He smiled. When his sons were young, he’d pretend there were monsters lying in wait up in the trees as they walked home. He’d make scary noises and shake the leaves of low-hanging branches when the boys weren’t looking. Sometimes they’d burst into screams and run for home at top speed, and Stanley would follow after them, laughing.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

If he was having trouble getting to sleep at night, he would imagine the sounds of his feet as they made their way home, and that always helped him drift off into a happy dream.

It was the nicest sound in the world, as far as Stanley was concerned, better than all the music of Mozart and Beethoven.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Snap.

Stanley stopped and frowned. That had sounded like a stick breaking, but how could it have been? He would have felt it if he’d stepped on a twig. And there were no cows or sheep in the nearby fields.

He stood still for about half a minute, listening curiously. When there were no more sounds, he shook his head and smiled. It had been his imagination playing tricks. He’d tell the wife about it when he got home and they’d have a good laugh.

He started walking again.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

There. Back to the familiar sounds. There was nobody else about. He would have heard more than a single branch snapping if there was. Nobody could creep up on Stanley J. Collins. He was a trained Scout Master. His ears were as sharp as a fox’s.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Cru—

Snap.

He stopped again, the fingers of fear tightening around his beating heart.

That hadn’t been his imagination. He’d heard it, clear as a bell. A twig snapping, somewhere overhead. And before it snapped: had there been the slightest rustling sound, as if something was moving?

Stanley gazed up at the trees but it was too dark to see. There could have been a monster the size of a car up there and he wouldn’t have been able to spot it. Ten monsters. A hundred! A thou—

Oh, that was silly. There were no monsters in the trees. Monsters didn’t exist. Monsters weren’t real. It was a squirrel or an owl, something ordinary like that.

Stanley raised a foot and began to bring it down.

Snap.

His foot hung in the air and his heart pounded quickly. That was no squirrel! The sound was too sharp. Something big was up there. Something that shouldn’t be up there. Something that had never been there before. Something that—

Snap!

The sound was closer this time, lower down, and all of a sudden Stanley could stand it no longer. He ran.

Stanley was a large man, but fairly fit for his age. Still, it had been a long time since he’d run this fast, and after a hundred metres he was out of breath and had a stitch in his side.

He slowed to a halt and bent over, gasping for air.

Crunch.

His head shot up.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

There were footsteps coming towards him! Slow, heavy footsteps. He listened, terrified, as they came closer and closer. Had the monster leapt ahead of him through the trees? Had it climbed down? Was it coming to finish him off? Was …

Crunch. Crunch.

The footsteps stopped and Stanley was able to make out a figure. It was smaller than he’d expected, no bigger than a boy. He straightened up, gathered his courage about him like a cloak, and stepped forward for a better look.

It was a boy! A small, frightened-looking boy, dressed in a dirty suit.

Stanley smiled and shook his head. What a fool he’d been! The wife would have a field day when he told her about this.

“Are you OK, lad?” Stanley asked.

The boy didn’t answer.

Stanley didn’t recognize the youngster, but a lot of new families had moved into the area recently. He no longer knew every child in the neighbourhood.

“Can I help you?” he asked. “Are you lost?”

The boy shook his head slowly. There was something strange about him, something that made Stanley feel uneasy. It might have been the effect of the darkness and shadows, but the boy looked very pale, very thin, very … hungry.

“Are you all right?” Stanley asked, stepping closer. “Can I—”

SNAP!

The sound came from directly overhead, loud and menacing.

The boy leapt back quickly, out of the way.

Stanley just had time to glance up and spot a huge red shape which might have been a bat, slashing its way down through the branches of the trees.

And then the red monster was on him. Stanley opened his mouth to scream, but before he could, the monster’s hands – claws? – clamped over his mouth. There was a brief struggle, then Stanley was sliding to the floor, unconscious, unseeing, unknowing.

Above him, the two creatures of the night moved in for the feed.