Читать книгу The Vampire’s Revenge - Gary Morecambe, Eric Morecambe - Страница 5

Igon, Victor, Valeeta the Queen;

All very worried, Vernon’s been seen.

Vernon’s mother and father, Victor and Valeeta, the ex-King and Queen of Gotcha, opened the curtains the second the sun dropped behind the distant hills and looked out on to a beautiful moonlit night. Victor was always agitated at this time of evening, when he had only just got up. He hadn’t even made his coffin yet and making the coffin wasn’t a thing he looked forward to. As he refused to make his wife’s coffin, she refused to make his, and so they both had to make their own. But, to be fair, the old King did polish both their coffins twice a year. He quite enjoyed doing that; therapy, he called it.

He went to the front door and picked up the paper, The Nightly Express. It was lying face down on the mat so he read the back page first. Wilf the Werewolf, a big friend of Victor’s and now the manager of Gotcha’s football team, had picked the Gotcha team to play Gertcha. Gotcha v Gertcha was the match of the season. Victor walked slowly, reading the sports page as he went.

In all probability he would be able to see that game as it was being played at night. Wilf had thought of the idea of playing at night under what he called floodlights; it was a very clever idea and it was typical of Wilf to think of it. Victor thought, ‘I’ve got a lot of time for Wilf.’ It was really very simple: at the ground they had installed four huge candles (one at each corner), ten foot thick and sixty feet high, so that on still, clear nights you could see the game.

Of course one or two of the hooligan element tried to stop the game, if their team was losing, by climbing to the top of the candles and blowing them out. But, as they got closer to the flame, the hotter and greasier the candles became, so they soon slid down and were then carted off to the sin bin at the back of the ground. The punishment meted out was short and sharp: the afternoon before the next game they had to reclimb the candles, right to the top, and clean the wick. On the evening of the match they had to climb the candles once again to light them. So hooliganism was down to a minimum.

The only problem with night football was that the game had to be postponed if it was windy, because the wind blew the candles out. A windy summer could cause havoc with the league fixtures.

Victor was reading the sports page as he sat down at the table waiting for his evening breakfast, blood red jelly, a double strength tomato juice and three red black puddings. Valeeta looked at him and the headlines of the paper were facing her:

VERNON’S STATUE SMASHED,

VERNON THE VAMPIRE WAS

NOT ENCLOSED AS THOUGHT

She snatched the paper out of Victor’s hands, leaving him reading empty space. It was quite some seconds before he realised the paper was gone.

With a surprised look still on his face, he said, ‘Vot are you doink?’

Valeeta showed him the headlines. ‘Look,’ she said.

He read them quickly, then again slowly. He looked at his wife and asked, ‘Vot does it mean?’

She put the paper down on the table and said, ‘If it means what I think it means, then we are in for trouble, all of us.’ She picked up the paper and read the article out loud:

‘Last night your Nightly Express reporter was first on the scene. In our lovely well-kept park, last night’s storm in its fury lashed out and hurled down the statue of Vernon the Vampire. As it crashed to the ground it smashed open. Vernon the Vampire was not inside it …’

Victor and Valeeta looked at each other.

‘Of course he vos,’ said Victor.

Valeeta carried on reading:

‘If Vernon the Vampire was still alive when the statue was broken into fragments like a cheap mirror on the concrete surround then, in the opinion of the park’s spokesman, “He will be on the prowl and he will be out to get those who planned his downfall.” When asked if he thought that Vernon would be out to kill the President, the park’s spokesman, Mr Spadenfork, nodded his head in agreement saying, “Vernon is still alive ’cos when I’ve cleaned that statue I’m sure I’ve seen it breathe, seen it move as you might say.”’

Valeeta looked once more at her husband.

‘Ivor Spadenfork. He’s no spokesman, he’s a park attendant,’ Victor continued. ‘I’ve known him for years.’

Valeeta smiled, saying, ‘It must be over four years, dear.’

‘No, I’ve known him for years, not four years.’

‘Darling, how can you have known him four years and then over four years, you silly billy?’

They looked at each other, both thinking, ‘You’re mad.’

Victor forced a small smile and said, ‘Vot else does the paper say, mine orchid petal?’

Valeeta looked down at the paper and found where she had stopped, ahemmed, and carried on:

‘It is not the policy of this newspaper to spread fear or panic, but until the Vampire is caught, please keep your children indoors and no-one should venture out between sunset and sunrise. Please do not talk to strangers. The advice of this newspaper is:

If you think you’ve seen the Vampire Vernon, keep calm and, if he grabs you and starts to squeeze the life out of you, do not fight back, as this could annoy him. If you think he is going to plunge his teeth into your throat then, and only then, scream. If you have a sore throat and can’t scream, you must wave your arms about frantically until help arrives.

According to an inside source, the President, when asked if special precautions were being made available to protect the public, said, “That’s very possible.” Once again, I tell the readers of The Nightly Express: “Do not panic.”’

Valeeta put the paper down. Victor stared across at his wife. They saw fear in each other’s eyes. Valeeta thought that Victor would find it very difficult to compete magically with Vernon as he was so out of practice and also completely out of condition – so much so that he became out of breath falling asleep. They slowly and quietly finished their evening breakfast, each with his own thoughts. Victor had silently made up his mind to see his son Valentine, the President. After all, what were friends and relatives in high places for?

* * *

Vernon strolled about Katchem in secret. No-one saw him, he made sure of that. The village was almost deserted, hardly a soul was to be seen, except for the police, and even they were not walking alone as usual, but in sets of eight. Vernon was thrilled that he had caused so much confusion and fear. Considering the fact that Katchem only had eight policemen, Vernon found it relatively easy to avoid the whole of Katchem’s police force at once. He walked in and out of the shadows of the streets he knew so well, past Motherscares and Boots the Cobblers.

Fear was beginning to show itself, from the highest person in the land to the lowest.

* * *

In the oblong room at the presidential house Valentine sat with his wife Areta. His young son, Virgil, had been packed off to bed, with a nanny they could trust and a servant to sleep outside the young boy’s room. It was the first time Valentine and Areta had seen each other all day as he had been so busy trying to get things planned and organised with regard to Vernon while still running the whole country.

‘How did things go, my dear?’ she asked with concern in her voice.

‘Terrible,’ was the quick reply. ‘We hardly did anything and ended nowhere. Sometimes I think that the Council and the Senators are all so interested in themselves that they forget about the people who put them there.’ He paused and asked the time.

‘It’s almost nine o’clock.’ She held his hand.

‘Oh well, I expect Victor and Valeeta will be here soon,’ he sighed. ‘They will have read the news, and now night has come they will be able to travel, so I think they will be here fairly soon.’

‘Why don’t you lie down and get some rest before they get here?’ She smiled gently at her husband.

* * *

Victor and Valeeta were almost at the presidential palace and had turned in order to make a good landing as near to the front door as possible. Valeeta made a superb landing, right on the path itself, slowly letting herself to the ground and at the same time powdering her nose. She landed very gently, so gently that she continued walking along the path without one little trip or scuff of her shoes. It was the type of landing that other Vampires would have applauded, a professional’s touch.

Victor glided towards the trees in order to get away from what he called ‘a cross wind’. He glided rather too quickly and the blustery wind took hold of him, taking him every which way, so much so that as he came into his final approach he had no control at all. He landed, slap, bang, with a heavy wallop into the middle of a large patch of stinging nettles, face down, arms by his side and his legs so crossed that his left leg looked like his right one and vice versa. Everything was wrong and against all the rules he had been taught in the V.A.F. (Vampirian Air Force). His top hat was jammed almost over his eyes, squashing the end of his long nose against his top lip, while his Savile Row flying cloak was wrapped around his neck, almost choking him. He did look a sight.

The scream Victor made when he realised he was in a patch of stinging nettles was so loud that it almost made Areta, inside the presidential house, jump out of her skin. Valentine soothed her by telling her that it would be his parents. Within minutes they were all in the oblong office greeting each other.

Areta watched as Valentine held his mother by the throat as gently and as softly as a breeze, a sure sign of Vampirian affection. Victor also looked on, smiling his approval.

‘What was that noise I heard out there?’ the President asked politely.

‘Who else but your father? He made a terrible landing in a rather large patch of nettles. Lucky for him that your guards were there to help him out. Anyway, it serves him right.’ She looked at her husband as if to say, ‘I love you, but you are a fool.’

Victor thought it was time to defend himself. ‘Ya. It vos the cross vind, it vent across me.’ They all looked at him as he started to scratch and blow on an angry-looking nettle rash.

‘Cross wind, my eye teeth,’ Valeeta said. ‘You are an old fibber,’ she added, with a tiny amount of affection. ‘It was because you are carrying too much weight. Since you retired from being King, you have put on at least a stone and a half in weight. Just look at that belly.’ They all looked where she was pointing and saw a shirt that was stretching over a larger area than it was made for and, here and there, quite a lot of exposed pink tummy, which was beginning to look like expertly blown bubble gum.

‘Vot you are sayink is a lie. Never am I puttink on a stone ant a half in veight, never. An ounce or two, maybe.’

‘An ounce or two, an ounce or two. What rhubarb you talk. Who was it who couldn’t tie his shoelaces when he got up this evening, because he couldn’t bend over? Who had to tie them for him? Me!’ The ex-Queen had a smug look on her face. Victor looked down at his shoes, but he couldn’t see them for his tummy. He looked back at his family and with his eyes asked them all if he was too plump and over-weight. They all nodded with a smile. It was the first time Valentine had smiled that day.

Valentine was the first to broach the subject of Vernon by saying, ‘I’m glad you could both be here. I take it that you have read the papers?’

‘Ve only get the von, The Nightly Express.’

‘Well, that paper carried the story about … you know who.’ He looked away from the old King and Queen. He knew how upset they both must be. After all, Vernon was their son. Valeeta was sitting in a straightbacked chair with her husband standing behind her. They looked very regal.

The Queen was the first to speak, ‘Yes, my dear, we saw the paper and that’s why we are here. We’ve talked it over, your Father and I, and we feel that we would like to help you to … er … get … have … er … Vernon put away for a, well a long time … maybe for ever.’ She was finding it difficult to speak. ‘Or better still, out of the country altogether, deported, I think they call it.’

When the Queen had finished speaking there was a silence. The only movement in the room was Victor, scratching his nettle rash. Valentine walked round the large room before speaking. He stopped and looked directly at the only two parents he had ever known, two Vampires. They had found him and they had reared him. What he was about to say could be hurtful and difficult.

‘I have to be honest with you both. I don’t think that deporting Vernon, or even putting him away for a long time is the right thing to do.’ He held his hand up to stop what was going to be an interruption from the Queen. She stiffened a little, not being used to having to be silent. But, after all, she was an ex-Queen and Valentine was the President. ‘Please let me finish,’ Valentine asked.

‘Ya, let him finish,’ Victor nodded his consent for Valentine to carry on.

‘Thank you, Father. I don’t think putting him away or sending him to another country, well, is really enough. What I’m trying to say,’ he started to speak slowly, ‘what I’m trying to say, or what I think should be done … er, what I’d like to see happen … what I’m trying to say without hurting your feelings, is that I think, well, that maybe we … I think maybe …’

Areta spoke for the first time. She was blunt and went straight to the point that Valentine was finding difficult.

‘He will have to be killed,’ she said in a firm voice. ‘That is what the President was trying to say. Vernon should be killed. We both know that Vernon is your son and you will naturally want to try and help him. I would do the same for my little boy, your grandson. That is understandable. But we all know that Vernon is a maniac and, if something isn’t done, will kill. He would have no compunction in killing you too, or me, or Valentine, or even your grandson … He can’t forgive and he will never forget. A stake must be put through his heart.’ She stopped talking and felt they must all be able to hear her heart beating. She was shaking with fear and anger. Valentine walked over to her.

‘Thank you, darling,’ he said. He then looked at the only parents he had ever had and said, ‘My wife is right. That’s what I was trying to say.’

There was a long silence. No-one moved, even Victor had stopped scratching. It was Victor who broke the silence with a rather loud ‘Ahem’ which he followed with, ‘Ya, maybe you are right.’

The ex-Queen looked more than sternly towards him. He saw the look and said, ‘Maybe not, I don’t know. Vot do you think, mine little crocus?’ He smiled at his wife and scratched the back of his hand. The ex-Queen was much more definite than her husband.

‘He is my son. Mine and Victor’s. For the past three years Victor and I have been very happy living in the country, but our son Vernon, he has suffered; not you, Valentine, nor you, Areta, nor Victor or I, but our own son, Vernon. He was inside that statue for three years. Can you imagine what that must have been like, not being able to move? Only to be able to look at what was going on around him? Never being able to blink, let alone speak?

‘Certainly he won’t forgive and definitely he won’t forget but I will not believe that he would harm, let alone kill, one member of his family. We are his family. We should be out there looking for the poor boy to help him, not just saying “let’s kill him.” That is the easy way. He is part of a dynasty. He comes from a thousand years of Vampires, pure Vampire stock. He is the last of the true Vampires; he should be helped. Have you forgotten what your father did for this country? Have you forgotten what your father did for Igon? He turned him from a twisted, horrible, bent thing into the most handsome of men. That was Vampire magic, great Vampire magic. Magic that took every ounce of strength your poor father had.’

Victor nodded and scratched.

‘I know that both physically and mentally your father is no match for Vernon any more. He gave everything that he could for the benefit of you and this country. Vernon would do the same. I have to agree that something must be done, but I will fight to the end to see that our poor little son is not skewed.¹ Where is my poor little boy now? Probably huddled in some dirty old barn crying for his Mummy, me …’ She wiped her eyes, although there were no tears as Vampires can’t and don’t cry. But at that particular moment she was a little confused.

‘I am against the killing of my son Vernon and that is final. Come, Victor, we will try and find our confused and bewildered boy who wouldn’t harm a fly.’

‘Mine dear, I’m agreeink with all you sayink, but can’t ve haff one little drink before ve go, ya?’

‘No, you can’t. You have just started your diet.’

* * *

The confused and bewildered little boy was hiding in the doorway of an unlit shop writing in a notebook. He wrote: ‘Igon first, Valentine second, King Victor third and Queen Valeeta fourth. All to be removed, but tortured first. Not necessarily in that order.’