91بب±¬



91بب±¬ Cult Vampires - Printer Friendly Version
Mildew Manor, or, The Italian Smile by Kim Newman
Those of delicate sensibilities should be appraised that this masque touches upon matters that may prove terrifying, offensive and unnaturally stimulating. Be assured the intent is not to shock but delight, not to appal but inform, not to dwell on bloody horrors and licentiousness in the French manner but impart a moral lesson such as any concerned parent or guardian would wish his or her own children to learn. Our tale is laid in a former century, in the wild and untamed middle parts of England, where nestles Mildew Manor, country seat of Sir Eustace Orfe. Responding to an urgent and mysterious summons comes Sir Eustace's boyhood friend, the worthy Mr Nicholas Goodman, accompanied by his confidante and helpmeet Signorina Valeria Nefaria, an Italian widow.

NICHOLAS: An urgent and mysterious summons should be answered promptly, Valeria. Especially when it comes from my boyhood friend, Sir Eustace Orfe.

VALERIA: Is true.

NICHOLAS: Comparing Mildew Manor with my own lowly dwelling, it strikes me as ironic that the paths of two childhood friends should so diverge in life. Why, from his humble beginnings, Sir Eustace has risen to wealth and influence, while I, Nicholas Goodman, have devoted my life to charitable works and remained impecunious and obscure. Still, for all his worldly finery, I believe Sir Eustace deems me richer than he. For I possess that which cannot be bought or bargained for, a spotless reputation.

VALERIA: Spotless, oh si. Still, little worldly finery would be, as you say in England, just the wicket. Hark, Sir Eustace is almost come upon us.

EUSTACE: Goodman, welcome.

The bell strikes the quarter hour...

NICHOLAS: The good old bell at Mildew Manor. You can set your watch by it.

EUSTACE: The hour is a quarter to midnight. A mere fifteen minutes to go...

NICHOLAS: Whatever is your concern, friend? You are white as a sheet painted white.

EUSTACE: At midnight, an old debt must be paid. That troubles me not. My path through life has led to great wealth and influence. I cannot complain. But before my last appointment, I must charge you with a vital task, Goodman.

NICHOLAS: Anything.

EUSTACE: My only fear is that my daughter, Eithne, an innocent of some sixteen summers, should be left alone in a world that often mistreats such as she. Linoline, her companion and protector, is a woman of fine character but, it must be said, susceptible intellect. Goodman, I wish you to hold my estate in trust for my daughter until she comes of age and is married. Of course, it will be down to you to weed out rogues and fortune-hunters and ensure she makes a suitable match. Are you prepared to take on such a sacred duty?

NICHOLAS: On my soul, I am.

EUSTACE: On your soul, you have it. Midnight draws close, my friend. Tonight, the Mildew Manor bell will strike twelve times... and then once more to signal my appointment.

NICHOLAS: A toll of thirteen. Why, that's not possible.

The bell sounds midnight...

EUSTACE: Look, candles are snuffed out as if a spectral breath blows through the halls of Mildew Manor. See, looming beyond the French windows, a Dark Figure of terrible appearance, bony finger beckoning. It is time for my appointment.

The toll is louder...

NICHOLAS and VALERIA: ... seven... eight... nine... ten... eleven... twelve ...

NICHOLAS: Twelve. Why, twelve as ever. Only twelve.

A very loud bong...

NICHOLAS: Thirteen!

VALERIA: The French windows fly open!

NICHOLAS: The Dark Figure is upon us.

An unnatural storm has risen.

DARK FIGURE: Sir Eustace Orfe. Your debt is due. You are claimed.

EUSTACE: Into the storm I go, tugged by the skeletal hand of the Dark Figure of Mildew Manor, resigned to the fate I have earned many times over.

***

NICHOLAS: I've never seen such a thing, Father Balsamo. The look of sheer agony on my boyhood friend's face, the contortion of his limbs, the fearful wounds ...

BALSAMO: The wounds are shallow. Mere scratches, perhaps from a household cat. Sir Eustace died of some specie of severe shock. His heart has burst with terror. You say you saw a dark figure?

VALERIA: Was midnight. Shadows trick.

NICHOLAS: Undoubtedly.

EITHNE: Mr Goodman, I am bereft! My father has been torn from me and the beauty of existence is shredded. Where yesterday I saw songbirds and blossoming flowers, today are only carrion ravens and pestilential weeds.

LINOLINE: Eithne and I came at once we heard. Your honest neighbour, Mr John Straight, was kind enough to put his carriage at our disposal.

JOHN: Least I could do, sir. Anything for Miss Orfe. Why, that such distress should befall so tender a heart is beyond all imagining.

NICHOLAS: Eithne is young, and the grief will pass.

EITHNE: Let me look upon his dear, dead face... it can't be, such an expression of horror and torment, I can barely recognise my father. I am quite overcome, and close to swooning.

JOHN: Fear not, I am positioned perfectly to catch Miss Orfe. In a respectful manner. She has fainted dead away. Don't worry. She's light as a feather.

LINOLINE: How did he get those holes in his throat?

NICHOLAS: Father Balsamo thinks the cat...

LINOLINE: What, dear old Smudge? A terror to mousies, perhaps, but no harm to anyone else.

VALERIA: Footman drowned cat in the tarn. As precaution.

LINOLINE: What, dear old Smudge, drowned?! This is a black day.

JOHN: Miss Orfe stirs in her swoon.

EITHNE: Oh, it's too much to bear. I find myself a limp body supported only by the arms of a kind stranger.

JOHN: I meant no liberty, Miss Orfe...

VALERIA: You were fortunate such a gallant was at hand in your moment of weakness.

EITHNE: Indeed, though I am recovered and his services as leaning post are now surplus to requirements.

NICHOLAS: I have not met this gentleman before.

JOHN: I'm John Straight, sir. I have Forthright Hall, the adjoining estate. Sadly far less magnificent than Mildew Manor, for my means are limited. The bulk of my capital was squandered in an unwise speculation.

NICHOLAS: How unfortunate.

JOHN: Oddly, the late Sir Eustace suggested the investment. I must have misunderstood his advice, for he prospered greatly from an affair which came close to ruining me. No father of Eithne's could be a deceiver, a villain, a usurer or a profiteer of swindles and schemes.

LINOLINE: Nonsense, he was so crooked his grave will have to be dug with a corkscrew.

VALERIA: Perhaps not best time to mention it. Eithne close to sniffles.

LINOLINE: ... is what some will say, though those who loved him knew he was a man beyond reproach. Still, it's a mystery.

VALERIA: Bell struck thirteen.

BALSAMO: And there is talk of a Dark Figure.

JOHN: When I was a lad, they used to tell tales of a spectral apparition stalking the grounds of Mildew Manor. Some revenant with a black cloak and a long pale face, and eyes as red as blood. But such stories are not to be credited. We live in an age of enlightened reason. We know the dead do not return to life.

A ghastly creak is heard.

LINOLINE: But see, Sir Eustace has sat up, the sheet falling away from his ghastly face, extended arms reaching out as if clutching at life from beyond the grave.

EITHNE: I believe I might swoon again.

JOHN: I'm still here, positioned to... oof. Quite a bit weightier this time.

NICHOLAS: Good Lord, can it be that Sir Eustace still lives?

BALSAMO: A post-mortem contraction of the muscles. It is not uncommon.

EUSTACE: On your soul, Nick Goodman, on your soul...

BALSAMO: Air escaping from the lungs, playing over the vocal cords. Permit me to press this recalcitrant cadaver back into its prone position.

***

NICHOLAS: It is fortunate Sir Eustace entrusted his estate to me. Sweet Eithne is so unknowing in the ways of the world that a dishonest man might take advantage of her.

VALERIA: How so?

NICHOLAS: Why, our purely hypothesised rogue could impress her into a loveless marriage and reap the benefits not only of her sizeable wealth but of her fair person. Thank the Lord such a despicable personage does not now sit here at this desk with these powers of attourney at his vile disposal.

VALERIA: Indeed, heaven is merciful.

NICHOLAS: It must be kept from Eithne, but the accounts have confirmed my fears. My late friend was an unregenerate villain. Though he wore a mask of respectability, he was no better than Malkovitch, the King of Banditti so feared in these parts. He robbed and burgled and stole and swindled...

VALERIA: Is not big surprise.

NICHOLAS: And yet, Sir Eustace's great wealth could be put to good use, could repair much of the damage done in his lifetime. How would Eithne feel if she learned upon attaining her majority that the colossal fortune passed down to her was bloodied with evil associations?

VALERIA: I know how I feel if bloody colossal fortune came to me.

NICHOLAS: Might it not be our duty to cleanse Eithne's inheritance? The capital could be channelled into works as honourable and useful as they are profitable.

VALERIA: I could see no objection to that.

NICHOLAS: Admirable Valeria, you are as ever my devoted helpmeet and conscience. Permit me to bestow a chaste, fraternal kiss upon your cheek.

VALERIA: Cheek, only? Will take what is offered, with hope of greater gift at later point.

NICHOLAS: You are the finest of your sex... except for Eithne, of course. She is quite a miracle, you know, so simple and unspoiled and delicate, so fair of face and feature, so pure in heart as to be almost provocative. I think a great deal of Eithne.

VALERIA: I notice. Young Mr Straight, our neighbour, also think a great deal of Eithne.

NICHOLAS: Does he? Does he indeed? I don't mind saying something about the fellow rubs me the wrong way.

VALERIA: In my country, such a man would be dragged from his home by masked assassins and left in his well with his throat cut from ear to ear. It is called the Italian Smile, a big grin that shows white bone in red meat.

NICHOLAS: In England, we prefer to drop his name from the guest list at Eithne's birthday ball.

VALERIA: Is less extreme... will probably do...

NICHOLAS: Still, it's a nice thought... the Italian Smile, you say?

***

EITHNE: This ribbon... tight or tighter?

LINOLINE: Tighter. You can breathe tomorrow if needs be.

EITHNE [strangled]: There, that's better.

LINOLINE: You look a picture. Now, I must be off to chase the footmen. I shall see you at the ball.

EITHNE: Ah, a moment of solitude. An opportunity to assess my appearance in the mirror. Oh, what a pretty girl... some seventeen summers, milord... of course, I should be delighted... why, are you taking liberties... yes, you... are you addressing yourself to my person?... you must be, for no one else is present... fie! and la! But hold, what is this I discern, some figure beyond the windows of my boudoir, having ascended the ivy to my balcony. I am quite terrorised.

JOHN: Ah, Miss Orfe...

EITHNE: Mr Straight, whatever are you doing lurking like that? This is a considerable surprise. I'm not suitable for viewing.

JOHN: I've come to wish you a happy birthday, and a happy birthday ball.

EITHNE: That is very considerate of you. And selfless, in that your name features not on the list of those invited.

JOHN: Ah, no... regrettable omission, what... still, mustn't complain.

EITHNE: I am entirely powerless in the matter, as you know. I put all trust in my guardian, Mr Goodman, to consider my best interests. He is above reproach.

JOHN: Yes, that's true.

EITHNE: Still, I'm so glad you're here.

JOHN: Really?

EITHNE: Really. I should be sorry to have dressed up and not have been seen.

JOHN: By me.

EITHNE: By you especially.

JOHN: Miss Orfe... Eithne.

EITHNE: That is my name. Kindly do not wear it out through overuse.

JOHN: Eithne, just out of interest... when will you attain your majority?

EITHNE: You mean, when will I be commander of my own heart's destiny? When will I be free, say, to marry without the permission of my honourable guardian?

JOHN: Yes, exactly.

EITHNE: This very day, I have attained the age of seventeen summers. I shall attain my majority, under the terms of my father's will, when I attain the age of thirty-eight summers... Of course, I have no doubt Mr Goodman will approve any choice of husband I might make.

JOHN [dubious]: Quite so.

EITHNE: He's very strict about rogues and fortune-hunters, you know. He keeps a horsewhip in the hall, just for thrashing them away. Last week, there was a most amusing misunderstanding involving the new curate.

JOHN: Eithne, I can remain silent no longer... the thundering of my heart spurs me to speak out, speak out! I must impart to you the depths of feeling that dwell within me. It is vitally incumbent upon me that I make clear in the most plainest and simple of words that I...

EITHNE: John?

NICHOLAS: Eithne, I thought I should give you a preview of my masquerade costume, so as not to alarm you later. I am got up as a lion-tamer. It was the horse-whip that gave me the idea. See, with it in my hand, I am ready to drive back the most savage jungle beast.

Crack!

JOHN: I... I... I...

Crack! Crack! NICHOLAS: What is this impertinence! This presumption! This unprecedented atrocity!

JOHN: Eithne, I love you. There I've said it.

NICHOLAS: Despicable ravisher! Brutal abuser of the fair flower of girlhood!

Crack! Crack! Crack!

LINOLINE: What's all this noise? You'll have the whole household rushing in here. It sounds like Mr Goodman's horsewhip. Indeed it, is.

BALSAMO: What's this scene? A maiden's boudoir and a fellow come in from the balcony, carrying a sword.

JOHN: [weakly] I needed it to climb.

VALERIA: Is likely story.

EITHNE: I'm on the point of swooning.

VALERIA: Not surprised. That ribbon's too tight.

EITHNE: My brain swarms... blackness beckons...

JOHN: I'll catch you. There.

BALSAMO: You seem somewhat overburdened, Mr Straight, with girl and sword. I must say we are forced to conclusions which do you no credit.

NICHOLAS: Don't you drag her onto the balcony, you rascal!

Crack!

VALERIA: He abduct Eithne! Summon help!

JOHN: This is no abduction. This is a misunderstanding.

BALSAMO: It looks most suspicious.

NICHOLAS: Now I see you for what you are, 'Honest' John Straight. You are no humble country gentleman. You are Malkovitch, notorious King of Banditti!

JOHN: That's just ridiculous!

LINOLINE: Malkovitch! The ferocious duellist and fearsome murderer! Against whom no-one would dare stand!

JOHN: No... well, er, yes. That's right. Ferocious and fearsome. And if you try to stop me rescuing... er, abducting this... ah, this tasty wench... then you'll feel the prick of my deadly cold steel.

NICHOLAS: Why, I'll whip some respect into you!

Crack! Crack!

BALSAMO: Caution, Mr Goodman. You cannot hope to face such a dangerous criminal. It would be instant death.

NICHOLAS: Nonsense, he's just a clod and a coward.

LINOLINE: But you said he was Malkovitch, King of Banditti.

NICHOLAS: Yes, I know, but...

JOHN: I think Eithne and I should probably leave.

NICHOLAS: Curse you, Malkovitch. I'll hunt you down and have you killed for this. You'll smile the Italian smile.

EITHNE: John... John... I am recovering from my swoon.

JOHN: We're leaving, dearest. I'm abducting you.

EITHNE: Fair enough. Abduct away.

JOHN: Goodbye all. It's been a lovely evening.

BALSAMO: He's gone over the balcony, and down the ivy.

LINOLINE: Now I feel faint.

NICHOLAS: I'll have the countryside raised against him!

DARK FIGURE: Nicholas Goodman.

NICHOLAS: What, another interloper, and at the worst possible time? It's that Dark Figure again, Valeria. I told you he was an ill-favoured boggart. Valeria? Why don't you see my hand before your face? Why, all but myself and the Dark Figure seem transported out of time! Spectre, why do you single me out so? Why point you your bony finger at me?

DARK FIGURE: I can give you all you want.

NICHOLAS: And what might that be?

DARK FIGURE: Wealth... influence... and Eithne.

NICHOLAS: I have no interest in those things. I am a man of spotless reputation. What need have I... ?

DARK FIGURE: Take heed, Nicholas Goodman, I see the truth in men's hearts that is denied in their words.

NICHOLAS: What if I do feel fondly towards my old friend's daughter? Is that not natural?

DARK FIGURE: Her face... her fortune... her form.

NICHOLAS: All very appealing, I concede. But my current interest must be her safety. She has been snatched from among us by a fellow I dislike in the extreme.

DARK FIGURE: And if you were to learn their whereabouts?

NICHOLAS: That would be valuable information. And as administrator of her estate until she attains her majority, I would be in a position to reward you well should you choose to impart it.

DARK FIGURE: I'm not interested in gold. I trade in quite another currency. The ladies of this company have lovely necks, don't you think?

NICHOLAS: An arrangement could probably be made.

DARK FIGURE: Very well, when the bell of Mildew Manor strikes thirteen, I shall return with what you long for. And you shall ensure I am paid.

NICHOLAS: Sounds reasonable. I must say, your reputation has done you an injustice.

DARK FIGURE: How so?

NICHOLAS: I was expecting more chain-rattling and contracts written in flame and signed in gore. What we have here is simply an honourable bargain between gentle persons of good will.

DARK FIGURE: Indeed.

The clock ticks again...

LINOLINE: Does this mean we'll have to send the guests away? Such a pity, since it's all been paid for. Then again, a birthday ball without a birthday girl might seem in poor taste. What think you, Mr Goodman?

NICHOLAS: Eh? Sorry, can't be bothered with trifles. I have preparations to make. We must find that cursed John Straight. Good night to you all.

LINOLINE: How unlike Mr Goodman to be so curt. He has always impressed me with his fine manners.

VALERIA: Is difficult time. JOHN: I must apologise for the accommodations, Eithne. Under the circumstances, this desolate mountain cave is the best I can do.

EITHNE: Do not trouble yourself, John. I concede some girls might find it an inconvenience to be spirited away from a well-appointed manor on the evening of a birthday ball thrown in their honour and fetch up in a dank, vermin-infested hole, but a daughter of Sir Eustace Orfe would not be classed among their number.

JOHN: That's the spirit.

EITHNE: I admit I never suspected that you, Mr John Straight, whose virtue and honest qualities might unkindly be said to border on the tedious, would turn out secretly to be Malkovitch, King of Banditti, that most reprehensible and yet excitingly glamorous figure!

JOHN: But that's it, I'm not a bandit.

A tread and a clattering.

EITHNE: Protect me, John.

JOHN: Ho. Who's there? I have a sword.

BALSAMO: Ho, there, John, Miss Orfe.

JOHN: It's only Father Balsamo. There's no need for terror, Eithne. Father, I don't mind saying that you startled me for a moment. Why, I was convinced you were Malkovitch himself, King of Banditti, come to cut our throats.

BALSAMO: But I am Malkovitch, King of Banditti. I have been leading a double life.

EITHNE: Impostor! Villain! Miscreant!

BALSAMO: All that and more, more indeed than one of your delicate sensibilities could conceive. And yet, deep in the heart of my corruption, your plight has stirred me, made me ponder the puzzle of what a man might be. Am I a bandit who pretends to be a monk, or a monk who pretends to be a bandit? Should I importune innocents, or should I set right injustices? It's a most vexing question.

JOHN: All things considered, I'd incline towards suggesting your espousal of the second course of action.

EITHNE: The one that entails setting right injustices visited upon young lovers such as ourselves.

BALSAMO: Very well. From henceforth, I shall dedicate myself to the cause of righteousness.

***

NICHOLAS: We need someone superfluous, Valeria. Someone who can be written off the books at no loss. It is simple economics.

VALERIA: Anyone spring naturally to mind?

LINOLINE: Oh, I do hope poor Eithne isn't too discomfited by her abduction. Some of these banditti have very low reputations.

NICHOLAS: Yes, Valeria, someone does.

LINOLINE: Gracious me, is that the time? After all this excitement, I had lost track. I must away to my virtuous bed, for tomorrow I'll wager will be a busy day.

NICHOLAS: Dear Aunt Linoline, leaving so soon?

VALERIA: After such an evening, I doubt I could sleep.

LINOLINE: My heart does still palpitate, I admit.

The bell begins its toll.

VALERIA: Perhaps sit here, by open windows, so night breeze might play gently over your heated brow.

LINOLINE: That does sound nice. Ah, such a comfortable chair. But what's that?

NICHOLAS: What's what?

LINOLINE: That dark shape.

VALERIA: A trick of shadows.

LINOLINE: On second thoughts, it's probably best I go to bed now.

VALERIA: Here, let me loosen this scarf from around your throat... your neck should be free, your pulse not stoppered up.

LINOLINE: Ah, the good old bell of Mildew Manor. Reliable as always.

The chimes continue.

LINOLINE [terrified]: Gracious, who are you?

DARK FIGURE: It is I, the Dark Figure, come to wrap you in the warmth of my cloak. Listen to the chimes, count them off in your head. You have such a lovely neck...

LINOLINE [whisper]: Thirteen!

DARK FIGURE: I thirst... I fasten...

A horrible scream rends the air.

VALERIA: The Dark Figure seems to be drinking Linoline's blood. How ...

NICHOLAS: Disgusting? Ghastly? Gruesome?

VALERIA: No. Actually, is little stimulating.

Indecorous sucking and squelching.

BALSAMO: Hist, some party approaches...

EITHNE: I heard nothing.

BALSAMO: That's because you're not a bandit. I'm sensitive to every twig that breaks. You need your wits about you if you are to live a life of brigandage and deception.

JOHN: I'll say.

Footfalls are heard.

BALSAMO: I don't like the sound of that tread. It's... unnatural. And, behold, a pale face appearing in the gloom, strangely familiar, yet...

EITHNE: Why it's only Auntie Linoline!

JOHN: Indeed, but white-faced and staring-eyed, with a thick red scarf around her neck.

LINOLINE: Eithne, come away with me.

BALSAMO: There's something not quite right about Linoline. I wonder how she would react were I to raise my pectoral cross in her direction.

LINOLINE: Ssssss!

EITHNE: What sharp teeth, Auntie. I'd never noticed before.

BALSAMO: This isn't your aunt, child, but a foul revenant in her shape. Have no fear, she shall not pass. I draw my sword...

JOHN: Watch out, she's swift as a cat.

Crack! JOHN: Merciful heaven, she's kinked his neck with one twist, turning his head the wrong way round!

LINOLINE: Crick-crack! Break a bandit's back! Crack-crick! Give his neck a lick!

EITHNE: Auntie! You are drinking that poor man's blood!

JOHN: Hold, unnatural creature!

LINOLINE: No kisses for your old auntie, little Eithne? Such an ungrateful girl.

EITHNE: John, I don't know what to do.

LINOLINE: Usually, under such circumstances, you faint. Tiresome habit, but there you are.

EITHNE: I do not faint! I swoon occasionally, but that's as far as it goes.

LINOLINE: By the way, did you know there was another secret entrance to this cave?

JOHN: No, why?

NICHOLAS: Because you are apprehended from behind, scoundrel. Here, this stout cudgel should see you into unconsciousness.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

EITHNE: John, your head is unprotected. Have a care! I must say, Mr Goodman, I am taken aback that you should serve this fellow so ill.

VALERIA: You faint now?

EITHNE: I think I might.

Thump! Clatter!

VALERIA: Such a pity. No one catch her this time.

NICHOLAS: At last, things are as they should be. Back at Mildew Manor, this pair will be served as they merit.

***

NICHOLAS: This will settle your hash, Master Straight. In these long-disused crypts, where remain instruments of persuasion used by witchfinders of old, it pleases me to introduce you to the Warlock's Settle. At a mere touch of a lever, razored spikes will protrude from the seat and arms, causing you no little discomfort.

JOHN: You fiend! Agh!

NICHOLAS: I'm sorry. I didn't quite catch that. Did I happen to tickle you with the razored spikes? Are you in some discomfort? Valeria, fetch balming oil for our injured guest.

VALERIA: Certainly.

Manly yelps.

JOHN: That hurts, dreadfully.

NICHOLAS: Foolish woman. Did you perhaps apply vinegar by mistake?

JOHN: Stay away from Eithne, villain.

NICHOLAS: I merely wish to stroke her long, lovely hair. To consider her beauty as she sleeps. So fair, so constant, so wealthy... so ripe.

JOHN: If I weren't shackled...

NICHOLAS: It strikes me as ironic that after a life filled with so much sin and deception, my old friend Sir Eustace should at the end make one wise, virtuous decision... to entrust the guardianship of his daughter to one as trustworthy and honest as I. We shall be married before the week is out.

VALERIA: Married!

NICHOLAS: Of course. Anything else would not be respectable. One does not rescue a maiden from desperate banditti and refrain from marrying her.

VALERIA: This colourless, fragile thing! Married to you! After all another has done in your cause!

NICHOLAS: I really don't know what you mean. Do stop being so tiresomely Italian.

VALERIA: I scratch her eyes out!

NICHOLAS: No.

Snick!

VALERIA: My throat!

NICHOLAS: You hold your neck, I see. Blood seeps between your fingers. Come, Valeria, take your hands away.

VALERIA [gurgling]: No.

NICHOLAS: Let me see. Ah, that's better.

An emptying noise.

NICHOLAS: At last, the Italian smile.

EITHNE: Oh, Mr Goodman, I had such a terrible dream. A throat cut from ear to ear... Auntie Linoline a red-eyed vampyre frothing with unspeakable lusts... my poor dead father's pale spectre... Father Balsamo's head turned entirely backwards. And John, honest and dear John, shackled to the hideously cruel Warlock's Settle. Thank providence that it was just a mare of the night... ah...

LINOLINE: Too witless with terror even to scream, dear niece?

NICHOLAS: Sweet Eithne, you have had a narrow escape. But everything is as it should be now. You are in the arms of your tender, devoted guardian... I am the man to whom you are to be wed.

EITHNE: Mr Goodman.

NICHOLAS: Let me kiss you.

JOHN: Don't...

A struggle, then the smack of wet lips.

EITHNE: Mr Goodman!

NICHOLAS: Indeed. Oh, good heavens, she's gone again. Into a swoon. You were right about that tiresome habit, Linoline. But awake or asleep, it matters not. Eithne is mine. I have taken a deep draught of the cup of villainy. I admit it. There is no excess I will not commit, no passion I will keep pent. I see it clear at last. Crime and sin are my meat and drink. And now, I shall have my feast.

And so, from the highest of intentions, Nicholas Goodman finds himself numbered among a company that, but a few days ago, he could hardly have expected to consider his peers. Vampyre and spectre, murdered bandit and smiling Italian, helpless maiden and tortured swain, and, before all, the Dark Figure of Mildew Manor. As to the sequelae of these events, you will have to form your own opinions.

Against all probability, does John Straight find the strength to break free of his shackles and interpose his sturdy frame between the degenerate Nicholas Goodman and the object of that formerly worthy gentleman's unhallowed desires?

Or, unhappily, does Nicholas proceed unhindered with the worst of his crimes, and contrive to live out his days with the fair and biddable Eithne as plaything and her great wealth and influence his to dispose of as he sees fit? Or, it is possible, does Nicholas Goodman find himself thwarted at the last not by the efforts of the virtuous John but by his own crimes, which have raised against him a party of the malign dead?

Ending One

JOHN: Hold from thy foul purpose, foul villain... righteous anger fuels my wracked body, giving me the strength to strain against my shackles, to bend and... aye... even to break them.

Clanking, straining, breaking ...

NICHOLAS: It's beyond belief, just as I am on the point of attaining final victory ...

EITHNE: Oh, John, rush to my assistance, deliver me from a cruel fate.

JOHN: That settles it, Goodman. I've completely shaken off my bonds. Face me like a man.

NICHOLAS: A swift poignard between the ribs will finish this.

EITHNE: Look out, John, he has a treacherous dagger.

JOHN: So I've noticed, but I happen to have a chain, suitable for wielding as a defensive weapon.

A clatter...

NICHOLAS: Agh, my dagger, whipped from my hands. I call upon the forces of darkness to rush to my aid.

JOHN: A likely story. You're mad as well as bad, I see. Take this ...

Thump!

JOHN: And this...

Thump!

JOHN: And, for good measure, this!

THUMP!

NICHOLAS: So, at the last, I profit not from my stooping to low deeds. My unhallowed allies desert me. I am battered by a better man, and I lose the fair Eithne to one far worthier than I. Is it too late, I ask, to repent?

DARK FIGURE: A bargain is a bargain, Nicholas Goodman.

NICHOLAS: I feared as much. Nothing remains for me but a plunge into the murky depths of the tarn.

LINOLINE: Give my regards to poor Smudge.

NICHOLAS: Forget my bones, I implore thee...

Splash!

EITHNE: Why, Mr Goodman has thrown open a previously unnoticed trapdoor and plunged into the icy black waters of the tarn.

JOHN: That curious whirlpool current from which no man ever escapes has him in its grip, sucking him down.

EITHNE: And under. He's gone.

JOHN: Day breaks, Eithne. The horrors of this night are dispelled.

LINOLINE: I'm melting, spirited away to my grave...

EITHNE: I can hardly credit such things ever happened.

JOHN: It is our duty to forget these matters, and advance steadily into a sunny future as man and wife, enjoying only happiness, prosperity, a clear conscience and the dutiful respect of many scampering children.

EITHNE: Oh, John, I'm so happy.

With this triumph of the forces of light and gentleness, the shadow of the DARK FIGURE is obliterated. Choosing to reside in the modest comfort of neighbouring Forthright Hall, John and Eithne rent out Mildew Manor, whose tenants never report so much as a midnight clank. Indeed, it is soon renowned throughout the increasingly civilised middle parts of England for the pleasantness of its surroundings, the amusingly outmoded gothic trappings of its architecture and the utter unlikeliness that such a charming seat could ever have been horror-haunted, vampyre-vexed or revenant-riddled.

Ending Two

EITHNE: Why, husband, it's hard to credit that twenty-five years have passed since that night in the dungeon.

NICHOLAS: Twenty-five happy years ...

EITHNE: Filled with every delightful crime imagined by man.

NICHOLAS: And quite a few new-minted crimes added to the register. Why, wife, you've been a suitable partner in depravity, usury, felony, larceny, lechery, perfidy, villainy, knavery, thievery, treachery, sodomy, obloquy and fiddle-de-dee ...

EITHNE: Indeed.

NICHOLAS: Your vast inherited wealth and influence has been squandered on the pursuit of unholy pleasure.

EITHNE: It is so.

NICHOLAS: And yet further fortunes have we made, through methods dubious. And yet we are heaped with worldly honours and the admiration of all society. To think I once hesitated to filch a coin from a blind beggar's bowl.

EITHNE: Don't say such things.

NICHOLAS: It's true, Eithne. Once I was weak, clinging to absurd notions of morality. Until that Dark Figure came into our lives.

EITHNE: Indeed, let us drink a toast to the Dark Figure.

NICHOLAS: A toast. From our favourite loving cup.

EITHNE: Yes, the flagon we had made from the fleshless skull of that booby, John Straight, who once tried to inconvenience you.

NICHOLAS: I had almost forgotten the clod.

EITHNE: I had forgotten him. Entirely.

NICHOLAS: You know, I think he conceived something of an affection for you. When you were tediously virtuous. Before you became my bride in blood, my helpmeet in horror, my mistress in mayhem...

EITHNE: Drink, husband, drain his brain-pan of this fine wine.

NICHOLAS: Yes, my darkwing dove, I drink a toast to... agh! Bitter almonds!

EITHNE: Have I not learned my lesson well, husband?

NICHOLAS: I am paralysed. The bony mug falls from my fingers.

EITHNE: Hush, don't tire yourself with talk. You have but a few seconds. The toast was laced with a deadly poison. My apprenticeship is finished, husband. 'Tis time I became the true, the only mistress of Mildew Manor, a wicked widow with a great fortune at her sole disposal.

NICHOLAS: Agh!

EITHNE: I shall have you buried face-down. If your corpse should stir in its coffin you will claw your way to the infernal caverns rather than trouble us again on the surface of the Earth.

DARK FIGURE: I am well pleased with you, Mrs Goodman. I trust that we still have a bargain.

EITHNE: Indeed. You know, it's most peculiar, looking at my husband's lifeless face, I could almost imagine that his last expression was a sly smile, as if he were proud of me.

For years thereafter, Mrs Eithne Goodman, ennobled as Countess Mildew, was a familiar public figure, accompanied by a succession of young male servants more notable for the tightness of their britches than their skill at household work. Some say the Countess lives still, seen occasionally in high society or more often in the lowest of the low stews, glimpsed in the company of a cabinet minister or a captain of industry, whispering helpful suggestions into the ears of those who guide the courses of our great newspapers or broadcasting institutions. Her former home is long-abandoned, slowly crumbling into the tarn that holds so many secrets. Traveller be warned that now not a stone stands of the demesne that was once Mildew Manor.

Ending Three

NICHOLAS: Nothing will prevent me from ravishing you, Eithne.

Rending of clothes. EUSTACE: Hold! On your soul, hold!

NICHOLAS: A ghost, spectral finger accusing! My old friend, Sir Eustace Orfe, calling from beyond the grave! I care not for ghosts.

LINOLINE: I cry for vengeance! I seek blood!

NICHOLAS: A ravening vampyre, fangs bared, rising from the tomb. Pah! This for vampyres!

BALSAMO: ... rarrgghg gargghh rrrrr!

NICHOLAS: An animate corpse of the double-living bandit monk, larynx crushed and incapable of coherent speech, lurching backwards towards me, head still turned entirely around, eyes squirming with frustrated hate. Hah! These bogey-things deter me not.

EITHNE: Oh, I stir from my swoon... such a vile dream I was having, I cannot credit what phantasms were conjured by my mind. I shall never eat a cheese supper again. This I swear.

NICHOLAS: It was no dream.

EITHNE: Mr Goodman, what manner of creatures tug at you. The transparent apparition of my own father, the bloody-mouthed travesty of my gentle aunt Linoline and the Janus-faced caricature of Father Balsamo.

NICHOLAS: Unhand me, fiends. I have wicked work to accomplish.

LINOLINE: You are of our company, now.

EUSTACE: By virtue of villainy.

BALSAMO: ... garrgghh rrrr!

LINOLINE: He means to say that we have all died to become what we are.

EUSTACE: You still live. But your crimes qualify you as one of us.

NICHOLAS: Then let me about my villainy. I have misdeeds still to accomplish. Including one especially vile item I'm rather keen to conclude before dawn.

LINOLINE: Such a neck for biting.

EUSTACE: For twisting.

BALSAMO: ... rrrrr!

NICHOLAS: Dark Figure, I implore you, haul away these minions. We have a bargain.

DARK FIGURE: I have bargains with all, Nicholas Goodman.

NICHOLAS: It can't end this way. I curse you...

There is a sudden commotion.

NICHOLAS: Damn me for a fool as well as a villain. These bargains were always unequal. I see now that no-one truly prospers from association with the powers of darkness.

And so the company of ghouls was swelled by one Nicholas Goodman. When Eithne at length awoke from her swoon, she found herself surrounded by corpses and ghosts. Finding strength to flee, she summoned servants and decreed that the dungeons of Mildew Manor be bricked up, confining the creatures of darkness to these stygian stone hallways and chambers. A parson was summoned to place blessed relics at all possible escape point, sealing away forever ghosts, vampyres, back-to-fronts, dastards and DARK FIGURES. But what's this, stirring in the darkness, with a clanking of shackles...

JOHN: I say, ah, Eithne, Mr Goodman, anybody... it's fearfully dark down here, and I seem to have been left behind... as it were... forgotten... ah, my legs have gone to sleep with the cold and damp... ouch, I think that was rats, nipping... ah, Eithne, it really would be a good idea to unchain me now... ah, Eithne, Eithne...

Author's Notes

Kim Newman is a well known author and film critic, whose distinctive sideburns and Victorianesque style are regularly seen on television.

He has published over twenty novels, plus many short stories and non-fiction works, and has won awards including the International Horror Guild Award for Coppola's Dracula and The British Fantasy Society Award for the collection Where the Bodies are Buried. His website is at www.johnnyalucard.com

Here's Kim's notes on the writing of the tale:

The specific brief was to produce a vampire story - but I've done a whole series of post-modern bloodsucker pieces (the Anno Dracula books) and didn't want to go down that route again. So, I dusted off a gothic masque lying around unfinished, which happened to feature a vampire (or, rather, vampyre) along with much other gothic apparatus.

The original idea was for a performance piece suitable for staging by amateurs at a house party, with opportunities for overacting and sundry horseplay. Of course, I'm playing around with the gothic tradition of the late 18th and early 19th centuries, epitomised by Mrs Anne Radcliffe, M.G. Lewis's The Monk (model of the good-man-goes-horribly-wrong plot) and many other full-blooded melodramas, not to mention the satire of same in Jane Austen's Northanger Abbey or the less well-known works of Thomas Love Peacock (whose titles inspired this one - he wrote Headlong Hall, Crotchet Castle and Nightmare Abbey).

I'm a great admirer of the obscure films of Tod Slaughter, the great barnstorming villain whose major roles were the wicked squire in Maria Marten; or: Murder in the Red Barn and the demon barber of Fleet Street in Sweeney Todd. So, I've delivered a piece where it would be impossible to overact, laced with the wonderfully snide morality that panders to audience desires for luridness while delivering a reassuring, if slightly dull moral.

By providing three alternate endings (a simplification of the technique I use in my "interactive" novel Life's Lottery), I give modern audiences the opportunity to have a wider array of possibilities beyond the sort of happy finish obligatory in 1790.

I experimented by sending the piece out as a Christmas card and asking people to choose an ending: very few picked Option Number One.