Chapter Thirty-Five of "Things that go bump in the Night," A Sherlock Holmes Baker Street Adventure is now posted.
"Things that go bump in the Night"
by John Pirillo
Redeye and Chittles stood over the gravesite, as Count Dracula, utilizing his superior strength tossed shovel fulls of dirt from the deep hole he was digging with little effort. He spoke as he dug, not needing oxygen as they.
"I find this most exhilirating. A good exercise before my dinner."
Chittles growled. "Don't go getting any ideas bangtooth!"
Count Dracula tossed a shovel full of dirt across Chittle's knees.
Chittles roared with anger.
The Count rose up a bit to look over the lip of the hole, "Oh did I do that. So sorry."
He hid his smirk as he dropped out of sight to keep on digging.
Redeye had to restrain Chittles from using the stake that was pounded into the ground, marking the site. "Easy, Chittles."
"I want him out of there and in my face, so I can be in his!" Chittles blared.
"No, you don't." Redeye disagreed.
"I do." Chittles disagreed.
"Not really. You don't. You must learn how to take a little joviality some time, Chittles. You're way too solemn sometimes."
"Me? You're saying I'm solemn?"
"Who was the one who put the live sardine in the Queen's Maid's bosom when she bent over."
"And who stuck the live snake in Lord Chamberlains pot before he used it?"
Redeye laughed. "That was a funny one. Yes, you did. But it doesn't change the fact that you've been acting like a woman in her menstruations lately."
"Well you would too if you were in love with the most beautiful actress in the world and she was totally on the opposite side of the world." Chittles growled, stomping the ground for emphasis.
"Got it!" Count Dracula hollered from the hole.
Chittles and Redeye hurried to the edge to look down. A huge coffin was revealed. It had a cabalistic symbol in its center and the shapes of four dragons at either pentagram's tip. It was made of some kind of black wood that was highly polished. It didn't look a day over ten or twelve weeks. It was over a thousand years old."
Dracula preened at their looks of astonishment. "Great craftmanship, wouldn't you agree?"
"For a millinium old coffin, I'd say so." Chittles agreed, his anger forgotten in the heat of the moment's excitement.
Dracula nodded ,then began prying at the coffin's lip. "We should have our answer for certain once I get this lid off."
He pried and pried his shoulders bulging with the effort, his neck cording with muscles, his forehead creasing from the strain. "It won't budge!" He finally exclaimed, tossing the crowbar down.
Redeye got a look on his face. Chittles noted it. "Oh crap! Run Count! Or fly, whichever works!"
Chittles ran for the safety of a large trunked oak as Redeye levered a small box with a glowing red light on its face. He pressed it, then dropped it into the hole, then threw himself on the ground the same time as the hole vomited an explosion that shot dozens of yards into the air, thrusting globs of dirt, and wood with it.
When the smoke and dust settled, Dracula dropped down from the upper branches of the tree Chittles was hiding behind, then glided to several inches of the crater that had once been a graveyard hole. "Remarkable."
Chittles ran over and looked. Redeye dusted himself off, making sure every ounce of dirt was gone from his beautiful red velvet outfit, then he walked over and looked down as well.
Dracula dropped into the crater, then gave his friends a look. "We must bring this to Holmes and Watson immediately. Give me a hand."
"I thought you were strong enough to do it by yourself." Chittles complained.
Redeye looked at the corruption in the hole and grimaced. "I just bought this outfit...."
Dracula sighed. "And people wonder why vampires have given up drinking human blood."
Chapter Thirty-Six Her name was Marion Wildwood. She was an Angel of the Night. Her honey straw hair hung down in wavelets on either side of her moon-shaped face. Her eyes were slanted, as she was half Asian. From the China Isles. Her skin was mahogny burnished brown and gold from the blend of Asian and African bloods. Her lips were like ripe pomengranites, all sweet and succulent. At least that's what her clients told her.
And the new one she had contacted earlier by pigeon messenger promised to be her biggest yet. He promised her lots of money and a new name. He was a man of great power and position and she had known of him for years by reputation, but never had been told he had a secret name as well. She didn't like thinking about it, as it gave her a slight case of tremors.
A girl couldn't be too careful these days, what with the Ripper and Hide bouncing in and out of the headlines on what almost seemed like a daily occurence these days.
She wiped at her forehead. There was a slight drizzle tonight and it was bitter cold. Her makeup would smear for sure and then freeze in place if she wasn't careful. She had spent half her last client's payment on the new makeover she wore and didn't want to waste it. She grinned. Least not until her new client had tasted it and destroyed it with his lips and kisses.
She thrilled at the prospect on one level and on another sighed, because she missed the days when she had been Daddy's little girl who sat on his lap and played there, while he looked on with great love and respect for her simplicity. For she had been a simple girl with simple tastes and he had never demanded much of her, though he should have and perhaps she wouldn't be haunting the night for a living as now.
She shivered at the thought and shrugged her shawl more tightly about her lovely shoulders, hiding their graceful lines that swept over her collarbone to reveal very well constructed bosoms that most men would die to touch and some had. She smiled again. She had friends that didn't take kindly to gents who misused their Angels.
She glanced at the card in her hand. And the name. "Mister Dark." She muttered softly, again feeling just the slightest tremor of nervousness about the name. Why did he use such a strange misnomer, she thought?
The fog was beginning to thicken as well as get damper and colder. She wished that tonight was the golden promise she had been looking for. He was old, older by far than her father had been before he passed away, leaving her penniless in the streets because of his hospital expenses from consumption.
She wasn't getting any younger. She had flirted with Dracula once with the thought of perhaps getting him to turn her, but that thought had flown away swiftly, when he had gently rebuked her for her mistaken understanding of vampires and had gently paid her and sent her packing. She had never known they could be so chivalrous.
"Ah, there it is!" She said to herself as she came to the black door set in the old frame. A beat up knocker sat in its middle, with an odd demonic figure carved about it. She sighed again, almost turning away, but money burned bright in her heart. More so than fear that night.
She banged the knocker several times. Nothing. She banged again. Still nothing. Finally, she gave up.
"Just my luck to hook a loser." She cursed at herself.
"Come in, my dear." Mister Dark greeted from behind her.
She turned around and gave the figure before her the best smile she could summon, what with being wet and miserable, hungry and tired from four assignations earlier that evening.
"You be, Mister Dark?" She asked.
"I've come about the joy you promised me." She spoke up, getting bolder with his lack of aggressiveness.
"Come in. We have much....to...discuss." He said in a very deliberate and creeply slow style that almost caused her to bolt, but when she saw the expensive gold and diamond studs on his coat and sleeves, her lust for money overrode her common sense.
She stepped up the dark steps into the opening he widened for her and vanished inside. The door closed behind on them.
The fog seemed to swirl desperately at the door a moment, then a great scream came from inside. Marion Wildwood's!
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