14 October 2009
Introducing Evan Hellsinger
~ Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances: Part Six ~
For the previous chapter, do please click here.
“MARRIED?” spluttered Inspector Spunkleford, as I told him all about my plans to wed dear Helena Handbaskett, having raced down to Scotland Yard to share the news with the man.
“Yes, dear inspector! Helena and I are to be wed!” I beamed. “Is it not such wondrous news?”
“Well…” the inspector paused, and slowly stirred his tea. “I mean, it certainly is a cause for celebration, and I had always hoped to see you finally settle down, you know…but…well, I am rather surprised, Likely. I know you, you are not the sort of man to commit himself to a single woman. Or a married woman, come to think of it. You like to have your cake and then do unspeakable things with it! I just cannot quite see what makes this maid – whom you have only known for three or four days, do not forget! – so very special that you are willing to spend the rest of your days with her!”
“Helena? Oh, my – she is special, Spunkleford. Why, she’s…there’s…there’s the way…erm…” I stopped as I tried to recollect precisely why I was agreeing to marry this woman. Nothing was instantly springing to mind…I just knew I had to wed her. “Anyway!” I smiled, changing the subject hastily. “How are things going with you and Mrs. Spunkleford? Does she still wish to leave you?”
“I’m afraid so,” Spunkleford sighed. “Her people are talking to my people, and my people are trying to reason with her people, but her people are refusing to listen and are instead starting to shout rather loudly at my people…it’s all frightfully depressing, Likely. I shall spare you all the details!”
“Oh, good. It sounds awfully tedious,” I replied.
“Ah! But I am glad you are here, Likely…we’ve had a rather interesting development with this whole -” Spunkleford glanced furtively about him, and lowered his voice. “This whole vampire business!” he whispered.
“Oh?”
“Do you remember that doctor who came here and alerted us to that awful Strix fellow in the first place?”
“Oh, yes…Doctor Fishcock or something, wasn’t it?” I replied.
“Doctor Whelkbladder,” Spunkleford corrected, with a slight tone of exasperation in his voice which I did not care for much. “He…he has gone a bit peculiar,” Spunkleford continued.
“Ah! I had always thought there was a touch of the lavender about that fellow,” I exclaimed.
“No!” Spunkleford cried. “Not like that! He’s…well, he…” the Inspector hesitated momentarily, unsure of how to finish his sentence. “I think it shall probably be for the best if you just come down to the cell and see him.”
“Cell?” I asked, arching an eyebrow. Now this was getting interesting…
*****
“GRRRRRRRRRRAAARRRRGGGH! GRRRRRAAAARRRRGGHH! HSSSSSSSSS! HSSSSSSSS! GRRRRAAARRRRGGH! GRRRRRAAARRGGH!”…said Doctor Whelkbladder.
“Hmmm,” I mused, as I observed the former medic as he frantically bashed against the front of his cell, a pale, thin and slightly clawed hand swiping at us feebly through the gaps between the metal bars. “That does seem like slightly unusual behaviour for one in the medical profession. Unles he is drunk. Is he drunk?”
“No…no, we had a few people complain that a doctor was wandering the streets at night, taking bites out of them,” Spunkleford nodded sadly as Whelkbladder continued to writhe about in his cell, like a thing possessed by a…thing. “So, we went out and searched for this fiend, and found old Whelkbladder here, gnawing on the neck of a green-grocer.”
“Well, at least he is eating healthily,” I pondered out loud.
“Poor devil…I mean, just look at those eyes…they’re pure white! ‘Tis…’tis like he is already dead…and look at those frightful fangs!”
As we watched the apparition with morbid curiosity, the spectre suddenly launched himself with full force at the door of his cell, making it buckle outwards in a rather ominous manner.
“That does not bode well,” I observed.
“Do not fret, Likely! These old cells are built to last, you know! It shall take more than – ” And then, Whelkbladder interjected by hurling himself once more at the iron bars, sending the door flying across the corridor. I would have been clobbered had I not had the presence of mind to run half-way back up the stairs and take refuge behind a pillar.
“Arse Crumpets!” I exclaimed, as I fished my pistol out of my pocket. “Get yourself out of there, Spunkleford!”
Spunkleford turned and ran, as another police officer stepped up to fire his gun at the oncoming demon. The bullets glanced off of the creature’s left arm, failing to slow him down by so much as one jot. Before he knew it, the poor officer was set upon by the former doctor, who sank his teeth into the young man’s neck. Spunkleford let off a couple of shots of his own, but they proved as inconsequential as those fired by the now thoroughly dead constable.
Whelkbladder had evidently had his fill of the officer’s blood, and discarded the body like one might discard an empty bottle of whisky, and tossed him casually over his shoulder with little or no effort at all. Whelkbladder then wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve (frightfully bad manners, I noted) and turned his attention to Spunkleford, who was frantically trying to reload his gun. I realised there was no time to lose, and carefully aimed my pistol at the advancing doctor’s head, and fired.
I landed a perfect shot square between Whelkbladder’s eyes, which – while not incapacitating the monster – certainly knocked him for six, and he stumbled backwards and tumbled onto the ground. I vaulted over the bannister of the stairs, and landed neatly beside Spunkleford.
“Come on, man!” I hissed. “We have got to get out of here! That damned creature won’t be down for long!”
With almost clockwork timing, the late Whelkbladder rose back to his feet again as if he’d been hauled up by an invisible pulley-system, and recommenced his advance. Spunkleford and I opened fire again, but the bullets were passing through him like he was made out of evil, terrible water. Things were looking considerably bleak…
…until, all of a sudden, the door at the far end of the corridor burst in, and a tall, well-built man with flowing, blonde hair strode in. “Hey, asshole!” he cried, his accent and coarse language clearly denoting him as an American chap. “Bite this!” With that, the fellow raised a large blunderbuss up, and fired what appeared to be a big, wooden stake from his weapon. The object flew through the air, and came to a squelchy stop in Doctor Whelkbladder’s chest, covering us in blood and gloop in the process. I made a mental note to make this American cad pay for a new suit, but my attention was diverted by Whelkbladder howling out in pain. He staggered about momentarily, then collapsed to the floor, where he proceeded to melt and dissolve into a slimy puddle of goo.
“The doctor…is OUT,” the American quipped.
“And who in the name of Columbus’ cock-butter are you?” I demanded. The man smiled, and holstered his blunderbuss on his back.
“Evan Hellsinger,” he answered. “Vampire slayer.”
“Oh God,” I sighed.
- Lord Likely.
Next Time in Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances: Evan All-Mighty!
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