~ Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances, Part Four ~

For the previous chapter, please click here.

From the Journals of Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action.

MR. STRIX hissed at me, and opened his mouth to reveal his fearsome fanged teeth. Any doubts I may have had pertaining to the existence of vampires were quickly vanishing in the face of cold, hard, pointy facts.

With another loud hiss, Mr. Strix lunged at me, but I proved much too quick for the blood-sucking bounder, and deftly leapt out of the way. Strix proceeded to fall over a table behind where I’d stood, and then he landed in a rather undignified and un-terrifying heap.

“By Beelzebub’s Acrid Arse-Gas!” I exclaimed as I gathered myself up. “What a turn-up for the books, eh?” I turned to my companions, Inspector Spunkleford and my man-servant, Botter (still clutching his erroneous steak), who were both trembling and white with fear. I believe Botter may have even soiled himself slightly, but I was not prepared to investigate further.

“H-he’s an actual vampire!” Spunkleford stammered, pointing a shaky finger in Strix’s direction.

“Very good, inspector,” I remarked. “I dare say you shall quickly work your way up to commissioner with such remarkable deductive skills.”

“B-but he’s a vampire!” Spunkleford repeated.

“Yes, so we have established. Now, what say we get out of this forsaken hell-hole before that very same vampire recovers himself, hmmm?”

But, even as I spoke it was much too late, and Strix was scrabbling to his feet, his eyes glowing with rage.

“I…musssst…FEEEEEED!” he snarled.

“Quick, Spunkleford! Show him your cross!” I bellowed.

“Erm…all-all right, Likely,” Spunkleford replied nervously, before stepping up in front of Mr. Strix, puffing his chest out in a feeble attempt to look braver than he actually was. “Now…now listen here, my man…I really am rather annoyed, you know…and…and I have found your behaviour quite unacceptable. Furthermore, I – ”

“No, Spunkleford!” I cried out, exasperated. “Don’t show him YOU ARE cross, show him YOUR cross – your damned crucifix!”

Spunkleford nodded his comprehension, but as he went to reach into his pocket to retrieve the cross, Strix was upon him, bashing him out of the way like he was nothing more than a portly, middle-aged rag-doll, and sending him flying into a beam on the other side of the room. That would most assuredly leave a mark, I mused, before refocusing my attention on Strix, who was gliding toward me, his arms outstretched in my direction.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” I said. “What is your obsession with me? I dare say Spunkleford had more blood in him than I! I mean you only have to look at him to realise he is positively brimming with the stuff…surely he would make for a fine feast indeed? No?…oh, to hell with it all!” I cried, as I grabbed the raw steak from Botter’s limp grasp, and then brought it sharply across Strix’s face as he leapt at me once more. The full-force of the lump of cow-meat forced Strix to spin round two hundred and forty degrees, at which point he lost his footing and collapsed back onto the table, inadvertently skewering himself on a solid-gold fountain pen which had been resting in an ink-well.

From the diary of Mr. Strix, Vampire.

Owch.

From the Journals of Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of  Action.

Strix let out a piercing shriek, writhed about for a bit, before falling silent and limp on the table.

“Well,” I smiled, hurling the steak back to Botter. “It seems he certainly got the POINT, eh Botter?”

“Very good, milord,” Botter drawled.

“The point…of the pen,” I added.

“Yes, milord.”

“In his chest.”

“Um…yes.”

“And then he died.”

“Erm…”

“Right! Enough quick-fire witticisms! Let us get out of here and – oh-ho? What now?” I exclaimed, as Strix’s body started to steam and crackle noisily, like bacon on a stove, and then – before our very eyes – the corpse began to melt, the skin slipping off the bones and dissolving into smoke.

“Bloody hell!” I remarked.

“I…I think I’m going to be sick…” Botter whined.

At that point, Strix’s maid entered the room, eager to see what all the commotion was about. “What’s all the commotion in here?” she said, confirming my previous sentence. “What’s been happening? Where’s the mast – oh!” Her eyes fell upon the smouldering remains of her former employer, moving her to emit a loud, piercing scream. Thus sated, she swiftly passed out in a dead faint into my manly arms.

“She must have been rather perturbed by the terrible mess,” I hypothesised. “I dare say there’s a good hour or two’s worth of cleaning to be done in here. Poor thing,” I said, stroking strands of the girl’s red hair from her eyes. “Listen, Botter…I shall go and make sure this poor darling is comfortable…you go and check on the inspector. I fear his pride may be slightly bruised, at least if the angle at which he hit that beam is anything to go by.”

“Very good, milord,” Botter nodded, scuttling off to perform my wishes.

“Wha…what happened?” murmured the maid, as she slowly returned to a state of consciousness.

“Do not worry yourself dear,” I cooed sympathetically. “The nightmare is over now – and forever more!”

- Lord Likely.

Next Week in “Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances”: The Nightmare is Far From Over!

PLUS: Be back here to-morrow, for a bonus Likely tale, “Lord Likely’s Birthday Bash”. HUZZAH!

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April, 1857.

“Your ladyship, I have decided I would like to commence my investigations by seeing the body,” I remarked, as I leaned casually against the banister of the stairs.

“Well, good,” replied Lady Rydeham-Harde. “At last, some progress.”

“Of course, when I say ‘the body’, I mean ‘your body’. And when I say ‘seeing’ I mean ‘pumping.’ To whit, I wish to ravish you, your ladyship.”

Lady Rydeham-Harde’s face dropped in astonishment, and then before I knew it she lunged forward and slapped me hard across the face.

“Please, m’dear, surely we should adjourn to the bedroom before we commence the rough stuff?” I said, rubbing the side of my face.

“The very impertinence! Just who do you think you are?” she screamed.

“I am Lord Likely,” I replied casually.

“Well, Mr. Likely, I don’t know if making lewd advances towards recently bereaved women is part and parcel of your investigatory technique, but I for one shall not abide it! The very idea, sir! For shame! Just you wait until my husband hears about this outrage…”

I sighed. It seemed that this filly would be particularly difficult to tame.

“What is all the fuss, dearest?” came a voice from up the stairs.

“Hubert!” cried Lady Rydeham-Harde. “Oh, my dear Hubert!”

I looked up to see a small, bald man, wearing thin, round horn-rimmed spectacles standing at the top of the stairs. If a hamster was to ever start wearing suits, then it would be indistinguishable from the gentleman currently descending the stair-case. To say he was meek would be an understatement, akin to claiming that The Black Death was just a slight flu.

“What ails you, dearest?” said Lord Rydeham-Harde, as he joined his wife at her side.

“This…this awful man, Hubert! He made some particularly filthy remarks about me! Horrible, dirty, depraved remarks!”

“Oh dear,” said Hubert. “What a shame.”

“Is…is that all you have to say? Hubert, this man made untoward advances towards your wife, and all you can say is ‘what a shame?’ Are you not even going to attempt to defend my honour?” yelled Lady Rydeham-Harde.

“Um, well, he is considerably taller than me, dearest,” replied Hubert, nervously readjusting his spectacles upon his nose.

“HUBERT! I thought you were going to be more of a man from now on!”

“Well, I…I am trying, my dear. I…I am still taking the medicine…”

As a full-blown argument broke out between the Lord and Lady of the house, Inspector Spunkleford, Botter and I decided to leave the quarreling couple to it, and ventured back outside.

“Confound it, Likely!” barked Spunkleford as we stepped out into the cool night air. “Your damned libido has nearly ruined our investigation before it has even begun! We shall have to work doubly hard to find any favour with the Rydeham-Harde’s now.”

“I do not apologise for being a man, with a man’s appetites,” I replied haughtily.

“Hmph,” snorted Spunkleford. “Well, at any rate we shall have to begin the investigation with due haste. Come, let us go and visit the crime-scene, and see what clues the poor maid’s body may offer us.”

“But of course,” I said. “But maybe first I should go and quickly tend to my Lord Palmerston. My brief physical interaction with her ladyship has left me harder than a concrete dildo.”

“She slapped you, Likely,” Spunkleford reminded me.

“Indeed. And powerfully arousing it was too!”

“Damn it, Likely, I shall not let you delay us any further! We are going to the scene of the crime right now, you hear? RIGHT NOW!”

“Not even time for a brief hand-shandy?” I offered, but Spunkleford’s furious glare made me reconsider, and so we departed to view the body of the recently-deceased maid.

“Oh, it is terrible. Awful. Horrendous,” I wailed, dabbing at my eyes with a handkerchief, as I beheld the horribly mutilated form of the Rydeham-Harde’s murdered maid. Despite the fact that she had been horrifically savaged by a creature or creatures unknown, despite the on-set of decay, and despite the family of worms which had taken up residence in one of her eye sockets, I could still see what a stunning young lady she must have been in life.

“I know, Likely. Such a senseless waste of a human life,” Spunkleford replied, patting me gently on the back. “Be strong, old man, be strong.”

“It’s a shocking waste of a perfectly pumpable vagina,” I nodded, sadly. “Here I am, with a raging hard-on, a beautiful girl laying in front of me, and I am powerless to act upon my desires. If only I had cracked one out before we got here, then – “

“Ah, good! I see you are dabbling in detective work now!” spoke somebody behind us. It was Lady Rydeham-Harde, who regarded me like one might regard a piece of excrement found in one’s caviar. “I suppose there is a first time for everything.”

“Your ladyship, a pleasure to see you again,” I smiled. “My offer is still open, you know.”

“And my legs are most definitely not,” sniffed Lady Rydeham-Harde dismissively.

“So, your ladyship,” Spunkleford said, trying to diffuse a repeat performance of our earlier conflagration. “Tell me, who discovered the body?”

“It was my gardener, Grimes. He was tending to the lawn early on Saturday, when he stumbled upon my poor maid’s body. I think it must have been a…” Lady Rydeham-Harde trailed off. “Mr. Likely, what on Earth is that in your pocket?”

“Hmm?” I said absently, before realising that her ladyship was referring to my aroused member, which had created a rather impressive tent in my trousers.

I had to think fast. I did not want to create further conflict with her ladyship by revealing that I was in possession of a thundering, great love-rocket whilst in the vicinity of her dead maid, but then again maybe her ladyship would be so impressed by the size of my excitement, that she would quickly offer me upstairs for a spot of ‘how’s your father’.

Oh, what a sticky situation I now found myself in!

- Lord Likely.

What Should His Lordship Say Is In His Pocket?
( polls)
This time, we have even left you the option of entering your own suggestion, so if you can think of a better course of action, do not be afraid to speak up, and thrust it proudly in the thin, black box above!

You have until 21:00 hours PM(GMT) on Saturday the Nineteenth of April to cast your vote.

POLL UPDATE! Due to an extremely tiring day lounging around and quaffing glass after glass of champagne, I will not be updating my journal until Sunday night. As such, the poll has been extended until 16:00 hours pm (GMT) on Sunday the Twentieth of April. So there is still time to cast your vote, dear readers – time you would be wise to employ RIGHT NOW!

As an added incentive, one randomly-selected winning voter will be rewarded with a gratuitous link to their web-page in the next thrilling installment. But please note – we shall only be able to award said prize if you let us know which action you chose!

The last randomly-selected winner, who has thus earnt a free hyper-link placement upon his lordship’s journals, is…

Congratulations to you, m’dear!

Now choose wisely, dear readers…his lordship is in YOUR HANDS now.

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