~ Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances: Parts Nine and Ten ~

For the previous chapter, please click here.

“I AM afraid the wedding’s off, lady,” drawled Evan Hellsinger, as he trained his stake-loaded pistol upon my would-be -wife (and vicious vampiress) Helena Handbaskett. “But you’re just in time for your funeral!”

“I’m already dead, foolish mortal!” hissed Helena, baring her fangs.

“Oh yeah,” Hellsinger remembered. “Well, uh…prepare for your second funeral, then!”

Helena rolled her eyes in despair, and then in one swift, effortless motion, she grabbed Hellsinger by his collar and hurled him out of one of the stained-glass windows. I watched with dismay as the only vampire-slayer in the building crashed through the window and disappeared into the night outside, leaving a Hellsinger-shaped hole in the glass, through which bright, brilliant moonlight streamed into the church.

“It has risen!” Helena proclaimed excitedly.

“Well,” I smiled, getting increasingly frisky as the five bottles of whisky I had earlier consumed started to make their presence felt in my system. “You ARE wearing a very low-cut dress, m’dear…I am bound to get rather excited…”

“SILENCE!” Helena screamed. “The Blood Moon…it has risen! The time is here…the time is UPON US!”

I watched with mounting confusion as the various vampires in the building surged forward to revel in the moonlight, dancing and skipping in the beam like over-excited schoolchildren playing in the rain.

“This…this doesn’t look good,” I muttered to Inspector Spunkleford, who had come to my side to behold the freakish spectacle himself.

“I’ll say,” Spunkleford replied. “That window will cost hundreds to replace!”

I was about to refer to Spunkleford as a ‘blithering great anal-fissure’ when I suddenly noticed that Helena had gone very quiet, and was basking in the moonlight, her head tilted back,  almost as if she was absorbing the light through her very skin. Then she slowly began to rise into the air, gently turning in the beam as she rose up, until she came to a stop a few feet short of the church’s ceiling. She hung in the air for a moment, then her head suddenly snapped forward, and her eyelids flicked open, to reveal two blood-red eyes.

“LET THE BLOODENING…COMMENCE!” she growled.

“Oh dear,” I said to Spunkleford. “Either it is her time of the month, or she is planning to feast on our throats…either way, this is going to be an unpleasant experience for all concerned…”

“And so, my children!” Helena gestured to the vampires below. “It is coming to pass, just as the prophecy foretold! In the age of steel and smoke, on the night of the Blood Moon, a new queen shall rise in God’s house, and lead her followers into a new era of blood and darkness!” She paused as her blood-thirsty audience whooped and cheered their approval. “All we need now is the blood of a virgin, and the blood of a nobleman..” she smiled, turning to look at me.

“Well, I can certainly supply the noble blood, but if it is virgin’s blood you want, then I am sorry to report that you’re rather barking up the wrong tree. In fact, I’d go so far to say that you’re not even in the right ruddy forest…”

“Oh, we have our virgin, your lordship!” Helena grinned. “BRING THE WOMAN!” she cried, at which point two burly vampires appeared from the vestry, dragging a rather stout woman along with them. She was kicking and screaming quite loudly, demanding that she was unhanded immediately, and loudly proclaiming that the entire affair was such an outrage that she was going to write to her Member of Parliament post-haste to complain in the strongest possible terms.

“A-Agnes?” gasped Spunkleford, recognising his wife as she was led to the altar.

“ALBERT?” snapped Mrs. Spunkleford. “Is this your doing? Who are these people? Friends of yours, I suppose…”

“Hold on,” said I. “Mrs. Spunkleford is…a VIRGIN? Good heavens, Spunkleford! No wonder your dear lady wife is filing for a divorce!

“Well, I…ahem…I’ve been…busy,” Spunkleford blustered.

“BUSY? For twenty-three years?” screeched his wife. “Honestly, I think he’d have rather married the job than me, you know.”

“Now now, Agnes, do not be silly! One cannot marry an intangible entity…or at least that is what the registrar told me.”

“See?” Agnes snapped. “This is what I am talking about! It’s all work, work work with this man! He never treats me, never takes me out…”

“I beg to differ!” Spunkleford replied indignantly. “I took you out only last week!”

“Albert, it may shock you, but a trip to the morgue to examine a corpse is not every lady’s idea of a dream date, you know.”

“Well, that’s gratitude, all I – ”

“Ahem!” coughed Helena, who was still floating in mid-air. “Sorry to interrupt this little marriage guidance session, but might I remind you that I AM trying to bring about a new era of darkness and terror here?”

“Oh yes,” said Spunkleford sheepishly. “My apologies. Do carry on.”

“SO! Who’s blood shall I take first?” smiled Helena, nodding towards me. “The nobleman’s, or the virgin’s?”

“Well, as a gentleman of impeccable breeding, I have to say ladies first,” I replied, motioning at Mrs. Spunkleford.

“Likely!” hissed Spunkleford.

“‘Tis just the booze talking, Spunkleford!” I beamed, removing a hip-flask from my coat pocket. “Of course, I shall go first.”

“Excellent!” Helena grinned. “Soon, the world shall be mine…”

“Do you mind if I just finish this first?” I asked, waving my hip-flask gently in the air. “A dead man’s final wish?”

“Likely! What are you doing?” whispered Spunkleford. “You are already stupendously sozzled – I hardly think this is the – ”

Spunkleford’s protests were cut short as Helena nodded her approval of my proposition. I duly raised the flask to my lips, and chugged back the last of the whisky therein. As I did so, I felt the booze flow through me, causing every part of me to relax (yes, even THAT part) until, as the last drop slid down my throat, I was completely calm, and really rather drunk.

“Now, my dear,” I said as the warming whisky began to course through my veins. “I believe you were talking about sucking something, were you not?”

Helena drifted gently back down to the ground beside me. “Indeed I was, my lord,” she grinned.

And then, she sunk her fangs right into my noble neck.

~ Part Ten ~

From the Diary of Inspector Albert Spunkleford.

I WATCHED, horrified, as that damned vampire woman plunged her fangs into Likely’s neck, and began to drain the very lifeblood from him. Likely did not resist in the slightest, and simply  stood there with a rather sloppy grin on his face. Poor fool, I thought. The beggar’s too drunk to realise what’s going on. Either that, or he is getting some sort of pleasure from the whole exchange.

“Right,” gasped Ms. Handbaskett, as she let Likely’s unconscious form drop to the floor. “Now it is time for the virgin’s blood…” she continued, advancing toward Agnes.

“Now, stop there!” I protested, holding a wooden cross in front of me. “And…erm…get back, you…uh, fiend!”

“Oh, Albert!” squealed Agnes. “You’re so brave!”

Ms. Handbaskett cocked her head and then burst out laughing. “HA! A cross? Ha-ha! We are in a CHURCH, you silly little man. Do you think we’d have come here if we were terrified of crosses? Ha-ha! Now please, move out of the way so I can – HIC! – ” Helena stopped short, taken aback by her involuntary hiccup. She put her hand to her chest, and looked rather embarrassed. “Excuse me,” she apologised. “I must have drunk his lordship’s blood rather too qui – HIC! ”

I observed with increasing curiosity as Helena thumped her chest in an attempt to stop her hiccuping, but rather than abating, they seemed to increase in frequency. In addition, she started to stagger rather wildly, almost as if she were…

I looked at the comatose from of Likely, now being looked after by his ever dutiful man-servant, and smiled. The sly old dog! For once, his lordship had not been merely getting drunk – he’d been formulating a dashed cunning plan! Either that, or he HAD just been getting drunk, and had gotten rather lucky.

“Musht…HIC! – musht have the virgin’sh blood,” slurred Ms. Handbaskett, wobbling uneasily towards Agnes and I. “Musht – HIC! – musht feed again!”

“Get behind me, Agnes!” I warned my wife, as I feebly tried to keep the decidedly sloshed succubus at bay with my crucifix while I tried to think of a suitable course of action. Fortuitously, my decision was made for me, as Helena attempted to rush at me, but in her inebriated state she instead tripped over her own feet, and impaled herself upon the very cross in my hand.

Ms. Handbaskett let out a blood-curdling scream as she pulled away from me, the cross wedged firmly in her chest. She began to writhe in pain, an act mirrored by the other assembled vampires, and then, one by one, they all exploded in a spectacularly messy fashion, until just Ms. Handbaskett was left.

“Currrrssssse you!” she snarled. “I curse you all to He – HIC!”

And then, with that final hiccup, she too burst apart before our very eyes, like an evil balloon, covering me in smatterings of gore and guts in the process. I picked a kidney from my hat, and then turned to check on the wife.

“It’s all over now, Agnes,” I said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “There there.”

“Look at the state of you, Albert!” Agnes barked, wiping a lump of flesh from my collar. “This will take me an age to put right, you know! You really should be more careful!”

“Does…does that mean you aren’t going to…” I began.

“Well, I’ve been doing some thinking, Albert…I’ve seen you in a whole new light tonight, all dashing and brave and that. I…I think I’d like to stay, yes. We can give it another chance, can’t we?”

“Agnes,” I said, holding my wife’s hands in mine. “If you can spare five minutes in between washing bits of dead vampire from my clothes and cooking me a hot meal, I would very much like to attend to an oversight I have made on my part these past years…”

“Oh, Albert! I say!” blushed Agnes.

“Oh, Agnes!” I sighed, contentedly.

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

I AWOKE to find Botter’s awful face baring down on me, concern etched all over his miserable little face.

“Milord! You are alive!” he beamed.

“So it would seem,” I said, disappointed not to find myself surrounded by comely angels in the afterlife. “Please, Botter, do stop fussing so!” I snapped as Botter tried to help me up. “One pain in the neck is more than enough, thank you very much.”

I hauled myself up to my feet and took a moment to get my bearings. “Eurh, how revolting,” I remarked as I looked about.

“I know, milord. They all just burst apart – it was really disgusting.”

“No, not that – THAT,” I clarified, pointing ahead of me where Inspector Spunkleford and his wife were currently locking lips. “Now there is a sight to turn one’s stomach! Egad, what a turn up, eh Botter? An adventure where Spunkleford winds up being the one to walk off with the lady! What is the world coming to?” I shook my head sadly and picked up my hat and cane from the floor. “Well, enough with the slaying, and on with the laying, I say! Let’s get out of here and find me a couple of whores, hmm? Everything seems to have been wrapped up nicely here…”

– Lord Likely.

From the Journal of Evan Hellsinger, Vampire Slayer

SO I woke up to find myself lying in among hundreds of tiny shards of colored glass, in a churchyard, in the early hours of the morning. Groggily, I got to my feet as the previous night’s events began to filter through my aching head. Oh God, I thought – the vampires!

I picked up my pistol and ran around the side of the church, and burst in through the front doors, my weapon primed.

“Everyone get down, I’m back and I’m ready to – oh!”

The place was empty, save for a few messy piles of guts and bones gently smouldering away on the floor. Damn, I thought, looks like I missed one helluva party.

I holstered my pistol and walked out of the church. What now for Evan Hellsinger? What does a vampire slayer do when the vampires have been slayed, I pondered as I sat up on the church wall.

As I sat in deep contemplation, I suddenly became aware of someone standing near me. The figure coughed gently to better attract my attention, and looking up I saw a smartly-dressed man stood on the street.

“Yeah?” I said wearily.

“Good day, kind sir,” said the man, doffing his hat. “I am Mr. Jonathan Harker. Sorry to bother you, but I wondered if you could help me…I am trying to locate this Count, and I -”

“Listen, pal – you want the police, okay?” I replied wearily. “I think there’s a station a few streets that way…”

“Oh, right…I…I see,” said Mr. Harker. “Um…thank you, sir.”

I shook my head sadly as I watched this Mr. Harker disappear down the road. Some people – they just don’t know how to find that which they seek. Damn fools…

The End.

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~ Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances: Part Eight ~

For the previous chapter, do please click here.

AND SO after a rather prolonged carriage journey from Scotland Yard (which seemed to take a good week and a half, though I am sure it was only a matter of minutes) we finally arrived outside St. Christopher’s church, wherein I was due to be married to Ms. Helena Handbaskett, my blood-sucking bride-to-be.  With all the grace and poise one would expect of a gentleman of my considerable breeding, I tumbled out of the carriage and landed in a rather undignified heap on the road, clutching a now-empty bottle of whisky. To say that I was not particularly relishing the prospect of getting wed would be an understatement so enormous that it would easily warrant its own flag and system of government.

“Good heavens, Likely!” exclaimed Inspector Spunkleford as he picked me up. “Look at the state of you! Did you drink all of this in the carriage-ride down here?” he asked accusingly, prising the bottle from my hands.

“Yesh…yesh I did,” I slurred. “That, and five other bottles as well.”

“My word, Likely! It is a wonder you are still alive! I can only imagine that your blood must be at least ninety-nine percent proof by now…” Spunkleford fussed as he helped me up to my feet.

“Unhand me, sir!” I bellowed, shrugging Spunkleford off of me, which then left me dangerously unsupported, and thus I quickly found myself becoming closely acquainted with the road once more.

“What ails you, Likely?” Spunkleford asked as he helped me up again. “You do not need to be a master detective to notice that something is clearly playing upon your mind.”

“‘Tis just as well in your case,” I mumbled, swaying gently on the spot. “‘Tis this confounded wedding, Spunkleford! Wedding! Do you have any idea what that word does to me? It pierces my soul like a ruddy great knife piercing…” I faltered momentarily. “Piercing my…soul.”

“Oh, Likely!” sighed Spunkleford. “Calm yourself down! You aren’t really to be wed to-day, don’t forget! This is all just a ruse to help us get close to this evil devil woman, so that Mr. Hellsinger here may slay her and rid the world of her dark influence.”

“But…but you do not know this fiend!” I exclaimed. “She managed to convince me to marry her in the first instance…what if she pulls off the same trick again, and I find myself waking up as her husband? She is curiously persuasive, almost hypnotic…”

“That’d be the hypnosis,” Hellsinger interjected, loading the inside pockets of his jacket with various vampire-slaying accoutrements. “She does that, y’know. Just don’t look her in the eyes, y’lordship. Divert your gaze, an’ you’ll be just fine! Besides which, when the vicar gives the whole ‘anyone know why these two should not be wed’ bit, we’ll make sure to make our objections known!” Hellsinger beamed, slapping me heartily on the arm. “Now come on, ya big lummox, let’s go do this thang!”

“‘Thang?'” I repeated as I watched Hellsinger dash up the path to the church. “You know, Spunkleford, sometimes I cannot tell who is the most blood-thirsty: the vampires, or Mr. Hellsinger with his infernal insistence on massacring the Queen’s English.”

*****

THE church was a tall, stone building with stained glass windows and…well, it looked rather like a church, to be frank. I shall not insult your collective intelligence by describing what a ruddy church looks like, they all seem to be much the same. So just imagine a church, and there you have it – that is where we were.

As we entered the building I could not help but notice that the congregation was weighted firmly in the bride’s favour; row upon row of pale-skinned, shallow-eyed faces turned to face us as we strode in, all of whom were undoubtedly despicable vampires. Either that, or the nearby university was missing an entire class of students.

On my side of the church sat Botter, all on his own, looking increasingly uncomfortable in the presence of so many demons. As soon as he noticed our arrival, he started waving wildly at us, and beckoned us over frantically.

“Thank goodness you did that, Botter,” I said sarcastically, as I took my seat beside him. “Otherwise we might not have known where to sit.”

“My pleasure, m’lord,” Botter replied, slightly too pleased with himself. “Milord,” he continued, leaning in to converse with me in rather more subdued tones. “Can I be the best man?”

“Botter,” I sighed. “You are barely a man, let alone the best man, so my answer to that would have to be a resoundingly conclusive ‘not if you were the last bastard on the planet’.”

“Oh.” Botter fell silent. “Best Man-Servant?” he added, hopefully.

“Do shut your pie-funnel,” I hissed.

Suddenly, the main doors of the church flew open, and everyone turned to see Helena glide in, accompanied by an extremely old man whom I presumed to be her father. He looked older than the church itself, but in considerably less robust shape, and was clinging feebly to the bride’s train as they flew in.

Despite the fact that Helena was an evil succubus intent on slicing open my veins and feasting on my blood, I did have to conceed that she looked well considering her undead status, and was rather fetching in her wedding dress – although I had to baulk at her choice of colour. White? Who on earth did she think she was fooling, the enormous whore?

Helena descended gently to the ground in front of the altar, just as a wizened vicar popped up behind it, clutching a bible in his gnarled hands. He nodded to me to join them, and with a cursory glance to my companions, I made the dreaded walk to the altar.

“Excellent, we are all here!” the vicar smiled, revealing an all-too familiar set of fangs. “Now we can begin!”

And so the old coot waffled on about marriage and love and ‘a gift from God’, all of  which I paid little heed to (though I did perk up when he mentioned ‘the delight and tenderness of sexual union’.) Finally he got to the part that my companions and I had agreed upon as the moment when they would spring into action, and save me from a fate worse than death.

“First,” droned the man. “I am required to ask anyone present who knows a reason why these persons may not lawfully marry, to declare it now.”

I looked over to the trio sat on the pew beside me, only to find that Spunkleford had dozed off; Botter had become overly fascinated with a cushion, and Hellsinger was preoccupied with assembling some sort of garlic-based bomb. I rolled my eyes in dismay.

“No objections? Excellent!” croaked the vicar. “Then let us proceed!” He turned to face me. “Lord Likely, will you take Helena Handbaskett to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and protect her, and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall…live?” he concluded, letting the final word hang in the air like a thinly-veiled threat (which would also describe my would-be wife fairly well too, now I think about it).

I looked at Helena, who was staring at me very intently, those dark eyes tunneling and boring into my mind once more, trying to wrench my own thoughts and actions from my own control. I remembered Hellsinger’s words and fought desperately to avert my eyes…if only I could turn away…

Happily, Helena had chosen to wear a distinctly low-cut wedding dress, which meant my eyes naturally fell upon her heaving bosom, which was rather hypnotic in it’s own way, but did not make me want to do anything that I would not ordinarily consider. My attention thus diverted, I was able to focus my thoughts clearly.

“Well?” snapped the vicar. “Do you?”

“I do…I do…NOT!” I yelled, and before I knew it Hellsinger had finally prepared himself fully, and was at my side, brandishing a spring-loaded stake-firing pistol at my bride-not-to-be.

“Here goes the bride,” he grinned.

And then all bloody hell broke loose.

– Lord Likely.

Next time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: No Wedding And A Great Many Funerals!

– Lord Likely.

Prepare for the big day by reading the previous, thrilling chapters of Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances!

~ Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisance: Part Seven ~

For the previous chapter, do please click here.

“LOOKS LIKE I got here just in the nick of time, gentlemen,” Evan Hellsinger said, kicking aside the charred, molten remains of the late Doctor Whelkbladder. “Had I been a second late, this guy woulda been ripping your faces off and chowing down on your eyeballs.”

“Really,” I sighed, finding myself less-than-impressed by this brash, American ‘vampire slayer.’ “I think you will find we had the matter well in hand, sir.”

“Really?” smirked Hellsinger. “‘Cos it looked like you two were crappin’ your pants from where I was standin’.”

“How dare you sir!” I replied, my face reddening with rage.

“I must say, he really is rather spot-on. I am afraid I may well have soiled myself,” Inspector Spunkleford lamented, thus deftly puncturing any last vestige of dignity we may have had in the American’s eyes.

“Anyway, which one of you two is Lightly? Lord Lightly?” drawled our brash acquaintance.

“It’s Likely,” I replied through teeth so tightly gritted, I feared they may crack and splinter apart at any moment.

“Yeah?” answered Hellsinger. “It’s likely to be who, exactly?”

“LIKELY,” I repeated. “Lord LIKELY!”

“Ha! What a funny name! What’s your first name – Not Very? Haha! Not-Very Likely-To-Know-How-To-Defeat-Vampires?”

“Now listen here, you puffed-up, preening, prancing, poncey piss-pot, I – ”

“Hey, calm down, ya lordship! I’m jus’ kiddin’ with ya! Geez, you’re so tightly clenched it’s a wonder you can take a shit in the mornin’.”

“Why you…” I began, and then, deciding that words would be incredibly insufficient with which to express my great displeasure, I punched Hellsinger right in his perfectly-toothed mouth. Hellsinger recoiled, pausing to momentarily wipe a drop of blood from his broken lip, before charging back at me. And thus we found ourselves locked in a spectacularly vicious bout of fisticuffs, exchanging punches with all the frenzied fervour of two schoolboys swapping lewd pictographs in the playground.

“Stop, stop this at once!” barked Spunkleford, as Hellsinger and I crashed to the floor, blood streaming from both of our faces. “This is a police-station, gentlemen – we shall have no violence here!”

Hellsinger and I duly separated, cautiously eyeing one another in case the other should make a further attempt at violence.

“I gotta admit…you fight pretty good,” Hellsinger said, trying to stem the flow of blood gushing from his broken nose.

“You fight pretty well,” I corrected.

“Why thanks,” Hellsinger replied, my attempt at grammatical enlightenment soaring straight over his square head. “But listen, let’s get down to business, alright? I’ve been tracking these goddamn vampires across the goddamn globe, from Pennsylvania to Transylvania, and lots of other places in between that don’t fit with the ‘vania’ rhyme scheme. Anyway,” Hellsinger continued, lighting a big, fat cigar. “They came to London, England a few weeks ago, and suddenly – POOF!”

I paused at this unusual outburst. “You met a homosexual?”

“No, ‘poof!’ They vanished. Lost sight of ’em…darned if I know where they went. So I’m snooping round the city – lovely place, by the way, so quaint! Everything’s so much smaller over here!”

“Not everything,” I interjected with a wry smile.

“So, yeah…I’m snooping around, trying to find these damn vamps, when I get wind that some fellah called Lord Likely is on the case too, hear talk that he’s gonna bring down the big bad guy…”

“Which I did,” I bristled, recalling my encounter with the now thoroughly re-dead Mr. Stryx.

“Uh-uh,” the American replied, shaking his head. “No you didn’t.”

“He was a pile of smouldering bones by the time I finished with him, sir – I’d say that was pretty ruddy dead, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, you killed A vampire, no doubtin’ that sir. But you didn’t kill the head vamp. You see this guy?” Hellsinger indicated to Whelkbladder’s remains. “He wouldn’t have been tryin’ to snack on your Limey throats if you’d killed the head honcho. Once you defeat the boss, the curse is lifted, y’see? Nope, the main blood-sucker is still out there, y’lordship.”

“Bollocks,” I sighed. “That’s a bloody pain in the neck.”

“Ha! Frightfully witty, Likely!” snorted Spunkleford.

“Shut up,” I snapped. “So, Mr. Hellsinger, where might you suggest we go to find this fiend? Are we to track him to his imposing, Gothic castle in eastern Europe?”

“Who says it’s a he?” Hellsinger asked, drawing on his cigar.

“By Jove!” I exclaimed, grasping Spunkleford’s arm. “It could be Mrs. Spunkleford! She’s trying to bleed you dry with these divorce proceedings!”

“I…I think I’d have remembered if Agnes was prone to turning into a bat and flying off in the middle of the night to feast on people’s blood, Likely.”

“Never trust a woman, Spunkleford,” I warned.

“Relax, it ain’t this Spunkyflood woman. No, the dame we’re after goes by many names, but not that one. Sometimes she’s called Raven, sometimes Lilith, sometimes Helena, sometimes Mrs. Drinksblood…not very subtle, that one…”

“HELENA!” I cried. “Heavens, I almost forgot! I am to be married shortly!”

“Shortly?” exclaimed Spunkleford. “But ’tis nearly evening!”

“Yes, well, Helena wanted us to get wed rather promptly. Said something about a lovely moon-lit ceremony, as I recall. Anyway, I’d best be off, chaps – I can’t be late for my own wedding!!”

I got up and strode out of the room, whistling as I went. Before long, however, I was back, something niggling away at the back of my mind.

“This Helena you mentioned, Hellsinger,” I said, as I walked back into the room. “She…she is the same Helena as the one I am to wed, isn’t she?”

Hellsinger nodded in agreement.

“So she is, in fact, a vampire, is she not?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And so…we are going to have to kill her.”

“Yup,” Hellsinger confirmed, pulling a large, wooden box out of his bag. He flipped open the lid, to reveal a veritable smorgasbord of vampire-slaying instruments. “Luckily, I came prepared,” Hellsinger winked.

“Bugger,” I said. “‘Tis a terrible shame. She had the most fantastic tits, you know.”

– Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Wedding HELLS!

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~ 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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~ Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances Part Five ~

For the previous chapter, please click here.

THREE DAYS had passed since I had soundly defeated the nefarious neck-biter Mr. Strix, a skirmish which had resulted in the blood-sucking bounder dissolving into a pile of bones, guts and well-tailored clothing. Naturally, the whole spectacle rather perturbed Strx’s housemaid, Helena Handbaskett, leaving her deeply traumatised. Of course, being a naturally caring and benevolent fellow, I immediately offered her lodgings at Likely Towers, where I spent the following three days comforting the poor girl, offering her a shoulder to cry on, and a penis to wildly straddle, both of which she gladly accepted.

After three days of such strenuous counsel, wherein I offered solace to the lady in numerous different positions and locales, we wound up back in my magnificent bed-chamber. Helena lay on her back, with me holding her legs in the air, pumping away at her quivering mound like a piston on a particularly well-oiled (and damnably attractive) machine. With each impressive thrust Helena moaned and gasped with delight, as in the manner of many a lady before her, and dare I say, many a lady after her as well.

“RULE BRITANNIA!” I bellowed, as I shot my ennobled ejaculate into Helena’s silken flesh-purse at the precise point at which she climaxed with all the force of a raging river crashing through a damn. Sweaty and utterly sated, I rolled off the gasping form of the maid and lit myself a cigarette.

“Do you always smoke after intercourse, my lord?” asked Helena as she caught her breath.

“Sometimes,” I replied, dragging on my cigarette. “Sometimes, I smoke during intercourse. The friction can be incredible, you know.”

A post-coital silence fell upon us as we both lay back on the pillows, a silence that lasted up until the point that Helena spoke once more.

“My lord, may I ask you a question?” she spake.

“Well, you have already asked two question, including that one, so I cannot see what difference a third would make.”

“Very well,” Helena responded, “My lord…are we to be married now?”

I nearly swallowed my cigarette in shock at this abrupt suggestion.

“M-m-married?” I stuttered in a stunned staccato. “Why on earth would you want to go and ruin a perfectly good relationship by getting married?”

“But my lord, you have laid with me these past few days…surely you must be planning to wed me as well?”

“Good heavens no, dear,” I said. “I have something of a distrust of the institution of marriage. I liken it to glueing together two fifty pound notes…far from ending up with one, crisp hundred pound note, all you have is a messy lump of glue and paper that is worth considerably less than the two component parts.”

“My lord!” raged Helena, her face turning scarlet, which actually complimented her red hair rather nicely. “You must make an honest woman of me!”

“You are a woman, honestly!” I retorted. “I should know, I’ve seen a few. Look, dear Helena, you are a sweet, innocent girl but I am…I am Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventurer and Gentle-Man of Action! I am a bachelor, a man-about-town, a wild and free spirit. Think of me as being a lithe, world-class race-horse. You do not get yourself a champion racer and then tether it to a large, heavy carriage, expecting it to drag the blasted thing about with it all day and all night. Why, to do so would be absolute insanity, and would only serve to crush the spirit and drain the soul of the poor creature.”

“Oh! So I am a ‘large, heavy carriage’ now, am I?” wailed Helena, rising up out of the bed with the sheets wrapped around her slender frame.

“Only in a metaphorical sense,” I cooed. “In actuality you are rather pleasingly assembled indeed.”

Helena stared out of the bed-room window for a while, then turned back to me. “Fine, my lord. I see that you have your beliefs, and are quite certain of yourself. I can accept that.” She sat back down beside me, and placed a hand on my arm, while she gazed deeply into my eyes. “But I am completely certain that you shall change your mind in no time at all, and that you shall very soon acquiesce to my demands to marry me.”

I stared into her dark eyes, for what seemed like an eternity.There was something about them, something intangible that seemed to hold one’s gaze, drawing one further and further in. Everything else seemed to fade away into the background, and all that was left were the eyes, those dark, beautiful eyes…

I shook my head sharply to free myself of the daze that I had found myself in.

“Sorry, my dear? You were saying?”

“I was just wondering, my lord,” Helena said, taking my hand and holding it close to her. “Shall we get married?”

I smiled.

“Why, most certainly, my dear! How about tomorrow?”

– Lord Likely.

Next Time in The Astonishing Adventures of Lord Likely: Nice Day For A Bite Wedding!

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~ 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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~ Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances, Part Three. ~

For the previous chapter, do please click here.

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

THE VERY notion that we might have to apprehend a vampire seemed frankly ludicrous and absurd in my mind. I am a reasonable and rational fellow, and have no time for such ridiculous flights of fancy and superstitious piffle. If I cannot see it, touch it, hold it and feel it, I simply cannot believe in it. Thus, the only things I really have one-hundred per-cent complete faith in are my penis, and ladies’ bodies.

However, there was no doubting that something decidedly strange had transpired in the city last night, and after having read Dr. Elton Whelkbladder’s diary I was suitably convinced that this mysterious Mr. Strix chap may well be worth investigating.

Plus there were other small matters to take into consideration; such as the two, small puncture marks in the doctor’s neck, and the fact that he also seemed to be now lacking a heart-beat or indeed a pulse of any sort, symptoms which struck me as rather unusual, and which led me to conclude that  some rum business may indeed be afoot.

*****

AND SO we thus found ourselves outside Mr. Strix’s stereotypically sinister-looking abode, readying ourselves to meet with Dr. Whelkbladder’s vicious attacker. Whether or not he was a vampire, Mr. Strix was certainly a violent and dangerous man, and was thus not someone I was prepared to visit without making sure I was equipped without at least three weapons, lest our conversation turned difficult and required a few bullet-points for clarity.

As I slotted some bullets into my trusty pistol, I noticed Inspector Spunkleford gently kissing a small, golden trinket he held in his hands.

“What is that you have there, inspector?” I asked.

“‘Tis a crucifix!” Spunkleford exclaimed, waving the cross proudly in the air. “If this Strix fellow comes at me, then he shall feel the full power of God, I tell you!”

“Mmmm,” I said, not entirely convinced. “Well, if it’s all the same to you, I shall take my chances with shooting him in the bollocks. That’s still got to ruddy well hurt, supernatural entity or not, eh?…Botter!” I exclaimed, suddenly noticing my man-servant cradling a lump of raw meat. “What on earth have you got there?”

“Well,” Botter began, earnestly. “If Mr. Strix is a vampire, I thought I’d better bring a steak to drive into his heart.”

I slapped my hand against my face and slowly drew it down over my proud features. “Botter, what you’ve done there is to…oh, never mind! Come on, let us get this over and done with, hmmm?”

With our final checks carried out, we turned and headed toward the foreboding house.

*****

From the Diary of Mr. Jonathan Creakshaft, Cab Driver.

I watched his lordship and the other two blokes head off up the path to the creepy-looking house, and then decided that I really wanted a smoke.

As I drew heavily upon my cigarette, I came to the sudden realisation that I really had nothing of interest to add to this narrative.

*****

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

“WHY HELLO,” I beamed, lowering my pistol and raising my penis as the door was answered by a rather attractive-looking maid, and not the fearsome beast we had anticipated. “‘Tis a pleasure to meet you, m’dear.”

“Likely!” Spunkleford whined, in that tone of voice he reserves for spoiling for my fun.

“Alright, alright, inspector,” I sighed, switching seamlessly into professional investigator mode. “My dear, I wonder if we might converse with the master of the house, a Mr. Strix?…”

“Certainly, sir,” the beautiful, petite, raven-haired temptress cooed. “Would you care to follow me?”

“Anywhere!” I grinned, as we walked in after the delightful young lady, my eyes barely moving from her pert bottom as it wiggled seductively under her clothing. “Good heavens!” I whispered to Spunkleford as we carried on through the house. “That really is a first-class arse. Now there is something I would not mind sinking my teeth into, I can tell you.”

“Likely!” hissed Spunkleford, jabbing me in the ribs with his elbow. “Please!”

“Oh, do calm down, inspector. Crikey, it is no wonder your wife wants to leave you!”

“Oh, now Likely!” Spunkleford protested. “Now that really was below the belt.”

“A lot of marital problems are, as I understand it,” I winked.

“Ah, gentlemen!” boomed Mr. Strix’s voice, rather rudely interrupting what I considered to be some of my wittiest wordplay thus far. “Welcome, welcome!”

Mr. Strix was a tall, angular fellow with high cheekbones, jet-black hair pulled tightly back across his head, and dark, piercing eyes. He was dressed immaculately in a jet-black suit, and carried with him an equally-black cane, atop of which was mounted a silver skull.

In short, this fellow could not have looked more like a villain, even if he had the word ‘villain‘ scrawled across his face in Indian ink, and a kitten’s decapitated head held in his hand.

“Ah, Mr. Strix,” I smiled, walking up to the man and shaking him warmly by the hand, although the warmth part was most definitely from me; Mr. Strix’s skin felt as cold as ice. “Lord Likely, Aristocratic Adventu-”

“I know who you are, your lordship,” Strix grinned. “And I know precisely why you and the dear inspector are here. I presume this is something to do with that silly old fool Dr. Whelkbladder, yes?…”

“Well, yes, as a matter of fact,” I replied. “You see, the dear doctor has led us to believe that – and this shall sound ridiculous – that you are a vampire, sir.”

“Quack!” shouted Strix.

“It seems we were mistaken,” I whispered to Spunkleford. “I think Mr. Strix may be a duck. Possibly a vampire duck, I’ll warrant you.”

“Quack!” Strix repeated. “Dr. Whelkbladder is just a silly old quack. Do you know that when he visited me, he thought me to be on death’s door? Yet here I am, as fit as a fiddle! Clearly the doctor is trying to save his own dubious reputation by discrediting me with these preposterous accusations.”

I mulled over Mr. Strix’s words, looked at Spunkleford, and then turned back to Mr. Strix, my pistol drawn. “An interesting counterpoint, sir,” I exclaimed. “But I have been watching our little exchange in the mirror behind you, and it seems that you are lacking to the tune of one whole reflection. Care to explain that, my man?”

“Would you believe I lost it in a game of chance?” Strix smiled. I nodded in the negative.

And then the fiend lunged at me.

– Lord Likely.

Next Time in Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances: Buffet, the Vampire Slayer!

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Many thanks, chums!

For the previous chapter, do please click here.

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

AND SO with the scent of Adventure in my nostrils (my favourite fragrance, and one which was doing a fine job of masking the wretched odour emanating from Botter’s general vicinity), we hopped into a cab and headed off to Scotland Yard, to meet this dead body that had decided to stop being dead.

After an uneventful carriage-ride, we arrived at our destination – Whitehall, and the rather unimpressive sight of Scotland Yard itself. As my man-servant and I disembarked from our cab, I noticed a hearse waiting outside the yard, with the driver trying to determine whether or not he was supposed to be picking up a corpse from a rather embarrassed-looking police-officer.

Botter and I strolled in to the cramped offices of the Yard, to be met by a rather perplexed Inspector Spunkleford. Spunkleford, of course, is often in a state of great perplexity, but on this occasion he seemed even more perplexitious than usual.

“Oh, Likely, you made it!” he flustered as he shook my hand gladly. “Oh, there is quite a hullabaloo about to-day, quite a hullabaloo indeed! You bring in one walking corpse and the whole place goes tiddly-pop! It is all a big old brouhaha, if you know what I mean.”

“I have positively no idea,” I replied. “I am not entirely sure half of what you said was even in English.”

“No! No I have nothing more to say, you parasite!” Spunkleford roared, as a seedy-looking gent with a notebook harassed him by the door. “Get out of here! Go on, hop it!…Sorry, Likely. You were saying?”

“Journalist?” I asked, indicating to the hawk-faced man now smarting from a sharp boot to the backside.

“Hmmm? Oh, him? No, no, no. Divorce lawyer. I am afraid Mrs. Spunkleford seems to believe our marriage has hit the rocks…um, care to see this body, Likely?”

“Well, I have no doubt that you are rather missing those moments of intimacy with your wife, inspector, but I hardly think offering yourself to me will – ”

“What? No! The body! The body we bought in! The chap who turned out to be not-dead! Care to meet him?”

“Oh, yes, but of course,” I said, coughing lightly into my hand. “That…that is precisely what I thought you meant.”

*****

FOR A deceased gentleman, Doctor Elton Whelkbladder was looking in remarkably rude health. Certainly, his skin had a rather pale tone to it, and his eyes looked so tired I feared that they might pop out of his head and go and curl up in the large bags just underneath. But in all other respects, Dr. Whelkbladder was exhibiting very few signs of bearing any of the afflictions usually associated with death. For one, he was moving about quite a lot, and secondly he was babbling away to us at ten-to-the-dozen, both traits one does not usually equate with a person who has shuffled off this mortal coil.

“I just don’t understand it!” exclaimed Whelkbladder, pacing the room in a manner most unbecoming of a fellow in his condition. “I simply don’t understand it!”

“And you say you cannot recall much of the events of last night, sir?” I enquired, while Spunkleford scurried over to converse with a rather serious-looking police constable.

“No, no…I went to visit a patient, and as far as I recall I prescribed him some medicine…and then…and then…GAH! It all goes blank, I’m afraid.”

“Hmm, how very…unhelpful,” I remarked.

“I think I might be able to shed some light on matter!” beamed Spunkleford, marching across the room while waving a small, brown book in his hand. “My men found this among the late doctor’s possessions. Well, latterly late. Early? The right-on-time doctor’s possessions…”

“Oh, do get on with it, Spunkleford,” I sighed.

“Right. Yes. Ahem, this is the diary of the good doctor…I think you shall find it rather interesting reading…”

“I say! You can’t read my private diaries!” Whelkbladder interjected.

“You’re dead, sir – I cannot see how it is of any concern of yours,” I snapped, taking the diary from the inspector’s hands. “Now, let me see…”

From the diary of Dr. Elton Whelkbladder.

Miss Mary Spimbuffet called by my surgery to-day. Oh! How my heart misses a beat whene’er I see her, her soft blonde locks cascading over those creamy white shoulders – heavens! I can barely suppress my glee when she arrives.

To-day, Miss Spimbuffet was complaining off a slightly ticklish cough. Naturally, I asked her to disrobe completely, as I do when examining all of Miss Spimbuffet’s maladies, no matter how big or small they may be. Oh! How my heart and loins twitched upon seeing her in all her naked, curvaceous beauty! Barely able to steady my trembling hands, I took my stethoscope and –

“No! Not that page!” Spunkleford interrupted, grabbing the diary from my hands and flipping forward a few pages. “This one!”

“But it was just getting really interesting!” I pleaded, receiving a withering look form the inspector in return. “Fine! But this had better be at least half as interesting as the part I just read,” I mumbled, returning to the diary.

From the diary of Dr. Elton Whelkbladder.

The bat stopped short beside me, and seemed to hover, as if it were watching me, staring at me with its beady little eyes. Then, there was a puff of acrid-smelling smoke, and in place of the bat stood Mr. Strix, looking considerably healthier than when I had checked upon him mere moments earlier.

“Good heavens, sir!” I exclaimed. “You gave me quite a start! Why, that is a rather impressive piece of trickery, I must say! How on earth did you ever squeeze yourself into that small bat costume?”

Mr. Strix smiled at me, a smile which sent chills running through my bones: for when Mr. Strix smiled, I saw a set of fangs so fearsome that I almost dislodged last-night’s supper into my undergarments.

And then, as I stood transfixed with terror, Mr. Strix lunged at me.

I lowered the diary slowly, an eyebrow arched in a quizzical – and undeniably handsome – manner.

“Are you trying to tell me, Spunkleford, that our dear doctor has been attacked by a…vampire?”

Spunkleford nodded silently.

“Bloody hell!” I remarked.

– Lord Likely.

Next Time in Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances: ‘Tis Strix O’Clock!

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From the diary of Doctor Elton Whelkbladder.

I MUST make a clear and concise note of the events which transpired last night, for they were so wild and fantastical that they seem like something from a dream, but a dream they were most assuredly were not. No, these events were very real, and very, very disturbing…

I was roused from my slumber by a telephone call from the house of one Mr. Strix, who – according to the maid who had contacted me – was in rather poor health, and was fading fast. Despite the ungodly hour I agreed to pay a visit to the stricken fellow, and so I immediately summoned a hansom cab and jumped into it…then I jumped out of it, when I realised I had failed to change out of my pyjamas.

After getting changed into more suitable attire, I leapt back into the cab and headed off to the address of the patient. The carriage rattled through the dark, foggy streets of the city, until we finally reached the destination – a rather large, foreboding house situated on Stake Drive.

I had barely gotten out of the cab and paid my fare, when a young lady scurried out of the house and grabbed me by the arm, pleading with me to make haste to the master bedroom. At first I thought I had struck it lucky with this girl and was being invited upstairs for a bit of  the other, but as it turned out she was the maid who had called me earlier, and her desire to get me upstairs was due to her employer’s condition having worsened, and not because she wanted to engage in some rumpy-pumpy with a middle-aged doctor…much to my dismay.

I was led into a spacious, well-kept bed-chamber, at the centre of which stood a large four-poster bed, wherein lay the sick man in question. I scurried over to the bed to examine the patient, and almost recoiled in horror at what I saw.

Mr. Strix was looking incredibly pale; his skin was as white as the very sheets of the bed that he lay on, while conversely his eyes were as red as the very carpet upon which his bed lay on. His eyes were not merely bloodshot, instead a dark crimson colour had filled the whites of his eyes completely, which left me feeling like I was staring into the eyes of the devil himself.

Mr. Strix was also remarkably thin, and looked completely and utterly drained. I asked the maid to close the window, for I feared the slightest breeze would send poor Mr. Strix floating off down the hallway, so very gaunt and frail did he look.

Mr. Strix was also terribly, terribly cold – I placed my hand on his forehead and withdrew it in shock, for he felt as icy to the touch as a penguin’s backside. Not that I am familiar with such a sensation, of course.

I shook my head sadly, for it seemed Mr. Strix was so awfully afflicted that I doubted he would survive the night. I administered some Laudanum to allay his symptoms and help him sleep, but it was all I could do, and I suspected it would be too little, much too late. I told the maid to keep watch over her master, and to contact me in the morning with any developments. With that, I bade her farewell and ventured back outside.

To my annoyance, I found that my cab had vanished whilst I had been inside the house, leaving me stranded in the perishing cold. I cursed my cab-driver, and turned to return to the house to summon another carriage in its place.

As I shuffled up the path to the big, old house again, I suddenly heard a leathery, flapping sound, and spinning around I saw a rather large bat flying toward me. I instinctively ducked as the beast sailed over my head, before it swooped back and headed for me again.

Then, the damndest thing happened.

The bat stopped short beside me, and seemed to hover, as if it were watching me, staring at me with its beady little eyes. Then, there was a puff of acrid-smelling smoke, and in place of the bat stood Mr. Strix, looking considerably healthier than when I had checked upon him mere moments earlier.

“Good heavens, sir!” I exclaimed. “You gave me quite a start! Why, that is a rather impressive piece of trickery, I must say! How on earth did you ever squeeze yourself into that small bat costume?”

Mr. Strix smiled at me, a smile which sent chills running through my bones: for when Mr. Strix smiled, I saw a set of fangs so fearsome that I almost dislodged last-night’s supper into my undergarments.

And then, as I stood transfixed with terror, Mr. Strix lunged at me.

*****

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

I WAS sat in my drawing-room, not drawing, but reading, an activity I usually carry out in my reading room, but I was unable to use that particular venue as it was still being cleaned up after I had read a particularly racy erotic novel in there last week. Thus I was forced to relocate, much to my chagrin. I really must set up a masturbation room in the near-future, to prevent such inconvenience in the future.

I mused upon this notion for a while, then I took a sip of my whisky, turned over the page of my book, and continued to read the fiction I was currently working through.

From the Diary of Dr. Seward.

Lucy was breathing somewhat stertorously, and her face was at its worst, for the open mouth showed the pale gums. Her teeth, in the dim, uncertain light, seemed longer and sharper than they had been in the morning. In particular, by some trick of the light, the canine teeth looked longer and sharper than the rest.

I sat down beside her, and presently she moved uneasily. At the same moment there came a sort of dull flapping or buffeting at the window. I went over to it softly, and peeped out by the corner of the blind. There was a full moonlight, and I could see that the noise was made by a great bat, which wheeled around, doubtless attracted by the light, although so dim, and every now and again struck the window with its wings. When I came back to my seat, I found that Lucy had moved slightly, and had torn away the garlic flowers from her throat. I replaced them as well as I could, and sat watching her.

“Oh, this is complete piss-soup!” I bellowed as I lowered the book, just as my man-servant entered the room.

“Pardon me, my lord?” Botter asked, setting his mop and bucket by the wall.

“This bloody book. It is a pile of balls, and no mistake. It keeps flitting from the journals of one character to another, then back again, then on to some ruddy letter from some moaney old tart to another…I simply cannot keep track of what is going on! And vampires? What a load of old cock-paste!” I slammed the book in disgust. “Bram Stoker? Bum Stroker, more like!”

From the Diary of Botter

I fear my lord is even stupider than I had e’er imagined. He has taken to reading Bram Stoker’s seminal work, Dracula, a tome which has been rightfully heralded by the literary establishment as a masterpiece of gothic horror. Alas, I think it is much too intricate for the fat-headed charlatan, for I found him ranting into thin air about it, complaining that it’s epistolary nature was too confusing to follow. I allowed myself a little smirk, but then his lordship hurled the book at my head with great ferocity.

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

“Botter!” I cried, as the book bounced off my man-servant’s wretched bonce. “What in the name of tossery do you think you are doing? Put that ruddy diary down, and go and get me more drink – my glass grows empty!”

“Very good milord,” the sap replied, turning to leave, but as he did so the telephonic device started ringing.

“Answer that, will you?” I asked. “And then you may fix me a drink.”

Botter sighed in that irritating manner of his, and skulked over to the telephone.

“Hello, Likely Towers, Botter speaking. With whom am I speaking?” he chimed into the receiver.

From the Diary of Inspector Albert Spunkleford.

“It is I, Inspector Spunkleford!” I exclaimed into the telephone. “I must speak to Likely…is he there?”

“Indeed he is, sir. I shall just fetch him for you,” replied Likely’s servant. I heard him converse with Likely, and am fairly certain I heard his lordship bellow something or other in my direction, but it was hard to hear what it was precisely. I am not entirely sure what an ‘ucking dock-hud’ is, at any rate.

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

“Yes, Spunkleford?” I said as I picked up the candlestick-shaped telephonic contraption.

“Ah, is that you, Likely?” asked Spunkleford, rather needlessly I felt.

“No, inspector, it is the Chancellor of Germany,” I answered in a suitably sarcastic manner for a question quite so incredibly redundant.

“Oh. Well, get Likely, will you? I have nothing to say to you, Herr Bismarck.”

I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose in despair. How had a man as utterly clueless managed to find himself in the business of collecting clues? The mind literally boggled.

“It IS me, Spunkleford…I was just…oh, never mind. What do you want?”

“Oh! Well, Likely, I have a most curious case for you, if you are interested,” replied Spunkleford.

“Exactly how curious, inspector?”

“Well, a body was found this morning…a dead body, you understand…” the inspector began. “We bought it in to be examined, and, well…um…”

I sighed. “And well what, Spunkleford? Do stop dilly-dallying man, our time on this planet is finite, you know.”

“Well,” Spunkleford continued, “this body…this body has made a complete recovery…its gone from being completely dead, to being…well, completely alive again.”

I lowered the telephone in stunned amazement. I had to admit, that as cases went, this was sounding rather curious indeed…

– Lord Likely.

Next Time in Lord Likely and the Bloody Nuisances: Dead Man Talking!

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