Gothos (Dark Season VI) Read online

  I put my hand on the door handle, but at that moment there's a banging sound from nearby. I look over. The sound seemed to come from a cupboard a little further along the corridor. It was just a small bang, though, like something falling off a shelf. Still, odd that it would happen just as we arrive.

  Entering the room, I shut the door behind me. The room itself is bare and, like the rest of the mansion, the walls are cracked and fading. Looking around, I can see that this was once an impressive place, but it apparently got left to rot many years ago.

  On the floor by the door, there's a wardrobe. It seems to have toppled over and from the direction in which it's fallen, I can't help but feel it had been used to barricade the door at some point, only to be forced aside. Fortunately it has fallen with the doors facing up, so I open it and find a bunch of dresses inside. Pulling them out and onto the large double bed on the other side of the room, I realise that these are very, very old dresses, all faded yellows and browns. Definitely not my kind of thing, and I'm pretty sure I'll stick with wearing what I've got on now.

  I glance over at the window, which like most other windows in this place has some broken panes of glass. Outside, it's getting darker by the minute as the sun starts to dip below the horizon. It'll be sundown soon, and then... what?

  Somewhere in the distance, there's a loud, resonant sound like someone hitting a giant piece of metal. I go to the door and open it, looking out into the corridor. At that moment, the door to The Lock's room opens and he emerges wearing a pretty decent-looking old-fashioned Tuxedo.

  “You haven't changed,” he says.

  “Do I really need to?” I ask tentatively, kind of knowing what his answer will be.

  “You came all this way,” he says. “It might seem churlish to suddenly get funny about a dress”.

  “Fine,” I say, and I go back into the room, slamming the door shut behind me. I grab the first dress from the bed and hold it up to take a look. It's like something from a hundred years ago, faded and worn. Am I really supposed to wear this? I hold it up against myself and realise it's a pretty good fit. Damn. I'm going to look pretty stupid in this...

  4.

  She holds the dress up and stares at it. She doesn't look particularly impressed, though she should: it's my mother's first formal dress, a beautiful (and very expensive) creation that was designed and created by members of my own family. It has sat undisturbed in this room for many, many years and now, finally, it is being examined by fresh eyes. It is just a shame that this girl does not appreciate true craftsmanship.

  But I'm not complaining, not too much. She's an absolutely beautiful young girl, and it's a real pleasure to stand here in the corner of the little room and watch her slowly undressing. If only she could see me, if only she knew I was here: would she be embarrassed, or would she be happy to perform a little striptease? I can tell by her clothes that she comes from far, far away from Gothos, from a place where values are very different. What, I wonder, would a girl like this think if she were to suddenly discover she is being watched as she undresses?

  Once she is in her underwear, I cannot help but step towards her to get a better look. I know I cannot get too close, because humans have an ability to sense creatures like me when we're right next to them. So I just loiter a couple of feet away, watching as she examines the dress. My anticipation builds as I see she has straightened out all the creases. And now, finally, she reaches behind her back, unhooks her bar and lets it fall to the floor. I move around to get a better view of her breasts, hanging down from her body as she leans over the dress and pats out a few more creases. I have seen many naked girls in my life, but as she stands up straight I am in awe of her body. If I could be seen, and if I could touch her, I would undoubtedly have her down on the bed by now.

  I step closer, and she instinctively looks up, then looks around the room. She has sensed me, even if she has no idea what I am. There is silence for a moment as she keeps looking around. What does she expect to see? I'm right here, right in front of her, yet she has no hope of spotting me. Not yet, at least.

  “Patrick?” she asks quietly.

  Patrick? She thinks I'm Patrick? Well, clearly she is not blessed in the intellect department. Does she really believe that the last vampire would be skulking about in her room? Even if Patrick were able to go unseen like this, he would not. He is a vampire. If he wanted this pathetic human in his bed, he would have taken her long, long ago, and she would have been powerless to resist.

  Slowly, she lifts the dress above her head and puts it on. It is refreshing to see it on a body that is not my mother's. A strapless, bare-shouldered marvel of fashion, this dress flatters any figure. The girl looks beautiful. Perhaps, while everyone else is worrying about prophecies, lights in the garden and eternities tonight, I will lure this human away and show her what a real man can do with such a beautiful and feminine body. I'm filled with excitement as I contemplate making love to this girl on my mother's bed, and then relaxing afterwards by gnawing the meat from her bones.

  I shall have to be cautious, though. Diana might have other plans for this human. After all, the lights at the bottom of the garden are likely to be hungry again, and perhaps a human will satisfy them far more than any ghost. Still, I fancy my chances. Tonight is likely to be extremely busy, and I should certainly be able to slip away with this girl for a few minutes. And a few minutes is all I will need to gain my revenge on the vampire, and to destroy the girl.

  5.

  I look ridiculous. Staring at myself in the mirror, I can't help but think I look like someone who got to the fancy dress shop after everyone else had got all the good costumes for Halloween. Still, if I'm going to wear an old-fashioned, off-the-shoulder white dress anywhere, Gothos seems to be the perfect place. I guess I'll fit in just fine with Patrick, The Lock and all these large, empty rooms.

  I step out of the room and find The Lock waiting in the corridor.

  “Much better,” he says. “You'll fit right in”.

  I turn as I feel something against my shoulder. It's as if something brushed past me as I left the room, as if something else was in there with me.

  “Something wrong?” asks The Lock.

  “Yeah,” I say, turning to him. “This place gives me the creeps. Many ghosts here, are there?”

  The Lock smiles. “Impossible to say,” he says. “But I wouldn't stand too close to the shadows or the curtains, if I were you”.

  I open my mouth to ask what he means, but at that moment the next door opens and Patrick emerges, though it takes me a moment to realise it's him. He's wearing an immaculate, perfectly-fitted Tuxedo, and he looks like he was born to this kind of life. He's always worn fairly rough, dark clothes in the past, but suddenly he looks sophisticated and debonair, and I have to hide the fact that I'm so impressed.

  “Nice tux,” I mumble, glancing away.

  Somewhere else in the house, there's the sound of something large and metal being banged. I look at Patrick and The Lock, neither of whom look particularly surprised.

  “What was that?” I ask.

  The Lock looks over at the window at the end of the corridor. Outside, it's almost dark. “It's night,” he says. “Gothos is very different at night, you know”.

  Patrick walks past us, heading to the stairs.

  “Stay close to me,” says The Lock. “Don't be smart, don't argue with anyone, and whatever you do, don't go through any doors that you haven't seen Patrick or me go through first. And remember... the two sides of a door are completely different things. Just because one side is in one place, doesn't mean you should assume you know where the other side might be. So stay close”.

  “Got it,” I say, and then I hear what sounds like people downstairs.

  The Lock leads the way, and we catch up with Patrick, who is at the top of the stairs. Down in the main reception hall, there are two women looking up at us. One of them is wearing a dark, formal dress-suit and the other appears to be dressed as a maid.

&nb
sp; “I'm so glad you were able to join us!” the woman in the suit-dress calls up. “Won't you come down? Dinner will be served after drinks in the lounge”.

  Patrick starts walking down the stairs, and The Lock follows. I decide to stick with them, and not to get too far away. As we get to the bottom, we are greeted by the woman in black. Patrick and The Lock keep walking, but the woman takes me to one side for a moment.

  “I hope you will not be overawed,” she says. “I understand that this is your first visit to Gothos”.

  I nod. Hell, I don't know who these people are, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to them.

  “Don't worry,” the woman says. She seems friendly enough. “My name is Diana, and I will be on hand to help in any way that I can, so don't be afraid to ask. And this is the master of the house”.

  A guy appears at my side, about my age and quite short with a bad case of a prematurely receding hairline. He has a drink in one hand and there's something about him that I instantly dislike.

  “Don't worry,” says the man. “My name is Astley. I'll look after you. I promised mother that I'd help you in any way necessary”. Then he mutters, under his breath: “Isn't that nice of me?”

  I smile, just as Astley rather suddenly grabs my arm and leads me through to the next room.

  6.

  Her flesh is so soft, I could just feast on her right now. But there'll be time for that later, and mother always says that I should learn the pleasures of delayed gratification. Well, I suppose we've got all night, and we might as well eat first. It's always good to get down to business on a full stomach, and I understand the plan well enough: while the others take care of the vampire and the old man, my job is to distract the girl and keep her away. Mother and Diana don't really care how I'm distracting her, so I might as well be upstairs in one of the bedrooms, slowly sucking the meat from her bones.

  Still, she's very pretty. In another life, we could perhaps have borne children together. Oh, I know that ordinarily a girl like her wouldn't give a wretch like me a second look. She can barely take her eyes away from that damned vampire. But I have certain charms, too. One day I will have money and I will have respect, just as soon as mother finally dies. Oh yes, when that happens I'll know all about delayed gratification, don't worry about me.

  As we seat ourselves for dinner, mother scurries over to me, enquiring about the plans. I insist that everything is fine, and I implore her to go and sit down, but she just keeps asking. I keep my answers short, hoping that mother will take the hint and realise that she is drawing attention to us with her incessant fussing. But I have no such luck, and she just keeps asking me if I'm sure that everything is going well. Can't she just be happy? We have the vampire and his friends here now, which was always going to be the hard part. What comes next... well, that's not really our responsibility, is it? We've done our job. Now we get to sit back and watch as it all unfolds. If I could open the external doors myself, I would have done so already. But I need a human for that job...

  The vampire annoys me. The last time I saw him, he was climbing from the ruins of the cascade, having killed the ten children of Gothos. By rights, he should not be allowed back in this house, yet here he is, being welcomed as an esteemed guest. How times have changed. But he has a lot to answer for. The children were young, and it was not their fault that they had become evil at such an early age. Was there any hope for them? No, of course not. But it still must have taken a cold soul to show them Cassandra's heart, and to let them wither and die. And the cascade did not need to be destroyed. He could have left us something...

  And now walks around as if he owns Gothos, as if it's his home and the rest of us are all mere guests. I suppose he's earned the right to a certain swagger. After all, for all his crimes against this house, he did eat the ashes of the children, as penance for what he had done. We hated him back then; we would have removed his head if we'd had the chance, and cut him open to squeeze the life from his beating heart. But that was eighty, ninety years ago, and things change. We were scared of him once, absolutely terrified, but those days are long gone. We have had time to think, and to understand what really happened when he came here and destroyed all the vampires. Yes, it was a shocking day, and it left all of us in such a terrible state. But we learned to see the bright side, and then finally we realised what a wonderful gift we had been given. It was a gift, though, that could only ever pay off when the last vampire returned to Gothos.

  And now here he is. I wonder, will the rest of the ghosts be satisfied?

  7.

  Patrick barely looks at me all night, but that's okay because I'm caught up in a whirlwind of activity. The dining table in the great hall has maybe fifty, sixty seats, and it's filled with guests. Everyone's talking loudly, clinking wine glasses together like it's the party at the end of the world, as we wait for the first course of food to arrive. I'm starving, though I'm not entirely sure I trust the food here. In fact, I'm not entirely sure I trust anything here. Gothos seems to be this huge mansion with so many people, yet there's something cold and deathly about it.

  Or is it just me? Looking around the room, I see that everyone seems to be so happy, as if this is the first time any of them have been up and about for years. They're laughing like the oldest of friends, but it almost feels as if they're trying too hard to have a good time, as if they're determined to enjoy themselves while it lasts because they know that something darker is just around the corner. I imagine this is what a dinner party would be like on the eve of a war. And I can't quite explain it, but there's a feeling that these people have been waiting for this party for a very long time...

  “Would you like some more wine?” asks Astley, leaning towards me with a bottle in his hand, a leering smile stretched across his face.

  “No,” I say, moving my glass out of his range. “Thanks”.

  Astley has been stuck to me like glue all evening. He's sitting next to me and he just won't stop trying to start up a conversation, which is kind of annoying since there's something about him that gives me the creeps. Every couple of minutes he interrupts with some bland comment, and he's always trying to find an excuse to touch me, whether it's helping me to my seat or constantly trying to top up my drink.

  “I don't blame you,” he says. “You don't want to get too drunk tonight. You never know what might happen”.

  I smile, nod, and look over at Patrick for help. But he's sitting in silence, getting talked at by other guests but – as you might imagine – remaining inscrutably silent throughout the whole meal. Still, he seems to be deliberately avoiding looking at me, as if he's embarrassed about something, or angry. Did I do something wrong? Or is he just busy? I guess his entire life doesn't revolve around me all the time.

  I look further up the table and see The Lock, who's chatting away like a man reunited with old friends. He sees me looking at him, and he waves at me. I wave back. I really need to pick his brains and ask him some questions. I don't exactly trust him, at least not the way I trusted Vincent, but at least he seems willing to talk to me. I desperately need to find out what we're doing here at Gothos. There's something creepy about the place, and it seems like we've just turned up to a party that's being held in our honour. It's odd, but although all the guests are chatting away to one another, I can't help feeling like they could all suddenly turn and stare straight at me.

  “You look confused,” says Astley, butting in again.

  Fuck it. If he's here, I might as well use him for information.

  “I am,” I say. “What's all this food for? Why are we here?”

  “Well...” He looks confused. “We're here for a party, of course. Can't you tell from all the jollity and whatnot?”

  “Why are we here for a party?”

  “Why?” he echoes. “Why? I don't know, why does anyone have a party? We had a lot of people coming over and we thought perhaps we should make a real occasion of it”.

  “And you invited Patrick and me and...” I look down t
he table again at The Lock. “...and him”.

  “We invited old friends,” says Astley, with a patronising tone in his voice as if he's explaining things to a child. “And we told them to feel free to bring their own guests, which is exactly what Patrick has done. And I must say, I'm very glad he did”.

  “Okay,” I say, realising Astley is turning out to be quite useful. “Where did everyone come from?”

  He stares at me. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Well, it's just that we were here earlier and there was no-one about. No-one. The whole place seemed to be completely deserted, and yet a couple of hours later it's teeming with people and a huge dinner seems to be have been prepared”. I think about it for a moment; it really doesn't make sense. “Where did all these people suddenly just come from?” I ask.

  Astley seems puzzled. “I'm afraid I don't quite get you,” he says, then he turns as the person sitting on his other side takes his attention.

  Waiters enter the room, carrying large metal trays with elaborate silver lids. The trays are placed at various points along the table, and the guests all look excited at the prospect of dinner being ready. Once all the trays have been put in place, the waiters remove the lids to reveal piles of small grey bones.

  As I open my mouth to say something, I realise that everyone else is excitedly taking bones and starting to gnaw on them, trying to suck off the scraps of meat. I reach over and take a bone, examining it and finding it to be a little grey stub with almost no meat on it at all and just a small amount of marrow. I'm pretty sure it's not human, but whatever it is, it's completely disgusting and I'm not sure I want to be holding it. Carefully placing it on my plate, I glance over at Patrick and see that he's eating, as is The Lock. In fact, looking around the table, it becomes clear that I'm the only one who seems to have any kind of problem with this at all.