Read Me Does Vampires - A Story From Gill

Cambridge, 1927

by Gill Othen

The day-long drizzle had made the cobbles of the market-place slick, but George and his friends hardly noticed. After a summer of parental restraint and Good Behaviour, the first day back was enough reason for a spree. Rumour had it there were one or two interesting establishments newly opened, of just the variety the college authorities discouraged. What further incentive was needed? George had just about had enough of his parents and their respectable attitudes. They were so damnably Victorian. He knew, if they didn’t, that this was a time of change.

Jack knew all about it. Jack had been to America, had heard Jazz in a genuine speakeasy. He’d lived on the wild side. Jack held parties in his set that went on all night. George and Henry were, if the truth be told, just middle-class boys trying to escape suburban respectability, but Jack had actually achieved it. They were all drunk by now, but Jack could hold it, while Henry and George were well beyond tipsy. Any minute now they would start singing if he couldn’t find the right door first.

A narrow column of pinkish light spilled from a battered doorway between two respectable shops. Just what they were looking for. Jack cheerfully shoved Henry towards the part-open door, slamming it back on its hinges in the process. The three young men piled in together, eager with anticipation.
In the carpeted hallway stood a slim, pale woman with dark hair cropped into the bob that all the bright young things were wearing this year. She wore red satin overlaid with black lace, which fell in points partway down her shapely calves. Her face was as pale as her hair was dark, apart from a bright gash of scarlet lipstick and deep, intense eyes. Next to her another woman, this one a blonde with a porcelain complexion reached to hold the door ajar.

“Looking for someone, boys?” The liquid honey of her voice had a slight edge and her accent was American. It made her exciting, alluring, but a little dangerous. Exactly what was needed at this time of night.

“Jus’ looking for fun, thassall. “ Henry tried to pull back, but his arm was held by delicate fingers. He looked blearily into the face of the darker woman and struggled uselessly to pull back. George sneered. Henry could be so feeble.

“Look at all the little birdies. They are so clever and they want to learn so much. Can they come in to play?” his captor crooned.

Her friend glanced at her, a slight touch of exasperation crossing her face. “You really don’t need more toys just now, dear,” she said.

The eyes glinted and a pout began to form. “But look at their lovely stripy scarves. My boy would so much like to see them.”

“Excuse me, madam. If we’re not welcome, we most certainly would not wish to intrude.” The impressive formality of George’s speech, almost without a slur in the voice, was rather undermined by the difficulty his eyes were having in focussing.

The American woman winced in distaste, but then seemed to make up her mind. “No, no, do come in. You must need to freshen up a little. My friends and I are just about to eat. You’re very welcome to join our meal.”

Hooting with joy, the students followed the beauties up the stairs and tumbled into a warm room decorated in swags of deep red velvet and gilt trim. It was rather old-fashioned for two such modern-looking ladies, but comfortable, and full of the upholstered couches student legend decreed such houses always contained.

One guest had preceded them. A slim, wiry man with curly brown hair sprawled on a sofa, hands in his pockets. He wore a dinner jacket but his tie trailed loosely across his white starched shirt. A sulky expression changed to a grin as he saw the new arrivals, and he raised one eyebrow. “Brought someone home for dinner, girls? Well, well.”

His tone held an edge that was not quite soothing, and the students moved a little closer to each other. They stood in a pool of golden lamplight but the red hangings were in shade and seemed almost sinister. This sort of place was supposed to be exotic, different, but there was something not quite comfortable about it.

“Come in, little pixies. Sit down.” The dark girl spoke provocatively as she drew her chosen student towards her with a single finger under his chin. “You have so many ideas inside that clever head of yours. I can’t wait to see them.”

Earnestly, George sat down beside her, eager to demonstrate what a man of the world he was. He had not realised that in Cambridge such establishments emphasised the intellectual as well as the, uh, physical. He could feel the rather embarrassing evidence of his excitement as he sought for an intelligent response. He did his best to control himself. These girls and the young man – was he their pimp or partner? – seemed to be very close. Complicated and confusing ideas flooded his mind. He’d read about orgies – he was doing a Classics Tripos, after all – but he’d never had any very clear mental picture of what actually happened in them. This promised to be an extremely educational evening.

“I’m sure such beautiful ladies cannot be interested in what I have to say,” he said in what he hoped sounded a self-deprecating enough tone.

“Why, yes indeed,” the American girl smiled. “I am sure there is a little time for conversation before we need eat. What do you think, dear boy? How can we entertain our guests?”

“Yeah. You Cambridge men think you’re so clever. Let’s see some evidence.” It was unrealistic to expect a man who kept company with these – er – ladies of the night to be as sophisticated as an undergraduate of their university. George smiled patronisingly and decided to let it pass.

Henry stretched his legs, smiling generously. “I really don’t feel we’ve come here for academic conversation. It would bore the ladies, I’m sure. Perhaps we could discuss something a little more popular, such as film or the radio?”

The male companion looked slightly too old to be a student, but his tone and arrogant air and that jibe at Cambridge betokened an Oxonian, perhaps. ” What’s your opinion of German cinema, then? Have you seen Nosferatu?” His smile was almost a leer.

“I’m sorry, sir. I prefer to avoid such pointless fantasy. Ludicrous concepts like vampires are hardly suitable for a modern art-form such as the cinema. Fritz Lang’s work is so much more redolent of the current age.”

“Oh yeah. I’ve seen Metrobollocks. But did you know about his little film about Death? Very instructive.”

George shifted uneasily once more. “Death is such an unpleasant subject to mention in front of the ladies, don’t you think?”

The dark beauty cooed. “Oh no, no, no. We like these dark things, don’t we my loves?” She looked at her companions, who both had broad smiles and oddly intent expressions in their eyes. “Is it time to eat yet, my lover?”

Henry blinked as he took in his surroundings. There was no food to be seen, and his two friends seemed unaware of the fact. George sat on a sofa next to the dark beauty, and the American girl had her arm draped round Jack’s neck. The three hosts, still smiling, showed unexpectedly pointed teeth. They seemed to be enjoying themselves hugely. Suddenly Henry was not feeling at all hungry.

He struggled to his feet. “Thank you, but I think I have to go – don’t want to be in trouble with the proctors this early in term y’know…”

The host moved to place himself between him and the door. “Now, now, “he said silkily, “that wouldn’t be very polite of you at all. My lady friends really want to have you for supper. I can’t have them disappointed.” He pushed Henry in the chest, making him stagger into the ruby curtains masking the wall. There was a soft sound and a heavy object slumped to the floor. Looking down, Henry could see a be-ringed hand poking out from beneath the drape. On the red, red curtains was a dark stain, something damp.

Henry turned. The young man, his eyes very bright, was close. Too close. Henry felt his breath catch. The young man stroked his hand along Henry’s jawbone and trailed his fingers down his throat. His grin had no humour in it at all. Henry could feel the damp, cool, foetid breath on his cheek.

“I think it’s time to eat now, don’t you?” came the American voice, as if from a very long way away. There was an awful moment of clarity, a sharp agony in his neck and then Henry experienced no further thought at all.