Free Whitby Vampyrrhic by Simon Clark

bulb fixed to the ceiling. Even the light didn’t want to venture into the corners, lest it find something frightening there. She’d not seen shadows like these before, which pooled in the recesses of the walls. They possessed a liquid darkness.
Shadows in Whitby aren’t like shadows found anywhere else
, she thought.
Whitby shadows can pour out of their lairs to engulf victims. Whitby shadows drown you . . .
    She clenched her fists.
Why am I letting my imagination run away with me like this?
Her mind swam with the strange events of the day. The Whitby set in the studio that never actually existed. Her being pursued by those demon creatures (which couldn’t have existed, either – could they?); then the arrival at this strange coastal town. One that seemed to have landed here from some occult realm. Then she’d found the hair in the entrance to Arguments Yard. What if . . .
    â€˜Beth? Anyone home?’
    â€˜Pardon?’
    Sally shook her head. ‘You were miles away.’
    â€˜Sorry. I can hardly keep my eyes open.’
    â€˜Only you could sleep through a bombing raid.’
    â€˜The planes must have gone by now.’
    â€˜Did you hear me? When I told you what I’d found? Look.’
    Beth saw that Sally had bent at the waist to examine an object on the floor. It resembled another of those liquid-looking shadows. Sally’s eyes were wide with wonder. And what was happening to her hair? The curls fluttered. Some were straightened out to stream upwards.
    â€˜Isn’t this weird?’ Sally exclaimed. ‘Where do you think it goes?’
    Fully awake now, Beth left her armchair to approach the puddle of shadow. To her surprise she saw an iron grate set in the floor. The thick rust suggested its great age. And the size of it? Easily as large as a house door, it could have served as the barred gate to a prison cell. Sally crouched in order to gaze down through the bars.
    â€˜Feel that air rushing through?’ Sally exclaimed. ‘It smells of the sea. Do you think it leads down to the harbour?’
    A voice cracked across the basement, ‘Keep away from that. It’s dangerous.’
    They turned to see the owner of the hotel sweep towards them.
    â€˜You! Sally!’ she snapped. ‘Get back from it. Right back. I don’t want you anywhere near it.’
    â€˜But I only wanted to see if—’
    â€˜Keep away! I won’t have your death on my conscience.’
    Sally appeared so stung by the flurry of stinging words that Beth flew to her defence. ‘Stop that! Sally was only curious.’
    â€˜Believe me, curiosity in this town gets you into serious trouble.’ Eleanor advanced from the shadows, carrying a tray on which there was a silver coffee pot and mugs. She set them down on the table.
    Beth continued, ‘So you own this hotel, it doesn’t give you the right to berate my friend like she’s a stupid child.’
    Eleanor jabbed a finger at the grate. ‘I hate that bloody thing. It scared me to death as a child. Every time I came come down here on an errand I convinced myself that either I’d fall down it, or a great hulking Frankenstein thing would push open the grate and grab hold of me.’ She steadied her evidently jangled nerves with a deep breath. ‘There is a horrible monster down here.’ A smile played on her lips. ‘And that monster is Miss Eleanor Charnwood, hotelier, spinster, and thoroughly bad-tempered woman.’ She offered Sally a hank of her hair. ‘Go on, pull. Pull it really hard. I deserve it.’
    Sally appeared startled at being invited to torture the woman. Then she laughed when she realized that Eleanor was making a joke of her own outburst. ‘No, I’ll do no such thing, Eleanor. You were frightened for my safety, that’s all.’
    â€˜Then we’re all friends again?’ She positioned the mugs on the table.
    Sally gushed,