by Stephen Shutt
(Voiceover by Alexandra Moltke:) "My name is Victoria
Winters--and on this solemn, moonlit night, a new hope seems to
beckon as I approach my new home--the great house of Collinwood.
Despite the shroud of darkness that enfolds it, the house seems to my
hopeful eyes to be lit from within by the warm fires of hospitality and
the hope that somehow this could finally be a place to call home. Yet
a gathering storm will soon banish the moonlight, leaving in its place a
violent tempest that will rage past dawn. This night, in a secluded
corner of the great estate, an ancient evil has been released from its
long prison. The darkness that it brings with it may soon blot out any
light that attempts to prevail against its all-encompassing powers of
destruction ..."
"Thank God you're here, Julia," the matron of Collinwood exclaimed,
her attractive, patrician face showing an unusual degree of distracted
excitement. "Roger was being impossible, as usual. I'm grateful to
have some support with the new governess."
"Hmmm," Dr. Julia Hoffman mused, as she sipped her sherry with slow appreciation. "Your brother never was terribly good when it came to domestic matters, Elizabeth. Not that I'm one to talk. When I'm up at Wyndcliffe, Swanson's TV Dinners are about as close as I come to a home-cooked meal in the ordinary scheme of things, I'm afraid." She laughed--a husky, infectious, slightly Gothic degringoladethat made mirth ring around the room.
Liz smiled affectionately. Julia looked exceptionally lovely tonight, her auburn hair shining with autumnal hints, her cheekbones lending that strangely expressive intelligence to her beautiful face, her wide emerald eyes with their exquisitely long lashes striking a tone of mystery and perpetual secret amusement. Liz had never been able to understand why Julia had never married. However, considering how unhappily her own marriage had turned out, she had never bothered to question the wisdom of her scholarly friend's decision. Privately, she did feel that Julia's keen intellect and ready wit put many men off. The men who would choose a woman of such drive and intellect as a partner were undoubtedly rare--as rare and unusual, she reflected, as Julia herself.
"What are you thinking about, Elizabeth?" Julia questioned, smiling
warmly at her old friend.
She smiled a little awkwardly in return. "I'm--I'm just wondering
where David is," she fumbled. "I asked him to be down here to meet
Miss Winters."
"Would you like me to go and see where he is?"
"Oh, would you? He said he was going to be in his room playing with
those toy cars Quentin brought back from Boston." Liz frowned. "I
do wish Roger occasionally would remember to bring the child a treat
back from his business trips. Heaven knows he seems to jump at any
excuse to leave Collinsport."
"I'll bring David right on down," said Julia, heading for the stairs. She
had only closed the door on the upper landing a few moments when
the front doors opened and Quentin brought Victoria Winters into the
house.
with dark, uncertain, slightly frightened eyes. Liz hadn't really been
sure how she would react to this meeting; perhaps it was as much a
surprise to herself as to anyone that her heart melted instantly. "You
must be Miss Winters!" she said, coming forward to take Vicki's
hand. "I'm Elizabeth Collins Stoddard. Welcome to Collinwood. You
can't imagine how long we've been waiting for you."
"You ... you have?" Vicki asked curiously, as Quentin looked on with
a smile.
"Yes ... Miss Winters," said Liz, instantly regretting her choice of
words.
"Please, Mrs. Stoddard," said the young woman, with a slightly more
confident smile, "Call me Vicki. Everyone at the Foundling Home did.
It would make me feel more ... more at home here. And I do want to
feel that this is my home."
"That's lovely that you feel that way, Vicki," said Liz. "Collinwood
needs to be a home again. This house has known too much sadness...
too many ghosts. Let's go into the drawing room, shall we? The fire is
cozy. I'm afraid there's a storm brewing. Quentin," she said, turning to
her handsome cousin, who had just returned indoors with Vicki's
luggage, "join us, won't you?"
"Right away, Elizabeth," he assured her, "once I've gotten Miss
Winters' luggage up to her room."
"My room," said Vicki softly, as she turned to Mrs. Stoddard, who
smiled graciously. "My very own room! Oh, Mrs. Stoddard! I'm so
happy to be here."
"Not nearly as happy as we are to have you here," the mistress of
Collinwood assured her, as she placed one arm around the dark
haired girl's shoulders. So pretty, she found herself reflecting. *As
pretty as you were when you were her age ... before you had known
the sorrows of the world.*
dominated the area near the fire. "Would you care for a drink after
your journey?" Liz offered. "Perhaps you'd care for a sherry? Or," she
said, taking in the girl's slightly anxious expression, "perhaps a pot of
tea?"
"Oh! Tea would be lovely," Vicki said. "But I don't want to impose."
"It's no imposition at all," Liz assured her, as a harassed looking
woman with a dour expression bustled into the room. "Mrs. Johnson,
this is Vicki Winters. You'll recall I told you about her--the new
governess for David. Vicki, Mrs. Johnson is our housekeeper."
"Very pleased to meet you," said Mrs. Johnson, twisting her mouth in
what looked like a botched attempt at a smile. "You'll have your work
cut out for you with Master Davey, I'm afraid. Mrs. Stoddard, I hate
to interrupt your interview, but he never came down for his supper.
Do you want me to take it up to him on a tray?"
"You'd better wait on that, Mrs. Johnson," Dr. Julia Hoffman stated
with brusque authority, as she came into the drawing room. "David
isn't in his room. I looked around and ... I'm sorry to have to tell you
this, Elizabeth, but the door to the West Wing is open!"
"Oh, my God!" The color drained suddenly from Liz's face. "Hurry,
Julia! Quentin's in Miss Winters' room. We can get him on the way.
Excuse us, Vicki, please!"
"Of course," Vicki said, very confused, as the two women hurried up
the stairs. She turned to Mrs. Johnson who was watching her
curiously. "What is so dangerous about the West Wing, Mrs.
Johnson? I'm afraid I don't understand!"
"Humpf!" exclaimed the pinched-faced woman who seemed so much
older than her years. "After you've been in this house a few days,
young miss, I can guarantee that there isn't much you WILL
understand!" She bustled out of the room to get the tea and snacks
Mrs. Stoddard had ordered served at the interview, leaving a very
perplexed Vicki behind her to take a perch on the sofa and wait,
watching the fire.
***********************************************
Cold, damp stone. Willie sighed, and groaned involuntarily, as he
straggled back towards consciousness. One hand rubbed at his neck,
and came away sticky. What the hell had happened? He couldn't see
anything. It was dark. Pitch black. A darkness as impenetrable as the
tomb ... as death itself.
"So." The voice was harsh, grating, imperious. "You have awakened. At last."
"Huh?" Willie attempted to peer ahead of him, but his eyes would barely stay opened. He felt as if his head had been disconnected from his body at some point in the recent past.
"Your fainting spells are most inopportune," snapped the voice a trifle pettishly. "I do hope they do not also involve spells of palpitations and hysterics. Time is passing. It will be dawn soon. I have no leisure for the frippery of ladies' novels. We have work to do. But first there is a matter of introductions. You haven't told me your name yet."
"Huh? Uh ... Willie ... Willie Loomis." Something about the mere
vibration of this voice demanded obedience.
"Loomis... a curious name. I do not recall any family of such title in
Collinsport."
"Ain't from Collinsport," Willie mumbled. "Came here from-"
"Spare me the minutiae, Willie," the voice cut in. "I will hear all about
it later on. In excruciatingly inarticulate detail, no doubt. Right now I
need some answers from you. First of all, what year is this?"
"Th-th' ye-e-e-ah!" Willie sputtered. "Why, it's 1967, of course."
"1967." Had a note of awe actually crept into that granite? "So it has
been nearly two centuries since the darkness fell upon me. Could that
have been part of her curse? I wonder."
"Scuse me," Willie piped up nervously. "Don' mean to interrupt or
nothin', but you haven't told me YOUR name yet."
"Oh haven't I?" The voice croaked with sardonic contempt. "My
name. Yes. Perhaps it is time to shed some faint flicker of light into the
bleak palsy of this endless night. Here." There was a sharp scratching
noise, and the spark of a flame being lit--one, two, three--on an
ancient candelabra. The puddle of lambency fell over the sharp, gaunt,
aquiline features of a face--a face ageless yet ancient, all soaring
cheekbones, flaring nostrils, a domed forehead gloomily surmounted
by dark bangs that looked almost like claw marks, darkly brooding
eyes sunk in vast skull-like sockets, and a mocking mouth curved in a
sinister smile. "My name is Barnabas Collins--and my curse is to feed
upon the blood of the living ... or die!" His lips drew back in a bizarre
rictus, exposing a pair of brilliant, pointed fangs.
Willie tried to move, but he couldn't--and that face was coming closer
... and closer ...
"No ... please ... no ... no ... NO!!!!!"
She had had a superb view of it all, as comfortably ensconced above them as if she were in Milady du Pres' box at the opera, and she richly approved of the unfolding drama. Her cachinnating laughter rolled silently around the weedy stones and festering decay of Eagle Hill. Yes, things were going brilliantly. Barnabas was already laying the foundations for more tragedy, more guilt, more suffering, more horror. The curse WILL continue, she gloated. I will have my revenge! But now other matters called her attention. She frowned, as she traveled quicker than thought itself back to the Great House. Would the boy do well by her? She had had barely time to imprint the words upon his mind ... but already found him quite an apt pupil ...though another Presence suggested itself, that puzzled her ... and would call a return of her attention, in the fullness of time.
**************************************
"Now, Elizabeth, I'm sure he's just off going through old trunks.
Probably looking for dress-up clothes, or some such," clucked
Quentin, doing his best to smooth Mrs. Stoddard's ruffled feathers.
He had never seen her so close to hysteria, and it honestly frightened
him, more than any bit of mischief the boy could get into. *You know,
I used to enjoy messing around the West Wing myself when I was a
tyke.* He wished he could say the words aloud to her, but of course,
he couldn't.
"Quentin, shut up and bring the flashlight!" Liz barked. She stopped
when she saw the way he and Julia were staring at her. She managed,
somehow, to take a deep breath.
"Elizabeth--"
"Julia, please!" She did her best to keep her voice level. "We must
HURRY. The West Wing is structurally very ... unsound. We have to
find David NOW."
"You've found him." The small, steady voice came from out of the
darkness, where they stood talking in front of the door that led to the
West Wing. "Is something the matter, Aunt Elizabeth?"
"David Collins!" Liz's voice hit a shrill note neither Julia nor Quentin
had ever heard before, and they glanced anxiously at one another.
"Do you know how angry you've made me? How many times have I
told you that the West Wing is STRICTLY off limits? Do you pay any
attention at all to me when I'm speaking to you?"
"Why, of course, Aunt Elizabeth." The boy's eyes were wide, and
strangely focused; his voice a slow drawl very different from his usual
speech pattern. Julia studied him, frowning. What on earth was the
matter with David? And why didn't Elizabeth seem to notice how
oddly he was behaving? "It's just that I thought I heard something
coming from back there. I thought I had better check and make sure
everything was okay. Remember when that tramp got into the Old
House and then turned up dead and the police came and asked all
those questions?"
"David, that's enough!" Mrs. Stoddard was struggling to control
herself. "May I have the key, please? Thank you." She locked the
door firmly and turned to him, her face stern. "Stolen from the pantry,
of course. I can't tell you how disappointed I am in you, David. I had
wanted you to meet your new governess tonight--"
"Ah yes, Miss Winters," said the child thoughtfully. "Such a curious
name, isn't it?"
going to have Mrs. Johnson bring your supper up on a tray and I want
you ready for bed in one hour. You and I are going to have to have a
SERIOUS talk tonight. I can't have you getting off on the wrong foot
with Miss Winters. She's a very bright girl and came highly
recommended. I want her to understand that she's come to educate a
Collins--not some wild hooligan who can't be trusted to understand
simple English. Is that clear, young man?"
"Yes, Aunt Elizabeth," said the child demurely. "May I go to my room
now?"
"Yes."
"Thank you." He turned to the other two adults. "Good night, Cousin
Quentin. Good night, Dr. Hoffman." He turned and slowly went down
the hallway. Julia found herself strangely chilled by David's manner
and by the whole incident. *It's as if ... as if he's under some sort of
spell.* She caught herself smiling nervously at such an unscientific
thought. But she noticed that Elizabeth herself was studying David's
retreating figure with an oddly shrewd air.
"Elizabeth," Quentin said gently. "Aren't you ... well, are you sure you
needed to be that harsh with him? I mean, he seemed pretty
browbeaten just now."
The mistress of Collinwood turned to give him a steely glare.
"Perhaps," she said finally. "But you have to understand, Quentin, that
people were ... hurt in the West Wing when I was a girl. I would
never forgive myself if anything were to happen to David because of
my own leniency with him. After all," she said reflectively, "this is an
enormous old house. And there are many hidden dangers for a
curious child. Too many ..."
Her voice trailed off. She turned decisively, and stalked down the
hallway. She turned back to address then pointedly. "I think it's time
we rejoined Miss Winters, don't you? I don't want the evening to
descend into a complete debacle."
"Of course, Elizabeth," Julia murmured. She and Quentin glanced at
one another again. She knew they would have plenty to ask one
another about this later on. The problem was that neither of them
would have any answers.
**********************************************
table from her last customer. The diner had been unusually busy
tonight--Collinsport usually rolled the sidewalks up at 6 p. m., though
the Blue Whale did bring in some of the teenagers from the college in
Rockport. She smiled, thinking hopefully of the date she had with
Quentin Collins tomorrow night. Perhaps he'd bring the new
governess along to meet everybody. She hadn't heard too much that
was specific about Vicki Winters, but, for some reason, she felt
instinctively that they were going to be wonderful friends.
She swallowed a curse when the door jangled and a woman came
into the room. "Kitchen's closed!" she called out. "Sorry about that."
"No need to apologize," said the woman, with a subtle smile. Maggie
couldn't see her face very well because of the large, stylishly cut hat
she was wearing. "I was actually just hoping for a cup of coffee. Is
that too much to ask?"
"Of course not!" Maggie said with as much cheer as she could muster.
"We are closing in a few minutes, though."
"I appreciate your kindness," the woman cooed. "I've had a very long
journey. And I had forgotten how the chill out here on the coast
settles in your bones. A little something hot to warm me up will work
wonders, I'm sure."
"Well," Maggie said, unable to resist a giggle, "I don't know how wholesome the dregs of the last day's pot of coffee will be, but, such as it is, you're welcome to it! Would you like a piece of apple pie with that?" "No, dear, thank you," the woman said gratefully, as she took the proferred cup. "This should be just enough to get my fires going again." She took a thoughtful sip. "Collinsport ... it's good to be back
here."
"You used to live here?" Maggie asked curiously.
"Yes ... many years ago," the woman said. She tilted her face upward,
and Maggie saw that her features were shaped with a unique, almost
Mediterranean beauty ... and, a strange thing, her enormous eyes,
seagreen and crystalline, caught the light of the dingy diner lamps and
reflected them back so that it looked as if she had flames dancing in
her gaze. "Many long years ago ... but I doubt anyone will remember
me."
"Well, frankly, ma'am, Collinsport is a pretty small town," said
Maggie. "People here don't have much to distract them."
"No! they don't, do they? We'll have to do something about that," the
woman mused.
"I'd be surprised if there weren't somebody around who didn't
remember you," said Maggie helpfully. "Where did you live?"
After a pause, with a thoughtful look in her eyes, the woman stated:
"Collinwood."
"Oh, really!" Maggie smiled. This lady seemed much nicer than
anyone she'd ever met up at Collinwood--Quentin excepted, and he
had hardly lived there very long. "Well, that's about the most
important place in town. I'm sure they'll be thrilled to have you back.
I'm surprised I haven't heard about your arrival, though. I know
people up there and they've been talking about the new governess
who came tonight, but nobody mentioned a relative coming back for a
visit."
"Well, to be quite frank, my dear," the woman said, with a
conspiratorial hush in her voice, "it's meant to be a surprise."
"A surprise?" Something in the way the stranger said that suddenly
didn't sound so nice.
"Yes," the blonde, striking woman said, as she stood up. "I dare say
that the last person anyone at Collinwood ever expected to hear from
again was Mrs. Laura Collins!"
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