by Midnite
(Voiceover by Thayer David) "As the tiny village of Collinsport lies shrouded by the
midnight sky, most of its inhabitants are oblivious to the opposing
forces at work around them and to the dangerous drama involving
one of their own that is taking place on the other side of the ocean."
Eliot Stokes could almost feel his blood pressure rise as twin beams
of light pierced the solitude of his seaside cottage. The glare from the
headlights ceased as quickly as it had appeared and was soon
followed by an insistent rap at the front door. Stokes dipped his
monocle into a pocket of his smoking jacket before opening the door
to a lovely young brunette.
"You must be Professor Stokes," she stated cheerfully. "I apologize
for paying such a late visit, but this is an emergency."
"Then perhaps it's the sheriff's headquarters that you should be
barging in on."
"Oh no, it's you that I urgently need to speak with. You see, I was
only very recently admitted to Rockport University, under the name
Cassandra Blair, and you were assigned my faculty adviser."
"I see. Then I am advising you that in order to successfully continue
your education there, it would be wise for you to wait for an invitation
before intruding on anyone's privacy."
"If you'll only hear me out, I'm sure you'll understand why this visit is
so important. Please," she pleaded, "if you allow me five minutes of
your time, I promise you won't regret it."
"Very well, you have five minutes." He took a step back, allowing the
young woman to squeeze inside. "I'm positive I've never seen you at
any of my lectures," he added while observing pale, shapely legs
beneath a blue brocade mini-dress, "yet your face seems vaguely
familiar to me. Perhaps we've passed each other on campus?"
"Yes, that must be it. Professor, I'm afraid I need to settle my nerves
a bit before I begin," she told him as black lashes blinked fiercely.
"The stress of all of this has taken its toll on me." She brandished a
gold cigarette case in front of him, asking, "Would you mind if I
smoked?" "Not at all," he replied, although for a transient moment he
saw danger in her crystal-blue eyes, but then dismissed the thought as
quickly as it had come.
Dainty fingers produced a slim cigarette and slipped it between
frosted pink lips, and as Stokes patiently watched, the other hand
began to fumble with a lighter that almost seemed to materialize in it.
"Ah, allow me," he told her as his thick fingers deftly lit it and waited,
but Cassandra removed the cigarette from her mouth and asked,
"Isn't it fascinating?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"The flame, Professor. Isn't it a fascinating thing to watch? The sight of
it flickering in someone's eyes. Can you see the flame in my eyes?"
"Yes. Yes, I can."
"Keep looking into my eyes, deeper and deeper."
"No," he said feebly, but despite his best effort was unable to break
away.
"It is futile to resist me, Professor. Do not forget that. Now look
deeply into my eyes, and tell me what you see."
"I see ... I see myself."
"Yes, Professor. And now you will answer my questions as fully as
you can. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Quentin Collins brought a portrait to you-- a very old portrait of a
woman that was painted in the 18th century. You must tell where I
can find it."
"In there," he said while pointing to one of several doors in the room.
"Behind a panel at the rear of that closet."
Cassandra grinned smugly. This could not be going more smoothly.
~*~
"Finished already?" the maid asked, one hand clutching her chest in
exaggerated shock.
"Why, yes, Mrs. Johnson," the man explained matter-of-factly. "I told
you the shelves would be finished tonight at the very latest."
"I know you did, but ... well, you know how most workers promise
you one thing but never keep their word. There isn't an excuse I
haven't heard!" Her hands animatedly waved in disgust at the thought
of all the unreliable handymen that had done work for the Collins
family over the past year.
"Well," he announced, "I don't do business that way."
"Oh, Mrs. Stoddard will be SO pleased tomorrow morning when she
sees her new shelves. I know where she left your check, so I'll go get
it now," she said as she began her retreat from the pantry.
"Um, Mrs. Johnson," he called to her. "Would you happen to know if
Dr. Julia Hoffman is around this evening?"
"Dr. Hoffman?" she repeated, sounding very surprised. "Well, last
time I saw her, she was reading in the drawing room. Ohhh, and now
I hear someone at the door. Well, I'll find you soon as I take care of
that."
"Huh? Oh, sure, sure. Thanks." But Sarah Johnson was too busy
babbling to no one in particular to hear him, and Tom was only able
to catch something about a revolving door and late night visitors
before she was swiftly swallowed by the hallway that led away from
the dining room.
~*~
Cassandra surveyed the small storage room, noticing not one but
several canvasses draped and scattered about. Yet before any of
them could be unveiled, she detected a faint tapping sound coming
from a distant corner. "What the...?" she said, but the noise was
progressively becoming louder and possessed a dull, rhythmic quality.
Bum BUM, Bum BUM, Bum BUM it went, and by now its intensity
was such that she could think of nothing else but to find the source of
the noise. Slowly cutting through the stale air, she surveyed the books
and other old objects until her eyes rested on a particular canvas set
high on an easel. The sound emanating from it had grown louder still,
so she tugged on the sheet until it dropped to the ground, revealing a
grotesque visage that stared back at her-- a grossly disfigured man
dressed in 19th century clothing and surrounded by a faintly glowing
rim of light. But when the witch tried to touch the luminescent halo,
she was forced to retreat in pain from the white hot scene.
"I must learn whose ghastly face that is," she declared while scurrying
back to her waiting subject. "But the burning portrait can only mean
one thing..." She breathed in deeply, and with an exhalation of pure
venom hissed the name "Laura!"
~*~
To any casual observer, it appeared that Julia was intently studying an
article in JAMA, but only a discerning eye could notice that she hadn't
turned a page in a quarter of an hour. Her thoughts instead ran toward
the holistic as she pondered the feelings stirred inside her by the
arrival of the Collins' English cousin. Previously, Julia had prided
herself on her ability to control every facet of her life-- her behavior,
her career, her emotions. But since the appearance of the
phenomenon called Barnabas Collins, she had relinquished a bit of
that self-control and had, as a result, begun to feel more alive than
ever. Love can't be controlled, she reminded herself. Experiencing this
emotion was something she had avoided until now because she
believed it would open herself up to suffering, but if this was how it
felt to be vulnerable, then it seemed much too intriguing and wonderful
to fight. She reflected on how she could nearly feel every beat of her
heart when he spoke-- the sound of his voice making it splash her
insides with a joyfulness that she hoped would never stop.
When he spoke. My God, she thought ... that muffled voice in the
distance was HIS, and she could make out Mrs. Johnson's too as
they came nearer. Julia quickly uncrossed and then recrossed her
legs, tugging at tweed and straightening her back, all the while
pretending to focus intently on the pages in front of her until she heard
footsteps halt in the doorway.
"I'm sorry," the stately voice sang out. "I didn't mean to disturb your
reading. I'll wait in the foyer."
"Oh no, no, you're not disturbing me at all. As a matter of fact, I was
just going to fix myself some tea. Won't you join me?"
"Your offer is very kind," Barnabas replied, "but I shan't be staying
long. I just dropped by to bring Miss Winters this book about the
Collins family. She expressed a desire to learn more about its history,
and I happened upon this one tonight and thought she might enjoy it."
"I see," Julia said, stung by his revelation. "Then please do wait in
here. I'd love to see the book myself, if you wouldn't mind," she
added, feigning interest.
"Why, yes, of course," he told her after entering the room completely,
and followed her lead by seating himself at the opposite end of the
sofa. "I had no idea you were interested in Collins history," he said as
he attempted to deliver the antique volume to her, a gesture that
afforded her an excuse to scoot closer. This made him more than a
little uncomfortable.
"I'm always amazed by the fascinating stories Elizabeth tells about her
ancestors," she lied. "You know, I imagine she'd be very interested in
seeing this as well." As she reached out to take it, their fingers
brushed ever so slightly, and Julia was nearly overwhelmed by the
sensations that ran through her as a result of that one tenuous contact.
Barnabas began to explain some of the photos of long-dead Collins
relatives, but Julia preferred staring into the face of the man she
shared her space with at that moment. She noted that her own voice
had changed and became horrified by the foreign giggle that escaped
her mouth following one of his more clever comments. She felt very
much out of control, but being so close to him made her acutely
aware, once again, of the pumping of her own heart. Lub dub, lub
dub. The experience made her blush.
Barnabas turned toward the door suddenly. "May I help you?" he
called out. Julia spun around quickly too and was shocked to see
Tom standing between the double doors and looking equally as
surprised as she.
~*~
Returning with an amulet *borrowed* from the Professor's collection,
Cassandra pressed it against the portrait at a point below its grisly
face and turning toward the East, began to recite, "Great Horus, god
of the sky and protector of ancient kings, I call upon you to shield thy
servant Quentin. His enemies shall become your enemies and his
battles shall become your battles. Let this 'eye' extinguish the fire that
rages around him and restore your loyal subject so that he is whole
again."
At that moment near the Nile's mouth, a fat crocodile yawned under a
sea of sunshine, a hooded cobra spun above an ocean of grass, and a
crackling pyre was expunged beneath the feet of its near-victim. The
priests retreated in horror as Quentin Collins, his clothing charred and
the ropes that bound him disintegrated, dropped dizzily onto the heap
before noticing the object now dangling from his neck. "I've seen one
of these before," he considered aloud. "It's the eye of Horus. But how
the HELL did it get there?"
~*~
"Why did you show up here tonight?" Julia was interrogating Tom
after leading him into the study and closing the door behind them.
"I was hired to do some work in the house; I told you about it,
remember?"
"Oh, I do remember now. But why were you eavesdropping on my
conversation?" she added no less sternly than before.
"Eavesdropping? No, Julia, I mean, well, yes, I was, but I didn't mean
to." She watched as slim fingers ran through his own silky blonde hair.
"Look, maybe it's you that should be explaining," he blurted, "like
about what I saw in there."
"I was having a friendly conversation with Elizabeth's cousin. That's
all."
"Friendly, huh? Yeah, it looked pretty friendly to me. I saw the way
you were looking at him, and your body language," he said
disgustedly, "and how you brushed against him on purpose."
"You're being unduly emotional, and I'd prefer to not continue this
conversation."
Tom could feel the anger inside him threatening to explode like a
pistol. "Julia, what am I supposed to think after this morning?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"When I came up behind you while you were brushing your hair in the
mirror, and put my arms around you ... I saw you frown. ... It was as
if you disapproved of me."
"Tom, is that what's behind this outburst? My facial expression in a
mirror?"
He turned away, struggling to keep his emotions in check while
rubbing a stubbled chin. "Julia," he cooed, turning back toward her
and taking both her hands in his. "When I wake up beside you, I'm
happy to lie there listening to your heartbeat ... to just watch you
breathing. But the minute you wake up you're already thinking about
going away. Don't you get it?" he asked half-smiling. "All I want in this
world is for you to want to pull yourself closer to me, to look into my
eyes the way you stared into that weird Mr. Collins', and to feel as
excited by my touch as you were by his."
"Look, it's very late," she told him while attempting to extricate her
hands from his. "And I'm too tired to quarrel with you about Barnabas
Collins or anyone else."
"I don't want to quarrel either," he said, pulling her closer. "Why don't
you come back to my place with me now? I promise I won't mention
his name." He let his forehead drop softly onto hers. "It'll be just us, as
always."
Julia raised her chin, took a deep breath, and answered, "Us. That's
what I've put off talking about with you for much too long as it is..."
~*~
Satisfied that the immense paneled doors sufficiently shielded her from
the rest of the household, Cassandra seated herself in front of the
raging fire in the Collinwood drawing room, the Egyptian BOOK OF
THE DEAD open in front of her. While cupping a heart scarab in
both hands, she began to chant:
"I call upon Seth, god of chaos and ruler of the deserts, judged by the
sun god Ra who pushed you aside and declared Osiris, your brother,
to be ruler of the dead and confirmed Horus, his son, as ruler of the
living. Let not the innocence of Ra nor the desire of Osiris prevent you
from avenging this theft of your rightful throne..."
Lightning rented the moonless sky, but Cassandra did not lose a
moment's concentration, for it was imperative that an enemy be
destroyed for interfering with her plans lest the vile creature do the
same to her. "Hear me, Seth," she continued. "I offer up to you the
vehicle for your revenge. Laura, faithful subject of Ra, stands hale on
earth, while your name evokes enmity through the centuries. In the
name of the souls of Naqada, you must destroy this servant to Ra.
LET HER BURN FOR YOUR GLORY!"
A great wind forced the windows open, causing the drapes to billow
and the chandelier to rock, yet the fire blazed higher, hungrily licking
the huge firebox. Upstairs, a young boy sat bolt upright in his bed
screaming, "No, no, no!!!" and then shouted, "Mother!" before falling
into the arms of his governess and sobbing uncontrollably. Elsewhere
on the grounds, a brutally handsome, semi-naked man was delivered
to the woods of his long-ago childhood. And in a cottage not far from
both these events, a pile of charred bone and ash was all that
remained of the powerful woman that once stood there.
To Be Continued ...
No comments:
Post a Comment