Edward Lee - Vampire Lodge

And since vampires were immortal, that could only mean one thing:

Count Volkov is still alive…

Kevin felt captivated. What a great, scary story! It was the best vampire story he’d ever heard, and much better than the movies he’d seen so many times on tv. And he wanted to know more about The Count, he wanted to hear more of the story, but—

“Well, kids,” Aunt Carolyn said, and stood up from her armchair. “That’s the local vampire legend. And I’m afraid it’s time for you all to get to bed. It’s past eleven now.”

“That was a great story,” Jimmy said. “And thanks for the popcorn.”

“You’re quite welcome, Jimmy,” Aunt Carolyn replied.

“I thought it was silly,” Becky complained and smirked. “You don’t really believe in vampires, do you?”

Aunt Carolyn chuckled. “Of course not. The story of Count Volkov is just old local folklore, just a legend.” She rubbed her hands together. “Okay, off to bed now, all of you. It’s late and you must be very tired.”

Kevin got up from the couch. He felt strange, but he didn’t feel tired. He guessed it was just the creepy story about The Count, but there was no real reason for him to be bothered about that because, just as Aunt Carolyn had said, the story was just folklore, a legend. And vampires weren’t real…

“Goodnight, kids,” Aunt Carolyn said. “See you all in the morning.”

The rest of them said goodnight and headed up the wide, carpeted stairs. But Kevin was last in line, and before he could even make it to the first step, Aunt Carolyn stopped him and said, “Oh, and Kevin?”

Kevin turned at the bottom of the steps. “Yes?”

“It’s true, the story about Count Volkov is only a legend, but there’s one thing you should think about.”

“What’s that, Aunt Carolyn?” Kevin asked.

Aunt Carolyn’s long black dress made her look like a shadow in the foyer. Her white face seemed to grin at him in the dark, and then she said:

“All legends, in some way, are based on truth.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

More thunder faintly shook the house as Kevin walked up the staircase, his hand sliding along the polished wood banister. The narrow window at the end of the second-floor hallway filled with brief wires of bright-white light each time the lightning cracked outside. Jimmy was already asleep by the time Kevin himself got into bed. It was a high bed with pointed oak posters. More lightning filled the curtain gap over the French doors, momentarily lighting up the room like quick flashbulbs on a camera, and sheets of rain could be heard blowing against the glass. Each time the lightning flashed again, Kevin could see the two paintings on the bedroom walls. But he’d already looked at these paintings this morning; they were just paintings of a forest, one winter scene and one fall scene—nothing like the strange and eerie paintings he’d seen downstairs of Count Volkov’s arrival to America. He made a mental note to himself, to look all around the lodge tomorrow and check all the other paintings. Find out how many more paintings were done by Count Volkov himself, he thought. Of course, he understood that Count Volkov wasn’t really a vampire—that was just a legend—but who was he really?

Probably just some rich guy who came to America in the late 1800’s, he deduced. He probably just looked weird, so people started the legend about him being a vampire.

More lightning cracked. Kevin flinched.

No, The Count wasn’t really a vampire, he told himself again. Vampires don’t exist. They’re just part of a legend. Aunt Carolyn said so…

Still one more louder bolt of lightning cracked outside.

But Aunt Carolyn had something else too, hadn’t she?

All legends, in some way, are based on truth…

Suddenly, his aunt’s final words of the night seemed very haunting. And how could anybody really know for sure?

Maybe there really are vampires, Kevin considered. Of course, this was an easy thing to consider in the middle of the night during a rain storm with thunder and lightning booming outside, and in a lodge that was once owned by a guy named Count Volkov!

Just go to sleep, he told himself. He wanted to get his mind off the topic. He had to admit—

He was a little bit afraid.

But the harder he tried to fall asleep, the more awake he felt. It was almost as if part of his mind didn’t want him to go to sleep. It was almost as if…

There was something he’d forgotten to do.

But what?

When the next crack of lightning lit up the room, he noticed the paintings again. And that reminded him of the paintings downstairs, the ones supposedly painted by The Count…

Then he remembered the sinister title, in small, painted letters along the bottom:

The Count Comes Ashore.

The painting of The Count’s treasure and coffin being carried across the beach by his servants. The painting he’d seen in the dark hall behind the kitchen…

Hanging on the door to Bill Bitner’s secret passageway ! Kevin remembered all at once.

Yes, the secret place he’d found tonight after dinner. He’d been so caught up in Aunt Carolyn’s story that he’d forgotten all about it!

The secret door that Bill came out of this morning…

When Kevin had first discovered it, he’d planned to hunt for a flashlight and check out it late tonight…

Yeah, he recalled.

And it was late tonight… now.

The idea of getting up and investigating the passageway right now was pretty scary. Everyone was asleep. And the big lodge was dark and vacant downstairs. And—

Thunder boomed, more lightning crackled in the window

—and the raging storm outside didn’t help.

But—

I’ve got to do it, he realized. Now is the only time.

He’d be crazy to try and check out the passage during the day. I’d get caught! he thought.

And if he got caught, what could he possibly say? His father would be so mad…

So now is the time, he instructed himself.

He glanced over to Jimmy’s bed. Jimmy lay fast asleep.

Then Kevin, dressed in his flannel pajamas, climbed out of his own bed. He tiptoed across the bedroom, the rain beating against the french doors to the balcony behind him, and he crept out of the room, quietly clicking the door behind him.

Then, determined to summon all of his courage and see this thing out, he began to walk down the hall, toward the wide, dark stairwell…

CHAPTER TWENTY

The second-floor hallway stretched silent before him. This late at night, and so dark, it seemed ten times longer than he knew it actually was. His first task was to find a flashlight. Without a flashlight, he wouldn’t be able to see anything, and he’d be wasting his time. There was no way he was going to sneak back down to the passageway without some kind of light. Downstairs, he thought. Aunt Carolyn must have some flashlights downstairs for power failures and stuff like that.

The carpet felt warm against the bottoms of his bare feet. He walked cautiously down the hall—he didn’t want to make any noise and risk waking someone up—then turned at the landing and began to descend the twisting stairwell. Now, he found he was grateful for the occasional flashes of lightning, for they provided enough light for him to safely make his way down the stairs.

On the bottom landing, he immediately felt the sudden gust of warmth from the huge fireplace. The fire had burned down now, to not much more than a pile of glowing-orange embers with a few short fingers of flame, but it was still putting out a lot of heat. And by the soft orange light, he was able to find his way to the kitchen without stumbling over anything. But once he was in the kitchen, he had no choice but to flick on the light; otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to see. Everybody’s upstairs asleep, he reasoned. No one will be able to see the light.