And no, he doesn’t.” She smiled as she ran a hand through Blanchard’s salt-and-pepper hair. “I don’t tell people I’m sleeping with my dotty old professor.” She then noticed a reddish-black wooden figurine on the coffee table. It looked like a bat, or a cat with wings. “What’s this?”
“I don’t know. Igot it from an Englishman—a modern-day Oscar Wilde with huge buckteeth. He didn’t even know what it was. His friends call him ‘Lamby.’ He has major tax problems and he’s selling off family antiques. I bought a lot of things so he tossed in that little statue. He had an old steamer trunk full of them.”
As Claudia studied the bat/cat’s cruel face, she caught a glimpse of a thin crack under its chin. “So what else did you get?”
“A chandelier, about a dozen books, three hatchets with ivory handles, some very nice lockets...” Blanchard leaned closer to her. “And Lamby’s grandfather, the cannibal.”
* * * *
Claudia clapped a hand over her nose as Blanchard raised the coffin lid. The box rested on a gurney in Edgar’s workshop, a basement room lined with shelves of tools and chemicals.
“I’d like you to meet Lord Paxton,” he said. “Lamby filled me in on the family history. Rumor has it the old rascal ate the hearts of six of his servants. And he was a sorcerer. And what am I forgetting—? Oh, yeah. Every now and then he grew wings and carried off small children. Busy guy.”
His Lordship had not aged well. His flesh was brownish-green, and his wispy hair was matted with blue fungus. Dead spiders nested in his eye sockets. The fingernails were yellow, crooked and caked with dirt.
“A colorful character. I’ll have to swab him down with formaldehyde.” Blanchard slipped on rubber gloves and lifted Lord Paxton out of the coffin. “The old rotter’s got some meat on his bones,” he said as he moved the corpse to a worktable.
Claudia couldn’t help but smile. Blanchard saw this and smiled back. “Who’s the grin for: me or my handsome friend?”
The young woman shrugged. “I was just wondering why such a nice man collects such awful things. Not that I mind. It’s interesting in a Halloweeny sort of way.”
“Well, I guess that’s why. It’s interesting. Mysterious. Baffling. Take Pretty-Boy here, for example.” He lightly tweaked Lord Paxton’s mildewed nose. “Why did this vicious old creep go around eating chunks of other people? It’s easy enough to say he was crazy, or evil—or incredibly hungry!—but still, I can’t help but wonder. Maybe he knew something the rest of us don’t.”
“Sure: like, what a human heart tastes like.” Claudia pointed to a small black envelope taped to the coffin lid. “Look, he came with a warranty.”
Blanchard opened the envelope. “It’s a note: Grampums cannot sleep in a strange bed.—Lamby.”
The young woman leaned over Lord Paxton. “Would Grampums like a pillow? You need all the beauty sleep you can get.”
Blanchard sighed. “You’d better be going. I wouldn’t want you to miss breakfast with your fellow toddler.”
“Now you’re being difficult,” she said. “Try to see things my way.”
His Lordship’s hand fell over the edge of the worktable; the lovers gasped, then laughed nervously.
“I think Pretty-Boy is eavesdropping,” Claudia said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She kissed Edgar’s cheek and left him to his work.
In the living room, she checked her purse for her car keys. Then she remembered she’d laid them on the coffee table. There she saw the figurine and picked it up. She noticed that the crack she’d spotted earlier completely encircled the neck. A thought occurred to her, and on an impulse she twisted the head.
It began to unscrew.
Once the head was off, a thin pink mist swirled out of the neck, clouding her vision for a moment. She caught a whiff of perfume: an odd combination of roses, chocolate, and old leather. She tipped the figurine over her palm, but nothing came out. Her eyes began to water furiously. A dull pain crept into her neck and shoulders.
A loud clatter rose from the basement. There were sharp, crunching sounds, like wood being broken to bits, followed by the crash of breaking glass.
Claudia raced to the basement door and listened for a moment. Someone was shuffling around, grinding the glass underfoot. “Edgar! Are you okay?” she shouted. “What’s going on down there?”
Something held Claudia back as she tried to descend the basement stairs. She screamed as she found herself surrounded by enormous black-bristled wings—
Then she noticed that the horrid, hairy things had sprouted from her shoulder blades.
Amazed, she stared up at her new appendages. They had caught in the doorway, and seemed to be wedged in tight. When at last she remembered the commotion below, she looked down into the basement.
She found herself in the presence of royalty.
Lord Paxton was crouched on the stairs at her feet, eating a red object shaped much like an apple, except larger and not as firm. Dried spiders rained from his eye sockets as he stood up. He ran a bloodied claw gently over her face. She struggled as the creature sought to embrace her.
“Now you’re being difficult,” Lord Paxton whispered in a hoarse falsetto—a throaty, vicious parody of Claudia’s voice. His blood-stained lips twisted into a savage smile. “Try to see things my way.”
So saying, His Lordship raked out her eyes with a single swipe of his talons.
Minty Belasco’s Top Ten Most Hideous And/Or Splendid Movies Of All Time
Translated From The Original Croatian
Introductory note from the translator: Last year, while vacationing in Europe, I visited film critic, fashion designer, and international trend-setter Minty Belasco, who was living in an apartment above a Goth nightclub in Munich. Minty is tall, thin, pale, and extensively tattooed. His age is anyone’s guess. He is the author of seventeen books on a variety of subjects, including menswear, ancient Egyptian mummification rituals, bonsai trees, and his favorite topic of all, movies—the cheaper and trashier, the better.
His books have been published in Russia, Poland, France, India and Japan. But not one has been published in the United States, because as Minty said, “Most Americans don’t want to know what I think. Besides, that’s where Momsy and Daddy live, and I’m not talking to them.”
Minty’s parents, Momsy and Daddy, are in fact multimillionaires Regina and Cuthbert Belasco, owners of Belasco Beer, Belasco Premium Cigarettes, Belasco Fried Chicken, and Belasco Funeral Homes.
Minty can write and speak in thirty-five different languages, but these days he only writes in Croatian. He told me, “My new massage therapist speaks Croatian and I’m just mad about that tongue—that language, I mean.”
The article below, written by Minty, appeared in a Croatian film magazine with a name that translates to Eye Feces. Fortunately, I know several languages myself, so Minty said that if I wanted to go to the bother of translating the article, he would give
