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The Vampire’s Revenge
by Eric Morecambe
Contents
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Round the throat a little tightening.
Vernon’s back, caused by lightning.
The statue smashed open as the lightning hit it. The life-sized stone statue crashed to the ground and split open from head to toe. If you had been there you would have seen the statue leave the plinth it had been resting on for the past three years. You would also have seen a man crawl out of the broken statue and slowly, very slowly, make his way in a crab-like crawl to one of the park benches. He tried to sit on the bench. It took him seven minutes to bend his stiff body into a sitting position.
If you could have got close enough, even with all the pain he was suffering, you would have seen on his very pale face a tiny flicker of a smile playing about his evil, tight blue lips: he was already looking to the future. He creaked his sore and unused neck muscles and, in obvious agony, they lifted his heavy head to look at the moon through two black and vicious eyes. He worked out the time. It was 2.30 a.m. He thought how lucky he had been.
‘I would be dead now if that storm and the lightning had struck in the daytime. We Vampires can’t live in the daylight, not for very long.’
Vernon the Vampire was free again. He filled his underworked lungs with the cold night air in the village of Katchem-by-the-Throat in his beloved land of Gotcha, and looked at the smashed stones that had been his home for the past three miserable years.
He allowed his mind to go back to just before he was statued, thinking, ‘What a fool I was to allow myself to be turned into stone. After all, it was my invention, it was I who was going to turn the others into stone. But soon I will take my rightful place as the Vampire ruler of this country and rule over these stupid peasants as we Vampires have done for almost a thousand years.’
He allowed a small painful smile to invade the corners of his thin lifeless lips. He thought of all his old enemies and the smile widened, causing him more but worthwhile pain.
He thought of his parents, King Victor and Queen Valeeta, whom he now hated, laying some of the blame for his condition well and truly at their door. He thought of his brother Valentine, who was not really his brother, only a step-brother, having been found on the castle steps, and who was not a real Vampire either. He thought of Igon. Oh, how he hated Igon. ‘Igon and that stupid so-called brother of mine, they were the ones who put me into that statue for these last three years.’ His eyes narrowed as he thought. ‘All of them will get the dues they deserve. Each one shall suffer the pain I’ve suffered and then they shall suffer death.’
Vernon didn’t know of the changes in the land of Gotcha, he only remembered the past when the country was ruled by his mother and father. Vernon was still, in his own mind at least, Prince Vernon Vampire, and next in line to be King and ruler of Gotcha.
What Vernon didn’t know was that his brother was now the President of Gotcha. His mother and father, the ex-King and Queen, had retired to the country and, although they were still Vampires, lived a normal life. Admittedly they slept in the daytime and stayed awake all night, but they harmed no-one and were popular.
Igon, that was the one Vernon wanted to hurt the most. But Vernon only remembered Igon as he was before he was statued. In those days Igon was the most ugly, the most horrible tiny dwarf with a hump for a back and, as the name suggests, only one eye. He was horrible. But not now, not any more. After Vernon had accidentally turned himself into a statue, Victor and Valeeta abdicated. Victor gave the people of Gotcha a parting gift. Using up all of his Vampire magic, he turned Igon into the most handsome of men. No more the small, wizened, ugly dwarf, but the six foot, very handsome giant.
He also made him into a Prince, Special Prince Igon of Gotcha. But Vernon knew nothing of this. The only thing he knew was hate and how to enjoy it. He sat there on the park bench trying to think of anyone he liked; much to his pleasure, he couldn’t.
He rose very slowly from the bench and stayed halfway between sitting down and standing up because he thought he heard a loud creaking noise. He moved again and this time he was sure he heard it. It took several minutes before he realised that it was he who was creaking, having been in that statue for three years in the same position. It was to be expected. He creaked away from the smashed statue, rather like a centipede with rheumatism, and made his way to the caves he remembered before he was statued.
As he walked to the hills where the cave was he could feel his strength coming back. After a couple of long slow miles he was beginning to feel better, a lot fitter. He knew his strength was returning to his body, he could feel it. He looked down at himself. His evening dress wasn’t in too bad a condition, except that it was covered with three years
