Whitby Vampyrrhic Read Online Free PDF

of a house, dragged at her hair; an old, blackened timber snatched away an entire lock of blonde. Her gasp of pain must have triggered what happened next.
    Fast-moving figures erupted from the shadows of the yard. This time she didn’t see any detail, other than bright, glaring eyes. Bizarrely, they didn’t possess coloured irises, just a fierce black pupil dominated the white.
    Beth ran. She hadn’t the luxury of debating what was actually happening. Why a studio set looked so solidly real, or just who those menacing figures were. A mist had made the cobbles slick. Even in this gloom they glistened, as if they oozed their own inner moisture. Beth raced along the street. It seemed to extend forever into darkness. A derelict tavern stood at the corner; the sign over the door read
Blessing on the Drowned
. Such a grimly macabre name; the image that accompanied the words emphasized it: a human skull with the incoming tide lapping around it.
    Beth turned a bend; as she did so her feet slipped from under her. An agonizing pain exploded through her nerve endings as she slammed on to the ground.
    â€˜Damn, that hurt!’ The words were born of frustration and fear as much as pain. Because right now she wanted to scream her distress out to the world. Then she glanced back the way she came. Light-footed figures, nothing more than silhouettes that possessed whitely staring eyes, raced towards her. Something about their eagerness spoke volumes about lust and hunger.
    In a heartbeat, she scrambled to her feet. Once more she rushed down the never-ending street. One lined with tiny shops, cottages, and strange-looking chapels from which protruded grotesque carvings of heads with bulging eyes.
    The footsteps grew louder as her pursuers closed the gap. Already, she could imagine fingers reaching out to grab her hair, then bring her to a screaming, pain-filled stop. After that . . . what then?
    All of a sudden the houses were gone. She burst through twin doors and into the grasp of a tall, rage-filled man.
    â€˜
Where the hell have you been? We’ve been waiting for you.
’
    Her gaze locked on to the eyepatch beside the good eye. The flesh surrounding the patch had puffed outwards with a reddish inflammation.
    She panted out some words. They meant nothing to him . . . nor to her.
    â€˜I recommend you catch your breath, then try again,’ Alec Reed said in his cold Scottish accent. ‘Then maybe I can let the others go for their lunch.’
    â€˜Back . . .’ She turned to the doors, expecting them to burst open and admit those monstrous figures into the corridor. ‘In there . . . someone attacked me in the town.’
    â€˜The town?’ His one good eye registered surprise.
    â€˜Yes, on the Whitby set!’
    â€˜Are you making fun of me, Miss Layne?’
    â€˜No, I’m trying to tell you that I was attacked. Look at my elbow.’
    â€˜You’ve got a heroic graze there, I’ll give you that. Did your assailant do that?’
    â€˜They were . . . I don’t know. Demonic.’
    â€˜And it was someone in there?’ Alec indicated the studio doors.
    â€˜Yes, you idiot. Listen to what I’m saying.’
    â€˜And in there is the Whitby set?’
    â€˜Yes. The Whitby set.’ Beth could have cursed with frustration. It took the man an age to understand what she told him. ‘There’s a long road lined with cottages called Church Street. My God, that’s a hell of mock-up. That’s big budget stuff – cottages built of brick; there are chapels, a cobbled street, even an authentic smell of the sea, but why go to that trouble for a film? Where nobody can smell any . . . Wait, where are you going?’
    â€˜To check for myself and find those men. Nobody roughs up my actors. I mean . . .’ He gave a grim smile. ‘You’ll vouch for the fact that it’s me, Alec Reed, who