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Haunting Memories |
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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 Part 1 Chapter 1 Nick had been dreading this year and this trip for 200 years, ever since there last fiasco. LaCroix had a family tradition and a rather silly one at that. Every 200 years LaCroix would take his eldest son…which of course was always Nick, on a lengthy trip to somewhere they had never been before. Luckily, at least for Nick they were running out of places to go. Even LaCroix couldn’t think of a suitable destination and Nick thought maybe, just maybe he would get out of it for once. Unfortunately he realized he was wrong when he heard his phone start to ring. Picking up the phone he heard his master’s voice on the other end. "Nicholas, I finally found a place we have never been before. Looks like we won’t have to cancel our little trip after all!" His master said triumphantly. Groaning inwardly Nick wondered where this someplace was. "LaCroix, were are we going this time?" "A charming little village up in Maine, I believe the name is… Collinsport." "Collinsport? I’ve never heard of it LaCroix…the town isn’t very big is it?" "Uh, no. Only a few hundred people." "LaCroix! What the heck are we going to do in a tiny little town like that for a whole month!?!" "Well Nicholas, if you will let me continue I may be able to tell you. You see there are lots of stories floating around about that town and it’s founders. Seems it is a ‘portal’ for the supernatural you might say. They even have a few vampire tales." LaCroix said chuckling. "What are you getting at." "Were going to find out if the tales are true dear Nicholas." So the week after there they were making their merry way to Collinsport, Maine. Nicholas’ own personal hell, just what was he going to do to occupy his time? Nick had decided a while ago that finding a cure was futile and he finally had found peace with who and what he was (with cows blood anyway). LaCroix and he had made emends, since then however LaCroix seemed to be sticking to him like a barnacle on his hull and it was more than a little annoying. They had taken Nick’s caddy, LaCroix found it rather amusing that they didn’t just fly there but as Nick pointed out there was no real reason to rush up there. Especially if the stories weren’t true. Finally Nick watched as the small faded blue sign on the right side of the road got bigger and the name took focus. Collinsport Population: 1, 506 As they drove into town they discovered that there seemed to be only one place to stay… The Collinsport Inn. What an original title, Nick thought glumly. "Well LaCroix, what would you like to do first? Check into the luxurious Collinsport Inn or head down to the local pub for entertainment?" Nick said a little sarcastically. "Were not staying at the Collinsport Inn Nicholas." "What? Is there another place in town?" "And where may I ask is this?" "Why, the great Collins mansion. Collinwood I think they call
it." "Great" "I think it will be…perfect Nicholas. Absolutely perfect."
Chapter 2 From the distance Nick looked up at the gothic looking mansion that appeared to be abandoned. Several windows were broken and boarded, shutters were falling off and the place was completely dark. "Looks like the perfect vacation spot to me Nicholas." LaCroix said bemused. "Shall we go in?" Why not? Thought Nick, the vacation was already shot anyway. The path to the mansion that was deemed the name "Collinwood" was in no better shape then the house appeared to be. Vegetation and undergrowth had made the path almost impossible to even follow. The woods beyond them were almost completely in the dark shadows, which oddly enough gave Nick the creeps. To make matters worse there weren’t even any of the normal noises like crickets or owls. As a matter of fact there was no sign of life at all. The only noise was the gentle sound of rustling leaves as a slight breeze swept through them. Nick suddenly had the feeling that he was being watched. Looking behind his shoulder he saw nothing and shook it off. It was just his nerves he said to himself. This estate already seemed to be reeking havoc on his imagination. As they walked through the forest towards the estate the feeling of being watched became even stronger to Nick. They usually didn’t fly unless they had to…maybe they did need to fly? Looking over his shoulder again Nick caught the glimpse of a tall figure standing a little ways behind them in the trees. "LaCroix, someone is watching us." Nick whispered to him. "Yes, I feel it too. Perhaps this place isn’t as abandoned as it appears to be." LaCroix replied calmly. "Should we, uh…use a quicker way to the house?" Nick queried. "No, this person can hardly cause us much harm. Really Nicholas, letting a mere mortal frighten you so easily...""LaCroix said slightly amused and slightly annoyed. "I can’t help it LaCroix! This place…I don’t know, there is something here that is not quite right." Giving an impatient sign LaCroix replied, "I know, now didn’t I tell you I had found the perfect vacation spot?" "Oh sure. This place is probably filled with ghosts no doubt. Look at the house, you can see from here that it’s in a terrible condition!" Nick said sarcastically, following LaCroix down the path to the great mansion. Laughing silently the figure watching them stepped out onto the path. They were trespassers, they were on his property and they would pay. Yes, how right that ‘Nicholas’ was. Soon he will discover just how right and they will both regret the day they ever came to Collinwood!
Nick let out a slight sigh of relief as they spotted the main doors of Collinwood through the brush. The house couldn’t possibly be as bad as those suffocating woods after all, could it? LaCroix calmly walked up to the large double wood doors, turned to Nick and asked with amusement… "Do you think we should knock?" Not waiting for an answer LaCroix reached over and turned the knob. In response it squeaked to a stop, locked from the inside. Not a problem though, Nick thought. They were vampires after all. Trying the lock more forcefully and still failing to break it LaCroix turned around and gave Nick a very confused and rather embarrassed look. If there was one thing LaCroix did not stand for it was having his powers put to the test and worst of all, failing. "What’s the matter LaCroix?" Nick asked. "I seem to be unable to open the door. I believe it is locked." "What’s wrong with you? Just break it like you always do. Oh wait, don’t tell me you’re finally aware of the law ‘breaking and entering’." Nick said exasperated. Pushing past LaCroix he tried the door himself but to his surprise, even using all his vampiric strength he couldn’t turn the knob and break the lock. "I don’t understand it." Nick muttered totally dumbfounded. "Nor do I, It seems we are not welcome here. But I am more intrigued now then ever before." LaCroix said almost as if talking to himself. After a few more failed attempts they turned around and started their way back towards the Collinwood gates planning to go to the luxurious Collinsport Inn and get a room before dawn. Hearing a light ‘click’ and a low groan they both turned to find the front doors of Collinwood opening all by themselves. Looking at each other they figured they might as well go in. They had gone this far and they might as well go all the way. Stepping inside the mansion they found themselves standing in a large foyer. Just to their right was a staircase that lead up to the second floor of the house. Under the stairway was another door that might of lead to the rest of the first floor or the basement. Directly in front of them was a large room that appeared to be a living room or drawing room. The house was completely dark except for the bright flashes of lightning that seeped through the stained glass windows above the staircase, engulfing the house in a bright light ever so briefly. Lighting that wasn’t even there when they were outside in the woods. The darkness didn’t impair either of them however since they could see just fine without any light. LaCroix wanted to explore the basement of the house to find a good place to spend the day so Nick watched with a growing fear as LaCroix disappeared through the doorway under the stairs. Nick could feel a certain electricity in the air. There was something terribly wrong with this house. If there wasn’t why would it be abandoned and left to decay? Why would someone leave a gorgeous mansion like this still filled with furniture? Nick made his way into the ‘drawing’ room. The house was horribly neglected but he could tell that in it’s time it must have been quite beautiful. Silently he looked over several portraits hanging on the walls and wondered what had happened to the family that once lived here. His eyes fell upon a brandy glass left on top of the liquor cabinet in one corner of the room. It still had a spec of brandy in it, the rest evaporated from time. As he began to pick the glass up a loud bang echoed through the first floor of the house causing Nick to start and drop the brandy glass that broke on the floor with a piercing crack. Approaching the open drawing room doors he found the cause. The front doors of the mansion had swung shut, seemingly all by themselves. No, not by themselves, it isn’t possible. He couldn’t understand himself. He usually had no problem staying calm. What would Shanke or Tracy think if they could see Detective Nick Knight now, afraid of an old, empty house? An old empty house with doors that opened and closed all by themselves…
Chapter 3 "Good grief, listen to me!" Shaking off the fear that had managed to creep into Nick’s mind he was able to convince himself that it was only just the wind. The doors didn't close by themselves...they couldn't. Silently the figure stood in a dark corner of a basement room watching LaCroix and contemplating his next move. They could not stay here, they’re sure to cause trouble for me I know it. Frowning the figure thought about the consequences if they were to stay here now. They could cause him to come back and if they did that…no, he didn’t want to think about that. I must get rid of these trespassers or they may cause my destruction. Quietly watching with cold, dead eyes he studied LaCroix. He was very powerful and most certainly not human, that much he was sure of, neither was that younger one Nicholas. Of course he wouldn’t hold that against them the figure thought with a wry smile as he slowly dissolved from view leaving LaCroix alone in the room once again. LaCroix looked around the room. Yes, this would be perfect for them to spend the day. The room was deep inside the mansion with no windows and was completely dark. Nick went over to the closed front doors of Collinwood. He felt so childish giving into his fears so quickly. That was going to stop right now, he told himself. Gaining control he turned around and walked back into the foyer. "I think I’ll do a little exploring." Nick said out loud. He started up the stairs listening to the wood protesting with a groan as his weight arrived on each step. After making his way up the stairs and through the first door he found himself in a long, dark hallway with rows of doors on both sides. He spotted a light switch to his right and flipped it on. Nothing happened, it was still totally dark. He wondered if this house was even getting electricity anymore. After all no one was living here so why would the Collins’ family, if any were still around pay the bill? About half way down the hall he could see a closed door at the end of the hallway. Looking to his right he saw one of many doors. Deciding to take a peek inside he opened it and stepped in. It, like the rest of the house was still fully furnished with a full sized bed, desk, dresser, chair and bedside table. Walking over to the closet he opened it to reveal a wardrobe full of woman’s clothes still neatly hung. Whoever left this house was in an awful hurry not even taking their clothes with them. Closing the closet doors and walking to the desk he noticed that there was an unfinished note on a piece of blue paper with a pen sitting beside it on top of the desk just waiting for it’s owner to sit down and finish it. Turning back towards the door Nick was just in time to see a flood of light spill through the doorway. Nick ran to the door and looked into the empty, fully lit hallway. Just what was going on in this house? He looked up at the light fixture in the middle of the hall where the light was coming from. There were only two lights in it and their glass was shattered, the third was missing all together so there was no way that those were the source of the light. "Yup, haunted. I knew it." Nick whispered to himself. Glancing back into the room he was just exploring he noticed something that wasn’t there before. There on the desk sat a candelabra holding three lit candles. Walking over to it he also noticed there was now a smaller, white piece of paper sitting on the desk with a message on it. Picking it up Nick read the old fashion handwriting. "Meet me in the West Wing." Nick stood there pondering what the note could mean, where was the West Wing? He didn’t know. Upon hearing LaCroix’s voice shouting to him from downstairs Nick set down the note and went to the see what LaCroix wanted. Reaching the top of the stairs looking down onto the foyer he shouted down. "LaCroix? What do you want? LaCroix?!?" He didn’t see him. "LaCroix?" he shouted again, still no answer. Maybe he was in the drawing room? Nick walked down the stairs and stared at the closed drawing room doors. "LaCroix, come out of there. This is no time to play games!" Still there was only silence. Perhaps he only imagined hearing LaCroix’s voice? Nick went to the drawing room doors and sighed. He grabbed hold of the doorknob and opened the door, gasping as they revealed what lied within. The room had completely changed, even the furniture was different. It wasn’t dusty and dark and it certainly wasn’t abandoned like the rest of the house for there in the center of the room stood two men dressed in clothing from the 19th century. The Victorian era, Nick recalled. He had liked that time. The first man was heavy set with thick glasses and short curly gray hair. He wore black gloves and was smoking a cigar. The other man was much younger than the other and was very tall with a lean frame. He had long sideburns, dark brown hair and sky blue eyes. He wore a charcoal blue frock coat and was looking right in Nick’s direction. Though Nick was sure he didn’t see him because he seemed to be staring straight through him, looking at something else beyond Nick’s view. So, Nick decided to watch in silent awe as the unusual scene played out before him. "Now just what do you think your doing! You can’t just come barging in here and ordering people around!" the younger man said angrily. "I can and I will. I would think that you would know that by now my boy." The older man replied in a calm but dangerous voice that demanded authority. "Yes, yes, I know all to well Petofi but I was in the middle of a very important conversation with her and--" "I know very well what you were doing and your romantic adventures can wait until you have done what you’ve promised." Petofi interrupted. "Just what are you talking about?" "I believe we had a discussion earlier in your room about a problem which had to be dealt with immediately." "Yes, I remember" "Than why haven’t you done it! Instead of going out and disposing of Barnabas Collins like I asked your in here fooling around with Charity Trask! Ah, But why should I be surprised? I know you Quentin and all your weaknesses. Charity is quite attractive. Never the less you will have to forget about her until you have done what I asked." Petofi said. "Petofi, If you want him dead do it yourself! Barnabas Collins is my friend." Quentin told him sternly. "Was, my dear boy, was your friend but a friend no more. The job had better be done within two days Quentin Collins…if it’s not you will pay the price." With those last comments Petofi walked away towards the drawing room doors leaving Quentin standing in the center of the room. "I will get you for this Petofi. I swear it." Quentin muttered to himself when Petofi was out of earshot.
Nick watched as the vision slowly dissolved leaving the cold, deserted drawing room that he had seen when he had first entered Collinwood. My god, what was that? Nick thought to himself. He couldn’t just be imagining it all. It was all way too real.
Chapter 4 Slowly he backed away from the doors to the drawing room. He needed to find LaCroix. They couldn’t stay here. There were way to many strange things going on that they didn’t understand. "LaCroix…LACROIX!!! Where are you? We need to get out of here now! LaCroix!" Only the echo of his own shaky voice greeted him. Nick heard the sound of a door closing in the upstairs hallway. Could it be LaCroix? Yes, it would be just like him to stay up there and listen to him panic. Walking down the upstairs hallway Nick reached the last set of rooms, opening the doors and peeking inside he still could find no sign of LaCroix. Turning around he found the door at the end of the hall was now open when before it had been closed. Could it have been LaCroix? He had to find out. "…LaCroix?" Nick went through the doorway and made his way through the newly discovered wing of the house. This part of the house was different than the rest he had seen. As far as Nick could tell it had probably been closed for some time. There was no furniture or sign that someone had been living there like there was in the rest of the great mansion. Nick wondered if there was a reason this wing was closed or if the family had simply not needed it. Without even realizing it Nick had made his way to a large room with all sorts of junk thrown inside it. Was it a storage room? He looked around; there was an old globe, deer antlers and everything else you could think of strewn about the room. In the right hand corner was an old fashion tailors dummy wearing an old fashion suit with sideburns drawn on the side of its face. He walked over about to take a closer look when he began to hear the light sound of music. A waltz coming from the other side of the wall he was standing next to. Feeling the old wooden panels that made up the wall he found one that was loose and forced it out revealing the bottom of an old door. By tearing out a few more he was able to uncover the rest of it. Taking a deep breath he opened the door to reveal a fully furnished room. It was like looking back in time; nothing had been touched since sometime in the late 19th century. I one corner there rested a small table with an old gramophone covered in cobwebs and dust. It was playing the haunting waltz that he had heard from the other adjoining room. * He looked at LaCroix evilly, having tied him atop a large wood table. LaCroix was quite surprised to find that he was unable to break the ropes and escape. Behind the deadly glare LaCroix was giving him the ghost was positive that there was also a little fear in those piercing eyes of his. The ghost laughed at him. Yes, this would be fun indeed. Smiling the ghost dissolved from LaCroix’s view. He would come back to him later. He could sense that Nick had found the room and was quite curious. LaCroix just couldn’t figure out any of this. Why was this ‘man’ holding him captive? He had never met him before, that much he was certain of. He would remember a man like that not to mention his vampiric ‘perfect’ memory. Why couldn’t he break this flimsy rope? Why was he so easily brought to that ‘man’s’ control when the man touched him? It disgusted LaCroix; he had followed him up to the tower room like a lost puppy would follow its master. It was disgraceful! How was he going to get out of this mess? * Nick was looking over the roll top desk in a dark corner of the room when he started to get that all to familiar feeling of being watched once again. Nick turned around and found himself face-to-face with Quentin Collins. The exact same man he had seen in his vision downstairs in the drawing room. But there was a difference between this one and the one downstairs, this one had and air of evil and mayhem about him and most importantly…this one was dead. The sky blue eyes he had noticed downstairs were the cold, dead eyes of twilight now. It almost seemed impossible that this could be the same man he saw just a small while ago downstairs, yet it was. "Y-Y-Your Quentin Collins aren’t you?" Nick stammered breaking the silence that had fallen between them. Silently the ghost slowly nodded yes. "Are you the one responsible for all the weird things happening to LaCroix and I?" Again the ghost of Quentin nodded yes. Nick couldn’t help but notice the small, devious half smile that briefly crossed Quentin cold, dead lips when he mentioned LaCroix’s name. "LaCroix… have you done something to him?" Nick asked starting to feel a little worried about his master. He may not have got along with him but he didn’t want any serious harm to come to him either. Quentin gave a wicked smile and nodded yes once again, unable or unwilling to speak. Quentin just stared at Nick as he frantically tried to find out the whereabouts of LaCroix, refusing to say anything or give him any kind of clue as to where he was. "Where did you take him? Why do you want him? Please tell me!" Still, Quentin just stared with his fierce blue eyes. Nick knew that he had to get out of there. He wasn’t going to answer and there was no telling what the ghost could or would do. He made a break for the door expecting the ghost to stop him. But he didn’t, Quentin just raised on eyebrow and smirked at Nick. Nick didn’t know why and at the moment he didn’t care. He opened the door and flew with lightning speed out of the West Wing. Even so, as he stopped on the staircase descending into the foyer he could hear Quentin’s evil laughter echoing through the empty house.
Chapter 5 Nick prayed that the ghost of Quentin Collins wouldn’t follow him but as he reached the bottom of the stairs he realized that he was wrong. Right in front of him Quentin Collins had materialized and stood at the bottom of the stairs. He looked at Nick, his eyes laughing cruelly at him, taunting him. The heck with looking human, Nick thought as he sped past him with all his vampiric speed put to use, making it to the front door of Collinwood. All the candles in the foyer and entry way were lit, where none where before and the storm outside seemed to reach it’s peak. A gusty breeze swept through the lower half of the house chilling him to the bone as Nick went for the door and turned the knob. But to Nick’s horror, it wouldn’t open…and the door wasn’t even locked. He turned his back to it to find Quentin sitting in the drawing room chair laughing at him. Where could he go? He saw a doorway to his immediate left, opposite the staircase and ran to it. Going inside, closing and locking the door behind him, he took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Nick saw three doors in the hall and opened the door nearest to him. The room looked like new. ‘Oh no, not again!’ Nick’s mind screamed as he watched what appeared to be a living Quentin Collins, in all his 19th century glory walk into view and straight to a decanter of brandy. Pouring himself a glass and sitting down on a green velvet chair he took several large gulps and sighed heavily. "What am I going to do about him? He will never leave me alone, he will never let me live…never." Quentin said to himself in despair. "What am I going to do?" Nick heard such pain in his voice, how could this possibly be the same man that was playing this cruel game of cat and mouse with Nick now? There seemed to be a ripple that coursed through the air inside the room where the ‘living’ Quentin sat drinking sullenly. Suddenly, Quentin took all his attentions away from his brandy glass and looked up, staring directly at Nick standing in the doorway. "One can sense the secrets untold, beckoning to be known. But it must be left for another time, hurry and leave this house while you can." Quentin said in a serious and urgent tone. "Go! Go to the front door and leave this house." With that Quentin and the vision disappeared and as before Nick was left looking at an empty, deserted room. Deciding that he couldn’t be any worse off he approached the door he had locked only moments before. Perhaps these visions were meant to help him, or perhaps they were meant to destroy him… Finding himself back in the foyer Nick walked to the front door and turned the knob…the door still wouldn’t open. Then the music started again. Faint at first but gradually increasing in volume. Nick started pounding on the doors trying to push them down, still to no avail. Even using all his supernatural strength they refused to budge. Laughter, crazy and insane started to fill the mansion and Nick turned around to confront the ghost standing before him once again. "Leave me alone!!!" Nick screamed as the ghost continued to laugh cruelly. "Stop it! Leave me alone, please! Let me go!" The ghost of Quentin stopped laughing and silently started to approach Nick. Before he could even move Quentin had his hands around Nick’s throat squeezing with a supernatural strength that topped his own. Maybe it couldn’t kill Nick but it certainly didn’t feel good. He could see his vision beginning to narrow and fade as he was on the verge of blacking out. The ghost of Quentin smiled as his cold hands gripped his neck. Nick attempted to break free but the ghost’s hold was much to strong, making his attempts futile. He was about to black out when he saw the ghost look up in the direction of the front door with a worried expression. Just then came three hard knocks on the front doors and Quentin’s ghost quickly disappeared leaving Nick seemingly alone again in the Collinwood foyer. Taking several deep breaths to fill air back into his lungs he listened as 3 more steady knocks came from the front doors. With shaky legs Nick went over and tried the door, which opened without hesitation revealing a man with a long black coat and a hood, protecting him from the ravage storm. Nick couldn’t see his face for the hood concealed it in the shadows. "Ah good." The man said in a strangely familiar voice as he reached up and removed the hood revealing his face. Nick gasped in fear as he took in the man standing before him. "Hello." He said with a kind smile that lighted up his expressive blue eyes. "I’m Quentin Collins."
Chapter 6 Nick stared in wide-eyed astonishment at the man standing before him; he was soaking wet from the thunderstorm that continued to rage outside. Nick was in utter shock. "I’m Quentin Collins." He repeated again, a little louder so his voice could be heard over the claps of thunder. "No…NO! It’s not possible! You were just…just…" "I was just knocking on the door Mr…?" Quentin asked politely. "Knight, Nick Knight." Nick blinked several times making sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. He was a dead ringer, pun intended, to the ghost and visions that haunted the halls of Collinwood. But this man was alive, could it be the ghost playing another evil trick on him? "Ah, Nick. May I call you Nick?" Quentin continued as if nothing was wrong. "Uh, Yeah." "Good, and you may call me Quentin. I hate it when people get so formal and Mr. Collins makes me feel old." Quentin gave him a good-humored smile and continued. "You see Nick, I was in town on business when I heard in the village that there were two out-of-towners who were exploring the Collinwood mansion. I came over as soon as I heard." Quentin lowered his voice to a serious tone as his features lost any boyish look that was there before. "This house is not safe. It is not wise for you to stay here any longer." "I have arrived at that decision myself." Nick said quietly as he glanced over his shoulder, looking back into the dark and empty Collinwood foyer. "What do you mean? Has something already happened?" Quentin asked in a peculiar tone, which implied to Nick that he probably already knew the answer. "You could say that. Someone… is haunting my friend and I." Nick said to him, careful not to tell him exactly who it was that had stalked him in the halls of the mansion. Quentin’s face took on a very thoughtful expression as he cast his gaze to the floor. A crash of lightning resounded causing Nick to jump. From deep inside the mansion music started to play once again. A waltz that was soft at first and steadily increased louder as they both stood frozen in the doorway of Collinwood. Quentin’s expression turned from thoughtfulness to complete recognition as he heard the waltz play. Suddenly Nick felt himself being pulled through the front doors and out into the raging storm. Looking over he realized that Quentin had grabbed hold of his arm and pulled him out of the mansion, shutting and locking the front doors behind them. Quentin stood staring at the doors for a moment in silence. The waltz, that was his waltz. It had been so very long since he had heard his favorite tune play. He had left it all behind when he went away. He shuddered, he had a bad feeling he knew exactly what was happening but he didn’t want to admit it to himself. There had to be some other explanation. Looking over at Nick he realized that he was staring at him. "You all right?" Quentin asked him. "Yes, you just startled me that’s all. It’s been a rough night." "Sorry about that, if I could have given you any warning I would have." He told him sullenly as he took a deep breath and let it our slowly. "Nick, we have to leave. You and I are not safe on the Collinwood grounds, no one is." "Just what the hell is going on here anyway!" Quentin looked at him for a moment as if thinking of what he could possibly say. Then he began to chuckle softly. "Well if I knew that then perhaps the mystery and the problem would already be solved! But you see Nick, that is what I want you to help me with." "What, me? How?" Nick asked skeptically. He really didn’t trust this man, he could be the ghost for all he knew which at the moment, wasn’t much. "I need you to tell me everything you saw and everything you know…but not now. We need to leave." "I can’t! My friend LaCroix is still in the house. I think the ghost has done something to him." "Then you have no idea where in the house he is?" "No, but I am positive the ghost has him." "All right, all right." Quentin said as he slipped his hood back over his head. The rain had begun pouring down again making things positively dreary, giving everything a sad sense of hopelessness. As if the evening needed any help. "We can’t go back into the house again. At least not yet, we are not prepared and I don’t even know the full events of this evening yet." "But I can’t just leave—" "Listen to me, the ghost may be using your friend to lure you and possible even me into Collinwood. We would be walking straight into his trap, if you go back in there now you will be doing exactly what he wants. Come with me, we need to get out of here…now." Starting to walk in the direction of his car Quentin looked back at Nick who was staring at the large mansion with despair. Quentin could see the worry and concern for his friend written on his face. "Don’t worry Nick, we’ll come back for him when we know we can help him." With that Quentin started down the path towards both their cars, soon disappearing into the storm. Nick knew that this Quentin was right, as much as he hated to admit it he couldn’t help his vampire master. LaCroix was much more powerful than he. If LaCroix couldn’t save himself with all his power than Nick certainly couldn’t do it either, at least not without help. Perhaps this Quentin actually will help him? At this point he was Nick’s only chance, like it or not. Taking one last look at the looming mansion before him he turned around and went after Quentin. Both of them had parked their cars at the edge of the woods and Quentin told Nick to follow him to the Inn in Collinsport where they could both get rooms for the long day and night that lied ahead of them. Before jumping into his sleek silver sports car Quentin looked at Nick’s Caddy, taking a double take. "Hey, Nice Car!" he told Nick, winking. Opening the car door he sat down on the seat and put the key into the ignition. Looking up he asked Nick, "Hey… doesn’t that particular model have more trunk space than any other car made?" Nick’s eyes bulged. "Yeah, how did you know that?" he asked shocked. "Oh… I dunno. See you in town!" Quentin added quickly as he closed the car door and started up the engine. As they drove away Nick kept checking his rear view mirror, making sure the ghost wasn’t following them. He felt kind of foolish; a ghost probably couldn’t even follow them to town if it wanted too…could it?
Chapter 7 As the rain continued to pour down onto his windshield Nick thought of the mysterious man he was following in his car, the man who had showed up so suddenly. Just in time to save him from the clutches of the ghost. Could this man be trusted? This Quentin looked exactly the same as the ghost, exactly the same as the visions he had seen. He was even the same age, mid 20s…was he a descendant of the ghost? He just didn’t know, none of this made any sense at all. Looking up at the sky Nick realized that the sun would be rising soon. Luckily it was so stormy and overcast that even if he didn’t quite make it to the Inn in time he would probably be OK for the thick, dark clouds overhead would not leak any sunlight onto the tiny Maine village today. It was as if nature knew the darkness that lye within it. Lucky for him the town was not far at all so they made it to the Collinsport Inn in no time. Nick even had a little time to spare; he didn’t want to look suspicious or desperate in front of this stranger, Quentin anyway. Quentin went over to the man sitting behind the hotel’s front desk and asked for two rooms. "How long will you be staying?" he asked as Quentin took out a check and picked up a pen off the front desk. "Oh, I’m not sure. How ‘bout making it for 2 nights for now." "Sounds good" The man gave Quentin the total and he wrote out the check and handed it over. The man’s eyes bulged as he read over the signature. "Quentin…*Collins*. That’s…imp-" "Can you give us the keys to our rooms, we’re very tired." Quentin interrupted quickly, dodging from a discussion that he did not want to have. "…Yeah…here. Rooms 29 and 30." Stopping outside the door to Nick’s hotel room Quentin told him to get some rest, he would be back later to find out what had happened over at Collinwood. Sure enough, as Nick was napping a persistent knock came from his door. Nick wasn’t looking forward to talking with the man. He wasn’t even sure what he should tell him. Groaning he pulled himself off the small bed in the center of the right hand wall and went to the door. Opening it he found a smiling Quentin Collins who looked way to cheery for this early in the day. "Geez Nick, you must sleep like me!" Quentin said to him jokingly as he sat down on the edge of the bed. He pulled a small bag of chips out of his coat and offered some to Nick. "Ah, no thanks. I think I’ll pass." Nick said as his stomach ached for something a little less solid. He had a cooler in the back of his caddy with some bottles of blood. Tonight he would have to bring them in and store them in the mini fridge that hummed in a corner of his small hotel room. It would not be long before it went bad sitting outside in the cooler of his car but the weather was cool and it would help in keeping it fresh till tonight. Shrugging Quentin began happily munching on his chips. "Awfully
dark in here, can I open the curtains or—" Quentin stopped eating and gave Nick a very odd look, almost as if he was seeing Nick again for the very first time. "What?" Nick asked after a minute, uncomfortable under Quentin’s scrutiny. Giving a small smile Quentin quickly took his eyes off Nick and walked over to the light switch and flicked it on. "All right Nick, suppose you tell me exactly what happened at Collinwood last night. * The ghost of Quentin had decided what he was going to do, now that they had caused him to return he would have to alter his plans a little. Looking at the prisoner he held within the great walls of Collinwood he felt a surge of excitement course through his dead body. It had been so long since he had someone to ‘play’ with, especially a supernatural creature like this LaCroix…a vampire. ‘Just because I need to use LaCroix doesn’t mean I can’t have a little fun with him.’ the ghost reasoned as he approached him, lying still on the table in which the ghost had him securely fastened. LaCroix opened his eyes, which were glowing with rage, resembling red-hot embers burning in the night as they fell upon the image of the man long dead. The ghost raised his hand over LaCroix. "Don’t you dare to touch me!" LaCroix snarled as his razor-sharp fangs extended from his mouth. The ghost reacted with an evil laugh as he put his hand on the enraged vampire’s temple. LaCroix immediately relaxed as his fangs retracted and his eyes returned to a more human shade. Concentrating the ghost entered LaCroix’s mind, staying just long enough to plant his evil seed. Removing his hand he set his gaze toward LaCroix once again. He had quite a long day…and night ahead of him and the ghost was going to enjoy every last minute of it. *
Quentin listened to everything Nick said as a feeling of dread crept into his body. "…and then you knocked on the door." Nick concluded, ending his story of the night before. "There is just one thing Nick that you haven’t told me and that is who the ghost was. I think you know and it is important that you tell me." Quentin said with an expression that told Nick he meant business. Nick took a deep breath and looked at Quentin who was waiting anxiously for his answer. "The ghost was you Quentin." Quentin just sat there silently, unmoving and Nick waited for his reaction. After all, it probably wasn’t everyday one heard that their ghost was running amok in an old, deserted mansion. "Me? You said the ghost was me, are you sure?" "Yes, positive." "Oh if he wasn’t already dead I would kill that man for what he’s done!" Quentin shouted angrily as he hit the side of the window frame with his fist. He turned around and started to pace the room. "I never expected this, not even from him."
Chapter 8 "Quentin, what are you talking about? Why does he look exactly like you?" Nick asked anxiously as he awaited an answer. "I…uh" Quentin started, groping for words. "You see, I think that the ghost might be a descendant of mine, my great-great-great grandfather." Silently praying that he got the number of ‘greats’ right. "Well, that would be an extraordinary coincidence, even more so by the fact that he has the exact same name you do and is the exact same age as well." Nick continued suspiciously as his detective instinct kicked in once again. He didn’t believe one word Quentin was saying, the resemblance was way to close, exact to be precise. He wasn’t a Vampire, Nick knew that but he was hiding something and he was going to find out what it was. "Yes, I know. The world works in many strange and mysterious ways Nick, didn’t you know?" "Yeah, I do know. Perhaps more than you realize." "What are you saying?" Quentin asked him as he walked over to the nightstand, sat on the edge of the bed again and started rolling a pencil sitting on top of it back and forth. "I’m saying that you know more than your telling me Quentin.
Your hiding something, don’t deny it." "You’re quicker than I thought. So, let me get this straight…you don’t trust me in the least and I don’t trust you. Right? Right." "I just met you, why should I trust you? You’re a total stranger
that I just met last night under some very unusual circumstances. I’m
not in the habit of trusting perfect strangers that I just met –" "- and I don’t think you are either Quentin." "Your right, I’m not." Quentin raised his ‘brow, "But don’t forget that I saved your…life." He said to Nick in a tone that he neither understood nor liked. ‘He couldn’t know’ Nick thought to himself. However he did not
voice his thought, instead saying, "All right, you show me your
drivers license proving to me that you are Quentin Collins and I’ll give
you a chance." "Nick, I don’t have to show you anything. I don’t need you now that you have told me everything that happened to you last night." Taking a step closer to Nick he continued. "You on the other hand have no chance of getting your friend back without my help." "I don’t? I think I am willing to take my chances and I do have
my own way of doing things…it just might work." Nick was beginning to feel more and more uncomfortable with ‘Quentin’. He really had no idea who this man was and wasn’t about to take any foolish chances. At Nick’s silence Quentin gave a nervous laugh. "Well, I think we have ourselves at a stalemate Nick. I tell you what, I’ll show you my ID if you show me yours, agreed?" "Agreed." Nick reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out his wallet watching Quentin do the same out of the corner of his eye. "Here" Quentin said, handing his driver’s license over to Nick, who took it and looked it over. Taking a sharp breath he read the name that appeared on the driver’s license out loud. "Quentin Collins" Quentin smiled. "Who else? Let me see yours." Nick handed him his license. "Nicholas B. Knight…and what an appropriate last name." "Well you are allergic to the sunlight aren’t you?" "Exactly what is the condition you suffer from?" He asked suspiciously. Nick quickly searched his mind, what was it that Natalie used to call
it? Suddenly it hit him. "Hemachroama phapsia" Nick knew it wasn’t a real disease but figured Quentin probably wouldn’t know the difference. All those things sounded alike, at least to him. "I see. OK Nick, what are you going to do? Are you going to try
and save your friend LaCroix by yourself or are you going to trust me
enough to let me help?" "I have a few reasons. The first is I like you. For some bizarre reason you remind me of myself. Reason number two is if this is what I think it is…well, I know you won’t be able to save LaCroix by yourself. And last but not least…this ghost has had control of Collinwood for far to long." Quentin handed Nick’s license back and took his own, replacing it back in his pocket. Nick watched as Quentin approached the window once again and drew back the curtains. They had talked all day and it was almost completely dark once again. "What are you planning on doing?" Nick asked him, his question falling on deaf ears. Quentin stared at the moon that had just risen in the sky, his grim little hobby. Its silvery form cast a pale glow across his young handsome features, making his living form seem ghostly in itself, mirroring how he felt. He knew this time would come, it had only been a matter of time. But what was he going to do now that the time had arrived?
Chapter 9 "Quentin" Nick said, in an attempt to interrupt Quentin’s thoughts. Evidentially he wasn’t the only one in the room prone to ‘zoning’, as Schanke had said one or six times to Nick during his life as a detective in Toronto. "…Quentin!" "Oh, sorry. What did you say?" "I asked you what you where planning on doing." Quentin continued to stare out the window as he answered. "I’m going to get rid of the ghost…" he turned around and stared Nick straight in the eye. "…forever." "How?" Quentin shook his head in frustration. "That’s the problem, I used to own books that would help us, tell us how to banish the evil inside Collinwood. Unfortunately I no longer have them." Quentin said to Nick. He couldn’t tell him that he knew exactly where the books where, in the West Wing at Collinwood. "Isn’t there someplace we can find those kinds of books?" "I don’t know." Quentin sighed. "They’re not the kind of books one can find in the local Collinsport Library." Quentin knew the only way he was going to be able to get those books was to get into the West Wing, but he needed protection from the ghost first. He wasn’t going to just go waltzing into the ghosts territory without thinking… of course it wouldn’t have been the first time he had not thought before doing something but he wasn’t even going to get into that. Nick looked up at Quentin thoughtfully. "Quentin, have you ever been inside Collinwood or on the Collinsport grounds? I mean before you found me there." Quentin cleared his throat. "Only once." He lied, he couldn’t tell him the truth after all. "Did you meet the family?" Nick remembered what LaCroix had said when they first arrived. The family had left in 1969 so Quentin couldn’t possible have met them. He’s only in his 20’s now. "When was that?" "1995, I believe they left Collinwood in 1969 or 1970. I’m not sure exactly when." "To bad you’ve never lived or visited that house. It could have been useful when we return to save my friend, LaCroix." ‘If only that were true’ Quentin thought to himself. "Yes, to bad." Nick studied the man before him. He was hiding something. That much was for sure, but what? "I think the first thing we need to do is find out exactly what happened at Collinwood and when." Quentin glanced at the clock, 9:53pm. "Well. I suggest we get some rest. You can get yourself situated; you may be in Collinsport longer than you anticipated Nick. In the morning I will go to the Collinsport records office and see what they know about all this. I’m sure they are closed by now, as you will soon find out Nick… everything closes early in this town except for the Blue Whale. It’s the local pub, since you can’t go out in the day I imagine you will be seeing a lot of it. See you tomorrow night." Quentin said as he headed for the door. "All right, sounds good. See ya Quentin." Nick replied, thinking that Quentin knew an awful lot about the town considering he had only been here once. Quentin had made one of his first slips of tongue and it only served to further Nick’s suspicion. As Nick’s detective instinct kicked in he decided to make a call to Merlin, an old ‘friend’ of his with important connections. A man who had helped him ‘disappear’ and start a new life whenever it was time for Nick to move on. He was the best; an expert in the field and he could most definitely help. He wanted to do a little background checking on the man who called himself "Quentin Collins". Quentin left Nick’s room and headed for his. He was beat and needed some sleep. He had a feeling tomorrow was going to be a very bad day. Nick collapsed on the bed. Merlin would have the answers he wanted by tomorrow night. He lied there for a minute in silence. His masters bond was weakening dramatically and he prayed that he was all right. He closed his eyes and tried to relax realizing for the first time ever he actually feared for his master’s safety. He chuckled to himself, who would have thought after all they had been through that he would worry about his master. They were constantly at each other’s throats for century after century. Yes, the world was a strange place. Pulling himself off the bed he figured that before he crashed he had better get his ‘food’ inside, later tonight he would most certainly be craving it. His heart was pounding rapidly as his breathing quickened. Quentin found himself inside one of the many cells in the Collinwood basement. The door locked with him trapped inside. It was all too familiar and he knew it had happened before. ‘Don’t let this happen to me again!’ his mind raced as he grasped the metal bars in desperation. He heard the sound of footsteps approaching and braced himself for what he knew was about to come. He looked at the man as he appeared on the opposite side of the bars, free. He was around 50 years old with white/gray hair that gathered itself into a pointy widow’s peak in the center of his forehead. He wore clothes that said he was a man of the cloth but Quentin had known better. He had known the man was slime the first time he met him. Far from a man of the cloth, all he sought was money. Money and Collinwood, two things the Collins family had. Little did he know that the things he sought would give him no happiness. Collinwood never gave anyone happiness and Quentin knew that better than anyone. The man standing before him showed Quentin a smile as disgusting as he was. Oh yes, Quentin knew this man well and in all the years that had gone by he had not missed him in the least yet he could never forget him. "Trask." Quentin said with a heat in his voice that could melt the metal bars that held him prisoner to the man standing in front of him.
Chapter 10 "There’s no hope for you now Quentin and there never will be! Once I witness it with my own eyes the whole world will know what your secret is." "Let me out of here Trask." Quentin said as he stared daggers at him through the metal bars. Trask stood in front of him and smirked, revealing a gun he had brought along. Quentin knew exactly why he brought it. Trask had been wanting to get rid of Quentin for some time now because he was the only family member left that was mentally competent and who stood to ruin his plans to take over Collinwood. "It’s to late for you now Quentin." "If I ever get out to here Trask I swear I’ll…" "You won’t ever get out of hear Quentin!" "Ahh!" Quentin yelled out in agony as the real pain hit. Tearing and ripping through his insides. He started to feel nauseous and then dizzy. He held on to one of the jail bars to steady himself as another wave of pain hit throwing him off balance. Looking up through the black that threatened to flood his vision he saw Trask laughing with his gun poised, ready to shoot if necessary. The pain was horrible but Quentin knew it well. The world seemed to tilt and spin as a last fiery pain burst forth causing him to fall on the ground. Quentin opened his eyes and shot up out of bed with a start. Sweat poured off his brow, as his heart seemed to almost pound out of his chest. He tried to swing his legs over to the side, his throat was parched and he needed a drink of water but he was tangled in the white sheets that lay over him. He struggled with them as his hands shook, trying to hold back his panic as he tugged free and stumbled towards the bathroom. Entering he turned on the cold water in the faucet and splashed his face several times to wake himself up. Taking several deep breaths he started to feel calmer. ‘It was just a dream. Just a dream…’ he thought as he looked in the mirror reflecting himself. Reflecting his image… with long mutton chop sideburns. Dressed in Victorian era clothes as he looked at himself through the cold, familiar jail cell bars. "No, No!!!" Quentin cried out, covering his eyes with his hands. ‘It can’t be, It can’t be!’ his mind screamed. He had to be imagining it; he was still half-asleep. That was it, he felt awake now. Slowly he brought his hands down from his eyes and looked back into the bathroom mirror. Nothing, he was back to his normal self. No metal bars, no old fashioned clothing, nothing out of the ordinary. Letting out a deep breath he leaned against the wall. It was just a dream. Dawn was approaching and Nick had returned with his nutrition in hand, putting it in the fridge. He just hoped Quentin wouldn’t find it, blood in the mini-fridge would be hard to explain. Feeling drained he got into his pajama’s, closed the curtains to the window making sure no light could peek through and crawled into bed. He closed his eyes and tried to relax and fall asleep. Unfortunately his mind had other plans as it thought of all the problems that yesterday had brought. What was he going to do about LaCroix? Nick didn’t trust Quentin; he needed to devise some kind of plan on his own in case Quentin turned on him. At least he would know something about Quentin when Merlin called him back tomorrow night. Nick lied in the middle of the hotel room bed wondering what in the world the ghost would want with LaCroix. What was it going to do to him? Nick felt as if he was a main character in a play and he hadn’t studied his lines. There he was on center stage; the bright penetrating spotlight beaming down on him as it washes out all of his color. But that’s how he felt, as if his lines were washed away before he ever got a chance to lay his eyes on them. There was no help, no script, no cards, no prompter. Just him and the attentive audience waiting for the immortal words that he didn’t have. But the ghost, his enemy, the evil villain in this twisted play knew every line, every move and every stage direction hitting them with flawless execution. He knew his lines and he was well rehearsed. It was time for Nick to study his script. As Nick drifted off he listened to the quiet around him. The only sound was a faint wind and the light tapping of a small branch from a tree that stood outside his window. It beckoned against the closed window, pleading with Nick to open it… Quentin took a large sip of black coffee. No matter what he did he just didn’t feel awake. ‘I wish I had a brandy’ he thought to himself glumly. Morning or not, he could really use it and made a mental note to buy some today. Staring out the window he watched the ceaseless rain drizzle down onto the deserted streets of Collinsport. No one was out this early and the sun seemed as lazy as the drizzling rain as it slowly rose into the sky. It seemed to stop half way bringing only enough light to make do on this miserably dreary day. Snatching a phone book from the small desk offered in the cramped Collinsport Inn rooms he flipped through the pages and found the number of the Collinsport Records Office, he wanted to find out when they opened. Picking up the phone he dialed the number and listened to the recording that played out saying that they would open at 9:00 am. Sighing Quentin leaned back in his chair and took another sip of coffee. He was edgy and nervous and the coffee wasn’t helping. He needed something to do. Setting down his coffee he turned on the TV, slowly flipping through the channels, searching for anything that would take his mind off that dream. Nick was dead to the world as he slept like only the undead can. Perhaps if he were awake he would have caught sight of the shadow that silently entered his room and melted into the wall…
Chapter 11 Quentin found himself standing outside of the county record office. It wasn’t really an office though, just a small building on main street like all the rest of the shops and restaurants. He remembered it, nothing in this god-forsaken town ever changed. It was as if Collinsport existed in a world of it’s own, cutoff from everyone else. Once inside there seemed to be no escape, as the only signs of the outside world came and went with a flurry of speed. Those of course were the ship that came to port which was all Collinsport was really good for. Even the ships didn’t stay long though, the captains quickly unloaded their goods, had one drink at the infamous Blue Whale and then hastily retreated into the cold unforgiving ocean that was more forgiving than Collinsport. Everyone knew that once Collinsport’s long arms reached out and grabbed hold of you there would be no escaping from their iron grip. No one knew all this better than Quentin Collins, who had traveled the world over and still returned to the tiny one horse town named Collinsport. Quentin broke free of his reverie and entered the record office. Inside sat an elderly gentleman who probably ran the office since he was a young teenager. He looked to be in his mid-sixties with white hair peppered with a few remnants of its once brown color. He looked up at Quentin as the bell above the door tinkled letting him know that one of his few visitors had entered. The man looked up at him through thick glasses and smiled. "Hello there! What can I do for you?" The clerk greeted him warmly. Quentin deduced that he probably saw few people in a record office that held records of a town that no one cared about. Giving him a genuine smile Quentin thought the best way to do this was probably to get right down to business. "Yes, I was wondering if you could give me some information on a family who lived in this town around the late 1960’s." "Well I’ll try. You know we have records dating as far back as the 1800’s." Quentin got a little uncomfortable; he didn’t want records that went that far back…ever. "What family did you want to know about?" Well, here goes nothing Quentin thought. "The Collins Family." The clerk made an audible intake of breath. "Son, no one ‘round here ever talks of or asks about the Collins family, not since 1969." Slightly miffed about being called ‘son’ Quentin’s mind whirled with questions, gone since 1969? "Why? What happened to them?" he asked. "Well, no one knows exactly what happened…they
just…disappeared." "Yes, without a trace, the only person I know of who came out of
that house in ’69 was a Dr… I forget the name, but it was a
woman." "Ah Yes, that was it. She left Collinsport that same month. I’ve never seen her again, I don’t think she ever returned to Collinsport." "I can’t blame her." Quentin mumbled causing the clerk to
look up at him sharply. "Do you have any idea where she is now?" He wished to god that the clerk hadn’t asked him that and he also wished that he would stop calling him ‘son’, it bugged him to no end. "It’s Quentin. Quentin Collins." The clerk’s eyes grew wide hearing the last name Collins as he sat back in his chair. "Impossible! There are no Collins’ left!" the clerk blurted out. "Look, I don’t want to get into a long discussion about how I came to be. I am here and asking for information. Now please, can you tell me everything you know about the Collinses, Collinwood and the events that took place in the year 1969? It’s my family and I think I have a right to know." Quentin said, his patience wearing thin. "All right Mr. Collins but first I have to ask you…are you sure you want to know?" "Yes, please tell me." Quentin certainly knew that, he wasn’t surprised at the news the clerk gave him. It would be just like them to turn tail and run. "Dr. Hoffman left Collinsport then. Perhaps back to where she worked before coming to Collinsport, no one knows for sure. A year later an inspector visited Collinwood determined to learn the secrets it housed. He was one of the best when he entered the house; he wasn’t when he left. He was insane and ranted on and on about how he heard voices and saw shadows that came alive. That however was not the most disturbing part of his story. He also said he had seen those five policemen who went inside the house a year before, dead. Hanging from a large ceiling beam in an upstairs attic room. As they hung there he said they opened their dead eyes and talked to him with there dead lips, told him what happened to the family and to them. Of course the man was clearly mad but many of us here in Collinsport wonder just how much of his story was actually real. In any case, the house has stood deserted ever since. Every human who
has entered that house has come out insane or…not at all, with the
exception of Dr. Hoffman that is." "No one leaves Collinwood untouched by it." Quentin whispered, not realizing that he had said it out loud. The clerk gave him a suspicious look. "Thank you Mr…Mr..uh?" Smiling the clerk bid him goodbye and Quentin left the records office not having looked at one record but knowing everything he needed to know. His mind was filled with questions, just what did happen to the family? Was Barnabas still alive? Was Dr. Hoffman? Were any of them? Reaching the hotel Quentin stopped under the large oak tree, which made up the landscape of the Collinsport Inn, it was actually right beside Nick’s hotel room window. He stood watching the sun slowly set over the horizon pulling all traces of light with it. As the full moon appeared Quentin felt a knot in his stomach, just as he always did. The familiar gnawing sensation worked it’s way through his chest and his senses heightened as his thoughts drifted to a time long ago, where it had all began. A time long gone. A grippingly loud sound startled Quentin out of his reverie, or perhaps it wasn’t loud but only seemed so with his senses at their peak. It was like the sound of ripping fabric, only much louder and deeper. Quentin looked up just in time to see the large tree branch above him break free from the tree and start to fall straight on top of him. Quentin instinctively fell to his knees and covered his head. He had no time to run. No time to scream. He waited for his whole world to come crashing down on top of him. |
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