The Blank Page Episode 1: Part 3
The story of the bar on The Street With No Name continues
Forward
Continuing my off-the-cuff story. I was away from home with no typewriter, but I stuck to the spirit of the experiment and wrote spontaneously, then I did minimal editing.
If you haven’t read the first two parts, there’s a table of contents:
I never intended this experiment to become a serial, so we’ll have to see whether The Blank Page continues in this vein. I may ad some other types of writing into the mix. Your comments are welcome.
Enjoy.
“I see you’re impressed by the branding,” the count said, and I snapped out of my dumbfounded trance.
“What? I, er…”
The count pointed to the bottle I was still holding. “On the label. All that guff about blood. To my mind, it’s rather fanciful. It’s a superfood shot, get over it, that’s what I say. But no, shove a bit of beetroot in it and they feel justified in trotting out a slew of poor puns and misguided bon mots.”
“Oh, I see.” Relieved, I let out a nervous chuckle. “Beetroot. Right. They almost had me there.” Recovering, I reached beneath the counter for a glass.
“Not from down there, boy. I have a tankard on the hook behind you. It has my name on it.”
I turned to study the row of gleaming tankards displayed at the back of the bar. Many of them, as you might have guessed, were decorated with, or in the shape of, Old Hollow Eyes himself. But among the various skull-based drinking vessels, I could see no inscription that included the count’s title or his first name, Drake.
The count drummed his fingers on the bar very slowly as if beating out the rhythm of a funeral march, but he seemed disinclined to help.
At last, I spotted a tankard made from some kind of dark wood, the name Drake carved on its side in gothic script. I took it down, surprised at its weight, and placed it on the counter.
“Finally,” the Count muttered. “You may pour my drink for me, boy.”
“Sure.”
I uncapped the bottle and a faint hiss escaped, the red liquid foaming up into the bottle’s neck.
“Quickly,” the count urged, “before all the vitamins oxidise.”
Tilting the glass, I dispensed the drink, making a fine job of it, and pushed the finished article to the Count. He lifted the glass, inspected it closely, then took a sip and sat in silence.
No ‘thank you’, I thought. Not one word?
The count stared past me as if he’d forgotten I was there.
“Nice tankard,” I said. “Is it mahogany?”
His gaze sharpened as it locked onto mine. “No small talk,” he snapped. “No chitchat. And above all, no gossip.”
“So what can we talk about? Sport?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you know anything about sport, boy?”
“No.”
“I thought not,” the count sneered. “A puny little creature such as you could never understand the majesty and strength of the great game.”
“Football?”
The count lifted his chin and looked down his nose at me, his expression going beyond disdain. It was as if he’d heard of contempt but taken the concept and elected to improve upon it, shaking it by the neck until it was almost dead and then revitalising it by jamming it into the nearest electrical outlet.
“Oh, you meant something more cerebral,” I suggested. “Like chess.”
“Chess isn’t a sport, boy. It’s a game. But I was referring to the one true sport: Rugby Union. Such unbridled power, such savage artistry and so much blood. And the atmosphere—there’s nothing like it. In the stands, I’ve felt a surge of energy strong enough to wake the dead.”
You would know, I wanted to say, but thought better of it. To keep the conversation going, I said, “I’m more of a gamer myself. You know, on a console. First-person shooters.”
One corner of the count’s lip curled upwards. “You, my boy, are an idiot.”
The blood stirred in my veins, and I looked over to the front door and pictured myself storming out, slamming that door shut behind me. If the count was anything to go by, the bar’s customers were going to be a nightmare. And anyway, I’d had enough of the bar with its overblown decor and its air of gloom and despondency. I could get a job somewhere else, anywhere else.
I made to take a step back, but my resolve faltered when the count broke into a bout of raucous laughter: great booming bellows that reverberated in my chest like the bass drum of a marching band.
Unsure how to react, I waited while he fought to regain control of himself, his breath becoming wheezy and tears springing to his eyes.
“Do you need something?” I asked. “A glass of water?”
He waved a hand in front of his mouth and said, “No thank you, boy. I’ll be all right in a second.”
He took a sip from his drink and wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands.
“There, I am quite restored. I’m sorry, young man, but it’s only now become clear to me that you… you…” He fought off another burst of laughter. “You have absolutely no idea what you’ve signed up for, have you?”
“Of course I have. Bar work. There was an advert and I answered it. I got the job. Was else is there to know?”
“There is always more to know. Always. For instance, just now, you imagined that you could walk out the front door, yes?”
“No.”
He wagged a finger at me. “Don’t lie to me, boy. I saw it running through your mind. Your thoughts were laid bare.”
“Okay, you read my body language, but so what? This job isn’t working out, so it’s probably for the best if I leave now.”
“Dear me, no. That wouldn’t do at all. To begin with, you must understand the permanence of your position here.”
I shook my head. “This is strictly temporary for me. I’ll be gone at the end of summer. I’m starting at uni.”
“There’s a university right here in this very room: an academy of understanding that far outreaches the grasp of any feeble-minded professor. Here, you can learn the secret keys that unlock hidden dimensions. The entire universe can be your playground, but only when you are ready.”
“This is just a bar.”
The count tutted. “Wrong again, dear boy. This place is an institute of learning. You found it because you needed it. Deep down you yearned for it.”
“I…”
The count’s gaze softened as he focused every ounce of his attention on me, and his words sparked a vision into life before my eyes. I saw myself at school, studying hard, getting good grades, doing what I was told. I was praised, I was liked, I was doing well—everybody said so. But it had never been enough. Why was that? What more could I have possibly wanted?
The count nodded wisely, and as if reading my innermost thoughts, he said, “That’s the nub of the problem. You don’t know what you need. Not yet. But if you take his opportunity, if you grasp it with both hands and both feet, if you cling to it with all your might, you will find out. I can promise you that.”
“No,” I protested, but even I could hear there was no conviction in my voice, no confidence. “I’ve got a place at Bristol. I’m going to study psychology. It’s going to be great.”
“No, that is not your path. If you don’t believe me, try walking out of here.” He sat back on his stool, his hands in his lap, an amused smile on his lips. When I didn’t move, he waved his arm toward the front door. “Please, give it a try. I haven’t seen a decent spectacle in ages.”
“Right. I’m out of here.”
I let myself out from behind the bar and marched across the room, my eyes on the door.
The sticky carpet clung to the soles of my shoes, but I carried on putting one foot in front of another.
“Bravo!” the count cried. “You’re halfway there. Most don’t get that far.”
Yeah, right, I thought. You don’t intimidate me, you crazy old man.
But each step seemed to take longer than the last. My feet were heavy, my leg muscles growing weary.
“The effect is exponential,” the count called out to me. “You’re really coming up against it now.”
“Rubbish!” I shot back. At least, that’s what I tried to say, but my jaw was clenched tight, and I needed all my energy just to lift my feet from the floor. I gritted my teeth and managed one more step, but then some invisible weight descended on me, and I could barely breathe. The door was a few paces away. Just a short while before, I’d walked right up to it and there’d been no resistance. So why couldn’t I reach it now?
“On that occasion, you weren’t trying to leave,” the count said, his tone softer, almost kindly. “Give it up, boy. You’ve tried but you can’t succeed. Give in now before the effort kills you.”
I can’t, I told myself. I must keep going.
But when I tried to inch forward, an icy darkness rose up within me, drowning my senses. It was all over. My body gave way, and I toppled backward. The last sensation I knew was the grip of strong hands on my shoulders, halting my fall. The count. It had to be the count. But whether he was saving me or dragging me to my destruction, I could not tell. The last glimmer of my consciousness winked out of existence, and there was only darkness.
—
I hope you had some fun with that.
I’ll be recording the audio reading soon for paid subscribers, so if you’d prefer to listen, upgrading is the way to go.
Thank you.