The Czech is in the Mail
It’s been awhile since I’ve posted fiction on this substack. This one’s a bit of humorous gothic horror (apparently that’s a thing!). It features the main characters, Nevine Turner (an inadvertently time-traveling Rhode Island orphan) and Xanthe Halruaa (her Czech scientist mentor) from my book The Secrets of Grimoire Manor. If you enjoy the short story, do consider picking up a copy of the book on Amazon or whereever.
1888, Prague.
“That stupid wombat-demon just ruined my winter dress!” cried Nevine Turner as she looked down at the green stain spreading across her mid-section. She had no sooner come through the front door at Václavské nám. 431 when the little fur-ball had sneered at her and then had sneezed the vilest spray of sinister foam she had ever seen…or felt as the case might be. What she had first mistaken, quite to her disadvantage, as a stuffed toy had then scampered off with a mirthful laugh up the stairs and to the upper floors.
Her mentor, the beautiful, brilliant and slightly-out-of-touch-with-reality Xanthae Halruaa winked at her and said with her deep Czech accent, “In war, there must be casualties,” she wrinkled her nose at the goo, “Wow; you don’t smell well at all.”
Nevine frowned, “I don’t smell good!”
“No,” Xanthae nodded, “you don’t.”
The owner of the house, a middle aged man with a balding head and much stressed expression guided them inside his front parlor. He made no motion to relieve Nevine of the heavy cylinder that she carried, a cylinder which naturally had avoided deflecting any of the rancid sputum the demon had hurled at her. He began prattling off words rapid fire in Czech. Some of these Nevine knew, having been taught by her mentor, Xanthae, but not enough to catch the entire conversation.
Xanthae put up her hand to stop him, “Mr. Zabloudil, please in English, which I know you can speak. Here, my assistant,” she motioned graciously to Nevine who in turned tried her best to curtsey while holding a twenty-pound tube, “is from America and speaks Czech only a little.”
This distracted Mr. Zabloudil just a minute from his anxiety, looking at Nevine as if she were from Mars, “How ever did you get an American girl?”
Xanthae shrugged, looking like she had an exclusive sample of the latest fashion, “It is a story too long to tell. We have received your summons and are here to rid you of your demon.”
“Yes, yes, Dr. Halruaa” the man said, still looking at Nevine like she might grow wings and fly about the room, “Well, saw you it coming in. I understand that your reputation…”
She waved him away, looking modest, “Yes, they say I am the finest ghost hunter in all of Prague,” that she was the only ghost hunter in Prague she left unmentioned, Nevine observed, “and Nevine, despite being American, is quite a brilliant assistant, I assure you. You said how much you would be paying us again?”
“Three hundred Gulders,” the man said.
“We should haggle,” Nevine whispered up to her mentor.
Xanthae looked at her with a frown and said, at full volume, “What means ‘haggle’?”
Mr. Zabloudil had his arms crossed, “It means that you’re supposed to convince me to pay you more.” Nevine buried her face in the palm of her hand.
“Oh, well,” Xanthae said, “We’ll do it for three hundred gulders and consider it a charitable contribution to the community. Tell us how you came to have a demon in your home?”
“Well, eh…” the man looked uncomfortable, and watching him, Nevine could guess why. Sure enough he had joined a spiritualist group, and through them he had learned a few things about summoning spirits. In the process of practicing…well…all had not gone well. Nevine focused on not letting the tube that weighed one-third of her own weight topple her over, while Xanthae went on one of her lectures. Ten minutes of moralizing boiled down to, “It’s naughty to summon demons.” Normally Nevine would have listened anyway as she greatly admired and liked Xanthae, but for the moment trying not to get crushed took all her attention.
The man finally noticed the tube and looked at it with a curious expression, “That thing is for hunting the demon?”
Xanthae nodded and smiled, tapping the barrel of the tube and nearly sending Nevine into a spin in the process, “This is my own invention, a rapid-recharge electromagnetic burst machine. Demons hate them.”
The man looked quite impressed, “And works well it does, whatever it is?”
Nevine exchanged a glance with Xanthae, and this time it was Nevine who spoke up, “It depends on what you mean by ‘well’. Keep your expectations low and you’ll be very happy with us, Sir.”
The man looked confused and concerned, but Xanthae ushered Nevine out of the parlor and up the stairs where they had seen the fell beast retreat. The bottom of the big tube plunked up against each step as Nevine ascended. To her credit, Xanthae at least carried the case with their two recharge packages for the machine, although these each only weight two pounds. Although Xanthae had tried to explain it, Nevine still wasn’t sure quite how the thing worked, other than that you didn’t want to be in front of it, demon or not, when it fired. Above them, somewhere in the house, they could hear the little infernal being laughing manically and throwing things.
Once they were on the landing and out of view of Mr. Zabloudil, Xanthae stopped and hunched down beside Nevine, “Alright then, we need a plan. I think we’re going to have to try to coax it out into the open somehow. Then you can get a good shot at it with the EMB machine.”
“Me?” Nevine asked, considering herself not nearly enough beyond the ‘running with scissors’ age to be operating so powerful a weapon.
“I thought that you wanted more responsibility. Besides, it’s quite preferable to being the bait.”
Xanthae did have a point there, Nevine decided, “Alright, but how are we going to lure it out into the open.”
“Easy,” Xanthae proclaimed, “A demon has a big ego and can’t resist answering a challenge! And if that doesn’t work, I’m given to understanding that they are attracted to the recitation of Latin.”
“I don’t think I present much of a challenge to a demon.”
“Well, that’s just one more reason that you get to hold the big gun,” Xanthae patted her on the head, “now there’s one thing I should mention above and beyond all else. Whatever you do, under no circumstances should you point the EMB machine at me. Let us say for instance that the, as you call it, wombat-demon jumps on my head and I begin screaming for Holy Mercy. You may be, in such a moment, tempted to think that aiming the EMB machine at me would ease me of the burden of having my eyes clawed out. I assure you that you would be most mistaken and that blasting me with that thing, wombat on my face or no, will be met with the sternest reprimand.”
“I understand, Dr. Halruaa.”
“Very good,” Xanthae proclaimed, “Now should we begin. We have bills that three hundred gulders would pay nicely.”
Mindful of the demon’s babbling and destructive play sounds, Nevine and Xanthae found themselves a nice long reading room that would allow Nevine a good angle to shoot the creature. There was a broad stain-glass window, which let in a good amount of light for them to see. She settled the barrel of the EMB machine on the arm of a fluffy sofa and Xanthae positioned herself in the open, in full view so as to drawn forth the monster.
Then Xanthae called out to the fell beast in her most commanding voice, “Hear this, minion of Hell! It is I, Xanthae Halruaa, professor of physics and ghost hunter and in me you have met your match!” She sounded confident, but then looked over at Nevine and shrugged.
The demon’s self-satisfied carrying-on stopped however, and after a second they could hear the scampering of little claws on wooden floors as it quickly approached. Then there was a little shadow in the room and the air felt colder by just a touch. Nevine could see a trace of movement in the far corner of the room, although not yet enough to be sure of her shot.
A soft and gravelly voice whispered, “We have come as called, Xanthae Halruaa.” The sound of the voice, so filled with malice, raised goose bumps on Nevine’s arm.
Xanthae cleared her throat, “By what name you are called? I demand to know whom I am addressing!”
The little demon chuckled and said, “We are Dantalion, Duke of Hell. You’ve come to send us back, but if you just let us stay, we can grant you all manner of gifts. We can grant you the love of any man you choose; we can bring you to any location on Earth, we can give you the most secret of your heart’s desires that only you and we know. We can teach you the secrets of any science, be it astronomy, biology, geometry…”
“A geometry teacher,” Nevine whispered, gripping the heavy tube desperately, “now we’re sure it’s from Hell.”
“Shh!” said Xanthae.
“…we can give you the wisest of counsels as we know the thoughts of all men and women,” Dantalion purred, though its soft voice always sounded something like a sneer.
“Enough with your promises, Hellion!” Xanthae was sounding her regal best, “I demand that you step forward and show yourself!”
“As you wish, mistress!” the monster cried and with a horrid screech it rushed forward out of the shadows, its claws clicking across the floorboards as it made a mad dash for Xanthae. Its intention, to claw out Xanthae’s throat, was unmistakable. It moved so quickly that it looked only like a two-foot mound of brown fur, whisking its way across the floor and Nevine could make out no other feature. She struggled to track it with the EMB machine, swinging the heavy barrel around on the arm of the sofa so she could get a good shot. Nevine got her right hand up along the top of the barrel where the trigger lever was that would release the electromagnetic burst. The burst should (according to one of Xanthae’s theories) break the demon’s hold on the material world and send it back to Hell.
“She tricked us!” Dantalion screamed, seeing Nevine. All of a sudden the horrible little beast stopped and stood still in the center of the floor. Now Nevine could see it much better. Indeed her first impression had been a good one; it looked very much like a small wombat. Its body was all plump and fuzzy with little round ears, a black nose and tiny little sharp teeth. It fixed big, white eyes on Nevine and in that moment it looked like the saddest creature on Earth. Nevine’s fingers hesitated on the trigger.
“Don’t kill us, kind girl!” the little wombat begged, its snout quivering, its eyes becoming wider still as a single tear went down one of its fuzzy cheeks. “We will be very good, we promise!”
Nevine gulped, how on Earth could she shoot this poor little critter? Why, it looked so sad and lonely. They must have misunderstood it altogether. Nevine wanted nothing more than to put down the tube and go snuggle the little fellow.
“Nevine!” Xanthae’s voice cut through the fog that had entered Nevine’s mind, “What are you doing! Shoot the accursed thing! Remember your winter dress!”
As Nevine snapped out of it, Dantalion lept into the air, snarling, now all fangs and teeth. He was like a little ball of violence intent on descending upon Nevine. Panicking, she got the muzzle of the EMB machine up into the air as quickly as she could and fired off a blast at the demon. There was a deafening explosion, and an unpleasant current went through her arms.
She didn’t realize that she lost consciousness, but she came to a few seconds later flat on her back. Xanthae stood just above her, urgently trying to beat out the little fire that had erupted on the arm of Mr. Zabloudil’s sofa. Mixed in with the tendrils of smoke were currents of fresh, even crisp air.
“Did we get it?” Nevine asked, pushing herself up to a sitting position.
“If you mean Mr. Zabloudil’s priceless stained glass window,” Xanthae put out the last of the flames, “well, then yes, we sure taught that piece of ornamentation a thing or two.” Ah, thought Nevine, looking around and seeing a three foot diameter hole in the wall opposite where she had been stationed, that would explain the fresh air.
Xanthae fixed her with a stern glare, hands on hips, “On the other hand you’ll be quite pleased to learn, I’m sure, that Dantalion was quite unharmed by your shot and has scampered away to safety.”
Nevine held her hands up helplessly, “You never told me that demons could be so…cuddly.”
“Yes, well…” Xanthae removed the spent charge from the back of the EMB machine, and loaded in one of the spare charges, “If you’ve learned a lesson today about the deceptive cuddliness of demons be sure to consider it for men as well. It applies to both species.”
“Everything is alright up there?” Mr. Zabloudil called from below, “I thought that I heard a crash.”
“Oh no,” Xanthae reassured him, “Everything is going quite swimmingly! We practically have the monster in the bag!” To Nevine she said, “It knows how we are armed. We should need to be much cleverer to catch it now!”
“Well,” gulped Nevine, hardly believing she was saying this, “Dantalion thinks I’ve got the EMB machine now. To trick him, I think that I should be the bait this time. Besides I know a little Latin.”
“Do you?”
“A poem I had to learn when I was in school in Newport,” Nevine explained, surprised the darned thing might actually come in use. Who knew that Latin poetry had practical value? “You did say demons are attracted to Latin.”
“Did I?” Xanthae wore an unhappy expression, “I am really not pleased with the thought of putting you into harms way.”
“Well I almost set myself on fire with the EMB machine. How much more at risk could I be?”
Nevine knew she had a point and her argument won the day. At last they clambered up another set of stairs following the sounds of Dantalion’s frolicking. Xanthae even carried the EMB machine this time. They followed the pit-patter of clawed feet and mischief up into the attic, a cold dark room lit only by small windows. The natural disarray of the items stored here had been exacerbated by the demon’s antics. Xanthae set herself up on a big wooden chest, the EMB ready to fire.
Feeling nervous, Nevine stepped into the center of the attic. She couldn’t see Dantalion but she could hear his frenetic naughtiness somewhere in the big room. Nevine summoned up all her courage and proclaimed loudly, “Alright you stupid marsupial, I’ve got you cornered now!” As soon as she said this, the frantic activity in the room stopped, but still there was no sign of Dantalion. It seemed that the creature was not so eager to show itself once again, having learned its lesson the first time.
“Come on Dandelion! Are you afraid of a little girl?” Nevine taunted, but still there was no reply. Nevine turned helplessly to Xanthae, wondering what to do.
“Try the Latin,” Xanthae whispered, barely visible behind the trunk and the long barrel of the EMB machine.
Nevine cleared her throat, and tried to remember the poem (she had been made to write it over and over and punishment for some infraction and didn’t really know what it meant). “Nerine Galatea, thymo mihi dulcior Hyblae, candidior cycnis, hedera formosior alba.” She paused, looking around uncertainly. There was no noise, only silence from Dantalion.
“Wow, that was terrible. No wonder demons like it,” Xanthae groaned, “Love poems to sea-nymphs.” She shook her head.
“I don’t even know what it means!” Nevine hissed.
“Trust me, you’re better off,” Xanthae shook her head, “Keep at it though, it might work. Demons have a thing for Virgil.”
Nevine thought hard, trying to remember the rest, “Cum primum pasti repetent praesepia tauri, si qua tui Corydonis habet te cura, uenito.”
A heartbeat passed, and then there was a little scampering in one of the corners and out from the shadows emerged the foul little fluff ball. Dantalion’s eyes were wide and he rubbed his nose, sniffling a little. “That was beautiful, our sweet little girl. Come, won’t you recite some more for us? It is so seldom that we hear the classics recited in such a beautiful voice.”
Behind the chest, Xanthae tensed. Nevine could see that Dantalion needed to come out just a little further for Xanthae to have a good shot. Nevine didn’t know any more though, that was it. She had been forced to write that same bit over and over again, but didn’t know what came next. She seemed to remember copying it out of a book and some other character recited the next lines she thought.
“Dantalion,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, “shouldn’t you play the next part?”
Dantalion’s mouth opened as if in surprise and he said, “Us, you think us good enough to recite Virgil? We would be so honored!” The little wombat propped himself up on his hind legs and stood, one hand on his heart, the other outstretched toward Nevine.
He began to recite, “Immo ego Sardoniis uidear tibi amarior herbis…”
“If I wasn’t seeing this with my own eyes…” Xanthae whispered softly.
Dantalion’s voice cut through the air, loud and crisp, emotion running through every word, “Horridior rusco, proiecta uilior alga…” Playing some dramatic part, the little wombat took several dramatic steps into the center of the attic, one arm over his forehead, emoting feverishly.
Xanthae blasted him.
A massive explosion split the room, and Nevine was momentarily blinded and felt the air sucked out of her lungs. She was flung backward and felt herself slam into a pile of boxes and go tumbling. She reached out frantically to right herself and as she struggled to breathe she smelled ozone in the air. For a moment her ears rang, and her eyes could see only splotches of white and blue lights before her senses finally began to clear. When they did she found that the room was filled with small bright red, green, yellow and blue feathers that were still swirling and falling about in the currents of air within the attic. A layer perhaps three inches thick covered everything in the attic and it was difficult to see with all the feathers in the air.
Xanthae pulled herself out of a massive pile of feathers, still holding the EMB machine. “Well,” she grumped, “that wasn’t what I was expecting.”
Nevine rushed over to her, and they examined each other to be sure that neither was seriously wounded. Nevine embraced Xanthae, thankful for her mentor’s arms around her and that neither of them had been hurt.
Although as surprised as Xanthae by the sudden influx of feathers, Nevine felt great relief, “So we actually got Dantalion! We’ve sent his hairy little butt back to Hell.”
Xanthae brushed herself off, a futile gesture as feathers still were everywhere, “So it would seem.” As she said this however, there was movement in the center of the room, from under a great pile of feathers. Nevine and Xanthae both stopped and stared at this, dismayed that their quarry might have survived. At last, however, what pulled itself out of the cluster of down was not Dantalion, but rather a beautiful Siamese cat, quite unremarkable aside from the likelihood it had just arrived through the same portal between Earth and Hell that Dantalion had been sent back through.
“Huh,” was all Xanthae could say.
The Siamese came up to Nevine and brushed itself up affectionately against her leg. Nevine couldn’t help herself; she reached down and plucked the cat up into her arms. As she scratched the critter’s ears it began to purr.
“Now, Nevine…” Xanthae began.
“Can we keep him?” Nevine asked, forgetting the day’s events and the circumstances of the cat’s arrival.
Xanthae put her hands on her hips, “That cat just came from Hell! For all we know he might be a Warduke in command of a thirty legions of angry fiends!”
As Xanthae spoke, the Siamese playfully swatted at a feather that floated by.
“Pullleeeeeaaaase?!”
Xanthae shook her head in obvious disbelief, “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but he can stay so long as you feed him and take care of him. And if he tries to turn me into a toad, even just the once, he’s out. Agreed?”
“He’ll behave!” Nevine promised and the Siamese licked her face affectionately.
“Here, put him in this bag for now,” Xanthae instructed, handing over a bag she found in the attic, “It will look like we’re hauling Dantalion out for disposal and greatly impress Mr. Zabloudil. Speaking of whom, let’s be sure that we collect our three hundred gulders before we mention the stained-glass window or all the feathers, shall we?”
On the walk home, Xanthae looked at the purse in her hand, rich with three hundred guilder. She said to Nevine, “Once word of our great success with Mr. Zabloudil’s demon leaks out, we’ll need three of each of us to meet the demand. I wonder if we’ll have time to keep doing physics? We perhaps will need a larger building from which to operate. What you do think?”
Behind them came an anguished cry that Xanthae seemed not to notice. Nevine turned back from where they had come and, in the distance, could see Mr. Zabloudil silhouetted in the three-foot gash in his house. The words he screamed only just carried to her ears on the breeze. They were in Czech, but they were words she had learned to recognize. “I wouldn’t pack our bags just yet, Dr. Halruaa.”