The Death Collector
Read The Death Collector Online
Authors: Justin Richards
Praise for
THE DEATH COLLECTOR
“Both Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Who would feel right at home in this tale that begs to be made into a movie. A thoroughly enjoyable romp full of chases, high drama and a hint of romance in a great old-fashioned style. Simply smashing.” â
Kirkus Reviews
, starred review
“Richards makes a strong showing in this haunting story set in Victorian London. ⦠Suspense and adventure in abundance make for a thrilling read.” â
Publishers Weekly
“This thoroughly absorbing page-turner is a terrific blend of horror and mystery with three teen protagonists. It is a quick read packed with twists, turns, and just enough gore to keep things interesting. A great choice for horror fans.” â
SLJ
“This macabre tale successfully captures the flavor of the era and fleshes out the main characters' backgrounds. ⦠Young sleuths will enjoy the exciting romp through the park, the foggy streets, the sewers, the library, and the theatreâand of course they must stay for the séance.” â
VOYA
“A rip-snorter of an adventure novel. ⦠Super-fun non-literary flat-out fast-paced adventure.” â
Bookshelvesofdoom.blogs.com
“Definitely worth a read. The gothic style and dark historical setting aren't your usual 2006 whodunit fare, but you will be reminded of some great classic authors like Charles Dickens and Mary Shelley.” â
Teenreads.com
“An Industrial Age
Frankenstein
along with a Victorian version of
The Relic
and a bit of Dickens thrown in as well. Oh yeahâand dinosaurs. (I guess that means we have to include
Jurassic Park
in this particular creative soup as well.) ⦠A very creepy story that is only better the second time around. There's a lot of sequel potential in
The Death Collector
, and I hope that Richards follows up with this fascinating world he has created.” â
Bookslut.com
DEATH
COLLECTOR
JUSTIN RICHARDS
For Alison, Julian and Christian â with love
Four days after his own funeral, Albert Wilkes came home for tea.
Even the dog knew there was something wrong. He was a mongrel called Pup, although it was many years since he had last been mistaken for a puppy. Stretched out in front of the fire in the living room, Pup raised his tired head. His ears were slicked back and his mouth curled away from yellowed teeth. Paws skittering on the wooden floor, the dog pushed itself backwards panting heavily. It never took its watery eyes off the figure in the doorway.
Even the ear-splitting shriek from Nora Wilkes when she turned to see what Pup was afraid of did not break the dog's stare at its late master. Woman and dog mirrored each other, transfixed, backing away from the nightmare that walked into the room.
Albert Wilkes, oblivious to the reaction he had provoked, sat down at the small round table. Just as he had every evening for the last thirty years. He sat,
silent and still, and waited for his widow to bring him his tea.
When he had been alive, it was Mrs Wilkes who did most of the talking in the house. Albert had been content to nod and pretend to listen, to drink his tea and eat his dinner and sit in front of the fire reading until the small hours. Nora watched her dead husband, saying nothing. Yet he nodded and muttered and stared back at her through blank, dry eyes just as he always did when she was speaking.
Without thinking, Nora Wilkes had put the kettle on. Her mind and body settled back into the familiar routine to prevent it from having to accept what she was seeing. But her heart was thumping in her chest and she could feel the blood rushing in her ears. Her hands were shaking as she stroked Pup, comforting him.
Then another pair of hands reached out for the dog, reached out to cradle its whiskery head in an age-old routine. The dog yelped and backed away. Nora shrieked in fright. The spell broken at last, she ran from the room.
Hands so cold and pale they were almost blue took Pup's lead from a hook by the door. The dog cringed away as the lead was fastened to its collar. A croaky, rasping cough echoed round the room, sounding as if it should have come from the crackling fire rather than the throat of the man dragging the reluctant dog towards the door.
Nora Wilkes sat on the floor of the small back room, her head in her hands, rocking gently to and fro as she cried almost without making a sound. The front door slammed shut, and she looked up.
When all had been silent for a while, she slowly pulled herself to her feet. She edged back into the front room and looked round. The light had dimmed in the last few minutes but even so it was obvious that the room was empty. She would have liked to have dismissed the last hour as a delusion or dream â a nightmare. Except that the hook by the door was empty, and Pup was gone.
She felt hollow inside, like her heart had been scooped out and thrown away. It was worse than when she had found him dead in the bed beside her â his mouth open as if caught in mid-snore. For years he had annoyed her with the sound of his snoring, and that morning it had been the lack of the sound that had made her suddenly cold with fear. She reached for a log to put on the dying fire.
The fire threw up sparks and crackled as it accepted the wood. But before Nora could enjoy the benefit, there was a sudden loud hammering at the door behind her. Normally it would have made her jump. Now, she walked slowly to the door and opened it, not daring to think what she might find on the other side.
The figure was tall but stooping, wrapped in a dark cloak. The firelight flickered across his wrinkled features. Nora crossed herself, realising that Death himself had come back for her Albert. But then the old man smiled thinly. âMay we come in?' and his voice was quiet and kind.
The âwe' worried her. But his companion was a young woman, about eighteen years old. She was wearing a long, shapeless coat though her face was lively and pretty. The fire danced in her eyes and her blonde hair shone as they stepped into the room.
The man was talking again, his voice cracked with age. âHorace Oldfield. The rector asked me to stop by if I had a moment. You know he is away this week?'
Nora nodded quickly, though she had not known. In the better light she could see his clerical collar, and noted how frail and bent the old man was. The girl was holding his arm to help him stay upright.
