Miss Blaine’s Prefect and the Vampire Menace

Welcome to our regular feature showcasing the talents of the nation’s best writers.

Iwas in the dark, literally and metaphorically. What would happen if I moved? I might plunge to my doom or step in something unsavoury. A risk not worth taking. I stood stock-still, pretty difficult considering I was still suffering the severe abdominal pain that is a side effect of time travel.

It was pitch-black and there wasn’t a breath of air. I must be inside. But inside what? The belly of a whale? An Ethiopian underground church? A salt mine?

In the distance I could make out a faint, metallic sound, like the dragging of heavy chains, and keys turning in padlocks. I inadvertently shifted in that direction: a serious mistake. My lower calf hit something and I toppled backwards.

I fell into some sort of a receptacle. It felt very snug. Too snug. I was stuck fast. My arms were jammed down by my sides, but I could wiggle my hands. Gingerly, I began a fingertip search of my surroundings.

I was encased in wood. The sides were some eighteen inches high. It felt as though there were pieces of earth and gravel at the edges. I could do little more than scrabble at arm’s-length since I was firmly wedged in, my arms jammed down by my sides. With difficulty, and a lot of breathing exercises, I eased them up and out.

My stomach was still sore, and my head ached as though there was a tight band across my forehead. I reached up to massage it and discovered there was a tight band across my forehead. I was wearing a head torch. I definitely hadn’t been wearing a head torch a moment ago. In Morningside Library.

With a struggle, I managed to wriggle my shoulders free, lean my elbows on the wooden sides of whatever I was in, and propel myself semiupright. I switched on the head torch and almost fell back into the container as light burst all around me, and I saw myself reflected hundreds, thousands of times, to infinity and beyond.

It was a hall of mirrors. No, it was the Hall of Mirrors. In the Palace of Versailles. Squinting and blinking, I recognised the seventeen arches, each containing twenty-one mirrors, separated by marble columns, and gloriously gilded.

But something was wrong. ■