Then the answer came to him.
Because she wants The Count’s treasure!
It made perfect sense! Aunt Carolyn didn’t have enough money to keep the lodge open, so she wanted to find Count Volkov’s treasure of gold bricks. But, according to the legend, The Count wrote down the location of the gold bricks in his diary but then he hid the diary and never told anyone where it was. After that, the townspeople had chained up The Count’s coffin one day and then buried it. With Count Volkov still alive inside—
So that’s why Aunt Carolyn is having Bill and Wally dig holes all over the place, to find Count Volkov’s coffin, and that’s why they’re digging only when it’s raining, because vampires can’t cross running water—or rain! And when they find The Count’s coffin, they’ll bring it back to the lodge so Aunt Carolyn can open it and threaten to kill The Count with a wooden stake if he doesn’t tell her where the gold is buried! And after he does tell her, she’ll kill him anyway, to keep all the gold for herself, and she’ll probably kill Bill and Wally too, because vampires always eventually kill their servants, and she might also kill—
Kevin gulped as his flurry of thoughts stopped short.
She might also kill us, he thought in pure dread. Or worse, she might turn us into vampires too…
And with that terrifying idea came another thought:
Jimmy and Becky. They’re not here. So… where are they?
Now Kevin was so confused he couldn’t think straight at all now. But if he was sure of anything, he was sure of this:
We’re all in danger…
Then:
Call the police!
By now, there was no other choice. But would the police believe him? Are they going to believe a story like this from a kid my age? That my aunt’s a vampire?
Probably not, but what other choice did he have? Kevin got up then, went to the empty kitchen. His father had always taught him that in emergencies all he had to do was pick up the phone and dial 911. Then the police would come.
And that’s what I have to do now.
He picked up the phone, punched in 911, then put the phone to his ear… and winced.
Aw, no, I should’ve known.
The phone was dead. Aunt Carolyn must’ve anticipated this, and ordered Bill or Wally to cut the phone lines. There was no way to contact anyone…
Kevin supposed he could leave, just walk out of the lodge right now and keep on walking until a motorist passed. But his parents had always taught him to never take rides from strangers, and, besides, it would probably take him hours to get to a main road on foot. So he guessed the only thing he had left to do was continue with his investigation, get all the proof he could, so that when his father came back, he’d believe him.
The secret room, he thought. He planned to return, with better light. That’s what I can do now, go back there, check it out some more. There’s got to be more evidence back there.
He quickly rummaged around through the kitchen, found no flashlight. Then he went to the utility room, and there, hanging right in the wall was a big, foot-long flashlight.
Perfect! he thought.
And there was no chance of getting caught.
Bill and Wally are outside, looking for The Count’s coffin.
So at least he was safe for the time being.
Kevin flicked the flashlight on, to make sure it worked. It offered a big, bright beam of light, and that’s just what he needed. Then—
Is this really a good idea? he asked himself in a last moment of reluctance.
Then, with his heart suddenly increasing its beat, he stepped into the back hallway behind the kitchen, and approached the panel that led to the secret room…
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
It seemed colder this time, and darker even with the bright flashlight. He clicked open the wall panel on which hung the painting entitled The Count Comes Ashore. The panel creaked as it swung open, showing him the jet-black corridor. He didn’t waste time. Armed now with a bright flashlight instead of a feeble candle, he boldly strode to the door, pulled it open, and entered the secret room.
The first thing he noticed didn’t surprise him. The bloody rag he’d seen last night under the wooden table—
It’s not here now, he saw.
But of course it wasn’t. Less than an hour ago, he’d seen Bill Bitner out in the woods, using the rag to wipe off his hands after he painted the bloody cross on that forked tree.
But the rest of the room looked unchanged. Kevin swung the wide, bright flashlight beam over every corner. The room was the same as it had been last night. The box of wooden stakes was still here, and so were the two hammers, and there were a few other boxes full of cleaning supplies. But there was one thing he remembered:
The desk.
The desk was still here too, sitting against the back wall. It was a big antique rolltop desk, and the top was closed. This would definitely be worth checking out.
The desk’s top clattered as he rolled it open. Then he shined his flashlight down and saw—
A… book?
He leaned forward, tilting the flashlight. Yeah, it’s a book, he noticed, squinting down. The book lay open on the table. And it looked very old.
Kevin reached out and touched it. The pages felt thick but very brittle; he thought that if he picked the book up, it might actually crumble in his hands, and the cover, too, looked old and crumbly, like leather that was made a years and years ago. He knew he had to be careful with it, but he had no choice. He had to close the book so he could see its title on the cover.
Careful, careful, he instructed himself, slowly raising one edge of the book’s cover. The spine made a faint crackling noise, but after several long moments he was able to get the book partly closed, keeping his finger inside so he wouldn’t lose the page it was opened to. If he lost the page, he knew, Bill Bitner would know that Kevin had been in here.
Kevin squinted. The letters on the book’s covered appeared just slightly darker than the cover itself. Come on, Kevin thought. What does it say?
The first thing he recognized, right at the top of the book, was the date:
1899
So this book really was old. Over a hundred years, he thought. But below the date were letters, and these, he knew, must spell out the title.
Eventually, as Kevin focused his eyes more precisely, he was able to read the dark letters on the book cover—
—and when he did so, he sucked in a long, loud breath of astonishment.
My… gosh, he thought. He squinted harder, to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. I don’t believe it…
First there was a symbol, a fancy circle with the letter V in the middle. And Kevin remembered at once that this was the same symbol he’d seen imprinted on the collar button of The Count’s cape, on the painting he’d seen in his aunt’s room last night.
Then his eyes flicked lower, to the book’s title.
The title read:
The Diary of Count Volkov
Kevin’s skin prickled at the discovery, and then he realized what must’ve happened. Aunt Carolyn said that Count Volkov had kept a diary, but he’d hidden it somewhere, and he never told the townspeople where it was before they chained him up in his coffin and buried it. But—