CONTENTS

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Epub ISBN: 9781448188932

Version 1.0

This edition first published in 2017
by Andersen Press Limited
20 Vauxhall Bridge Road
London SW1V 2SA
www.andersenpress.co.uk

First published in Great Britain in 1982
Originally published in German as Der Kleine Vampir
by Rowolht Taschenbuch Verlag, Germany in 1979

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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.

The right of Angela Sommer-Bodenburg and Amelie Glienke to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

Text copyright © Angela Sommer-Bodenburg, 1979
Inside illustrations copyright © Amelie Glienke, 1979
This translation © Andersen Press, 1982
Cover illustration reproduced with kind permission
by Icon Film Distribution

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data available.

ISBN 978 1 78344 576 9

CHAPTER ONE
The Thing at the Window

It was a Saturday evening, the night when Tony’s parents always went out.

‘Where are you off to tonight, then?’ Tony wanted to know that afternoon. His mother was in the bathroom, busy with her hair-curlers.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I expect we’ll have something to eat, and then perhaps go dancing.’

‘What do you mean, perhaps?’ asked Tony.

‘Well, we haven’t decided yet,’ explained his mother. ‘Is it that important for you to know?’

‘No-o,’ mumbled Tony. He thought it better not to tell her that he wanted to watch the thriller on television, which started at eleven o’clock. But it was too late: her suspicions were already aroused.

‘Tony,’ she said sternly, and turned round so she could look him straight in the eye. ‘I hope you are not planning to watch something on television?’

‘Oh, Mum,’ protested Tony, ‘what on earth gives you that idea?’ Luckily, his mother had turned back to her curlers and so she did not see how red his face had gone.

‘We might even go to the cinema,’ was all she said. ‘In any case, we shan’t be home before midnight.’

So now it was evening, and Tony was alone in the flat. He lay in bed in his pyjamas, with the sheet drawn up to his chin, reading The Truth About Frankenstein. The story was about a travelling show. A man in a flowing black cloak had just come on the stage to announce the appearance of the monster. Suddenly, the alarm clock went off. Tony looked up from his book, frowning at the interruption. Crikey, eleven o’clock already! He just had time to switch on the television.

Tony jumped out of bed and pressed the switch. Then he snuggled back beneath the covers and watched as the picture slowly took form on the screen. It was still only the Sports Programme. His room was shadowy and dim; King Kong glowered down from the poster on the wall, his sneer exactly suiting Tony’s mood. He felt wild and adventurous, as though he were the only survivor of a shipwreck, stranded on a South Sea island surrounded by sharks. His bed was his hide-out, soft and warm, and whenever he wanted to, he could creep in there and be hidden from sight. A heap of provisions lay at the entrance of this den, in fact the only thing missing was a keg of rum. Tony thought longingly of the bottle of apple juice in the fridge; the trouble was, in order to get it, he would have to cross the darkened hallway. Should he swim back to the ship? Braving the blood-hungry sharks which were lying in wait for their prey? Tony shivered. But the fact remained that castaways more often died of thirst than of hunger!

So, bravely, he set off. He hated the hallway; the light was permanently broken, and no one bothered to mend it. He hated the coats dangling in the wardrobe, looking like corpses. And then there was the hare! He thought with horror of the stuffed animal in his mother’s workroom, even though he had enjoyed frightening other children with the thought of it. At last, he made it to the kitchen. He took the bottle of apple juice out of the fridge and sliced off a large chunk of cheese while he was about it. All the time, he had half an ear cocked to the other room to make sure the thriller had not begun. He heard a woman’s voice announcing the start of the film. Tony tucked the bottle under one arm and hurried back.

However, he had not gone far, just into the hallway, when he noticed that something was not quite right. He stood still and listened … and suddenly it dawned on him what was wrong: there was silence from the television! That could mean only one thing: someone must have slipped into his room and turned it off! Tony could feel his heart miss a beat and then thud as if it had gone mad, and a strange lump seemed to move from his tummy to his throat and stick there. Terrible pictures appeared before his eyes, pictures of men with stocking masks, knives and guns, who broke into empty flats at night to steal, and who would allow no one to stand in their way. Tony remembered that the window had been left open, and a burglar could easily have climbed in over the next door balcony. All of a sudden, there was a crash! The apple juice bottle had slipped from under Tony’s arm and had rolled across the hallway, coming to rest by the bedroom door. Tony held his breath and waited … but nothing happened. Perhaps he was just imagining all this nonsense about burglars? But if that is the case, why had the television stopped?

He picked up the bottle, and inched open his bedroom door. The first thing he noticed was an extraordinary smell, musty and mouldering like something in the cellar, but like burning as well. Was it coming from the television set? Tony quickly pulled the plug out from the wall. Perhaps the flex was smouldering.

Then Tony heard a strange rattling, which seemed to come from the window. He thought he could make out a shadow behind the curtain, outlined against the bright moonlight. Very slowly, with knees knocking, he forced himself nearer. The strange smell grew stronger, as if someone had been burning a whole box of matches. The rattling was getting louder too. Suddenly Tony stood rooted to the spot. On the windowsill, in front of the blinds which were moving gently in the night breeze, a Thing was sitting watching him. Tony thought he would faint with horror. Two small, bloodshot eyes gleamed at him from a deathly pale face framed by tangled hair, which hung in tendrils down to a grubby, black cloak. The figure opened and closed its gaping mouth, grinding its teeth in a most terrifying manner, and Tony noticed that these teeth were extremely white, and pointed like daggers. Tony’s hair stood on end, and his heart practically stopped beating! The Thing at the window was worse than King Kong, worse than Frankenstein’s monster, worse than Dracula even! It was the most hair-raising apparition Tony had ever seen!

The Thing seemed to enjoy seeing Tony frightened out of his wits, because it drew its enormous mouth back into a dreadful grin to reveal its needle-sharp, widely spaced teeth more clearly.

‘A vampire!’ gulped Tony.

And the Thing answered in a voice that seemed to come from the bowels of the earth: ‘But of course I’m a vampire!’ It sprang into the room and stood firmly in front of the door. ‘Are you afraid?’ it asked.