Michael Belmont and the Heir of Van Helsing (The Adventures of Michael Belmont) by Ethan Russell Erway Page A

Stoker.”
    Michael greeted the old woman.   She was rather short, and stood hunched over, leaning upon her cane with both hands.   She had a solemn face, and her blue eyes were clear and piercing.
    “Pleased to meet you,” she said to Michael in a thick Irish accent.   “Declan speaks very highly of your family.   I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”
    “Thank you, ma’am.”
    “Is everyone all settled into their rooms?” Michael’s mother asked the guests.
    “Yes, thank you, Rachel,” Declan told her.   “I tried to convince Mrs. Stoker to take the downstairs bedroom, but she insisted on staying upstairs.”
    “Stairs are one of the many enemies of the aged,” she said with eyes closed and nose in the air.   “I’ve always tried to confront my enemies head-on.”
    Liam winked at Michael and smiled.   “She really is a tough old bird,” he whispered.
    “Thank you, young man,” she said, startling him.   “I have the eyes of a hawk and the ears of an owl.   And don’t-you-forget it,” she added while shaking her cane at him.   She then walked with a surprisingly brisk pace over to an armchair by the front window and flung herself down.
    Michael’s father came in from the kitchen and handed both Mr. MacDonald and Mrs. Stoker a piping cup of coffee.
    “So how long have the two of you been working together?” Michael asked.
    “Well, Mrs. Stoker is actually an old friend of Finnegan’s.   He mentioned that she was traveling to Tarbet on business and I requested the opportunity to meet her.   I’ve been following her work for quite some time now.”
    “Yes,” she said.   “Declan was kind enough to offer me a place to stay.   McGinty Castle is quite the treat for a historian like me.”
    “Mrs. Stoker, Declan tells me you’ve been doing some research that I’d find interesting.   He wouldn’t tell me much over the phone though.”
    “Mark,” scolded his wife, “don’t start prodding Mrs. Stoker for information right now.   I’m sure she’d like to rest for a while after such a long trip—”
    “Nonsense, dear,” the old woman interrupted.   “I appreciate the sentiment, but we didn’t travel all this way for the coffee, did we?”
    Mr. Belmont smiled at his wife and winked; she came back with a dirty look.
    “To answer your question Mr. Belmont, yes, Declan has been helping me on some of my current research.   Or, perhaps to put it more accurately, we have been continuing the research.   You see, my grandfather is the one who really began it.   He was a historian too.”
    She gave her coffee a few stirs and took a sip.   “The kinds of thing we’re about to talk about, in my experience, are best discussed in person, where prying ears are less likely to take notice.”
    Mr. MacDonald nodded in agreement.
    “When I was younger, my grandfather’s work inspired me to follow in his footsteps and become a historian.   After he passed away, I gained access to some of his more, shall we say- questionable work.   Paranormal research, accounts of monsters, demonic possessions, all things that I completely rejected as the worst kind of fanciful rubbish.   I actually began to think that my grandfather had gone mad, and that I was looking at the mindless ramblings of a lunatic.   I quietly put all of this away for safe keeping, and went on with my life.”   She took another drink of coffee, and looked sympathetically at the three children.
    “I know about everything you went through last year.   I also know what it’s like to live through such experiences.   Having a somewhat similar encounter myself, my mind was changed and I returned to my grandfather’s research.   I became obsessed with it, really.   Nothing else seemed important to me, my eyes had been opened to the malevolent forces that inhabit this world, and they could never be closed again.”
    Abigail, who was seated on the couch across from Mrs. Stoker, had buried her head in her hands the