by R. L. Stine
I don’t scare easily. And neither does Cara.
We’ve watched a hundred vampire movies on TV. We laugh at them. We think the idea of a guy with fangs who flies around drinking human blood is funny.
We have never been the least bit scared.
But those were movies. This was real life!
We had just watched this guy — who called himself Count Nightwing — rise up from a coffin. A coffin practically in my basement!
And now he had his arms spread out and he was floating across the room toward us. Muttering about how thirsty he was. Narrowing his weird, frightening eyes at Cara’s throat!
So, yes — I admit I was scared. But not too scared to move.
“Hey!” I gasped and grabbed Cara’s arm. “Come on!” I cried. “Let’s go!”
She didn’t budge.
“Cara — come on!” I screamed, tugging her.
She stared up at the pale face of the vampire.
She didn’t move. She didn’t blink.
I grabbed her arm with both hands. I tried to drag her away. But she stood rooted to the floor. As frozen as a statue.
“So thirsty …” the old man croaked. “I must drink now!”
“Cara — snap out of it!” I cried. “Snap out of it! Please!”
I pulled with all my strength — and dragged her to the door.
As we reached the tunnel, Cara blinked and shook her head. Letting out a startled cry, she tugged her arm free and started to run.
We both burst out of the little room and ran through the curving tunnel. Our shoes clapped loudly on the hard stone floor. The noise echoed off the walls. It sounded as if a thousand kids were running from the vampire!
My legs felt rubbery and weak. But I forced myself to run.
We ran through the dark tunnel, following the curve of the stone walls. Cara leaned forward, her arms stretched in front of her as she ran.
She gripped the flashlight tightly in one hand. The light bounced all over. But we didn’t need it. We knew where we were running.
Cara is a very fast runner — faster than me. As we turned again, her long legs were pumping hard, and she was pretty far ahead of me.
I glanced back.
Was the vampire following us?
Yes.
He was close behind, floating near the ceiling, his cape flapping behind him.
“Cara — wait up!” I called breathlessly.
A yellow rectangle of light came into view up ahead.
The door! The door to my basement!
If we can just get to the door, I thought.
If we can get to my basement, we can slam the door behind us. And trap Count Nightwing in the tunnel.
If we can get to the basement, we’ll be safe.
Mom and Dad must be home by now, I decided. Please be home! Please!
Up ahead, the rectangle of light from the open doorway grew larger.
Cara was running hard, uttering a low gasp with each step. I was several feet behind her now. Running as fast as I could. Struggling to catch up.
I didn’t turn around. But I could hear the flap of the vampire’s cape close behind me.
Cara had nearly reached the door.
Go, Cara, go! I thought. My chest felt about to burst. But I ran harder, desperate to catch up. To reach the door. To leap into the basement to safety.
“Ohhhh!” I cried out as I saw the rectangle of light start to grow smaller. “The door — it’s closing!” I shrieked.
“Nooooooo!” Cara and I both wailed.
The door slammed shut with a crash.
Cara couldn’t stop in time. She hit the door. And bounced off, stunned.
I grabbed her by the shoulders to steady her. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t answer. Her eyes went to the closed door. She grabbed for the doorknob.
“Freddy —” she murmured. “Look!”
No doorknob! There was no knob on this side of the door.
With a frantic cry, I lowered my shoulder to the wooden door — and heaved my body against it. Again. Again.
Nothing happened.
My shoulder throbbed with pain. But the door didn’t budge.
“Help!” I shouted. “Somebody — help! Let us out!”
Too late.
Count Nightwing had us trapped.
He landed silently, his cape lowering around him. A thin smile spread over his pale face. His silvery eyes opened wide with excitement. His tongue darted back and forth over his caked, dry lips.
“Run past him,” Cara whispered in my ear. “Run back into the tunnel. Maybe we can keep him chasing after us and wear him out.”
But the vampire raised his cape to block our way.
Could he read our minds?
Holding his cape high, he stepped up to Cara. “So thirsty …” he murmured. “So thirsty.”
Then he lowered his face to Cara’s throat.
11
“Let her go! Let her go!” I screamed.
I grasped at his waist, desperate to pull him away.
But I grabbed only cape.
“Let her go! Stop!” I pleaded, tugging on the cape.
I couldn’t see Cara at all. I could see only the vampire’s cape and shoulders as he lowered his head to drink her blood.
“Please!” I begged. “I’ll get something else to drink! Please — let Cara go!”
To my surprise, Count Nightwing raised his head. He stood up straight and took a step back from Cara.
Cara raised her hand to her throat. She rubbed her neck. Her eyes were wide with fear, and her chin was quivering.
“Something is wrong,” Count Nightwing said, shaking his head. He frowned. “Something is terribly wrong.”
I turned to Cara. “Did he bite you?” I choked out.
Cara rubbed her neck. “No,” she whispered.
“Something is wrong,” the vampire repeated softly. He raised a hand to his mouth.
I watched him open his mouth and stick a finger inside. He shut his eyes and poked around in there.
“My fangs!” he cried finally. His strange eyes bulged and his mouth dropped open. “My fangs! They’re gone!”
He turned away and started examining his mouth again.
I saw my chance. I pounded on the door to the basement with both fists. “Mom! Dad! Can you hear me?” I shouted.
Count Nightwing paid no attention to me. I heard him moan behind me. “My beautiful fangs!” he cried. “Gone. Gone. I’ll starve to death without my fangs!”
He opened his mouth wide, showing Cara and me. He had no fangs. No teeth at all. Only gums.
“We’re safe!” I whispered to Cara.
He’s too old and weak to hurt us, I told myself. Without his fangs, the old vampire can’t harm us.
“We’re safe! We’re safe!” I cried.
How wrong could a person be?
12
The old vampire poked a finger around in his mouth, shaking his head sadly the whole while. Finally, he sighed and dropped his hands to his sides.
“Doomed,” he whispered. “Doomed. Unless …”
“Sorry we can’t help you,” I said. “Now, will you open the door and let me back in my house?”
Count Nightwing rubbed his chin. He shut his eyes, thinking hard.
“Yes. Let us out!” Cara insisted. “We can’t help you. So —”
The old vampire’s eyes shot open. “But you can help me!” he declared. “You will help me!”
I took a deep breath. “No. We won’t,” I told him. “Let us go — now.”
He floated up over us. He moved his gaze from Cara to me. His silvery eyes suddenly appeared cold, icy. “You will help me,” he said softly. “Both of you. If you ever hope to return to your homes again.”
I shivered. The tunnel suddenly felt so cold, as if a freezing wind was blowing through it.
I glanced at the door. So close, I thought. We’re so close to being safe and sound in my house.
On the other side of
the door we would be out of danger. But we can’t get there. We can’t. We could be a thousand miles away.
I turned back to the icy stare of the old vampire.
He’s evil, I realized. Even without his fangs, he is evil.
“Wh-what do we have to do?” Cara stammered.
“Yes. What can we do?” I repeated.
He lowered himself to the floor. His expression softened.
“The bottle of Vampire Breath,” he said. “Did you see it?”
“Yes,” I replied. “We found it. In your coffin.”
“Do you have it?” he demanded eagerly. He reached out a hand. “Do you have it? Give it to me.”
“No,” Cara and I answered together.
“We didn’t take it,” I told him. “I think I left it on the floor.”
“We — we dropped it,” Cara stammered.
The old vampire gasped. “You what? Did you break it? Did you spill the Vampire Breath?”
“It — it poured out,” I replied. “The room filled with smoke. We put the cap back on. But —”
“We must find it!” Count Nightwing declared. “I must have that bottle. If there is a little bit of Vampire Breath left in the bottle, it will take me back to my time.”
“Your time?” I asked.
He squinted at me. “Your clothing. Your hair. You two are not of my time,” he said. “What year is this?”
I told him.
His mouth dropped open. A startled squeak escaped his throat. “I have been asleep for over a hundred years!” he exclaimed. “I must find the Vampire Breath. It will take me back in time. Back to when I had my fangs.”
I stared at him, trying to understand what he was telling us. “Does that mean you will go away?” I asked. “If there is Vampire Breath left in the bottle, you will go back a hundred years?”
The old vampire nodded. “Yessss,” he hissed. “I will go back to my time.” But then his eyes turned cold again. “If there is any of the precious Vampire Breath left,” he said bitterly. “If you didn’t spill it all.”
“There’s got to be some left!” I cried.
Cara and I followed Count Nightwing back through the tunnel. He floated silently ahead of us, his cape fluttering behind him. “So thirsty …” he kept muttering. “So terribly thirsty.”
“I can’t believe we’re going back into that room,” I whispered to Cara as we jogged over the smooth stone floor. “I can’t believe we’re going to help a vampire!”
“We have no choice,” she replied. “We want to get rid of him — don’t we?”
My shoe splashed through a puddle on the floor. I felt cold water on my ankles. The tunnel curved, and we followed it. Into the small square room.
Count Nightwing stepped up to his coffin, then turned back to us. “Where is the bottle?” he demanded.
I picked up my flashlight from the floor. I clicked it. Once. Twice. No light. It must have broken when I dropped it. I set it back down on the floor.
“The bottle,” the old vampire repeated. “I must have it.”
“I think Freddy dropped it into the coffin,” Cara told him. She stepped to the center of the room and flashed her light up and down the purple velvet of the coffin.
“No. It is not there,” Count Nightwing said impatiently. “Where is it? You must find it. You have no idea how thirsty I am. It’s been at least one hundred years!”
He’s a good sleeper! I thought.
“It must be somewhere on the floor,” Cara told him.
“Well, find it! Find it!” the vampire shrieked.
Cara and I began to search the floor. I walked beside her since she had the only light.
She swept the flashlight up and down the bare floors. No sign of the blue bottle.
“Where is it?” I whispered. “Where?”
“It shouldn’t be so hard to find in an empty room!” Cara declared.
“Do you think maybe it rolled out into the tunnel?” I suggested.
Cara bit her bottom lip. “I don’t think so.” She raised her eyes from the floor and gazed at me. “We didn’t break it — did we?”
“No. When I put the cap back on it, I set it down somewhere,” I replied.
I glanced up to see the vampire glaring at us angrily. “I’m losing my patience,” he warned. He licked his dry lips. His icy eyes moved from me to Cara.
“There it is!” Cara cried. Her beam of light froze at the base of the coffin. The blue bottle lay there on its side.
I charged across the room, bent quickly, and picked up the Vampire Breath.
Count Nightwing’s eyes flashed in excitement. A pale smile spread over his face. “Open it — now!” he ordered. “Open it, and I will be gone. Back to my time. Back to my beautiful castle. Good-bye, children. Good-bye. Open it! Quickly!”
My hands trembled. I gripped the blue bottle tightly in my left hand. I lowered my right hand to the glass stopper on top of the bottle.
I grabbed the stopper — and pulled it off the bottle.
And waited.
And waited.
Nothing happened.
13
And then I heard a whoosh.
I nearly dropped the bottle as a green mist sprayed up through the top.
“Yessss!” I cried happily. The bottle wasn’t empty!
The sickening odor made me gasp, then hold my breath. But I didn’t care about the smell.
I watched the fog thicken, thicken until I couldn’t see the coffin in the middle of the room. Couldn’t see Cara. Couldn’t see the old vampire.
The dark mist billowed and swirled.
I wanted to cheer and jump up and down. Because I knew that Count Nightwing would disappear into the fog. And we would be safe. We would never see him again.
“Cara — are you okay?” I called. My voice sounded hollow, muffled by the swirling fog.
“It stinks!” she choked out.
“Hold your breath,” I told her. “The last time, it faded away in a few seconds.”
“It’s soooo disgusting!” she wailed.
Cara was standing close beside me. But I couldn’t see her in the waves of mist.
So damp and cold. I suddenly felt as if I were standing underwater. Standing under the ocean as wave after wave rolled over me.
I held my breath as long as I could. When my chest started to burn, I let it out in a long whoosh.
I shut my eyes and prayed. Prayed for the fog to fade, for the mist to lower to the floor and disappear as it had before.
Please, please, I thought. Don’t let Cara and me drown in this disgusting mist.
A few seconds later, I opened my eyes.
Darkness all around.
I blinked several times. A square of pale yellow light glowed in the distance.
Moonlight pouring in through a window.
Window? There is no window in this room! I told myself.
I turned and saw Cara. She was swallowing hard, her eyes wide, glancing nervously around the room. “He — he’s gone,” she murmured. “Freddy — the vampire is gone.”
I squinted into the dim light. “But where are we?” I whispered. I pointed to the open window far away, at the other end of the room. “There was no window before.”
Cara chewed her bottom lip. “We’re not in the same room,” she said softly. “This room is so big and —” She stopped.
“Coffins!” I cried.
As my eyes adjusted to the light, the low, solid shapes formed out of the shadows. And I realized I was staring at two long, straight rows of coffins.
“Where are we?” Cara cried, unable to hide the fear in her voice. “It must be some sort of graveyard or something!”
“But we’re indoors,” I said. “We’re not in a graveyard. We’re in a room. A very long room.”
I gazed up to the high ceilings. Two glass chandeliers hung down, their crystals gleaming dully in the pale moonlight.
The dark walls were covered with huge paintings. Even in the dim light, I could
see that they were portraits, portraits of stern-faced men and women in formal, old-fashioned black clothes.
I turned back to the rows of coffins — and silently started to count them. “There must be two dozen coffins in this room!” I whispered to Cara.
“All lined up so perfectly in two straight rows,” she added. “Freddy, do you think — ?”
“He took us with him,” I murmured.
“Huh?” Cara chewed her lip.
“Count Nightwing. He took us with him,” I repeated. “He was supposed to go back to his castle — by himself. He said he would go and never see us again. But he took us with him, Cara. I’m sure he did.”
Cara stared straight ahead at the rows of coffins. “But he can’t do that!” she cried. “He can’t!”
I started to reply. But a sound made me stop.
A creaking sound.
I felt a chill sweep down my back as I heard another creaking, closer this time.
Cara grabbed my arm. She heard it, too. “Freddy — look!” she whispered.
I squinted into the dim light. “The coffins!” I whispered.
They were all creaking open.
14
The coffin lids raised up slowly. I could see pale hands pushing them up from inside. Creaking, the lids swung open, then stopped.
Cara and I huddled together, unable to move. Unable to take our eyes off the terrifying sight.
I heard low moans and groans as the vampires sat up. Bony hands gripped the sides of the coffins. I heard coughing. Dry throats being cleared.
The vampires pulled themselves up slowly. Their faces were yellow in the moonlight. Their eyes gleamed dully, a pale silver.
“Ohhhhhhh.” Groans echoed off the high walls. Bones creaked and cracked.
They looked so old. Older than the oldest people you see on the street. Their skin appeared so thin and was wrapped so tight, you could see the bones underneath.
Living skeletons, I thought. Their ancient bones snapped as they moved.
“Ohhhhhh.” They pulled themselves up. Legs, thin as spider legs, reached over the coffin sides.
Cara and I finally moved. We backed into the deep shadows against the wall.
I heard more coughing. Near the window, a white-haired vampire leaned over the edge of his coffin, making ugly choking sounds.
