by R. L. Stine
“So thirsty …” I heard one of them whisper.
“So thirsty … so thirsty …” others repeated.
They lowered themselves from their coffins, stretching and groaning.
“So thirsty … so thirsty …” they chanted. Their voices were dry and raspy, as if their throats were sore, as if their voices were only air.
They were all dressed in black. Formal black suits. White shirt collars stiff and high over their chins. Some of them wore long shiny capes. They adjusted their capes with bony white fingers, sweeping them back over bent, skinny shoulders.
“So thirsty … so thirsty …” Their silver eyes glowed brighter as they began to wake up.
And then, standing in the aisle between the two rows of coffins, they began to flap their bony arms. Slowly at first. Their arms creaked as they pulled them up, then down.
The silver eyes glowed in the pale, old faces.
Up, then down. Up, then down. They flapped their arms faster, groaning and grunting. The sound echoed off the walls and the high ceiling.
Flapping faster now. Flapping. Flapping.
And as Cara and I gaped in amazement, the sickly, groaning old men began to shrink. The flapping arms became the flutter of black wings. The red eyes glowed from rodentlike faces.
In seconds, they shrank and transformed. They all became fluttering black bats.
And turned their red eyes to Cara and me.
15
Did they see us?
Could they see us in the deep darkness, our backs pressed against the stone wall?
The bats fluttered up over the open coffins. Their flapping wings glistened, silvery in the moonlight.
I heard a rattling, like the warning sound of a snake. But the rattling quickly became a hiss.
The bats opened their mouths, revealing pointed yellow fangs — and hissed. What a sound! A shrill, angry whistle that rose higher, higher, until it drowned out the patter of their fluttering wings.
A hiss of attack.
They were awake and ready now. Ready to swoop at me, to knock me to the floor, to dig those pointed fangs deep into my skin. And drink … drink …
“Freddy!” Cara cried. She raised her hands in front of her to shield her face. “Freddy!”
The shrill hissing surrounded me. Seemed to be coming from inside my head. I covered my ears, trying to shut it out.
Covered my ears. Watched their red, glowing eyes — and waited for the attack.
But to my shock, the hissing bats didn’t swoop toward us.
They fluttered up, up. Turned. And flapped in a line out the open window at the other end of the room.
My mouth hung open. I realized I had stopped breathing.
I watched them fade into the moonlight, shiny wings fluttering rapidly, the shrill hissing fading with them.
Then I took a deep breath and slowly let it out. “Cara,” I whispered. “We’re okay. They didn’t see us back here.”
She nodded but didn’t reply. A thick strand of her black hair had become matted to her forehead. She brushed it back with a trembling hand.
“Wow,” she murmured, shaking her head. “Wow.”
“We’re okay,” I repeated. My eyes checked out the long room. The open coffins stretched to the window. Their dark wood gleamed in the moonlight. Their long shadows crept along the floor.
“We’re okay now,” I repeated to Cara. “We’re all alone.”
Footsteps behind us made us both cry out.
I heard a throat being cleared.
I spun around so hard, I nearly toppled over.
Count Nightwing strode into the room, carrying a flaming torch. The torchlight flickered over his smooth face. His silvery eyes were wide with surprise.
“What are you two doing here?” he demanded.
I opened my mouth to reply. But a sputtering, choking sound was all I could force out.
“You do not belong here,” the old vampire boomed. He waved the fiery torch in front of him. It left a trail of orange light as he swung it. “You have no right to be here. This is my time. And this is my castle.”
He floated off the floor. His eyes suddenly glowed as brightly as the torch flame. “You do not belong here!” he repeated menacingly.
“But — but —” I stammered, frightened and angry and confused all at the same time.
“But you brought us here!” Cara protested angrily. She waved her finger at him, accusing him. “We didn’t follow you!”
“She’s right!” I finally found my voice. “You promised us you would go away and leave us alone. But you brought us back to your castle with you.”
Still floating a few feet above the floor, Count Nightwing held the torch in one hand and rubbed his frail-looking chin with the other. “Hmmmmmm,” he murmured. His eyes glowed at us. “Hmmmmm.”
“You have to send us home,” Cara told him, pressing her hands against her waist.
“Yes!” I agreed. “Send us home — now.”
Count Nightwing lowered himself silently to the floor. In the flickering torchlight, he suddenly looked weary. The light in his eyes dulled. He sighed.
“Just send us home,” Cara insisted. “We won’t tell anyone we saw you. We’ll forget this whole thing happened.”
The old vampire brushed back his cape. He shook his head. “I can’t send you home,” he whispered.
“Why not?” I demanded.
He sighed again. “I don’t know how.”
“Huh?” Cara and I both gasped.
“I don’t know how to send you home,” Count Nightwing repeated. “I’m a vampire — not a magician.”
“But — but — but —” I started sputtering again. My whole body shook in total panic.
“Then what are we going to do?” Cara asked shrilly.
The old vampire shrugged again. “It’s really no problem,” he replied softly. “No problem at all. As soon as I find my fangs, I’ll drink your blood. And I’ll turn you both into vampires.”
16
“But we want to go home!” I screamed.
“We don’t want to be vampires!” Cara wailed. “This isn’t fair! We helped you. Now you have to help us!”
The old vampire didn’t hear us. In the flickering orange light from the torch, I saw his eyes go all dreamy. His whole body appeared to flicker in and out with the light.
“The Vampire Breath,” he whispered. “I need it — now.”
“Send us home — now!” Cara ordered him. “I mean it. Send us home!”
I balled my hands into fists. I felt so angry!
I mean, we helped him return to his castle. And how was he going to pay us back?
By biting our necks and turning us into vampires. By keeping us here forever.
I tried to imagine what it would be like living here in this castle. Sleeping all day in a coffin. Rising up at night and turning into a bat. Flying out night after night in search of necks to bite.
Forever.
Just thinking about it made me shake with horror.
I’ll never complain about having to babysit for Tyler Brown again, I decided.
And then the horrifying thought made my heart skip: I may never see Tyler Brown again.
Or Mom and Dad. Or any of my friends.
“You’ve got to send us home!” I cried to Count Nightwing. “You’ve got to!”
He was pacing back and forth in front of us now, the torchlight dipping and darting. He didn’t pay any attention to us. I don’t think he even remembered that Cara and I were in the room.
“Vampire Breath,” he repeated. “I must find the Vampire Breath.”
Where is the bottle of Vampire Breath? I wondered. I was holding it in my hand when we opened it back in the little room.
My eyes searched the floor. No sign of the little blue bottle.
It must have disappeared when we traveled back in time, I realized.
“Why do you need it?” Cara asked.
The old vampire narrowed his eyes at her. �
��When he is awake, a vampire needs Vampire Breath every day,” he said softly. “We cannot live by blood alone.”
Cara and I both stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “We all live together, here in my castle,” he explained in his hoarse, whispery voice. “We live here so we can be close to our supply of Vampire Breath. We each have our own bottles. We guard them closely.”
He sighed. “But now I remember — the supply was running low. I was down to my last bottle. I must find it. I must!”
“But what does it do for you?” I demanded.
“Everything!” Count Nightwing shouted. “Vampire Breath does every thing for a vampire! It allows us to travel in time. It can make us invisible and reappear again. It keeps our skin smooth and clear. It gives us energy. It helps us sleep. It keeps our bones from drying to powder. It freshens our breath!”
“Wow,” I murmured, shaking my head.
“But how will it help you find your fangs?” Cara demanded.
“Vampire Breath restores the memory,” the old vampire told her. “When you live for hundreds of years, it’s hard to remember things. The Vampire Breath will help me remember where I put my fangs.”
He spun around. His eyes locked on me. “The bottle. Do you still have it?”
I could feel the power of his silvery eyes. I could feel them burning into me, searching my mind.
“N-no!” I stammered. “I don’t have it.”
“But it won’t do you any good!” Cara cried. “We emptied it, remember? We emptied the whole bottle to get you back here.”
Count Nightwing shook his head impatiently. “That was in the future,” he snapped. “That was over a hundred years in the future. This is 1880, remember? In 1880, the bottle is still full.”
My head was spinning. I leaned against a coffin and tried to make sense of what he was saying.
The old vampire started to pace again, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “I hid the bottle somewhere,” he muttered. “I hid it so that the others couldn’t find it and use it while I took my nap. But where? Where did I hide it? I must find it. I must.”
He spun away from us, his long purple cape swirling behind him. The orange torchlight bounced ahead of him as he floated toward the doorway. “Where? Where?” he asked himself, shaking his head.
A few seconds later, he vanished.
Cara and I were left alone with the rows of coffins in the long room. Cara sighed unhappily. She motioned to the coffins. “I hope I get one near the window,” she joked. “I like a lot of fresh air.”
I was still leaning against the nearest coffin. I stood up and slapped the side angrily with my hand. “I don’t believe this!” I cried.
“I’m only twelve,” Cara moaned. “I’m not ready to die and then live forever!”
I swallowed hard. “You know what we have to do — don’t you?” I said softly. “We have to find the Vampire Breath before Count Nightwing does. If he finds it first and gets his fangs back, we’re doomed.”
“I don’t agree,” Cara replied sharply. “I have a much better plan.”
“A better plan? What is it?” I demanded.
17
Cara glanced to the doorway, then back to me. “We have to get out of here,” she whispered.
“That’s your plan?” I exclaimed. “That’s it? That’s a plan?”
She nodded and raised a finger to her lips. “Maybe if we run away from the castle, we can find help,” she explained. “If we stay here, we’re doomed no matter what we do. If we stay here, we’re in his power.”
“How is anyone going to help us?” I argued. “This is over a hundred years ago — remember? How will anyone outside the castle help us get back home to the future?”
“I don’t know,” Cara replied unhappily. “I only know that if we stay here in this creepy castle, we don’t stand a chance.”
I opened my mouth to argue some more. But I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Cara was probably right. Our only chance was to escape.
“Come on,” she whispered. She grabbed my hand and started to pull me along the rows of coffins.
I held back. “Where are we going?”
She pointed. “To the window. Let’s see if we can climb out.”
The room was as long as our school gym. We walked quickly between the two rows of open coffins. I couldn’t take my eyes off the old wooden coffins.
Vampires sleep inside them.
Those were the words that floated through my mind as we hurried past them.
Cara and I may soon sleep in them, too.
I shivered. And stopped. “Cara, look.” I pointed to the window up ahead. “This is a waste of time.”
She sighed. She saw what I meant. The big window was set very high up in the wall. It stood way over our heads.
We couldn’t reach it even if we had a ladder.
“The only way to get through that window is to fly,” I said softly.
Cara frowned and stared up at the window. “I hope you and I don’t spend the rest of our lives flapping our bat wings and flying in and out of that window,” she said.
“There’s got to be a way out of this castle,” I told her, forcing myself to sound cheerful. “Come on. Let’s find the front door.”
“Freddy — no.” Cara pulled me back. “We can’t just go running down the halls. Count Nightwing will see us.”
“We’ll be careful,” I said. “Come on, Cara. We’ll find a way out.”
We turned and jogged side by side past the empty coffins. Through the door. And into a long, dimly lit hallway.
The hall appeared to stretch for miles. Dark wooden doors lined both sides. The doors were all closed. Above each door, a gas lamp provided a soft glow of yellow light.
My shoes sank into the thick blue carpet. The air smelled sour. I glanced back at the coffin room. An ugly stone gargoyle leered down at me, perched above the door.
I turned away from its evil stare and gazed up and down the long hall. The rows of doors stretched in both directions. “Which way?” I whispered.
Cara shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. We just have to find a door or window that will take us outside.”
We made our way silently over the thick carpet. The gas lamps cast a gloomy, dim light. Our shadows seemed to hide behind us as we walked.
Cara and I stopped at the first door we came to. I grabbed the brass knob and turned it. The heavy door creaked as it opened.
We peered into a large square room filled with furniture. The furniture was all covered with white sheets. Chairs rose up like ghosts beside a long covered couch. In a corner beside a darkened fireplace, a grandfather clock stood guarding the room.
Cara pointed to the heavy black drapes that stretched over the far wall. “There must be a window behind there. Let’s check it out.”
We raced across the room. My shoes slipped on the floor. Glancing down, I saw nearly an inch of dust spread over the floor.
“I don’t think this room has been used for a while,” I said.
Cara didn’t reply. She grabbed an end of the heavy drape and tugged. I reached to help her. The drape slid back. A dust-smeared window stood behind it.
“Great!” I cried.
“Not so great,” Cara replied glumly.
I saw instantly what she meant. The window had thick black bars across it.
“Uggggh.” With a disgusted groan, Cara shoved the drape back into place. We hurried back into the hall and tried the door across the hall. We stepped into a small room filled with luggage trunks. The trunks were stacked on top of each other up to the high ceiling.
No window in this room.
The next room had an enormous, old dark wooden desk in its center and shelves of ancient-looking books from floor to ceiling. Another heavy black drape covered the window.
I eagerly pulled the drape back — to find another dust-covered window. And more thick black bars. “Weird,” I muttered.
“This castle is like a prison,” C
ara said in a shaky whisper. Her dark eyes glowed with fear. “But there has got to be a way out.”
We crept back into the long hall. I stopped when I heard a soft fluttering sound.
Bat wings?
Were the vampires returning?
Cara heard it, too. “Hurry,” she whispered.
We pushed open the next door and darted inside. I carefully closed the door behind us. Then I turned and saw that we had entered a big dining room.
The long table filled most of the room. It was bare except for a tall candelabra in its center. Stubs of white candles poked up in the candelabra. Wax had dripped in small puddles onto the tabletop. The puddles were buried in a gray layer of dust.
“No one has been in here in a long time,” I muttered.
Cara was already at the window. She pulled back the drape to reveal another barred window.
“Aaaggggh!” She tore at her hair in frustration. “Every window! Every window has bars!” she wailed. “And we can’t keep walking through these halls. Someone will find us.”
Staring at the long, dust-covered dining room table, I had an idea. “Vampires don’t eat,” I said.
“So what?” Cara cried. She slammed her fist against the heavy black drape.
“So they probably never go in the kitchen,” I continued. “We’ll be safe in the kitchen. And maybe there is a kitchen door. Maybe …”
Cara sighed. “Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.” She shook her head glumly. “There are a thousand rooms in this creepy old castle. How will we even find the kitchen?”
I took her by the shoulders and guided her to the door. “Well, this is the dining room, right? Maybe the kitchen is close to the dining room.”
“Maybe maybe maybe,” she repeated bitterly.
I guided her into the hall, then led the way to the next door. We pushed it open and peeked inside.
No. Not the kitchen.
We quickly crept down the hall, trying door after door.
No kitchen. No kitchen.
We kept glancing back, watching for Count Nightwing, hoping we wouldn’t bump into him.
We turned a corner. Found ourselves in a narrower, darker hallway. I tried the first door.
Yes!
An old-fashioned kitchen with a wide fireplace hearth, a wood-burning stove, and blackened pots and pans hanging on the wall beside the hearth.
