Night Home

by Rose Titus

  “You are so damn lucky, you know that. You get to go to school for free, girlfriend! And that pisses me off—” Josie began to look in the rearview mirror. “Hey. That car isn’t following us? Is it?”

  “I didn’t notice anything,” Muriel looked behind. “I...I dunno.”

  “Let’s hope not. It does kind of look like the one that was parked on the street.”

  “Yeah. Let’s hope not.” She tried to put it out of her mind. “And don’t be pissed off. I go to school for free, but you live longer and you’ll never get fat!”

  “Yeah? And now some creep is following both of us, and I don’t think he wants to grab our ass!”

  “So, step on it. Hit the gas, will you?”

  “No. It will tip him off. Besides, it’s icy. I’m driving to the police station.”

  “Does this town even have a police station?”

  “Yeah, we’ve got three cops and a smelly hound dog, or something like that.”

  As usual, Sergeant Stepanek was working the night shift. It didn’t seem as if anyone else was at the small police station. Josephine introduced Muriel quickly and told him what was going on. “Yeah. Muriel Aubrey. Nice to finally meet you. How do you like the old house?” He had a mug with a lid on his desk. Muriel guessed it wasn’t coffee.

  “It’s a little drafty,” she admitted, realizing that he and Josie knew each other, and then she wondered if the sergeant knew anything about the break in. “But most of the electrical things work okay, sort of, and it’s cool to have my own house instead of being stuck in a dorm with this bunch of idiots partying all night while I’m trying to study.”

  “Good. Well, anyway,” he went on, “yeah, there has been some loser wandering around asking strange questions. We talked to him, asked if he was lost, can we help out, that sort of crap. He says he’s doing a research paper on the incident, which happened back in ’36—I think that was the year? I’d leave it at that, for now. He seems harmless, so far. He’s definitely not from around here. No one knows where he’s staying, though. Probably one of those cheap fleabag motels up the highway, but that’s just a guess. Or probably he commutes back and forth from wherever. I do know he’s been checking public property records, which is very strange. And people have seen him driving around at night for no apparent reason. Someone at the library saw him photocopy pages out of a phone book, which is also strange. So this is some kind of research he’s doing.” He looked directly at Muriel now. “Hey, you know your place got broken into?”

  “Yeah. Did you ever catch them?”

  “Nope. Previous to having this strange guest, we thought it was kids because more than once we caught kids breaking in to that house to smoke dope and fool around with their girlfriends. I’ve had to chase them out a few times. But now we’re not so sure this guy had nothing to do with it.”

  “He’s been in my house?”

  “No, we’re not sure, remember? Don’t worry about it, for now. We’ve got our eye on him. Okay? Keep safe, just watch your back. That goes for you too, Josie. And if he bothers either of you, you call me right away.”

  “Th-thank you,” said Muriel. “I’m glad you know about it, at least. By the way, we came because...we kind of thought someone might have followed us.”

  Sergeant Stepanek followed the girls back to Muriel’s house in his squad car, and made a quick check around the area surrounding the house. “Looks clear, girls. Nothing out of the ordinary. Muriel, is your phone in good working order?”

  “Yeah. I think so.”

  “Got a cell, too?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good. If you see him again, or if you think he’s following you—”

  “I’ll call. Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate it. Everyone I’ve met so far has been really good to me.”

  He left. The girls stood in the ice-covered driveway watching his car drift back down the darkened winter road.

  “You gonna be okay?” Josie asked.

  “Yeah, I think so,” she gave the other girl a hug. “Okay. I’m finally gonna go to bed. Watch out for guys who wanna grab your ass.”

  They laughed.

  “I’m glad I met you, Josie. All of you. But especially you.”

  “I am too. I wish I had known your uncle.”

  They said goodbye, and Josie drove away.

  She woke up late the next day, and, looking out the window into the vast snow-covered emptiness, she half wondered if it had all been just a dream, not just the night before, but the past several months and all she had learned and everything she now knew.

  But then she looked under the old brass bed and saw that the notebooks were still there, safe where she had left them. Yes, she sighed, it was real. And, unfortunately, so was her stalker, whoever the hell he was.

  Muriel made coffee, showered, and dressed in last night’s clothes that had been left on the floor next to her bed. She had nothing to do today except prepare for returning to college after winter break was over. It would be hard to return to her friends at college and not be able to talk about everything that was happening in her life. ‘Muriel! What did you do on winter break? I went to Cancun!’ ‘Oh, hi Trudy! No. I didn’t go anywhere special. I just hung out with a bunch of vampires and did my laundry, cleaned the house, and was chased by a maniac stalker, that’s all.’

  She went out to her mailbox, hoping last semester’s grades had come in. She couldn’t access them online, since the old house wasn’t connected in any way, yet. She was also quietly hoping another check from the liquidation of the stocks held by the estate would arrive. She did plan to put some of the money away for the future, one of these days. It then dawned on her that eventually that unfortunate time would come when she would need to get an actual job and earn a living. The funds wouldn’t last forever.

  She pulled open the ice-covered mailbox. The grades did not arrive. No check for $57,895.83 either. That was the amount she was told over the phone by the lawyer’s office. It would be the last in the series she was receiving after the liquidation of stock. A catalog of underwear did arrive, and another catalog of accessories, and a catalog from her college with class schedules. “What the hell is this?” There was an envelope with no stamp, no address. It just said “Miss Aubrey” on it.

  “Oh, my God.” She held it and her hand shook. She was afraid to open it and she already guessed from whom it might be from. She looked around and knew she was alone, nothing near but snow, ice, the frozen landscape, the cold pavement under her feet and the ancient drafty house up the driveway. She wished Elton, or Sophie, or Josie, or even that cynical Seymour could be standing next to her now while she opened it. But it was daylight, and she was alone.

  Why the hell couldn’t she find a vampire when she needed one?

  Dear Miss Aubrey,

  I apologize for not being able to introduce myself in person, but after having read your story, which you have recently published, I hope that you would agree to meet with me and discuss certain unusual events, which took place so many decades ago.

  “Oh, dear God.” She dropped the letter on the pavement and bent to pick it up out of the slush. There was no other way to contact this person other than with the cell phone number at the bottom of the page. It continued.

  Of course, you must realize that your fictional story is remarkably similar to a true incident, which did occur, and therefore I would like to know what was the source of your inspiration. Although the events took place many decades before you were born, you seem well acquainted with previously unknown and well-hidden details. For instance, the assertion of your “Professor Alberts” that vampires were and still are a “nocturnal race” or sub-species of mankind originating in Eastern Europe, is highly unusual.

  “Shit,” she hissed out loud in the frigid air. “He knows. This crazy whack job knows.” And she knew what she had to do as soon as it was dusk. Show Sophie, and call the police sergeant who worked the lonely night shift. She cursed the day she re-typed her uncle’s notes and hoped no
one would be hurt this time around.

  A fire lit the small living room in Sophie’s old house, and there was little other light except for a small table lamp. That was one of the first things Muriel noticed, that they felt comfortable in the dark. She had almost gotten used to darkness herself from association. She listened as Sophie read the letter out loud to the small group.

  “Well,” Josie spoke first after Sophie put the letter down, “maybe just try denying everything? I mean, no one believes in us now anyway.”

  “Josephine,” Seymour sounded serious, as usual. “He obviously already believes. Accept the fact that we are now in a great amount of trouble—”

  “I’m sorry,” Muriel interrupted, “I shouldn’t have done this. I just thought, well, if I wrote it, then maybe it would do some good, and some day people would be able to understand, and, maybe, make people know it’s wrong how they’ve treated you for so long. I guess that’s why I wanted to write it. This is my fault—”

  “No, Muriel. No,” Seymour held up a hand and spoke softly, his voice not so cold as it often was. “Look, we all agreed it would be all right for you to write it. You didn’t just go ahead and do it yourself.”

  “Don’t go and blame yourself, Muriel,” said Elton. He sat across from Sophie, and was silent up until now. “You and Josie are just kids. You don’t know how bad things can get. You haven’t lived long enough to know how downright dangerous people can be. Then again, Josie might be right. You can deny it all, say you dreamed it up from hearing stories about your mad scientist uncle.”

  “Yeah, and I can’t arrest this guy for writing a letter, either,” Karl Stepanek pointed out, “Look, people,” and he went out to the kitchen and helped himself to what was in the refrigerator. “He’s been watching us; the people on the day shift have let me know, something is going on with this guy.” Muriel watched as he put a ceramic mug into the microwave. “How ’bout we do some of our own surveillance?”

  “What? Get a video of this nut hanging outside my house watching me?”

  “No,” he came back into the living room and returned to the worn-out couch. “Meet him. But don’t be alone. We’ll be watching. It’s my bet he doesn’t know what we look like. The idiot probably expects us to be wearing all black, for Christ’s sake.”

  And that was the second thing she noticed when she first met them. They looked almost liked everyone else, and dressed like everyone else. And except for being pale, it would be difficult to tell them apart from most people.

  They looked almost liked everyone else...except for being pale.

  “Find out what the hell the fool wants. Then we decide what to do about it.”

  “So what is your plan, Karl?” said Sophie. She picked up her sewing. “We are all listening.”

  The truck stop really was as busy as Josie said it would be, and noisy, too. She looked around and felt transported back in time to a fifties diner, and that was the look of the place. The crowd was composed of truckers, business travelers, and she imagined, a few lovers running away together, plus a few others only she knew about.

  “Can I get you some coffee, hon?”

  She looked up, surprised to see Josie in her waitress uniform, and reminded herself she wasn’t supposed to know her. “Yeah. Please get me a large decaf, and a donut. Thank you, miss.”

  Josie stifled a giggle.

  This jerk better show, she said to herself. He wanted to meet me, then this is it. Instead, he had tried to insist on a place more private. Yeah, right. As if I would meet him somewhere alone.

  She gazed down at the menu before her, pretending to read it. She was worried, as she had been since that afternoon in the coffee shop when she first saw him. And she realized, for the first time in her young life, she was really, truly afraid. Not of what might happen to her, but of what might happen to other people she had learned to care about. Her parents passed away when she was little, and she hardly remembered them. All she knew was that her grandmother complained of ‘damned drunk drivers,’ which she came to realize was the cause. Now her grandmother was gone, and she had no one else besides herself.

  “Miss Aubrey?”

  She startled, awakened suddenly from her thoughts.

  She looked up and saw her stalker. “Oh...ah...hi.” It was all she could say.

  “May I sit down?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  The middle-aged man pulled out a chair and sat. “I was hoping that we could have met somewhere more quiet.”

  “This place will do just fine. And I don’t think I caught your name, since you signed your letter with your phone number.” Finally she got a better look at him. He was putting weight on a once trim frame and his graying hair seemed slightly unwashed. His clothes were clean, almost new, but not expensive. But the first thing she noticed was that he carried a worn out briefcase.

  “Yes, of course. Sorry about that. Michelson. Darren Michelson. My grandfather was a colleague of Professor Aubrey.”

  “Huh? Oh. That’s what you wanna talk about?”

  “Partially, but that’s not all. I apologize for the mysterious letter I left for you. You see, lately I had been surfing the internet for information on vampires, and saw mention of your story. After reading it, I then began asking around for you, and no one seemed to know much, which is unusual since it’s a small town—”

  “Well, I guess they don’t mess in other people’s business. But what about my uncle? He’s been dead a long time. I have no idea what this is about.”

  “You are of course aware of what your uncle was researching?”

  “So? Just a crazy eccentric relative of mine. That’s all.”

  “But how do you feel about it? Do you believe that such things could exist?”

  “Naw. That would be ridiculous. Just an old story told about the Professor.”

  Josephine came quietly by with Muriel’s coffee. Darren ordered a black coffee for himself. “What if there was evidence?”

  “What evidence? There is no evidence. Evidence of what?”

  “Of the existence of actual vampires.” He lowered his voice. “Which is exactly what your uncle was studying when he was killed—”

  “Yeah? And was he by the way killed by your grandfather, Darren?”

  “Yes.” He hesitated. “And for that, I really am sorry. But that happened so very long ago, it’s way beyond anyone’s control. I’m sure you understand that, Miss Aubrey. People in my family all whispered about it. But there was evidence. And it was kept hidden, all these years. I used to continually wonder about it as a kid. Then I continued to wonder about it all for the rest of my adult life. I have a boring life, actually. I’m an accountant. Have two kids forever in college who keep changing their majors. House in the suburbs. Wife left me for someone else five years ago. Got laid off, re-hired, then laid off again. But none of that is unusual. That’s all just life. But all my life, I’ve had this.” He reached into his briefcase. “And kept on wondering about it.”

  There it was. The Sixth Notebook that everyone had been looking for since 1936. She suppressed her excitement and pretended to be annoyed. “So?”

  “It’s your granduncle’s handwritten notes on the subject. I’m afraid to say it may have been stolen from him at the university, or obtained some other way by less than ethical means. Would you like to read some of it? He writes of actual nocturnal blood drinking beings, capable of living centuries. It’s intriguing, almost frightening. Thinking of it kept me awake many nights. He was living in this very town, Muriel. Did he ever feel his life to be in danger? Do you?”

  “Darren. His life was in danger. From his esteemed colleague.”

  “And once again, I am sorry. But do you believe it to be possible? I mean, think of the implications in this. Have you perhaps noticed anything unusual in this town?”

  “Like what?” She sipped her coffee, trying to play disinterested.

  “I don’t know. Anything?”

  “Maybe you just need a hobby, Darren?
How about watching Star Trek reruns?”

  Darren glared coldly at her, irritated by her comment. For a brief moment, she was afraid of him. Muriel felt the fleeting urge to apologize, but quickly decided against it, and kept silent.

  “You really ought to take this situation seriously. I realize you may be angry that my grandfather caused the death of your granduncle, but you never really knew Professor Aubrey.”

  “But still, he was family,” she whispered, glaring back at him.

  Josephine arrived with Darren’s coffee.

  “Miss Aubrey,” he cleared his throat, “if any of this is true, it could be a dangerous situation for you. If these creatures are real, they could be still here, especially since they live so long.”

  He continued on about the potential threat to human life and safety, talking quietly, almost in a whisper. But she noticed people in the diner were staring at Darren, and listening. She tuned him out long enough to think of something. She had to get the notes away from him. They were the evidence. “Darren? Have you ever shown that notebook to anyone else?”

  “Not to anyone outside the family. It’s all just too unbelievable.”

  “Yeah. That’s good.” She smiled at him, and suddenly pretended to be interested. “Well, if you want me to believe you, then can I borrow it and read it? I mean, you obviously know where I live.”

  He inhaled and hesitated. “Well, I suppose that would be okay. You must have a set of notes of your own, don’t you? Your uncle must have kept volumes.”

  She reached to take it from his hand. “Thanks, Darren. I promise this will be safe.”

  He suddenly gazed coldly at Muriel as he held onto the book more tightly. “You will return it, won’t you?”