PETER AND THE VAMPIRES (Volume One) (PETER AND THE MONSTERS)

by Darren Pillsbury

  “Duh. Ghosts don’t come out in the day.”

  “Yeah they do. I heard about this dead sailor that tourists saw on a boat in San Diego during the day.”

  “That was a tourist ghost. Real ghosts don’t come out in the day.”

  “Why?”

  “Ghosts don’t like light. They’re not made out of anything, so they can’t…you know…they don’t like the light, okay?”

  “But why?”

  “Look, you want explanations, I’ll go get Andrew for you. THEY DON’T LIKE THE LIGHT. Everybody knows that.”

  “So if she’s mad at me…I should shine a light on her?”

  “I don’t know. You gotta be careful, man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just don’t make her any madder than she already is.”

  “Well what happens if I do?!”

  Dill shrugged helplessly. “I don’t do ghosts, man.”

  Dill wished him luck and they parted ways. Dill didn’t offer to hang out, and Peter wouldn’t have felt like it anyhow. He did his homework dutifully up in his room, looking out the window every five minutes to see if a small figure in white was out on the lawn.

  Nothing. Just long green grass, unkempt rose bushes, and the shadows of oak trees.

  Dinner was eggplant casserole. Peter would have ordinarily complained, but tonight he ate just enough to avoid any comments from his mother. She had her hands full with Beth, anyway, who ended up with more eggplant in her hair than in her mouth.

  His grandfather, as usual, was absent from the table. Peter wondered if he should ask the old man anything, then thought better of it. He remembered being shouted out of the study – and all for nothing: Mrs. Cashew never asked him for his F history paper. Even she seemed to have fallen into a fog at school, and Peter noticed she avoided looking at Mercy’s empty desk.

  After dinner, Peter got a flashlight out of the laundry room and went up to bed.

  “Are you feeling okay, Peter?” his mother asked, concerned.

  “Just tired…g’night.”

  In his room, Peter sat at the desk next to the window, as far away from the glass as he could get while still being able to see the lawn outside. He clicked the flashlight on, then off. On, and off. And he waited. Waited as the sun went down and the shadows grew.

  13

  Peter woke with a start, drool dribbling down his cheek. He was still at his desk. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked over at the alarm clock. 11:20.

  Something had woken him up. Had it been a dream? Someone had been calling his name, from far away…

  Peeeeeeteeeeeeeer…

  Not a dream.

  It was coming from outside.

  “Peeeeeteeeeeeeeeer…”

  A lump rose in his throat. He couldn’t breathe. He shuffled his hand to find the flashlight, but bumped it off the desktop in the darkness, then jumped when it clattered on the floor.

  “Peeeeeteeeeeeeeeer…”

  He left the flashlight and instead inched towards the window. Slowly he came up to the perch and looked outside.

  The moon was out. Everything was visible in its gentle glow, though shadows dotted the landscape. Trees rustled in a light wind, grass sighed in the breeze.

  A little girl dressed in white stood out on the lawn.

  Mercy.

  There she stood, 50 feet away from the house.

  She was looking up at Peter’s window.

  No…she was looking up at Peter.

  Peter fell and scrambled backwards again, just like last night, but this time he kept his wits about him.

  Get the flashlight. Turn it on. If she’s a ghost, she won’t like the light, right? Or it’ll shine through her, right?

  God, please don’t let her float up here…please don’t let her come inside…

  Peter clicked on the flashlight, and a comforting yellow circle appeared on the wall. All he had to do was shine it on her, and she wouldn’t like it, and she would leave him alone. He turned towards the window. The beam followed along the wall. All he had to do was point it out there on the lawn and she would go away, because ghosts don’t like light –

  Except Mercy wasn’t out on the lawn.

  She was on the other side of the window. Outside his room.

  The yellow circle of light swept across her face.

  14

  “AAAAAAAAAAGHHH!” Peter screamed. He dropped the flashlight again. It clattered several feet away, no longer pointing anywhere Peter could see it.

  Mercy stayed at the window, her feet on the small slope of roof outside. She was bathed in soft light from the moon. Her face was the color of milk. Shadows filled her sockets, so that he couldn’t see her eyes. But she looked gentle…not mad, at least.

  Peter backed up against the bed. His eyes never left her face.

  “Peeeeteeeeeeer…” she said softly.

  “M…Mercy?” he whispered.

  She raised her hands to the window and pressed her palms against the glass.

  “Peeeteeeer, let me in.”

  “Mercy, you’re…you’re dead,” Peter whispered.

  “No I’m not, silly. See? I’m fine.”

  Mercy waved one hand and smiled. Goosebumps ran up and down Peter’s back.

  “They said you were. In the newspaper. They said you died.”

  “They were wrong. Peeeteeeeeer, let me in, it’s cold out here.”

  “You’re…you’re not a ghost?”

  “No!” she laughed, though the sound was strangely chilling. “Open the window and I’ll show you!”

  “Cuz…cuz if you were a ghost, you could just come in…right?”

  “I told you, I’m not a ghost. Please…” Though he couldn’t see her eyes, Peter knew they were focused directly on him. “…can I come in?”

  “Mercy…I’m sorry for what I said on the bus.”

  “It’s okay…they said you got sick. I got sick, too, but I’m better now.”

  Peter suddenly realized something. He had first seen Mercy fifty feet away on the ground. Then, only seconds later, she was outside his window.

  But this was the third floor.

  “Mercy…how did you get up here that fast?”

  She laughed again, a sound like the tinkling of a bell, but in a dark cellar filled with cobwebs. “Silly, I climbed. There’s a tree right here.”

  Peter shook his head. It’s true, a person could reach the window using the tree – Peter had snuck out that way his very first night in Grandfather’s house. But there was no way what Mercy was saying was possible. Dill was awesome at climbing trees, and there’s no way he could have made it to Peter’s window in less than thirty seconds.

  “Peeeeteeeeeer, please let me in…I’m so thirsty. I wanted to see you so bad, Peeeeteeeeeer…let me in, I’m thirsty…”

  Peter shook his head even more violently. He crouched down and felt blindly for the flashlight because he could not take his eyes off of Mercy.

  “PEEETEEEER.” Her voice was angry now. “You were mean to me, Peeeteeeeer. Don’t be mean again.”

  Then her tone grew soothing.

  “Let me in, and it will all be better…let me in, Peeeteeeer, and we can plaaaaaaay…”

  Peter’s hand found the flashlight. He saw the beam appear on the opposite wall.

  “PEEEEETEEEEEEER, LET ME IN.” She was banging on the window, her palms hitting the glass. “PEEEETEEEEEER, LET ME IN!”

  He swung the light up to her face.

  If she’s a ghost, it’ll go through her. The light will go through her and she’ll go away.

  But the light didn’t through her.

  And she didn’t go away.

  But now he could see her eyes.

  They were black. All of it. No white, no blue part. Just black.

  Like a shark’s.

  Peter screamed again, long and loud and high-pitched.

  Mercy screamed back at him, but it was more like a snarl. He could see her teeth, like small white pearls in he
r mouth – except for her two incisors, which were long and pointed.

  Like a snake.

  Like a vampire.

  Still screaming, Peter wheeled around and slammed into the bedroom door. He dropped the flashlight, opened the door, and kept running into the hallway –

  Smack into the arms of his grandfather.

  Looking into those crazy eyes, Peter screamed again.

  “Shut up, you fool!” Grandfather yelled back.

  Peter stopped screaming.

  His mother was right behind Grandfather, running in her pajamas through the hall. Peter noticed, in the one small part of his mind that wasn’t overwhelmed with terror, that Grandfather was still dressed in his day clothes.

  “Peter, Peter, what’s wrong?” Mom dropped to her knees beside Grandfather and took Peter in her arms.

  “M-Mercy Chalmers – she’s outside my window! She’s a vampire!”

  Grandfather stepped quickly into the bedroom.

  “Peter, calm down – Peter, it was a bad dream. There’s no such thing as vampires.”

  Down the hall, Beth was crying. She padded out in her PJ’s and Strawberry Shortcake bathing suit, her fingers in her mouth.

  “Oh sweetie, come here – come here,” Mom called, and Beth came running into her arms. “Who’s Mercy – Ch – what did you call her?” Mom asked.

  “Mercy Chalmers, a local girl,” Grandfather said, back from Peter’s room. “One of his classmates. She died last week.”

  “Oh, honey,” Mom whispered and pushed the hair from Peter’s forehead. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

  “She’s not dead, Mom! She was right outside my window – ”

  “Honey – honey.” Mom took his chin in her hand and looked right into his eyes. “That’s not possible. You had a bad dream.”

  “No she’s not! She’s right outside my window!”

  “There’s nothing out there, boy. I checked,” Grandfather growled.

  Peter looked at him. Their eyes locked. Then Peter pushed away from his mother and went back into the bedroom.

  The lights were still off. Peter ran up to the window and stared out.

  Nothing there. Just silver moonlight on grass and trees.

  “But she was…I talked to her…”

  Fingers clamped down on Peter’s shoulder, and he yelped. It was his Grandfather’s hand, sturdy and calloused and claw-like.

  “There’s nothing out there now, boy,” Grandfather said.

  “But there was,” Peter whispered.

  Mom walked in carrying a sniffling Beth in her arms. “Peter, it was a bad dream. Come on, get back in bed.”

  Terror filled every inch of Peter’s body. “Mom…no…”

  “Perhaps it would be best if the boy slept with you tonight, Melissa,” Grandfather said.

  Mom looked completely surprised. “You think so?”

  “Normally I don’t like coddling children, but the boy is obviously still recovering from being sick. He’s had a bad shock. It wouldn’t hurt.”

  “I wanna sweep witchoo, too!” Beth cried, and roped her arms around Mom’s neck.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Grandfather said. He never cracked a smile.

  “Pete?”

  Peter looked out the window again, then back at his mother and nodded quickly.

  “Okay…okay, grab your pillow and you can sleep in my room. Come on, Bethie, let’s get your stuffed animals.”

  Peter walked over to the bed to grab his pillow, but his eyes were still on the window.

  “Boy,” Grandfather said.

  Peter looked over at him.

  “There are no such things as vampires, boy.”

  Peter nodded halfheartedly.

  “But if there were, they can’t enter a house without being asked in by someone living,” Grandfather continued. “You didn’t do that, did you?”

  Peter frowned. “You believe me?”

  “In your dream, you DIDN’T, did you?” Grandfather repeated sternly.

  “No.”

  “Good.” The old man turned to go. “If you have that dream again, DON’T.”

  “You believe me, though?”

  “There are no such things as vampires, boy,” Grandfather said, and then he walked out of the room.

  15

  It was a long time till morning.

  Beth and Mom slept together on one side of the king-sized bed, Peter on the other. He never fully fell asleep, and when he seemed to be on the verge, he got jolted awake by every little sound. Boards creaking, trees scraping, the wind sighing – the tiniest noise made his body snap to attention, like one of those dreams where you’re falling, falling, falling, and just as you hit the ground you jerk and wake up.

  That must have happened twenty times.

  The one good thing was that there were no windows in his mother’s room. Peter thought that was just luck, just a matter of chance, until he heard a creaking outside the bedroom door.

  Peter sat there for a good five minutes, ears aching to catch any more noise…but all he could hear was the gentle breathing of his mother and sister beside him.

  He finally decided he had to get up. For his mom’s sake. For Beth’s sake.

  He walked past the nightlight Mom had plugged in and went to the door. His hand rested on the doorknob for what seemed like an hour. Then he slowly opened the door about three inches.

  There was his grandfather sitting on a wooden chair in the well-lit hallway. He heard the creak of the door and turned his head towards Peter.

  Peter looked at him.

  His grandfather glared back.

  Without a word, Peter slowly shut the door and crept back to bed.

  He finally got to sleep after that.

  16

  “No WAY,” Dill howled.

  They were standing at the bus stop. Dill’s barely-started homework lay unnoticed on the ground where he had abandoned it five minutes ago when Peter ran up.

  “That’s exactly the way it happened. It was awful, even worse than the dead guys in the garden – ”

  “STOP.” Dill threw up a hand, palm out. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Well, what should I do?”

  Dill put his hand up to his chin. “Well…there’s Italian food.”

  “What? What good is spaghetti going to do me?”

  “Garlic, man, garlic. Keeps vampires away.” Dill nodded sagely. “Girls, too. Ugh.”

  “Well, I like spaghetti, but wouldn’t it just be better to have the real garlic itself?”

  Dill shrugged. “I guess you can do that. Stakes through the heart work, too.”

  “Why are you so obsessed with food?”

  “Huh?”

  “Steaks! Are you supposed to cook it, or can it be raw?”

  “NOOO, wooden stakes, not food steaks. Although a hamburger would be good right about now.” Dill licked his lips, then sighed. “Don’t you watch TV at all? Buffy The Vampire Slayer reruns are on Saturday nights at 11. You should take notes.”

  “I don’t think I have until Saturday, so why don’t you just tell me now?”

  Dill ticked off the options on his fingers. “Wooden stakes…garlic…sunlight… crosses…uh…hold on…”

  “Looks like somebody else should watch more movies, too,” Peter taunted.

  “Holy water.” Dill pointed at Peter. “The Lost Boys. Rent it.”

  “It’s Rated R, right? I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’m only nine and a half! My mom won’t let me watch that!”

  Dill tsked with his tongue. “Why does she deny you the classics?”

  “Would you just – ”

  “Wooden stakes, garlic, sunlight, holy water, silver bullets – ”

  “I thought that was werewolves.”

  “Uh…hmmm…I think it works for vampires, too.”

  “What’s holy water?”

  “Churches sell it. Or give it away. Something like that. They have bowls of th
e stuff.”

  “Why?”

  “I guess for vampire attacks, I don’t know.”

  There was a distant rattling sound like an old machine coughing and clanking to life. Both the boys turned to look.

  An ancient, weather-beaten truck puttered out of the ramshackle garage behind Grandfather’s house and down the gravel driveway. Behind the wheel sat the old man, his crazy white hair blowing in the breeze.

  “Hey, where’s your grandpa going?”

  “I don’t know. Hey, Grandfather!” Peter yelled and waved.

  The old man totally ignored them as the old truck roared past, not 20 feet away.

  “Man, that was cold,” Dill said as the truck grew small down the road.

  “He’s going somewhere,” Peter murmured.

  “You are brilliant, you know that?”

  “No, I mean, he’s going somewhere important. I told you he kept watch last night, right? He’s going to go do something, I just know it.”

  Dill looked at Peter. Peter stared back.

  “Get your bike, I’ll meet you right back here,” Dill yelled as he ran to his house.

  “What about school?”

  “Let’s just call it a field trip!”

  17

  They pedaled furiously down the two-lane road, following the path Peter’s grandfather had taken. They had to pull off into the trees along the side when they spotted the school bus in the distance. Luckily the driver roared on past, and they started again at double their previous speed.

  “We…have…no idea…where he’s going,” Peter panted.

  “Where…would you go…if you were hunting a vampire?” Dill wheezed back.

  The answer was Greenvale Cemetery, a good three miles away. It wasn’t that hard to figure out, especially since Grandfather’s truck was parked outside the huge locked gates and stone walls.

  The boys coasted up to the truck. No sign of Grandfather, although in the truck bed there was a collection of shovels and tools caked with dried dirt.

  “Freaky,” Dill said.

  “Where do you think he went?” Peter asked.

  “Duh, same place we’re going.” Dill hid his bike behind a large clump of bushes far away from the truck, then ran over, grabbed Peter’s bike, and did the same with it.