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

by Darren Pillsbury

  Peter peered up at the eight-foot stone walls. He pushed against the massive iron bars of the gates, which moved maybe a fraction of an inch. There was absolutely no way they could climb any of it, and the bars were too close together to squeeze through. It was hopeless.

  “We can’t get in.”

  “Sure we can,” Dill assured him.

  “But it’s locked!”

  “Are you gonna keep yelling till Old Man Parker comes out?” Dill whispered.

  Old Man Parker was the keeper of the cemetery. From what Dill had told him, Parker was a recluse who lived with his big, black dog in the little cottage on the hill, only a couple hundred feet from the front gates. He was supposedly even weirder than Grandfather.

  Peter looked around a stone column and watched the house for any sign that the old man was stirring.

  “No…he’d probably just sic his dog on us.”

  “‘Zactly,” Dill said, and tugged at Peter’s sleeve. “Come on.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Round the back.”

  A hundred feet down the road, the wall took a 90-degree turn into the forest. Soon they found a good climbing tree with limbs that reached over the stone fortress.

  “Up we go,” Dill whispered, and began climbing like a monkey.

  Peter followed him up more carefully. By now Dill was shimmying out on the branch that bridged the stone wall.

  “Dill?”

  Dill wasn’t listening. Once he crossed the wall, he grabbed the branch and swung off it, dangled from the drooping limb, and dropped out of sight.

  “Ow,” came a disembodied voice from the other side.

  Peter followed suit and shimmied out, dangled, and fell. His feet burned with sharp pain as he hit the ground and tumbled onto his rear end.

  “Okay, we’re in,” Dill said. He was already on his feet and scanning the graveyard. The place seemed almost pleasant, its tombstones peaceful in the early morning light.

  “Yeah, but how’re we going to get out?” Peter asked.

  Dill looked back up at the tree branch four feet above them. “Oh crap.” Then he shrugged and started sneaking off. “We’ll figure something out.”

  Peter ran up behind him. “How will we know what we’re looking for?”

  “Look for a crazy old man.”

  18

  They ran through the cemetery, ducking behind tombstones, running past statues of angels that watched them with unseeing eyes. Before long they made it to the center of the graveyard, where a dozen simple stone buildings rose up out of the ground.

  One of them had an iron door on it that was pushed halfway open.

  The name cut into stone above the door was faded with time, though not enough that it couldn’t be read:

  CHALMERS.

  “Holy crap, that’s it,” Dill whispered as they hunkered down beneath the base of another angel statue.

  “What do we do?”

  “Well, if he’s fightin’ a vampire in there, I don’t want to get in his way.”

  “It’s Mercy, Dill. It’s not just a vampire, it’s Mercy. And that’s my grandfather in there.” Peter bit his lower lip, then made his decision. “I gotta go help him.”

  He was two steps away from the hiding place when Dill dragged him back. “Hold on, someone’s coming,” Dill hissed in his ear.

  The iron door grated, clanged, and opened all the way as Grandfather stepped out. In one hand he held a shovel, in the other a crowbar. A canvas bag was slung around his neck, and a hammer hung from a loop in his pants.

  “Whoa,” Dill breathed.

  Grandfather stood there staring into the woods, an angry and defeated look on his face. Finally he turned around and started to pull the door closed. It grated and scraped awfully on the cement floor of the crypt.

  “SEAMUS!” a loud voice boomed.

  Peter about messed his pants.

  Over the row of tombstones, almost fifty feet away, they could barely make out a short, fat man with a black beard streaked with silver. He wore plaid pajamas and a hunter’s cap, and he cradled a shotgun in his arms. A giant dog that looked like a mop made of black yarn barked at his side.

  “Old Man Parker,” Dill whispered. He paused, then added, “I think I peed my pants.”

  “You old lunatic – what the hell are you doing? Get out of there!” Parker roared.

  “I haven’t done a damn thing,” Grandfather snapped. “Just let me – ”

  “Get away from that door! What are you – is that a shovel? What are you doing?!”

  “Minding my own business, just like you should.”

  “I could have the sheriff’s department out here and arrest you, old man!”

  “For what?”

  “Graverobbing!”

  Dill and Peter both gasped quietly.

  “Trespassing at the most, Parker. And I don’t think you’d want to call the sheriff, seeing as we both know what happened here last winter.”

  Peter looked at Dill, who shrugged.

  Whatever Grandfather was talking about, it was enough to make Old Man Parker reconsider. “Hmph. We’ll let it go this time, Seamus. Now get away from that crypt.”

  “Let me lock the door again – ”

  Old Man Parker CLACKED the shotgun. “I’ll get it later. Get along now, Seamus.”

  Peter watched as Grandfather moved away from the stone mausoleum, muttering under his breath. He walked past Old Man Parker, who turned and followed him.

  Unfortunately, the black mop dog did not.

  It was snuffling in the grass, not ten feet away from Peter and Dill.

  Peter held his breath as the dog drew closer and closer, sniffing and snorting. It raised its head and looked straight forward – but not at the statue where Dill and Peter were hiding. It was looking at the open crypt. A low growl built in its throat.

  “Percival!” Old Man Parker yelled. “Get over here!”

  The dog growled once more, then turned and loped after its owner.

  It felt like ten minutes went by before Peter breathed again.

  “Jeez,” Dill gasped.

  Peter looked around at him. “You didn’t really pee in your pants, did you?”

  Dill looked down. He was wearing black corduroys that wouldn’t have shown any wet spots even if he had lost control of his bladder. “Uhhhh…no. ‘Course not. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “Are you crazy? We’ve got to go in there.” Peter pointed at the stone building and the iron door.

  “Are you crazy? I peed my – I mean, I almost peed my pants already, I don’t need to…almost do it again.”

  “We have to know what Grandfather saw in there.”

  “I think I can go the rest of my life without knowing that.”

  “Then stay here.”

  Peter started towards the crypt.

  “Aw, man,” Dill muttered, and followed after him.

  The building was large, with a floor that sunk deep in the ground. The smell of damp earth filled the air and seemed to press against their faces. Cobwebs hung like clouds from the ceiling.

  It’s now or never.

  Peter walked down the stone steps into the dim light of the tomb and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  He kind of wished he hadn’t. Long cement blocks rose from the ground one after the other, four feet high, with tarnished brass plaques bolted to the sides. There must have been twenty of the graves, each with a giant stone slab neatly stacked atop it.

  Except one.

  On that one, the stone slab was pushed askew…so that someone could look inside.

  Or so something could get out.

  Peter approached the grave slowly, his heart thudding in his ears.

  Grandfather came in here and left. Either he did something…or he didn’t find anything…which makes it safe…right?

  He reached the cement block. A brass plaque hung on its side, too, still shiny and new in what little light shone in from outside the tomb.r />
  MERCY CHALMERS

  “Is…is that it?” Dill asked, his voice trembling.

  Peter took a breath, stood on his tiptoes, and peered over the side of the crypt.

  There was nothing inside.

  No body, no coffin…

  …no Mercy Chalmers.

  19

  “So what do we do now?” Peter asked as he and Dill rode their bikes away from the cemetery.

  “Well…your grandpa looked like he meant business.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Like he showed up to do something.”

  Peter remembered the angry expression on Grandfather’s face as he stepped out of the tomb. “Yeah…”

  “So I figure we oughta get some stuff and get busy, too, in case she comes back.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  Dill pulled a hard left into a parking lot across the street. Peter followed and coasted to a stop beside him.

  “Here,” Dill said, pointing to a gray building.

  Peter looked at the sign out front in the grass. On it was a picture of a lady in blue, kneeling and praying. The name of the place was spelled out in gold letters next to her.

  “‘Our Lady of Perpetual Peace,’” Peter read. “This is a church, Dill.”

  Dill nodded. “A Catholic church.”

  “What are we going to get here?”

  “Whatever we need. This here is like ‘Kill-A-Vampire-R-Us.’”

  “Dill…” Peter warned.

  But Dill was already up the front steps and opening the door.

  “Dill!” Peter hissed, then followed him inside.

  The church was big and open. Wooden pews lined the center aisle all the way up to the front, where there were a couple of tables and a cross on the wall. Red and gold banners hung from the ceiling. Light filtered in from stained glass windows. No one was inside.

  All this was like other churches Peter had been in, except for two things. One, there was a stand near the entrance that looked like a skinny bird bath. As Peter got closer, he saw that the bowl on top did indeed have water inside. And two, a six-foot tall box stood against the left wall of the church. It looked like a fat, wooden telephone booth, but without any glass to see inside.

  “Dill, what are you doing?”

  Dill had plucked a cross off the wall. A tiny figurine of Jesus was attached to the wood. “One cross. Check.” Dill swiped his hand through the air like he was checking off an invisible ‘to do’ list.

  “That’s stealing!”

  “We’re just borrowing it,” Dill whispered back. He reached in one pocket and brought out a plastic circular thing, then screwed it apart and flicked with one hand. Little plastic rings popped out and formed a cup, which he dipped in the water bowl on top of the bird bath.

  Dill grinned. “Collapsible drinking cups are awesome.”

  “Are you going to drink that?”

  “No way – this is that holy water stuff. It’s like acid for vampires.”

  “But this is Mercy we’re talking about! I don’t want to throw acid on her!”

  “Well, I like my neck without any holes in it, so if you can talk her out of doing that, I’ll keep the holy water in the cup.”

  “I’m pretty sure they don’t want you taking that!”

  “We need it. They can make more.”

  “Dill – ”

  There was a squeaking noise from across the church. Both boys froze for a second, then ducked behind a pew.

  A door opened in the wooden telephone booth, and a little old lady tottered out towards the church entrance.

  “Where’d she come from?” Peter asked.

  “That’s a…a concession stand,” Dill said.

  Peter was quite confused. “They have hot dogs in there?”

  “Uh…okay, maybe it’s called something else. You gotta go in there.”

  “WHAT? Why?”

  “Cuz there’s a priest in there, too, and you gotta talk to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Cuz he’s about to come out, and I gotta get more stuff, so go now, man!”

  Dill pushed Peter towards the wooden booth, but was careful not to spill the holy water in his collapsible cup.

  “What do I do?”

  “Say, ‘Forgive me, father, four sins I have’…or something like that, I can’t remember, they say it in the movies all the time. Just make it up. It’ll be easy, they’re always nice on television. Go, before the priest comes out! GO!”

  20

  Peter ran towards the open door, got inside, and sat on the wooden seat built into the booth. He looked out frantically at Dill, who waved at him and pantomimed closing a closet or something. Peter reluctantly reached out and shut the door.

  It was totally like being inside a wooden phone booth. Really dark.

  Peter jumped as a voice came from somewhere on the other side of the wooden wall.

  “Yes, my child?”

  “Uh…uh…”

  Peter’s heart was beating just as fast as when he looked in Mercy’s tomb. “I…have…forty sins, or something like that…forgive me?”

  “How long has it been since your last confession, my son,” the voice said. It sounded friendly and kind. An older man. Peter relaxed a little bit.

  “Uh…I don’t know, to tell the truth. Forever, I think.”

  “Have you ever confessed before, my child?”

  “Uh…not to you guys,” Peter said. “My mom has made me confess stuff before, but this is kind of new.”

  “You sound very young. How old are you?”

  “Nine and a half.” Peter relaxed a little. Dill was right. This was easy.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  Okay, not so easy.

  “Yeah…I was hoping you could forgive me for that.”

  “I would guess that something as simple as that would not have brought you in here today, my child. Is there anything weighing on your mind?”

  How about vampires?

  “Kind of.”

  “Would you like to talk about it.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Peter considered. The voice seemed so nice and gentle…maybe this guy really could help him.

  “Well…there’s this girl who likes me. She’s kind of weird.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like her so much.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s a girl. Plus, she’s weird.” Peter wanted to say, Pay attention, dude.

  “Mm. Go on.”

  “She bugged me a lot. At school.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “And then she got sick and died.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. That must be troubling you greatly.”

  “Yeah, I was really sad at first…but now she’s still bugging me.”

  “You mean, you think about her a lot?”

  “Well, yeah, but, I mean, she’s still bugging me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She came by last night and was bugging me.”

  “In your dreams?”

  “No, outside my window.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Young man, is this a joke?”

  Uh-oh.

  “No, no – we thought she might be a ghost at first, but now I’m pretty sure she’s a vampire.”

  “Young man, this is a very serious place, and it is not the time for silly pranks.”

  Okay, maybe this guy couldn’t really help him.

  But Peter decided to try one last time.

  “Soooooo…any advice?”

  “Yes, you should stop this foolishness and tell me what sins you have committed, including this lie you’re engaged in right now.”

  Okay, this is absolutely no help whatsoever.

  There was a clatter outside. Peter winced.

  “What was that?” the voice asked, alarmed.

  “Uh…I don’t know. Can we get back to how bad I am
and how I’m a liar and all that?”

  “Hold on,” the voice commanded.

  “Uh, wait, no, come back!” Peter said as he stumbled out of the phone booth.

  The priest was already outside. He looked close to Grandfather’s age, but with a full head of hair and a clean-shaven face. He was dressed in a long black robe with a white collar at the top. As Dill would’ve said, just like in the movies.

  On a regular day the priest might not have been such a bad guy. Except this wasn’t a regular day, what with Dill in the middle of the church aisle, arms crammed with a dozen crosses ranging from tiny to huge, and the collapsible water cup still clutched in one hand.

  “Oh crap,” Dill muttered, then ran for it.

  “STOP!” the priest called out.

  Maybe God is on this guy’s side, Peter thought, because as soon as the old guy yelled, Dill tripped and went down in a pile of crosses. The collapsible cup hit the floor and, well, collapsed. Holy water went flying everywhere.

  “Ow!” Dill yelled, first when he hit the floor, then again when the priest yanked him up by one ear. He was pretty fast for an old guy.

  “OW-OW-OW-OW-OW!” Dill howled as the priest hauled him up.

  “YOU!” the priest yelled at Peter. “OVER HERE, NOW!”

  Peter sighed.

  This wasn’t going to be pretty.

  21

  “You understand this is extremely disruptive behavior,” the priest said.

  “I do,” Grandfather agreed. “And they’ll both get the thrashings of their young lives, Father Stevens.”

  The priest sat behind a desk in a room at the back of the church. There wasn’t much on the walls, just a few framed Bible verses and a couple of paintings of old guys in funny hats.

  Peter and Dill both huddled in two high-backed chairs facing the priest. Grandfather stood between them, his arms folded. He glared down continuously, first at Peter, then at Dill.

  “I just can’t understand why someone would do this,” Father Stevens said. “One of them lies while the other one steals – this is extremely alarming behavior, especially at this age, Mr. Flannagan.”