Moonlight & Monsters: Ten Vampire Tales

by J. R. Rain

  “I gave her a suggestion that she wasn’t hungry after all.”

  I was about to open my mouth and protest his perception of free will—and was about to get damned pissed—when the kid with his oversized cell phone suddenly got up and brushed past us. The cashier next flipped over a sign on the register that said “Be back soon,” and headed for, I assumed, the crew break room or perhaps, the restroom. Within seconds, we were alone.

  “What just happened?” I asked.

  “In my dreams, we are alone.”

  “Fuck your dreams. You just controlled those people.”

  “I cannot deny that I did, Mr. Spinoza.”

  “And are you controlling me now?”

  He held my gaze longer than I was comfortable with. “No, Mr. Spinoza.”

  “Would I know if you were?”

  The vampire smiled, but there was no humor at all in the expression; hell, it had the opposite effect. “No, Mr. Spinoza. I’m afraid you wouldn’t. But my strong desire is for you to stay. Perhaps my desire is enough to influence you. I cannot say for sure, but I am not willfully attempting to influence you.”

  I thought about my actions. I thought about why I was here. I thought about why I hadn’t gotten up and left. Truthfully, I had no reason to get up and leave. Professor Harry Artemis might be the world’s creepiest teacher, but he wasn’t anything I hadn’t already seen... and dealt with.

  No, I was not against sitting here now, and I was not against hearing the man out, either. Then again, I wasn’t against killing him, should he attack me. I considered the grim possibility that I’d been compelled by him since we’d first spoken on the phone.

  The vampire chuckled lightly. “My powers are not so great, Mr. Spinoza. At most, a small suggestion here and there.”

  “So says the man who just cleared out a room. Or, should I say, a train car?”

  “Like I said, small suggestions only. All three were agreeable to the idea of leaving. Should I have suggested they leap from the moving train, they would have resisted. Just as you would resist if I tried to force you to stay. Or tried to force you to do anything against your will.”

  “And what if you have taken over my will?”

  “And what if I have? Is it so bad sitting across from me, talking to me? Am I so unpleasant?”

  I didn’t know what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. Okay, now that sounded like me.

  “There’s nothing I can do or say to convince you that I’m not manipulating you, Mr. Spinoza. My words are hollow at this point. Indeed, only in death will you know my sincerity.”

  “Why not manipulate me, then?” I asked. “If it’s important for me to stop the vampire hunter, then why not coerce me to do your, you know, bidding and all that shit?”

  He gave me a small, scary smile. “The answer is obvious, Mr. Spinoza.”

  I thought about it. “Because you didn’t coerce me in your dreams.”

  “No. You made the choice of your own free will.”

  “But sometimes, I chose to allow you to die.”

  “You did.”

  “Despite your best efforts to convince me otherwise,” I said.

  “You can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said.

  ***

  I’ve lived with a lot.

  Some would say too much. Some would say that no man should endure what I had to endure. To those people, I say fuck off. What I did to my young family—and what they had to endure, in those last few agonizing minutes of their lives—far outweighed my own anguish and pain and heartache.

  Both dead. Both burned to death.

  All because of me.

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to live with Professor Harry Artemis’s death on my hands, too. Then again, how much of this could I believe?

  It was all a dream, wasn’t it?

  All a dream...

  ***

  “As you might have guessed, Mr. Spinoza, I was curious about the man who kept appearing in my dreams. A man who sometimes saved me, and sometimes didn’t. My dreams, you see, are very specific. I knew the train. I even knew the minute of my death. I knew my killer and my savior, both.”

  “Then why don’t you do something about it?” I said.

  “I did. I contacted you.”

  “But why don’t you stop the hunter on your own terms? Confront him? Fight him? Drop down from, say, the luggage rack and break his neck? Hell, why get on the train at all if you know you might be killed?”

  The vampire looked down at his hands, which were clasped before him. Blue veins snaked between his knuckles, and on up inside the sleeves of his jacket. His skin looked viscous, simultaneously wet and dry, like the clear underbelly of some long lost sea creature hauled up from the ocean depths.

  Whether he was reading my mind now, or not, I didn’t know, nor did I care. Something very strange was going on. That the man in front of me was a vampire, I had no doubt. That he had been dreaming of me, and of this situation, I was beginning to doubt those things less and less, too. That a man bearing a crossbow would board this train seemed unlikely, but it was getting more likely as this damn conversation wore on. Something was happening, something strange and horrific and fascinating. I should get up and leave. I should get up and sit as far away from this guy as possible. I didn’t need a silver bolt between my shoulder blades. Who’s to say the hunter will have a good aim anyway?

  But I stayed and waited, fascinated by the man in front of me, and curious about his answers. It was an exploration of life and choices, why we do what we do, and the inner workings of all things. At least, that was what I told myself.

  Then again, maybe the bastard was compelling me to stay, giving me subtle suggestions that sounded damn good.

  I shook my head. I was here, for now, and I wanted answers.

  “A lot is going on inside that head of yours, Mr. Spinoza.”

  “This is a crazy, crazy world.”

  “It is, isn’t it? And I love it. Even being what I am. In fact, being what I am has given me new depth, new appreciation, new experiences.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  “And to answer your questions, I am compelled to be here. Being here feels right. Being here is where I must be. Seeing my destiny through is important. Important enough for me to dream about it over and over and over...”

  “With different outcomes,” I said.

  “Only two outcomes, Mr. Spinoza. I either live or I die.”

  “Based on what I choose,” I said.

  “You are correct, sir.”

  ***

  “Although I may not be the most photogenic guy around, I do like to take pictures. May I show you some of my own?”

  “In your dream, do you show me pictures?” I asked.

  The vampire blinked. It was, I was certain, the first time he had done so. “I do, yes.”

  “And in the dreams, do I view them?”

  “You do, yes.”

  I grinned. “Then let’s do this.”

  He pushed a cell phone across the table. Already open on the screen was a photo of a farm. “This is where I live, Mr. Spinoza. And, yes, believe it or not, there are farms in Orange County. As you know, I live in Trabuco Canyon, up against the Cleveland National Forest. I live on twenty acres. I don’t grow much food, although I do it for show. The food I harvest is given away to the local homeless shelters. Scroll to the next screen, please.”

  I did, swiping the screen, and now, I saw a corral full of goats, pigs, cows and sheep.

  “Why are you showing me this?” I asked.

  “You are looking at my food supply, Mr. Spinoza. I pick one poor creature every few weeks and drain it of its blood. The animal is killed quickly and humanely, and lived a good, comfortable life. I pre-package the blood and drink it in the privacy of my home. I give the meat away as well. Never have I harmed another human being. Nor do I intend to.”

  I stared at the creatures, at the farm, at the surrounding countryside. Beautiful, idyllic. Who would have tho
ught a vampire lived there?

  “Is this part of your sales pitch?” I asked.

  “Indeed. I feel it’s important for you to know that I practice safe bloodletting. That was a small joke.”

  I chuckled and handed back the phone before I inadvertently scrolled across a vampire selfie. Then again, there wouldn’t be much to see anyway.

  “What happens next in the dreams?” I asked.

  “The train will arrive any minute now. There will be a man who will step on board with a concealed crossbow under his trench coat. In one outcome, he shoots me calmly through the heart with a silver bolt. His aim is true, and I die within seconds.”

  “And in the other outcome?”

  The vampire did not hesitate when he said, “You shoot him between the eyes.”

  ***

  We were alone in the cafe coach. I checked the time. Four minutes to touch down, so to speak.

  It occurred to me that the vampire’s gaze hadn’t left me for most of the train ride. It also occurred to me that I hadn’t felt uncomfortable under his gaze. Never had anyone ever stared at me for so long. Then again, rarely had I been the object of a bloodsucker’s attention for so long.

  Professor Harry Artemis was a highly valued professor who published often in peer-reviewed journals and taught night classes. He didn’t kill or hurt humans. Or so he said. He drank only animal blood originating from his own farm. Or so he said. The farm was a fact. It had come up during my initial research today. I had even seen a Google map of the farm.

  “Is it in your nature to kill?” I asked.

  “I believe it is. I believe there is something inside me that very much wants to kill. But I have never given into it. Never entertained it, and I mostly keep the thing within me at bay.”

  “You say mostly.”

  “It seems to surface only when I slaughter one of my farm animals. That seems to appease the thing within me for a short while.”

  “Are you afraid that you will lose control of the thing within you?”

  His stare never wavered, nor did I expect it to. “There is a part of me that fears if I let that thing out, I might not ever recover myself again. And so, I don’t let it out. Ever.”

  “What is it, if I may ask?”

  “I suspect—and I am no expert—but I suspect it is the thing that makes me what I am.”

  “A vampire?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  ***

  “Two minutes,” I said.

  “And counting,” said the vampire. “I note you did not ask me how I became a vampire.”

  “That seems kinda personal.”

  He threw back his head and laughed. A rich, vibrant sound. “In case you are wondering, I was attacked while jogging in Long Beach. I was left for dead, and awoke in a hospital a changed man. I do not know why I was turned or who turned me, but ever since, my life has not been the same.”

  “That seems like an understatement.”

  “If ever there was.”

  I nodded and looked at my watch.

  Under one minute.

  ***

  “You feel him, don’t you?” asked the vampire.

  The train was slowing. The brightly lit station was coming into my peripheral view. I continued looking at the vampire.

  “The hunter?” I asked.

  He shook his head once. “Your son.”

  I didn’t speak or blink. I stared and finally swallowed, and then, I nodded. And kept on nodding.

  “It is him, Mr. Spinoza. He has been by your side during this entire trip.”

  “You see him?”

  “I do. He is vibrant and healthy and full of life, and he loves his father.”

  “Jesus,” I said, and turned my face away.

  ***

  The doors hissed open.

  I didn’t move. Neither did the vampire before me. He kept his eyes on me. I kept my eyes on the mirror above him, which reflected the exit behind me, through which I could see commuters coming and going, lugging suitcases and backpacks and laptop cases. My heart was beating faster than I liked. Adrenaline pumping. Ready for action, if necessary.

  I felt a prickle on my arm. A familiar prickle. A loving prickle.

  I looked at the vampire. He looked at me, and nodded once.

  I hadn’t killed a man in a long time; in fact, my last kill hadn’t been a human. It had been a vampire.

  Professor Artemis continued staring at me. He kept his hands flat on the table, his chest exposed. An easy target for someone who knew his way around a crossbow.

  Jesus, did they still make those things?

  I blinked, and that was all it took. When I refocused my eyes, a man was standing in the mirror, a big man with long black hair and a flowing trench coat. I gasped and looked down at the vampire, and saw, for the first time, that his eyes were closed. I also noticed, somehow, that his chest wasn’t moving. He wasn’t breathing, or maybe he was holding his breath. Had he been breathing all along, and I hadn’t noticed? I didn’t know.

  When I looked up again at the mirror, the hunter was removing an honest-to-God crossbow from inside his trench coat, a trench coat that concealed the weapon from others. Behind him, commuters were coming and going. But not coming and going into the cafe coach. We were, for the most part, alone.

  He raised the weapon.

  ***

  My motion was a smooth one; maybe I had been a gunslinger in a past life. One moment, I was sitting with my back to the man, and the next, I was turning with my weapon in my hand.

  I fired a single shot, and the shot was true.

  A bloody rose blossomed in the man’s wide forehead and he pitched forward into the cafe coach—that’s when all the screaming started.

  When I breathed again and turned back around, the vampire was gone.

  ***

  I was with Detective Sherbet of the Fullerton Police Department. We were in his unmarked squad car, parked not very far from the Fullerton station. It was late at night and I was exhausted. Behind us, lights flashed and camera crews and reporters were filming their stories.

  “Sounds like you had a rough night,” said Sherbet.

  “Not as rough as the other guy.”

  “The guy you shot in the forehead.”

  “That would be him.”

  “The guy sporting the crossbow.”

  “One and the same.”

  Sherbet was a big man with hairy arms. He smelled good. Like a man. A hint of cologne with a chaser of garlic. His gut was bigger than he’d probably wanted it to be, but it looked firm. It suited him. He and I didn’t go way back, but we had crossed paths. Most recently at a biker hideout, not far from Palm Springs.

  Another story, I thought, for another time.

  Sherbet looked into his rearview mirror. “It’s not every day that a guy with a crossbow attacks people on a train.”

  “I suppose not.”

  “With a silver-tipped arrow.”

  “I think they’re called bolts, Detective,” I said.

  “Arrow, bolt, who gives a fuck. Same damn thing.”

  I shrugged and waited. I’d refused to speak to anyone until Sherbet had arrived. The responding officers hadn’t liked that a whole helluva lot, but I didn’t care. I trusted Sherbet. Also, I knew he was dealing with his own supernatural elements in his city. I’d read about the flying creature and the drained gang member and the sighting of what some claimed to have been a werewolf.

  Crazy shit, I thought. Crazy times.

  “I can think of only one reason why a man is carrying around a crossbow with a silver-tipped bolt.”

  “The Renaissance fair is in town?”

  Sherbet ignored me. “What do you know about vampires, Spinoza?”

  “Enough to know they belong in teen romance novels.”

  “Or not. I have someone coming who can explain this for us, and help this mess go away.”

  “Go away, how?”

  “She has her ways. Oh, good. Here she is now. Spinoza
, do you know Samantha Moon?”

  “I do.” I’d helped her find her runaway daughter a few years ago. We had gotten lucky. After all, sometimes the missing stay missing. I hate when that happens.

  Behind me, the rear door opened, and I glanced in the side mirror in time to see a smallish woman slide inside. At least, I assumed it was a woman. After all, whoever had slid in didn’t fully appear in the mirror.

  Sweet Jesus...

  A moment later, Samantha Moon popped her pretty face between the front seats. “I hear you boys have a vampire situation...”

  The End

  Return to the Table of Contents

  Nightmare

  Nightmares.

  We all have them. We all wake up in a cold sweat, bolting upright in bed, praying like hell that we were only dreaming. The relief that it had all been just a bad dream is nearly overwhelming. For the lucky few, they might only experience such nightmares, once, twice a month.

  For others like me... and Susan, well, our nightmares would never end. Ever.

  Until now.

  Until we did something about it.

  ***

  I watched her turn the page, then scratch her crotch.

  Very unattractive. Her name was Susan, and in her defense, she thought she was alone in her apartment. I drifted over and peered down at my book—yes, my book. Fifty years ago, I had printed and bound only four copies of it. Now here she was, attentively reading it.

  She was nearing the end, I could see. I followed her eyes as she read, wondering how much she was absorbing. When she finally finished the last page, she sat back and looked through me, thinking hard.

  For her sake, I could only pray that my words had, indeed, sunk in.

  She rubbed her face and looked generally shaken. She should look shaken. Here be demons. Real, honest-to-God demons.

  Finally, she stood and stretched in front of me. I admired her beauty with an empty, ghostly heart. I next followed her into her bedroom, repressing the memories of what this would have meant back when I had been alive: the bedroom of a beautiful woman and her in it. Ah. She dropped the book on her bed and disappeared into the bathroom.