by John Skipp
“So how do we go about curing your little friend of his delusion?” he began, all jolliness and willingness to help.
“I’ve got it all figured out,” the boy said. “We all go over to his neighbor’s house and run a little vampire test on him. You know, like in Orgy of the Damned?”
“Ah, yes!” Peter was positively glowing now. “Would you believe that I still have the prop?” He reached into the vest pocket of his smoking jacket and pulled out a silver cigarette case. He flipped it open, revealing the white filter tips of his Carlton 100’s and the inside of the lid.
A mirror.
“You see?” he said, displaying it to Amy. “Most vampires don’t have mirrors in their homes. It would be a bit disconcerting, I’d imagine, to try to catch a glimpse of yourself and find nothing there.” He chuckled, flipped the case shut and put it back in his pocket. Then he turned to the boy and said, “It sounds fine to me, but has the neighbor agreed?”
The boy grinned. “I’ll take care of it. Umm . . . may I use your phone?”
Peter Vincent was more than happy to show him the way. The magic words were still high-stepping like chorus girls through his mind. He could scarcely imagine a more joyous piece of synchronicity.
All the clocks started ticking at once. The great grandfathers, the equally antique wall and desk models, all burst into perfectly synchronized motion.
Precisely at six o’clock.
In the front parlor, Billy Cole finished munching the last of his toast, took one final sip of tea and folded the newspaper neatly on the tray. He smiled, the tiniest flit across his features, as he glanced at the lurid headline:
RANCHO CORVALLIS KILLER STRIKES AGAIN
NUDE COED SLAUGHTERED
Details, pg. 3
Billy picked up the tray and made for the kitchen. His mind held only happy thoughts . . .
. . . Her name was Jeanette, and she really was a college student (or so she said), and she didn’t do this very often but she needed the money for the spring semester (student loan cutbacks, she said) . . . She was petite, but her breasts were very full and lush, they pressed against her bare forearm as he slipped the bag over her head and trundled her into the Jeep . . . She was still alive then, just barely, but no matter; it was a long drive to the quarry and he’d go slow. By the time he got there she’d be cooling and just right . . .
. . . Then he’d have his fun . . .
He puttered around the kitchen, tidying up. Dandrige insisted the place be kept spotless. But not so bad, this work, he mused. Where else can one enjoy such delicacies?
Just short of 6:10, the phone began to ring. By that time, footsteps were already coming up the steps. Billy moved to the phone and picked it up, said “Yes?” into the receiver.
A moment passed, and Jerry Dandrige appeared at the top of the basement steps. He looked well-rested. He looked perfect, as usual.
“It’s for you,” Billy said.
Jerry nodded, entering the kitchen. He almost seemed to glide across the floor, though Billy knew that wasn’t exactly the case. It was just the unbelievable grace of their kind. For a second, he envied his master, then quickly clamped a lid on the thought. His role was different, by necessity. Their powers would never be his.
His powers were enough.
Jerry nodded politely and took the phone. “Yes?” he said pleasantly. Billy stepped back into the shadows and waited.
The master nodded, made little noises of amusement and agreement. It went on for about thirty seconds. Then he cleared his throat and said, “I see. Yes, of course. I’m always willing to help young people. But I’m afraid that the crosses just won’t do. You see, I’ve recently been born again . . .”
He grinned at Billy. Billy smiled back.
“Yes, exactly. I will not have the sacraments taken lightly in my presence. I must be very firm about that. My faith demands it.”
A second’s pause. “Yes, I’ll hold on.” A longer pause, followed by the little noises again.
“Fine,” he said finally. “As long as the water’s not sanctified, I see no harm in getting splashed a little. No problem at all.”
Another pause.
“Actually . . .” he said, drawing it out, “this evening would be perfect. We had a previous dinner engagement, but unfortunately, it’s been cancelled. A visit from you and Mr. Vincent would be wonderful. Please come . . . Oh, yes. Bring the boy and his girlfriend with you.”
Billy began to chuckle. Jerry waggled a finger at him, but the gesture had no authority. The master was desperately trying to keep from laughing, too.
“Yes, yes. Fantastic. An hour will be fine. I’ll see you soon . . . No, no, thank you! ’Bye!”
He hung up the phone, and they looked at each other in the darkened living room. Billy shrugged and grinned, as if to say Don’t ask me, Boss. I only work here.
“You know something, Billy?” the vampire said at last. “Sometimes I think that somebody up there likes me.” He pointed a long, bony talon toward the heavens.
Then they laughed, and they laughed, and they laughed.
“All set,” said the boy. “Now all we’ve got to do is get Chucko to join us.”
“I’ll take care of that,” the girl announced. She cast a slightly cold gaze at Peter and added, “If I might use your phone, now.”
“By all means,” Peter gushed, motioning her forward with a sweeping gardyloo. He recognized the expression on her face: the resentment, the grudging dependence, the godlike aloofness that came with holding the purse strings.
No matter, he thought as she began to dial the number. I doubt very seriously that I’ll have to put up with five hundred dollars’ worth of malevolent glances.
He had no way of knowing how entirely wrong he was.
FOURTEEN
Three studies in agitation: one contemptuous, one compassionate, one complete.
“It’s seven-oh-five,” Charley noted, somewhat twitchily. “He said seven, right? So where is he?”
“Don’t get your undies in a bundle, Chucko. The man said he’d be here. He’ll be here, fercrissakes.” Eddie turned and thrust his hands into the pockets of his flight jacket. “He better, for all the cash she’s dishing out.”
Amy kicked him, subtle yet hard. Charley paid no attention, utterly lost in his thoughts. “He’ll be here,” she said, touching her boyfriend’s shoulder gently. “I promise.”
Charley was about to respond from his bottomless pit of doubt when he saw the ancient Rambler chugging up the street. “He’s here! All right!” he yelled, rushing forward to meet it. Amy and Ed shrugged and fell in behind.
“He is?” Eddie was a little taken aback by the Great Vampire Killer’s seedy transportation. He expected a little more show for that much dough, even if it was somebody else’s.
The Rambler pulled up, shuddering to a stop. Charley bounced up and down like a cocker spaniel, scarcely able to contain himself. “Mr. Vincent, I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
Peter Vincent climbed out of the car. He was dressed in full vampire-hunting regalia: a Victorian Harris Tweed suit, complete with mackintosh and cap. He shook Charley’s hand earnestly, laying it on with a trowel. “Not at all. Terribly sorry about our encounter this morning, but you must understand that I get similar requests constantly, and not all are as well founded as your own.” He looked at Amy. She smiled approvingly.
“But when your friends here explained the direness of your plight, it was clear where my duty lay. So,” he concluded, clicking his heels and bowing curtly, “Peter Vincent, Vampire Killer, at your service.
“And now, down to business. Where is the lair of this suspected creature of the night?”
Charley pointed nervously. “Right there,” he said.
Peter studied the house gravely. “Ah, yes. I see what you mean. There is a distinct possibility.” He reached into the car, withdrew a small leather satchel. Placing it upon the hood of the car, he opened it, removing a delicate crystal vial
of liquid. Then he put the bag back and turned to the kids, straightening his shoulders. “Well,” he said, “shall we go?”
Evil Ed snickered a tiny bit. “Where’re your stakes and hammer?”
Peter Vincent regarded him coolly. “They are in the car.”
“You’re not going in there without them!” Charley was horrified. “That’d be suicide!”
“I have to prove that he’s a vampire before I kill him, Charley.”
“But I already know he’s a vampire!”
“But I do not!” Vincent leveled him with his most paternal gaze. “Trust me, Charley. I’ve been doing this for a long, long time, and I’d surely not endanger you, no less myself.”
Vincent held the vial up to the light. “This,” he said, “is holy water. Duly sanctified and blessed. If he so much as touches it, it will blister his flesh. I am going to ask him to drink it.”
“He’ll never agree to it! He’ll kill us all!” Charley cried. He stared at the three of them, looking for a trace of sanity.
Evil Ed cackled. “He already agreed, you cluck!”
Charley looked at Peter Vincent. “He did?”
Peter nodded gravely. “Yes,” he said. “Which doesn’t exactly strengthen your case, does it? Now, shall we go?”
Charley was stymied. “But . . .” he stammered, grabbing Peter’s arm.
Amy interceded. “Mr. Vincent,” she said, eyes imploring. “If Charley’s right, and you prove he’s a vampire, are we in any danger?” Charley nodded, emphatically endorsing the notion.
“Not at all, my dear. Vampires are cunning above all, and our joint demise would be most difficult to hide.” He looked at Charley. “No, we’ll be safe tonight, and we can always return to dispatch him by light of day.
“And, after all,” he added, winking, “I am Peter Vincent.”
The actor turned with a flourish and strode manfully up the walk. Charley looked at Amy. Amy looked at Eddie. Eddie smiled and looked slightly askance at the whole thing.
“You pays yo’ money and you takes yo’ chance . . .”
They hurried up the walk.
And King Street slipped from twilight into darkness.
FIFTEEN
The huge oak door opened with a creak the instant before Peter Vincent’s hand reached the knocker. He recoiled ever so slightly, as did Eddie and Amy. Charley almost had a heart attack. But the terror subsided as Billy Cole appeared with a sponge soaked in Murphy’s Oil Soap from behind the door. He smiled broadly, dropping the sponge into a bucket and wiping the hand on his jeans.
“Oh, hi! We weren’t expecting you so soon. Hope I didn’t scare you.” He gestured at the bucket. “Just doing a little restoration and maintenance. I’m Billy Cole.” He extended his hand warmly. “And you must be . . .”
“Peter Vincent, Vam—” He caught himself. “Peter Vincent.”
“Mr. Vincent, a pleasure. Jerry mentioned you.” He gestured expansively. “Please, won’t you all come in? Don’t mind the clutter.”
He stepped back and they entered, Charley ducking slightly as they cleared the lintel, as if anticipating an ambush. Amy winced in embarrassment.
Billy showed them into the great hall, the stairway sweeping up before them. To the left lay the front parlor. The wailful of clocks ticked in mad staccato.
“It really is a mess,” he confessed. “We just moved in.” He turned to the stairs and yelled, “Hey, Jerry! We’ve got company!”
They waited in rapt silence. Several seconds passed.
“Perhaps he didn’t hear you,” Peter Vincent offered apologetically. He felt supremely embarrassed. Even the girl’s money wasn’t worth this ludicrous charade. Damn the fool boy and his cow-eyed sweetheart. He had some pride left. Next, he’d be hosting birthday parties.
Billy Cole just beamed like a jack-o’-lantern. “Oh, he heard me, all right!”
Jerry Dandrige descended from the darkness at the head of the stairs, the epitome of poise and charm. Everything about him reeked of understated elegance: his shoes obviously handmade and very expensive, his clothes (a handsome wool sweater-and-slacks combo) casual yet rarefied. His demeanor was well-bred and almost noble, as if he had not a worry in the world and, as such, could afford to be gracious.
Eddie and Peter were impressed to distraction.
Charley thought him more intimidating than ever.
Amy thought he was gorgeous.
All eyes upon him, Jerry reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to Peter with a blinding smile. “Ah, Mr. Vincent, so good of you to come. I’ve seen all of your films and found them very amusing.” He extended his hand.
Peter shook hands, quite flustered. To the best of his knowledge, it was the first time anyone over the age of fifteen had ever admitted to seeing all of his films, much less to liking them. “Why, thank you . . .” he stammered.
“And who might these two attractive people be?”
Peter beamed. “This is Ed Thompson, and this is Amy Peterson.”
Jerry bent low and kissed Amy’s hand. “Charmed,” he crooned. She looked imminently orgasmic. Then he looked up at Charley with a wink and wicked smile. “That’s what a vampire is supposed to do, eh, Charley?”
The whole room laughed. Even Amy stifled a giggle. Charley felt like week-old sheep dip. He glowered and said nothing.
Jerry smiled and gestured to the front parlor. “Please, come in. Be comfortable.” He ushered Peter into the living room. Billy followed, laughing heartily. Amy and Ed stared after them, totally captivated.
“God, he’s neat,” Amy sighed. She practically floated into the room, all but oblivious to Charley’s presence. Eddie shot him a disgusted glance.
“Some vampire, Brewster,” he said, and sauntered off to join the others.
He would have sent a live grenade in his place if he’d had one. He wanted to scream. I can’t believe you’re falling for this snow job! But they were. It was one paranoid teenager against Vlad the Impaler, and he was losing in a big way.
Got to play along, he thought. Catch him unawares.
He made his way into the parlor, entering with roughly the fanfare reserved for a wayward family pet. His face looked like he’d dipped it in vinegar, but no one seemed to mind. They were too absorbed in Dandrige’s witty repartee.
The parlor was spacious and airy, even though its floor space was crammed with boxes and cartons, all draped with heavy sheets. Jerry looked at them apologetically. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. I’m still unpacking.”
Peter nodded sympathetically. Charley couldn’t stand it. He glared at Dandrige, trying hard to sound tough and resolute. “Where do you keep your coffin? Or do you have more than one?” The words came out a petulant whine.
“Charley . . .” Peter growled, trying to conceal his anger.
Dandrige remained unruffled. “It’s all right, Mr. Vincent. As you may have noticed, I am rather fond of antiques,” he said, gesturing around the room. “In fact, it is the means by which I made my fortune: dealing in antiques and objets d’art. The ‘coffin’ which apparently started this entire affair is actually a sixteenth-century Bavarian chest that Charley saw Billy and me carrying in.”
“That’s right,” Billy chimed in. “Jerry finds ’em, I fix ’em up. We’re partners.”
“Bullshit,” Charley said. “It’s all bullshit! It wasn’t a chest, it was a coffin! And he’s not your partner, he’s your master! I saw you on your knees—”
“CHARLEY!” Peter was aghast. I was right. He’s completely insane.
“Quite all right, Mr. Vincent,” Jerry said. “I’m used to it by now. As you may know, Charley even brought the police here yesterday.”
Peter winced. That was it; he wanted out of the entire mortifying situation. Let the kid talk to his mother, or a psychiatrist, or Phil Donahue, for all he cared. The police?
Everyone stared at Charley as if he’d just had an accident on the rug. Bad, Charley! Bad, bad, bad, bad . . .
“Oh, Ch
arley, you didn’t . . .” Amy looked shamefaced.
“Damn right I did!” he said emphatically. “Only the cops didn’t believe me any more than you do.” He stared at Amy, then turned to Peter and said, “But you will. Mr. Vincent, give him the holy water.”
“Charley, there’s no reason to be rude about this,” Peter said, smiling through gritted teeth.
“No, Mr. Vincent, he’s quite right. Where is the, ah, holy water?”
Peter withdrew the vial furtively. Ed’s eyes twinkled. “Are you sure that’s holy water, Mr. Vincent?” he chided.
Peter smiled, nodding confidently. “Positive,” he said. “It’s from my personal cache. Father Scanlon down at Saint Mary’s blessed it personally.” He handed the vial to Jerry, who accepted it with a faint reticence.
Jerry searched Peter’s eyes briefly. The old bugger was a nutcase, most certainly. Did he have a stash of holy water? He was so absorbed in his pitiful persona, he just might. If it was, to even touch it to his lips would mean ceaseless searing agony.
He uncapped the vial, sniffing for any trace of danger. All eyes were glued to his movements. Billy quietly stepped back, moving to block the portico doorway. The tension was a palpable presence in the room, the air tinged with electricity.
Charley edged closer to Amy, simultaneously sliding the cross from his pocket. “Get ready to run,” he whispered. “I’ll protect you with this.”
Jerry smiled and shrugged, tipping the vial back into his mouth. He drained it in one gulp. Winked. Bowed with a flourish.
And all hell broke loose.
It happened very quickly. Dandrige doubled over suddenly, breath rasping in horrible dry heaves. Amy, Peter and Ed rushed forward. Charley reared up triumphantly, brandishing the cross. Before he could speak, a large hand wrapped his and squeezed, snapping the cheap crucifix in two. He turned to face Billy, who was smiling and shaking his head.
And above it all, laughter.
Dandrige straightened, laughing heartily. Shock, relief, and confusion flooded his guests. Billy laughed, clapping Charley on the back. The whole room resounded with the revelry of the prank.
