Or did I really require an invitation at all?
What would Freud say?
Never mind that: what would the pope say?
I took a deep breath and reached for the door. My real discomfort in entering, I decided, had nothing to do with vampire lore and possibly being in a state of damnation. It had to do with the simple fact that I was Protestant.
Though I had certain Catholic friends who would delight in pointing out that there is no real difference between being damned for eternity or being Protestant, my main concern was that I didn’t know my way around a Catholic church. Fortunately, the object of my quest was not far from the entryway: the marble font containing water consecrated for ceremonial use.
It should have been easy: the coast was clear, no one was around. But now it occurred to me that there was no way for me to dip the bottles into the basin of holy water without getting my fingers wet. And I hadn’t thought to buy gloves.
I am not Catholic, so holy water is not part of my belief system, I told myself. Furthermore, I am a rational man: I know that there is no scientific principle to support holy water having any different qualities than regular water. I know that it cannot harm me. . . .
Yeah, right, answered the other half of the Csejthe stream-of-consciousness debate team, just like you rationally know that vampires don’t exist.
But there’s a scientific principle involved in creating vampires. . . .
Maybe, but can you explain werewolves, Binky?
This was getting me nowhere. Very gingerly, I dipped the tip of my little finger into the basin of holy water. No pain, no smoke, no bubbling froth, no dissolving flesh.
As quickly as I could, I filled four bottles and made my escape.
“Now where?” Lupé asked as I climbed back into the passenger seat.
“Another Catholic church,” I said, swapping full bottles for empties. “I figure we’ll need to hit five more cathedrals or kidnap a priest.”
“Wonderful.”
As we spent the next hour collecting aqua sacra, I was troubled by the question of why it didn’t affect me. Was it because I wasn’t a believing, practicing member of the Catholic faith? Or because I was not yet fully transformed into an undead creature and wholly damned? Perhaps it was because, as a rational man, I was immune to the superstitious influence and power of my subconscious mind?
Or maybe this stuff just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. . . .
Chapter Sixteen
“What is that?” Mooncloud had opened the motel room door and maneuvered two crutch-steps into the room when she noticed that I was pointing an odd-looking handgun at her.
“It’s a Splatmaster Rapide Semi-Automatic paint pistol,” I answered, studying her through the weapon’s three-power, cross-haired scope. “It’s used in war games and fires paintballs for marking hits on human targets.”
“I know what it’s used for,” she snapped, standing perfectly still. “Why are you pointing it at me?”
“This is a test,” I answered. “This is only a test. . . .” I pulled the trigger. Pffthok: the paintball left a ragged wet mark on her slacks, just above her right knee.
“What did you do that f—” She stopped in midroar and reexamined the stain. “It’s not paint.”
I shook my head. “It’s water.”
“Water?”
“Tap water.”
“Tap water?”
“For the test.” I holstered the pistol and sat back down in front of the cluttered desk. “It’s very simple, though a bit time consuming. I took a paintball and used a syringe to suck out all of the paint. Then I used another syringe to inject the tap water. Finally, I used a wee bit of sealant to plug the leak and—voilà!”
“And, instead of tap water,” she guessed, “you plan to reload your paintballs with holy water.” Her smile fell a little short of amazed admiration, but she said, “How clever you are, my dear Christopher. Excuse me while I get a towel.” She turned on her crutches and went back outside.
“I don’t think that was such a good idea,” Lupé remarked from the bed. “Nor very sporting considering her broken leg.”
“Aah, it was good for her. . . .” I picked up a virgin paintball and inserted the hypodermic needle. “The doc needs a little loosening up. And she can hardly argue with the effectiveness of my little demonstration.” The door opened behind me. “Right, Doc?”
“Granted, it’s a novel approach,” I heard her say as I excavated the paint from the plastic spheroid. “But one should always apply the KISS criteria when attempting any approach to a problem.”
“Kiss?” Lupé wanted to know.
“Yeah, K-I-S-S,” I said, squirting the paint back out of the syringe and into the plastic lined wastebasket. “It stands for ‘Keep It Simple, Stupid.’”
“You said it,” Lupé laughed, “not me.”
I looked up and saw Mooncloud’s reflection in the mirror that hung above my desk. She was leaning on the armrests of her crutches and brandishing a toy rifle outfitted with green and yellow plastic tanks and a tangle of connecting tubes.
“The Super Hoser Ten-Thousand-S,” Mooncloud explained, “has a full tank capacity of nearly four-and-one-half gallons. It can shoot a continuous stream of water nearly forty feet for a duration of eight seconds per burst.”
“Where did you get that?” I asked, turning very slowly and trying not to make any sudden moves.
“Kiddie Kastle. There was a sale on all squirt guns and water pistols.” She smiled and slide-cocked the damn thing. “This is a test,” she said.
I dived out the chair, rolled once, and then threw my superhuman reflexes into jumping up and running for the bathroom.
I almost made it.
* * *
Bassarab’s timely rescue and financial backing had given us a momentary shot of confidence. False confidence, perhaps, as one of our foes had survived staking and decapitation: all our high-tech firepower might not mean a thing when our paths crossed again. After loading a dozen paintballs with holy water, I pulled out my laptop computer.
The database on vampire legends was growing and the list of remedies becoming more complex and contradictory. Still, there was something that tugged at the back of my mind—some foreign bit of fable that resonated to our most recent encounter.
I finally found it under the Malaysian grouping. “Here we go,” I announced. Mooncloud came over and adjusted the screen for a better look.
“What’s it say?” Garou asked from the chair she had aligned with the failing air conditioner.
“According to this,” Mooncloud said, “there are a number of Malayan legends and stories that tie in to the vampire mythos. You’ve isolated seven different manifestations: the polong, bâjang, pëlësit, langsuir, mati-anak or pontianak, and the pênanggalan.”
“That’s it,” I said, “the last one.”
She studied the information. “The pênanggalan’s head separates from its body and goes flying off in search of its prey. After it feeds its head returns to its body before sunrise.”
“Sounds like our boy.”
She scrolled down the text and frowned. “Maybe not. Look here: the head leaves the body voluntarily and strands of guts and entrails dangle down from its neck while it flies about. Don’t remember voluntary and I don’t remember guts.”
“Maybe.”
She hit the page down key then scrolled backwards a half screen. “Here’s more. Pênanggalans are always female, never male.”
“Who knows what gender this thing is.”
“And, finally, the biggest telling difference: the pênanggalan’s body remains inert.”
“Inert?”
“Inanimate—totally helpless—until the head returns to rejoin the body at the neck. We saw this thing running away with its head tucked under its arm.”
“Well, if it’s not a pênanggalan, then what is it?”
She shrugged.
“Look, up until now I’ve bought into this RNA/DNA, Virus
A-Virus B, and Recombinant Virus C crap. But no amount of medical biobabble can explain a thing that can get its head chopped off and then gallop off like some refugee from a Washington Irving story!”
“Yet, you have seen it and you do know that it exists,” she snapped back. “So, like it or not, you’ve got to deal with its existence!”
“And find a way to kill it,” Lupé added.
“If it can be killed.”
“Oh, it can be killed.”
I looked at Lupé. “You’re so sure?”
“We’ll run down the list. If necessary,” she bared her teeth, “we’ll experiment.”
I sighed and pressed a sequence of keystrokes. “Okay, from the top. We start with Albania and the sampiro. The approved method of disposal: a stake through the heart.”
“Next,” Garou called from her chair.
“Ashantiland,” I read. “Species: asanbosam. Method of disposal: unknown.”
“Unknown? You’re sure?”
“Hey, I’ve had just enough time to scratch the surface, here. Check back with me after six months of intensive research and I might have a few more answers. Which brings us to the Austrian vampyre. My notes indicate that we must read scripture while destroying all images or portraits of that thing and be sure to use pentagrams in the process.”
“What does that mean?” Mooncloud pondered.
“Sounds like we should take some Polaroids the next time we run into that creepy bastard,” Garou said.
“And pentagrams?”
I shrugged. “I’m the novice here. I just transcribe the information. I leave analysis to the people with actual field experience.”
“Next.”
“Bavaria: nachtzehrer. Place coin in mouth, decapitate with ax.”
“The coin sounds like a modification of old burial practices,” Mooncloud said. “I doubt if it would have made any difference.”
“Which brings us to Bohemia and the ogoljen. Best bet: bury at crossroads.”
“Real practical,” Garou mused. “I can just see the two of us holding that thing down while you rent a jackhammer and tear up the intersection at First and Main. Next.”
“British Columbia: the kwakiytl. Means of disposal: any.”
“Obviously not our man.”
I paged down. “Two different species from Brazil: the jaracaca and the lobishomen. Both fit in the unknown category. Two more from Bulgaria: the krvoijac and the obours. To dispose of the first you must chain it to its grave with wild roses—”
“Ah, days of vine and roses. . . .”
I ignored Garou and continued: “The second requires witchcraft, burning, or bottling.”
“Bottling?”
“Highly unlikely, totally impractical, and I’ll explain later if you insist,” Mooncloud said. “Keep going, Chris.”
“Well, that throws out the polong of Malaysia, as well: my notes say it must be caught in bottle of special dimensions.”
Garou muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy.” I kept going.
“China: the p’o. Lightning strike or burn the body to ashes.”
“He didn’t look Chinese,” Garou offered.
“Chinese vampires are actually demons and don’t resemble anything human in the least,” Mooncloud explained. “Next to a p’o, our boy looks like Norman Normal.”
“Crete: kathakano. Boil head in vinegar.”
“Gee,” Garou said, “I wish we’d known that the night before last.”
“Denmark,” I continued, “the mara. Use knife blade which has been blessed and/or consecrated.”
“Maybe we should check this thing’s passport.”
“Maybe you should take this business a little more seriously,” Mooncloud admonished.
I looked up and saw the color drain from Lupé’s face. “You think I don’t want this thing dead?” she said through clenched teeth. “Come up with a plan and I’ll carry it out.” She got up and walked to the door. “This thing tore Luis apart and I’ve sworn a blood oath to kill it! I’m not afraid to die trying, if that’s what it takes! Perhaps it is the rest of you who should be taking this a little more seriously!” She walked out and slammed the door.
Mooncloud looked at the ground. I stared down at the LCD display. After awhile I began reading again.
“Greece: the brukulaco. Cut off the head and burn it. Also native to Greece, the vrykolakas. Celebration of mass followed by disinterment—remove heart and burn with incense, fill mouth with holy water.”
Mooncloud made no reply, so I kept going. “Germany: drakul. Place coin in mouth, cut name from shirt, break corpse’s neck, pin to ground with stake, burn body to ashes.”
Still no response.
“Grenada: the loogaroo. Method of disposal: unknown. Guinea: the owenga—also unknown.”
Mooncloud finally spoke. “How many on your list are unknowns when it comes to disposal?”
“Let me resort.” I pressed keys and a new list appeared:
Species/(Country) Method of Disposal
Otgiruru (Hereros Land) Unknown
Baital-Pachisi (India) Unknown
Bhût (India) Unknown
Hánh Sàburo (India) Unknown
Hánt-Pare (India) Unknown
Hántu-Dor Dong (India) Unknown
Jigar-Khor (India) Unknown
Mah’ânah (India) Unknown
Pênangal (India) Unknown
Pisâchâs (India) Unknown
Rákshasa (India) Unknown
Vetala (India) Unknown
Civateteo (Mexico) Unknown
Bruxsa (Portugal) Unknown
Baobhan Sith (Scotland) Unknown
Vampiro (Spain) Unknown
Mooncloud whistled as she followed the rising list. “If our quarry is any of these, we’re screwed. What’s left?”
I did a quick count. “Twenty-seven, counting the pênanggalan. But I think we can also eliminate the mau mau of Kenya, the ramanga of Madagascar, the pëlësit of Malaysia, and the moroii of Rumania—apparently they can be dealt with as if they were ordinary human beings.” I squinted at the display. “Although it is recommended that the pëlësit be buried with a cat when the process is concluded.”
“How many left on the list require incineration?”
I rekeyed the list into another subfile.
Species/(Country) Method of Disposal
Pamgri (Hungary) Burn body to ashes
Vampir (Magyar) Stake through heart, burn body
Romanati (Rumania) Body removed to remote place, hacked into pieces and cast in fire where every piece of flesh and bone must be incinerated
Vieszcy (Russia) Destruction by fire or execution with a gravedigger’s shovel
Vlkoslak (Serbia) Cut off toes, drive nail
through neck. Burn body to ashes
“Fire sounds like our best bet but I noticed a couple of variations on the stake method. How many other listings suggest some form of nailing or impaling?”
I opened and processed another subfile.
Species/(Country) Method of Disposal
Oupire (Hungary) Iron bar through heart, decapitate with ax
Vampir (Hungary) Stake through heart, nail through temples
Vryolakas (Macedonia) Pour boiling oil on, drive nail through navel
Pênanggalan (Malaysia) Impale head on Jenyu leaves, destroy body or keep head and body separate for 24 hours
Strigoiul (Rumania) Remove heart, cut in two; garlic in mouth, nail in head
Zârne ti (Rumania) Iron forks driven through the heart, eyes, and breast of an exhumed female vam- pire; grave considerably deepened and corpse buried face downwards
Upierczi (Russia) Appear from noon to midnight only; oaken stake through the heart with just one blow; exorcism
“All right, what’s left?”
“Mostly preventative burial measures.” I opened another subfile.
Species/(Country) Method of Disposal
Langsuir (Malaysia) Hair and nails must be cut short and clippings stuffed into hole in back of neck
Mati-Anak or Pontianak Put hen’s egg under (Malaysia) each armpit, needle in palm of hand, glass beads in mouth, use charm
Upier (Poland) Bury face downwards with willow crosses under chin, armpits, and chest; decapitate, mix blood with flour to make bread that frees victims once eaten
Gierach (Prussia) Put poppy seeds in grave
Neuntoter (Saxony) Bury with lemon in mouth
“Sounds like immolation is our best bet. Anything left?”
I scanned the remaining notations.
Species/(Country) Method of Disposal
Mulé (Gypsy) Ambush with thorns and gun
Bâjang (Malaysia) Drowning
Vârcolac (Rumania) Breaking the thread they climb on to banish them to another part of the sky
Vampyre (Yugoslavia) Rituals performed by dhampir
“Dhampir,” I mused. “I wonder what a dhampir is and if we could get in touch with one?”
“Unlikely,” Bassarab answered, giving us a start. “The dhampir is the son of a vampire. I know of only three who still might be living and none of them reside in this hemisphere, much less this country.”
I eyed the door behind him, wanting to ask how he’d managed to enter without our noticing. I imagined mist pouring through a keyhole and decided not to raise the question.
“The sun is down.” Bassarab unlocked the door and opened it with a flourish: it squeaked noticeably. “It is time to travel.”
A quiet, smooth ride is the last thing one expects from an automobile over sixty years old. But Bassarab’s ‘31 Duesenberg glided over the uncertain surface of US 69 like a ghost, the silken response of suspension and the purr of the antique V-12 motor giving the lie to the speedometer’s insistence that we were topping eighty miles an hour.
Even more hair-raising was the fact that we were doing this in complete darkness: it was a moonless night with nothing but empty fields to either side of the highway and the only light emanating from the car were the tiny LEDs indicating that the radar detector was on and sweeping the road ahead for county mounties.
One Foot in the Grave - The Halflife Trilogy Book I Page 24
