Taking to the air, he left Marie’s body where someone would soon find her, for he wasn’t completely heartless. He flew home and spent the remainder of his waking hours meditating on the memory of Mercedes. Even during his sleep, he dreamed of her. How long had it been since he’d dreamed?
He didn’t see her the following night or the night after. In fact, he could not find her, and that frustrated him to no end. How could this be? He should have trailed her, stalked her. Now the opportunity to know her in that most intimate way at the moment of death would be denied him. He was so angry that he spent the following week purposefully hunting those who looked like her.
It was on such a night that he encountered her again. He slithered from the shadows, ready to use his considerable strength to overwhelm his intended prey as the blonde walked past him oblivious to his presence. She shuffled a paper bag stuffed with produce, cheese and other human foods, her purse and a bottle of water. The perfect target. When he was about to spring, she turned to him. “Cassius Bonaparte?” Stunned at being face to face with Mercedes after being unable to find her so long, he stood gape-mouthed on the stoop of her apartment. “Will you help me? Here, hold this.” She shoved the bag in his arms and fumbled around for her keys.
In a few seconds, he was inside Mercedes’ apartment, at her invitation. He couldn’t help but stare at his surroundings. Yes, she was an art lover, and this was not a bourgeois apartment but a brownstone with a lovely interior. A beautiful place. “Come in, Cassius. Would you mind taking that into the kitchen? It’s just through there.” She smiled pleasantly and began removing her scarf and coat. To his surprise, he did as he was asked. “Let me take your coat, Cassius. How have you been?”
And that began a conversation that lasted months.
Every night, he found himself at her doorstep with some gift in his hands. Flowers, wine, which he could stomach on occasion, and whatever food she wanted. He would eat with her and then excuse himself to vomit in the toilet like a bulimic teenager. But he didn’t mind it. He really didn’t. Things went beautifully between them through spring, summer and then fall. He killed when he needed to, but never close to Cotton Street. She never asked him about his odd hours, just chalked it up to his “painting” and laughed about the life of an artist.
She’d been out of town when he’d searched for her, back in the beginning. That was why he couldn’t find her. But he was with her now and wanted to be with her every night, for the rest of eternity. He couldn’t explain why. He wasn’t sure he loved her, but then that sort of thing wasn’t something a vampire really considered, was it?
No, but he liked her. She interested him, and he loved her smell, but he also loved her integrity. He loved that she watered her plants and that she studied her old dusty books. For the first time in his vampire existence, Cassius considered taking a mate, turning a human. She would be his for all eternity. But would she love him after? Would she thank him when he banished her to the darkness? Whatever the outcome, he would do it. He would do it tonight, on Halloween. What better time to do something so dastardly than All Hallows’ Eve. He’d always hated this wretched holiday. Invariably he would spot some fool wearing white face paint and plastic fangs.
But he wouldn’t answer the door. Tonight, that would be Mercedes’ job. He turned his thoughts back to his current consternation. He’d been pondering this question for days and still had no answer. It made sense; they practically lived together now. Mercedes had gone out of her way to make him feel comfortable in her home. She had purchased blackout curtains because of his sunlight sensitivities. At times, like yesterday, he would spend the day in her basement apartment. And when he did, he could hardly keep himself in bed until the sun went down. He would sneak upstairs a few minutes before sunset and enjoy her presence a few extra stolen moments. Cassius had never trusted a human before, but Mercedes wasn’t like any other human he’d met. She was an old soul, a wise young woman. As far as human intimacy went, she was fond of kissing and holding his chilly hand. But she did not pressure him for more and was the picture of patience. He expected that would not always be the case. And she had a quick mind—she would soon figure out his secret.
“Okay, you promised. Stand next to me and smile, Cassius. I want my friends to see you. They hardly believe I have a boyfriend.”
“Is this necessary, Mercedes? We are here together now.” She’d dressed up as a nurse for Halloween and had taken the time to purchase a doctor’s lab coat for him. “Quite amusing,” he’d lied when he saw it. He wasn’t feeling amused at the moment. Before he could think—or blink—she stood beside him and a light flashed in his eyes. It blinded him for a few seconds and disoriented him.
“What was that? You know I don’t take pictures, Mercedes!”
She laughed. “Oh, come on, it’s just a selfie for my FaceTalk page.” Then she grew quiet, and now that he could see, he watched her face change. She stared at the phone and then at Cassius.
“This can’t be right! It can’t be.” As her smile faded, he saw fear in her eyes. She knew. Somehow, she knew the truth.
“Please, Mercedes. I can explain.”
“What are you? What are you? The cab driver! He thought I was…but you…and now…you’re in my house! Get out! I don’t want you here.”
Cassius put his hands up. He could hear her blood pumping faster; it smelled so pure. He imagined it was sweet to the taste too, but he shook his head. He didn’t want to kill Mercedes. He wanted her in a way he could hardly verbalize.
Oh, he thought. I do love her. And that thought brought him a great deal of sadness but also something else: hope. He hadn’t experienced hope in so long. He could barely fathom it. He took a step toward her, his hands outstretched as if to offer an explanation.
The only thing he could think to say was, “I love you, Mercedes.”
And those were the last words he would ever say.
With a scream of fear, Mercedes tore at the blackout curtains that hung in the living room window. Yes, she knew the truth now. The fingers of fading sunlight lit up both the room and Cassius. He burst into flames but did not scream or flail about. He didn’t seek help from Mercedes, for the sound of her screams, her revulsion, crushed his dark soul.
With that last thought, what was once Cassius burned into cinders.
Hide and Creep
Peachtree, Ohio 1957
Silas stood at the window and watched the raindrops splatter on the sidewalk outside his house. The scratchy ruffle around his neck irritated his sensitive skin, but not as much as the paint on his pudgy face. He’d never wanted to be a clown for Halloween, but his mother didn’t give him a choice in the matter. When she came home with the boxed costume, Silas didn’t complain. He wasn’t much of a talker to begin with, but he didn’t fuss or remind her that he’d asked for a cowboy costume, like the Lone Ranger. Silas was eight years old and the only kid in his class who had never been trick-or-treating. This would be his first year.
Or it would have been.
The rain settled in, and even if it ended immediately, Silas’ mother would never allow him to traipse through mud puddles and across wet grass. She’d said as much when she stood beside him watching the rain fall, clucking her tongue in fake disappointment.
“Oh dear. That’s a mess. Perhaps we can find some other type of entertainment. Leave it to Mother.”
Silas didn’t answer her, and he didn’t cry about it. Crying never came easily to him. Even when his father died. He didn’t cry when kids on the bus showered him with an assortment of insults.
He heard the front doorbell ring and left his plastic jack-o’-lantern pail behind as he went to answer it. Probably trick-or-treaters. Kids that didn’t have a mother who watched their every move. He turned the knob and saw a boy standing there, around his age, although Silas didn’t know him. Not from school or from the neighborhood. He stood staring at him, and neither of them spoke. Silas wasn’t staring so much at the kid as at his co
stume. The stranger was wearing his costume, down to the shiny silver badge and the fringed vest, and had a red handkerchief tied around his neck.
“My, what a wonderful costume! Are you here for candy? Silas, don’t just stand there! Bring me my bowl. Don’t drop it.”
With a silent sigh and a shrug of his shoulders, he left his mother alone with the Cowboy Kid. How dare she praise him for his costume yet force Silas to wear this ridiculous clown getup? Silas whispered a few swear words under his breath. He didn’t know what they meant, but his father used to use them frequently, often in conjunction with his mother’s name. He found the Green Goblin bowl easily enough, on the bar next to the black cat cutout. Silas retrieved it and then rifled through the contents in search of his favorite treat—Daddy O’s, round pieces of chocolate with caramel centers.
Silas gobbled one up, stuffed the wrapper in his pocket to hide the evidence and considered grabbing another one until he heard gunshots coming from the television. How strange. It wasn’t time for the Lone Ranger yet. This was Saturday, and his show played on Wednesday nights. He didn’t remember leaving the television on, either. His mother wouldn’t allow that. The rain was now hitting the windows so hard he thought perhaps they would break. That must have been the sound he heard. Carrying the heavy glass bowl with him, he trotted back to the front door.
To his surprise, the door stood wide open. He clutched the Green Goblin bowl in his hands and waited in the hallway. What should he do? Silas didn’t hear his mother’s high heels clacking on the wooden floors, and he didn’t see the Cowboy Kid anywhere. He walked to the front door, poked his head out and looked around. Nope. Nobody there, and the rain continued. He stepped back indoors and closed the door behind him. Where was his mother? Digging in the bowl for another Daddy-O, he walked into the living room again and didn’t find her there. He checked the kitchen. No, not there either. As he unwrapped the candy and stuffed it in his mouth, Silas went to the bathroom, just to see if the door was closed. Nope. She wasn’t in there either. She wasn’t anywhere that he could see. Silas tapped on her bedroom door, but she didn’t answer. He knocked louder.
The door opened, but it wasn’t his mother standing there. It was the Cowboy Kid. Silas staggered back and nearly choked on his candy. He didn’t mean to, but he dropped the bowl. Luckily for him, it landed on the worn carpet runner and didn’t shatter into a million pieces. Silas couldn’t take his eyes off the other child.
The boy put his finger up to his lips to tell Silas to be quiet. Wide-eyed, he did just that. Suddenly the boy disappeared—right before his eyes. Silas didn’t move but stood in a pile of Daddy-O’s, peanut butter taffy and popcorn balls. And there he was again, the Cowboy Kid, standing at the end of the hall. Silas couldn’t understand it. How had he gotten from here to there? But he heard the kid’s voice clearly in his ear: Come and find me, Silas. I have a prize for you. Yes, it had to be the Cowboy Kid’s voice because it wasn’t his.
Silas watched as the boy turned and walked away, vanishing down the hallway. He glanced around and, seeing no sign of his mother, obeyed the boy’s request and walked to the end of the hall.
He wasn’t there, but on the floor was a Daddy-O. He scooped it up but had no appetite for the sweet. Instead, he stuffed it in the pocket of his clown pants. And there the kid was again, on the landing at the top of the stairs! The Cowboy Kid watched Silas with an expressionless face and cold black eyes. Silas took a few tentative steps toward him, his heart starting to beat a little harder. He paused, and once again the skinny kid walked away and vanished from sight a few seconds later. Silas followed the stranger up the wooden staircase and waited on the now-empty landing. He didn’t know what to do, so he just waited and tried to ignore the way his skin crawled and his stomach flopped. The rain pounded against the landing window. This boy can’t be a normal boy, he reasoned. And the question of where his mother might be gnawed at him. But only a little.
The Cowboy Kid did not reappear on the stairs, but the attic door above him slammed shut. Silas wanted to throw up, but he had to follow the boy. He had a prize for Silas, and he’d left him a Daddy-O. And there was another one! He reached down and picked it up, shoving it in the same pocket as the other one. With a gulp, he climbed the short staircase and stood before the closed door. He could hear scratching inside, and a train whistle. Someone was tinkering with his father’s trains! He had never been allowed to play with them after his father died. Never! And now the Cowboy Kid was having a good time playing with the forbidden train set. Silas put his hand on the doorknob. It felt cold—no, it felt plum icy—but he opened it anyway.
Silas waited for the wooden door to stop creaking and for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the attic. He always hated coming up here the few times he’d had the courage to attempt to sneak in undetected. It seemed so empty without his father’s smiling face to greet him, without the warm glow of the side lamp shining.
But it was shining now. Slowly the light increased, and there was the Cowboy Kid standing on the other side of the train table. Before he could warn the boy to leave the attic before his mother found them, the train whistled softly. This was the Canton Red train, the new one that he’d never seen out of the box. His father left the house the morning it came, promising to come home early to set it up and give it a test ride.
He never came home. And the Canton Red remained forgotten in the box until now. Well, Silas hadn’t actually forgotten about it. He’d wanted to see it, wanted to set it up, but his mother would never allow it. In fact, he heard her telling someone on the telephone that she wanted to sell it and the other three trains as well. Silas was glad to see that she hadn’t.
The train whizzed around, and Silas stepped closer. He felt uncomfortable with the way the dark-eyed boy was staring at him, but he wasn’t a scaredy-cat. He stood next to the oversized table and took in the familiar details. The train station with its working lamps and tiny potted shrubs. The carefully cut silhouettes he and his father had pasted in the windows of the miniature terminal. Travelers going to interesting places. Silas and his father had speculated on who they were and where they might be going.
Yes, it was wonderful to see, and such detail! Tiny puffs of smoke rose from the smokestack of the black engine, a passenger car, and then another. Finally, there was a trailer with a strange-looking bundle tied to it, a pink bundle wearing pink high heels and a peaked bouffant. Silas couldn’t believe it, but his mother was gagged and tied to the train sled! She was so tiny! She was miniature too! Silas’ eyes widened, and he spoke, probably for the first time today.
“Mother?”
He could only watch helplessly as his mother whizzed around the track, straining against the ropes. And now she was out of sight in the tunnel. The Cowboy Kid stepped back and disappeared into the shadowy side of the room. Silas heard the closet door open and quietly close. Torn between the sight of his mother tied to the track and investigating what other tricks the Cowboy Kid was up to, Silas paused. Surely, he was dreaming! Yes, that had to be it! He pinched himself through the rough fabric of the clown costume. No, not dreaming. He rubbed at the sore spot and watched the train roll around again.
Now there was scratching at the door, and he could hear the clanking of hangers. What could the boy be doing? There was nothing in there except a few old jackets that belonged to his father. He had to go see. There wasn’t anything he could do about his mother right now anyway, except cut her loose and put her in his pocket.
In his big floppy shoes, he walked to the door, put his hand on the rusty knob and opened it. It was dark inside, but not so dark that he couldn’t see that there was no one there. No one at all. Just the old coats he remembered. The thick oilskin, a dark blue pea coat, and a dull yellow slicker.
And the cowboy costume.
It swung as if the Cowboy Kid had just left it there. Left it for him. Silas dragged the step stool out from inside the closet and used it to reach the costume. Yes, this was it! The entire
costume down to the shiny badge and the red handkerchief. But how? And where was the kid?
Without wasting a minute, Silas left the attic. He went straight to the bathroom and washed the horrible clown paint from his face. It left red spots all over his skin, but at least the humiliation of wearing face paint had ended. He couldn’t set himself free from the stiff neck ruffle, however, and had to go in search of his mother’s sewing shears. He found them, right where she’d left them. Silas carefully snipped at the stiff fabric. Yes, he was free. Before replacing the shears, he considered going back to the attic and rescuing his mother. But if he did, she would surely be angry. First, for being miniaturized, and second, for being tied to a train by the Cowboy Kid. And also because Silas had every intention of wearing this costume. He tossed the shears on the bed and went back to the bathroom to complete his transformation.
Oh, yes! He looked like a real cowboy! Except he needed his hat, his last Christmas gift from his father. He scrambled off to his room and put on his hat and his boots. With some pleasure, he paraded in front of the mirror.
This would do nicely. The clock downstairs struck eight o’clock. Not too late to go trick-or-treating. He walked downstairs, retrieved his jack-o’-lantern pail and stepped outside. The rain had stopped, and he could see other children ringing doorbells on his street. He left the house, his heart beating fast, the excitement almost more than he could stand.
For the first time in two months, Silas smiled. As if he were an old pro, he rang each doorbell, accepted the compliments of people he barely knew, who all loved his costume, and took their candy offerings.
Halloween Screams Page 4
