by H. T. Night
“You still scared me, asshole!” I scolded him, though my tone was more playful than before.
“So, are you ready to get going? What in the hell were you looking at anyway?” he asked, looking out into the parking lot.
“Nothing…I’m ready to go,” I told him, taking a cautious step down the stairs.
There was still no sign of my pursuers. Maybe it was just a couple of wild dogs on the loose, though larger than any I’d ever seen, and the rest of what I saw had been added by the wild thoughts circling around in my head the past few days. Even so, I offered a silent prayer that it wasn’t some predatory mutant vampires searching for an elusive female of unusual Basque descent.
“But would you mind if instead of walking to your place we could take your car?”
I asked this sweetly since Peter wanted to leave the car on campus to avoid the vehicle searches that began this afternoon. We already went through one such search, and luckily the patrolman and his female partner didn’t notice that his tags had expired in October. His excuse that he was too busy with his studies to get it done wouldn’t garner much leniency if he got caught, I’m sure. When dealing with the local police, privileged college rich kids have to suck it up like everyone else.
“No, babe…not at all,” he told me, after looking toward the Alumni Center. His brow furrowed for a moment, and I wondered if he sensed something glowering at him too from the shadows across the way. But then he shrugged his shoulders, his concern giving way to a generous smile. “Let’s get you warmed up. I’ve got wood in the fireplace already, so you can relax with a glass of wine in front of a warm fire while I get dinner ready.”
He grabbed my duffle bag and wrapped his free arm around my waist, guiding me to his car. I felt so safe with him—even more than I ever had before—that I didn’t bother casting a nervous gaze around us. Peter would protect me. Nothing could go wrong as long as he was here with me, I just knew it. I hoped he understood that’s what I felt while we kissed and embraced outside his Camaro.
We soon headed north to his place, after coasting through the police roadblock. It went easier than either of us expected, and I took it as a good sign…maybe I could just as easily avoid any menace determined to get me.
***
“Now, babe, just get comfortable and I should have everything ready in twenty to thirty minutes,” said Peter, once he and I finished getting the fire up to a full blaze.
A glass of zinfandel in hand, I looked around the living room. Even though I’d been here many times during the past two months, it felt different that night. A safe haven? Perhaps. At least something that went far beyond the amenities we shared with Tyreen and Johnny earlier. After all, a theater room and hot tub wouldn’t mean squat if what I glimpsed earlier on campus somehow found its way here.
Better to be there than back in the dorm, even though Garvan and Armando endorsed Massey Hall as their version of a protected refuge. I guess I could say the advanced security system swung the pendulum to Peter’s townhouse as the preferred locale. At least for me. Looking back now, the prospect of unabashed sex with my man, who was right then putting the finishing touches on a delightful birthday dinner further enhanced that sense of security.
A false sense, as it turned out.
While waiting for Peter’s return to the living room, I turned on the TV, hoping to find something funny to take my mind off everything. I stumbled on CNN, which just happened to be running their report on the latest news regarding the Knoxville killings. I should’ve kept going, but couldn’t resist lingering for a moment.
Another missing girl had been added to the list, and this one had likely disappeared two nights earlier. Another off-campus resident, this one lived less than three blocks away on 11th Street. Just like that, I didn’t feel quite as protected from harm as I assumed.
“Dinner’s ready, Txema!” Peter announced. He looked adorable in his apron and still wearing an oven mitt. Of course, I didn’t tell him this, fearing he might never dress like it again if I did. “Please follow the chef to your table, madam!”
I followed him into the dining room, where he had laid out a four-course meal. The filets looked delectable, along with potatoes, asparagus, and a bean casserole that was a recipe of his mom’s.
“Have a seat, darlin’, and we can dig in!” he beamed, and after pulling my chair out for me, he scurried over to his seat, throwing the apron and mitt on a table near the kitchen on his way. Before I got settled in my chair, he had already dug in, leaving me to fend for myself.
What a guy, huh? Well, at least the romantic thought was there for a moment, I remember telling myself. I guess his raging hunger and the close proximity of food turned him back into a typical male. Maybe that aspect would come in handy later.
“So, what do you think?” he asked, once he finished. I still had a little ways to go with my filet.
“It’s really good,” I told him, motioning the ‘okay’ for a refill in my wine glass. “I’m touched, hon’. This was really nice!”
“Thanks, babe,” he replied, and I could tell he felt just as touched by my sincere compliment. “There’s still dessert…and more to come after that.” He raised his wine glass in salute.
There was that smile again. My man’s dreamy eyes told me there was a lot more ‘niceness’ to come.
“I can wait on dessert,” I told him, smiling coyly. “But what else have you got in mind?”
“Are you sure you can wait on some devil’s food?”
“I’d rather save the devil for later tonight…as for the cake, maybe in a little while.”
The seductive wink I added brought an immediate effect. His smile faded slightly, but the twinkle in his eyes told me his arousal would soon match mine. Everything was heading for the night of passion I hoped for…needed. After clearing the table, I motioned for him to grab his wine glass and the half-empty wine bottle and follow me back to the living room. We had just stepped out of the dining room when the lights suddenly went out.
“What in the hell?” he murmured, worriedly, setting his glass and the bottle on the coffee table—my first clue that the lights weren’t a romantic touch on his part.
Shit!
This was an unfortunate development, though likely just a fuse went out. It seemed logical when I glanced out the window and saw that Peter’s neighbor’s had electricity. But then none of the appliances were working either—anywhere on the main floor. Luckily, the fire still burned brightly in the fireplace, with plenty of wood to get us through the night.
Peter moved into the kitchen and grabbed a flashlight from the pantry. Before he rejoined me by the fire, I heard the first creaks upstairs. Someone was moving around in Stephen’s bedroom.
“Nobody’s up there…right?” I asked, hoping the softness in my voice didn’t give away my rising panic.
“Yeah, Stephen left this afternoon. Remember?” My man looked worried—definitely not a good sign.
He moved quietly over to the stairs and pointed the flashlight up to the second floor landing. I moved up right behind him as another footstep resounded…whoever was there was still in Stephen’s room. He started to climb the stairs, but suddenly a terrible feeling washed over me.
“Don’t do it!” I whispered, with enough harshness to sound like a hiss.
Before he could turn and respond to me, a similar hiss resounded from upstairs, followed by a low growl.
Just like earlier tonight…shit!
My mind went blank. Stark fear will do that to you. Only continual bombardment can condition a person to function in a state of unease and terror—which I’ve learned firsthand since. But at that moment, I felt paralyzed.
“Who in the hell’s up there?!” Peter shouted angrily, his protective instincts kicking in.
Another growl, more menacing than the first, resounded, and a pair of yellow eyes appeared for a split second as his flashlight’s beam traveled across the landing. Whoever—or more likely whatever—was there scurried toward t
he top of the stairs
In the few seconds that happened after the thing made a move toward the stairway, two things hit me. The first was obvious, that we had to get the hell away from the stairs—to flee for our very lives. The second was the remembrance of a small basement that had been converted into a bomb/storm cellar.
Peter and Stephen had shown it to me and Stephen’s girl, Dora Hastings, back in September during a party. I remembered how we all marveled at the money spent to outfit the cellar with modern comforts such as plush carpeting, a refrigerator, and even a small restroom—not to mention the steel reinforced door and reinforced cement walls and extra two-by-fours in the ceiling. Apparently the original owner feared either the rare tornados that could hit the area, or more likely a possible nuclear meltdown at nearby Oak Ridge. Stephen thought it might be cool to turn the cellar into a recording studio someday. I just hoped it would keep a primitive vampire at bay—provided we could reach it in time.
“Peter, follow me!” I urged him.
He gave me a ‘what the f…’ look, and I told him to ‘just trust me, damn it!’ When he still resisted, staring in disbelief at the malformed creature glaring at him from the top of the stairs, I yanked his arm and pulled him with me.
“You’re gonna have to trust me!!” I shouted, when he pointed back at the thing getting ready to jump down to the main floor. Another shadow flitting across the landing told me a second fiend was present as well. “Run with me to the cellar!”
The kitchen was dark, and it could be reached by an additional doorway off a small hallway next to the stairs. I hoped to God the monsters on our tails didn’t know that. I remembered the cellar sat next to the pantry, thankful the door wasn’t locked when I grabbed the handle.
Our unwelcome guests rounded the corner into the kitchen behind us as I pulled the door open. Peter slammed it shut just as they caught up to us. He locked it and set the heavy dead bolts to ensure the door was secured.
For the next hour we worried whether the door would hold up, as our pursuers repeatedly threw their bodies up against it, hitting it hard enough to where several times the hinges groaned from the strain. Their blood curdling shrieks carried through to us, chilling us far more than the cellar’s cold confines. A space heater would eventually take care of our physical discomfort, and thankfully the wiring to this room was completely separate from the rest of the house.
But until dawn we were forced to keep a tireless vigil. Our main focus was holding each other tight while we listened to the destruction of the main floor above us, praying somehow we’d survive.
Chapter 8
We climbed out of the cellar just after 7:00 a.m. To be safe we waited more than an hour after sunrise, knowing we would miss some of our classes that Friday morning. But once we witnessed the destruction to the kitchen and living room in Peter’s townhouse, it became immediately obvious that school would be an afterthought for the rest of the day as well.
“My God!” Peter whispered in amazement, after we stepped back into the kitchen.
The refrigerator lay on its side and the oven door had been torn off. Huge holes had been torn in the floor where the fiends tried to burrow their way into the cellar from above. Unlike what we’d been told before, a thick steel slab covered the cellar in addition to the steel-reinforced walls and door.
I couldn’t think of anything to add to my boyfriend’s simple assessment, at least not until I ventured past the smashed dining room table and into the living room.
“I’m surprised no one else heard this shit—surely someone had to hear it!” I marveled, staring at the hole in the wall where a large picture window once was. A birdbath from the front lawn had obliterated the large flat screen TV.
Peter whistled shrilly through his teeth and then pulled out his wallet and cell phone, carefully approaching the stairs while casting a wary glance up toward the second floor landing. I could tell he was getting ready to call his landlord, fishing through the business cards he kept handy in his wallet. He looked over at me with a bewildered expression, as if the actual reality of what he presently witnessed confirmed the previous night’s hostile siege as a horrifically true event and not some malicious college prank enhanced by alcohol and overactive imaginations
I must admit that I snickered a little. He’s such a pragmatist—almost atheistic in his zeal for the unfettered truth. Despite the assault on the cellar door lasting just beyond 4:00 a.m., he acted like what was happening wasn’t much of a big deal—like maybe the critters chasing him were buddies of his just trying to freak us out. But now he had to consider the screeching suckers we witnessed from a clear and close vantage point the night before might actually be real. And if that still wasn’t real enough, perhaps nothing short of an actual bite on the neck would make it any truer for him.
He should try a midnight rendezvous with the more comely vampires.
I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to venture upstairs—even in the full light of day. He talked to whoever was on the other end of the line while he remained at the foot of the staircase. Meanwhile, my Blackberry chirped from an incoming call.
“Txema?!”
Tyreen was on the line, sounding both worried and annoyed.
“Hey,” I said, glancing out the hole in the wall. A police car drove by slowly, seemingly oblivious to the gaping wound in the once-handsome townhouse on Laurel Ave. “Sorry I didn’t call last night…we had a situation here.”
I tried to keep my voice steady…not too alarmed, as I didn’t want to make her any more upset. But not too cheerful either, so it didn’t sound insensitive.
“Sorry? Is that all you’ve got to say??” She sounded more irritated than concerned right then. “I’ve been worried sick about you, Txema—another girl is dead and four more have gone missing! That makes seven victims, and it’s all over the news! I’ve literally been freaking out—we’re all losing our frigging minds around here, thinking you were gone too!!”
She started to weep, and for a moment I didn’t know how to respond. I already knew about the third girl from the previous night’s news report, but I was hardly prepared for the news that three victims had escalated to seven.
“What in the hell? Seven?! I’m really sorry I didn’t let you know sooner that I’m all right,” I told her, stunned by this news. I could fully understand her depth of worry. “As soon as we get things cleaned up around here, we’ll be heading back to campus.”
I hoped to take a shower first, but Peter had just tiptoed up the staircase and soon announced to me that all of the rooms upstairs—including the main bathroom—were trashed. Showers and anything else hygiene related would have to wait until we returned to the dorm.
“Get what cleaned up?” she asked, the anger fading quickly from her voice. Just worry now, like she had a sudden image of the same damage I surveyed. “Are you saying you were attacked last night?”
“Yes,” I said, after a moment’s hesitation.
“Are the police there?! If they’re not, you and Peter need to get the hell away from that house! Whoever’s doing this stuff may be hiding somewhere inside Peter’s place—”
“No, they’re gone,” I sought to assure her, keeping my voice steady despite my abrupt interruption. But then I seriously considered her words. What if she was right? Could our assailants be hiding somewhere upstairs, or beneath the main floor’s rubble?
Armando’s allusion to Nosferatu suddenly appeared in my head, with the monster’s grotesque long talons casting eerie shadows on Peter’s bedroom wall upstairs, as the morning sun poured in through his window. Would the fiend’s body just simply vanish in the bright sunlight, like in the famous original vampire movie? Or, would it be the more dramatic 21st century cinematic version where a vamp slowly smokes before exploding into fiery cinders consuming every physical vestige?
“‘They’re’ gone?” Tyreen’s tone was one of incredulity much more than scorn. “You’re telling me there’s more than one dude and that you saw him and his a
ccomplices last night?? You had better have told the police all about this…you did, didn’t you?”
I heard her release a low sigh in disgust when I didn’t respond right away. I didn’t know how much to tell her…. After all, she knew nothing about any of my previous nocturnal visitors, starting with Garvan and Armando. That would be off-the-charts craziness already. But even if you could get her to consider the reality of two vampires paying me a personal visit to protect my ass, how could I also tell this extremely level-headed woman that the recent campus murders were perpetrated by a group of other vampires, hideously deformed, and with no apparent disposition for mercy?
Not to mention what these bastards possess in terms of super-human strength. The advent of dawn may very well be the only reason Peter and I didn’t perish. And as far as the police were concerned, once my boyfriend called them and advised of the damage delivered to his rented townhouse, a whole new can of worms would be kicked over.
“Txema, you did call the police…please tell me you did!”
“I’m getting ready to do it now—”
“PLEASE do it right now!!”
“Okay, okay…. Just chill for a moment. I’ll get it done—I promise!” I sought to assure her. “Are you at the dorm, or someplace else on campus?”
“Johnny and I are getting ready to eat something, but then we’re coming back to Massey,” she advised.
“Peter and I’ll meet you there.”
“When?” she persisted, her tone sounding panicked again.
“Right after the police get here.” I made sure my tone sounded soothing, with a positive lift. It works on guys…I just prayed it worked on a very intuitive female too. “Once they’re done with whatever they need—a police report or whatever—I’ll make sure Peter drives us back to campus.”
