Night Things: The Monster Collection

by West, Terry M.

  "Don’t ever oppose me," Dracula warned. "If I see you again, I will end you. Traitor."

  Dracula morphed into angry mist and shot away in the night.

  14.

  Gary sat on a couch in Johnny's Stücke's billiards room. He had showered and put on clean clothes. On the huge wall television, a news anchor was speaking about the rise in Night Things crime around the city. Small zombie hordes were popping up in every borough and the NYPD spook division was working overtime to destroy the undead rebels before they created an unstoppable army.

  "As the city deals with an unanticipated onslaught of zombie violence, our nation once again focuses on the Night Things and their effect on our country," the stiff African-American news anchor, Vern Hemlin, said. "Joining us now via satellite from the R.I.P. office in Quantico, Virginia is media spokesperson and co-founder of Residents in Peril, Shaun Ginder. Thank you for joining us, Shaun."

  Gary watched as a handsome, clean-cut young man in a suit appeared in split-screen.

  "A pleasure to be here, Vern," the man said, smiling politely.

  "It has been R.I.P.'s stance for a very long time that the Night Things are a menace to humanity that need to be wiped out with extreme prejudice. But aren't they entitled to the same rights and pursuits as the living?"

  There seemed to be a slight delay. Shaun finally answered. "Absolutely not, Vern. These are monsters. They have no right mixing in with the good Christian tax payers of this country."

  "But your organization is promoting what many see as genocide."

  "Genocide? You cannot kill what is already dead," Shaun argued. "These Night Things are a time bomb waiting to go off and we are no closer to passing legislation on either side of the issue. What you see in Manhattan tonight is a prelude. We have been stalled for years over this, and more and more decent people are dying. There is no law yet against killing them, and I urge every citizen with a gun permit to arm his or her self and do what our ineffectual president has been too cowardly to do. Seek these creatures out and destroy them, before the bleeding hearts make it illegal."

  "What about shifters, Shaun?" Vern asked. "They are technically living, breathing human beings."

  "With a condition that can be controlled with silver bars during a full moon phase," Shaun said. "The shifters aren't our main concern. It's the vampires and zombies that can overrun us if we don't control their population."

  "Many say the Horde Law is too drastic," Vern said. "Scientists contend that half a dozen zombies could actually co-exist without setting off the frequency."

  "Do you want to test that, Vern?" Shaun said. "I sure as heck don't."

  "Tell us about the R.I.P. Act that your organization has been pushing," Vern said.

  "The one in five zombie virus will produce more and more hungry undead and it will be harder and harder to maintain distance between them. And since it is the reanimated brain that brings them back, the R.I.P. Act would require every dead citizen to have a steel bolt driven through their eye upon their passing, unless of course the individual were scheduled for an immediate cremation. Our wonderful Governor is currently shepherding the bill."

  "Doesn’t that seem a little extreme?" Vern asked.

  "We are the fuel for this unholy virus and the only way to stop it is-"

  Gary muted the television, having heard enough. It was the same squall that had been going on for years.

  His thoughts drifted back to his daughter. Through all of this violent madness, he had to remember that his little flower was down there, hidden from the sun. On the way back up from the secret chamber that had hidden Hor-Aha, Stücke had given Gary every assurance that Dracula would not harm or turn the girl without an audience to entertain and certainly not without Gary to torture.

  Gary couldn't muster much optimism. He felt cursed. Pamela was gone, Mike Cooke was gone, and Holly was down there, surrounded by an army of fangs. He suddenly wanted to jump from his skin. Even with the serum Dr. West had given him holding his addiction at bay, he wanted to get high. He wanted to get high and go dive off of the George Washington bridge and leave all of it behind.

  But no. Holly needed him.

  Hor-Aha stepped into the room. He wore fresh linen and had what looked like a monk's robe draped over his reanimated body.

  "Wow," Gary said, staring at the mummy's face. The broken skin had healed and softened. The flesh was now smooth and a healthy light beige in color. Gary realized he was staring at a Pharaoh and not a slowly rotting corpse.

  Hor-Aha noticed the attention. He smiled and ran a hand over his silky face. "Yes, when my mystical energies are restored, I do look a bit more presentable. But as I expel the magic from my body, I revert back to the husk you discovered in my crypt."

  "What is it you are going to do?" Gary asked.

  "When we confront Dracula's army, I will thin the numbers quickly. And when I am out of energy, I will die," Hor-Aha said. "It won't be the first time."

  "And then Johnny will scoop you up and lay you back to rest?" Gary wagered.

  "Per our bargain," Hor-Aha replied. He took a seat near Gary and stared curiously at the newscast.

  "It's a television," Gary explained, handing the remote to the mummy. "People watch it for information and entertainment."

  "Whenever my black sleep is disturbed, there are always new wonders to behold," Hor-Aha said, flipping through the channels. "The last I saw was the steam engine."

  He stopped clicking when he stumbled upon a soft-core film. Two overly enhanced women writhed against each other on a bed. "By Hathor's soft bosom, now this is entertainment! How do you mortals accomplish anything with delights such as this at your fingertips?"

  Johnny Stücke entered the room. He paced near the entrance and Gary could see he was very upset. "It's total fucking bedlam out there," he announced. "They're frying hordes on every God damn corner. Fucking Dracula is taunting me. When this is over, there are going to be severe consequences. The state has been itching for a reason to ice the Night Things. If the governor calls a state of emergency, it's going to get real messy real fast."

  Johnny's cell phone chimed. He dug it out and read a text. "It's Glass. He found our man. They'll be hitting the elevator with him in a few."

  Gary and Hor-Aha followed Johnny to the elevator. They watched the doors open. Tucked between Glass and his men was the street vendor Gary knew as Abraham, the medicine man.

  "I believe you two are acquainted," Johnny said to Gary, as the group stepped into the penthouse.

  Stücke's men gave Abraham his space. He stood there, scowling, in his bomber jacket and khaki pants.

  "What changed your mind?" Gary had to ask.

  "They attacked me," Abraham said. "It took every skill I had to escape. So I have no choice but to join you in this fight."

  "I smell Loa all over this one," Hor-Aha said. "He is strong and fearless."

  "And hateful," Johnny said, eying the man critically. "We've been watching you for some time. I allowed you and your business to exist because you are an effective boogeyman for the Night Things. Serve me well, and you will be rewarded handsomely. But don't cross me. I'll bury you if you do. Believe it or not, to a large extent, we both want the same things."

  "I doubt that," Abraham said with a defiant look. "I will wield the Night Kopis. But that does not mean we are allies. I despise your kind. All of you. But I will help destroy Dracula."

  Johnny looked the man over and nodded respectfully. "That is all I ask."

  "Listen, my little girl is down there so I can't even begin to thank you," Gary said.

  "Let's be clear on something," Abraham said coldly. "I used to take you for a sad man who was intent on giving his life away. But after you last approached me, I did research on you. You are worse than the monsters. At least they have an excuse for their vile existence. I am doing this because it has always been the calling of my ancestors to oppose the evil and supernatural of this world. I do it for no other reason."

  "I'll take w
hatever reason you have," Gary said, still grateful.

  Johnny turned to Glass. "Let's get everybody prepared. We make our move at dawn."

  ***

  "I have called you here at the behest of my crone," Dracula informed the small group that stood before his throne.

  The witch stood at his side and smiled evilly under the hood of her robe at those summoned. Dracula didn't care much for seers, but the crone had proven most valuable to him in the past and she was loyal to the cause.

  Gathered in the dim lights were Detective Thomas, who commanded the zombies, Nick Mazza, a squat and smelly ghoul with a Moe Howard haircut, black shark teeth and a hunger for zombie flesh. Also present was Colisa Rollins, an attractive werewolf with a shaved head, heavy ink and silver piercings that acted as constant contrition for sins she kept to herself, who was the pack leader of the shifters. These were Dracula's sergeants. He, of course, represented the vampire contingent.

  "The witch has informed me that Stücke will be at our gates tomorrow," Dracula confided. "He will strike at dawn."

  "We are on the bad end of the moon cycle, but my people are highly trained in combat," Colisa said. "We have to be, with the rise in violence against shifters."

  "Very good," Dracula said. "Stücke will bring human soldiers, so I believe the weapons Detective Thomas liberated from the police armory will serve you well."

  "We have already distributed the guns. We are ready," Thomas assured his master.

  "Then tell the others to rest and prepare themselves. As unnatural as it may feel, we sleep this night. Our rule begins tomorrow. You are dismissed."

  Thomas lingered, while the others retreated to the shadows. "What about Hack's daughter? It's obvious that he betrayed you."

  "We will save her for the end," Dracula instructed. "We will destroy her in front of him before his public execution. If Gary Hack is among Stücke's forces, which I am sure he will be, he is not to be killed. Take him alive."

  "By your will," Thomas said. He left.

  Dracula regarded the ugly, wrinkled face of his oracle. She smelled like piss and gave him riddles most of the time, but she had earned her keep this day. "Do you see our victory?"

  The old woman turned white eyes that saw nothing but the future in vague, ever-shifting snippets to her ruler. "I do not see the outcome. I only see a figure on the tracks as the sun ascends and a rush of bodies behind it. I cannot tell you who or what exactly is coming or who the victor will be."

  "If you knew I would fail in my attempt, would you warn me, crone?"

  "I am not sure," the old woman said, pondering on it. "My caution might cause your failure. And what I see is often a desert land that can reshaped by a mighty gust. I give you what I can."

  "Leave me," Dracula said.

  The witch left and Dracula was alone for mere seconds.

  "May I approach?" Ella asked from the cold darkness.

  "Of course," Dracula said, granting Ella's request though he really wanted a respite.

  Ella found the light near her master. "You look troubled."

  "Since my inception, I have been regarded as a devil," Dracula said. "I am vilified. These mortals worship invisible saviors and yet here I am, ready to bestow life everlasting on those who merely have to ask. I am misunderstood, my dear."

  "You are the Moses of our kind," Ella offered. "We know. Though I am still only a child of the night, I see a messiah who is ready to lead his flock to an everlasting day. We all adore you, my lord."

  "And I am grateful for your faith," Dracula assured. "I am merely having a moment of uncertainty."

  "All great men who are poised to change the world go through this," Ella said.

  "I know a fine way to exorcise the doubt," Dracula said, smiling lecherously and extending his hand. "Come to me, Ella. Come to me and warm my cold bones."

  15.

  The Bronx, NY

  December 14, 1929

  "You come highly recommended," Tommy Savala said to the large figure in the shadow of his office. "So bring your mug over here into the light and let's talk possibilities."

  The mobster looked formidable. He was forty, built like a barrel and he had large bushy dark hair that stood up. And though his large face was friendly enough at the moment, the creature knew a killer when he saw one.

  He stepped under the warehouse lighting that circled Tommy's desk.

  "Jesus," Tommy muttered. "Forgive the bluntness, but what the hell happened to you, friend?"

  "I had an accident when I was young," he said.

  "With what? A hay baler?"

  "I don't like to talk about it," he replied. "It brings bad memories."

  "What's your name again? Johnny Stout?"

  "Johnny Stücke," he corrected the crime boss. "It's German."

  "When did you get off the boat?"

  "Two weeks ago," Johnny said.

  "You're probably still seasick. Where did you come from?"

  "Hamburg."

  "Why did you come here, Mr. Stücke?"

  "Opportunity. Like everyone else packed on the boats."

  "You did a little job for Joey nine toes Grappa a few days ago. He said you are a good soldier and the toughest son of a bitch he ever saw. I trust nine toes. He is my second cousin."

  "Joey Grappa is a stand up guy. He took me under his wing despite this," Johnny said, motioning to his scarred face.

  "It ain't so bad," Tommy assured. "And it adds to your mystique."

  "Thank you."

  "I could use a man like you in collections," Tommy said, appraising the large beast before him. "It's entry level but a very important job. And with that kisser-no offense- I don't see people telling you no."

  "I have a very simple philosophy in life, Mr. Savala" Johnny said. "I make no idle promises or threats. But I also realize that a dead chicken doesn't make eggs. I will get your money. Plain and simple. And I will give lessons to those who require them."

  "Of that I have no doubt," Tommy said. "You sure you don't have a little Sicilian in you?"

  "It is very possible," Johnny said, grinning.

  "You got accommodations?" Tommy asked, opening a drawer and pulling an envelope stuffed with money from it.

  "Yeah. I got a room at the Best Hotel," Johnny said.

  "We'll get you something better," Tommy said, tossing the envelope onto the table. "They got bedbugs the size of rats in that flophouse. Here's a retainer. Come back Monday morning and we will set you up with a route."

  "I prefer to work at night," Johnny said.

  "I think it would serve you better to do so," Tommy said. "You are gonna scare the shit out of the Jews who owe me rent. So okay, come back Monday at sunset and I will have your marching orders."

  Johnny collected the envelope and stuffed it into the pocket of his jacket. "Thanks. You won't regret this. I appreciate the opportunity."

  "Let's seal it with a toast."

  Tommy filled two glasses from a bottle of hooch. Johnny took one of the glasses and raised it.

  "Welcome to the family. Salute," Tommy said, and they both drank. "Now if you will excuse me, I got books to balance."

  "Thanks, Mr. Savala," Johnny said.

  "Call me Tommy," Tommy said.

  Johnny walked back to the entrance of the tire warehouse that fronted an illegal gin mill. He turned back and saw Tommy feverishly going over papers at his large desk. It was a seat he could have easily taken. But he knew his place was in the shadow. For now. This was a paid education.

  And Johnny Stücke was a fast learner.

  ***

  It was dark and cold. Snow would be coming in hours. Johnny felt it in his bones. He walked the quiet bowery sidewalk. He thought of visiting either a speakeasy or whorehouse with his retainer. Or maybe both. He glanced up at a building. It was a Roman Catholic orphanage. It had been built a very long time ago and though it was large and the structure was still elegant, time and indifference had taken a large toll on the place. It needed mortar and upkeep.
r />   Inside, Johnny heard a choir of children. Their voices warmed the night around him. He strode on, pulling a Cuban from his pocket and lighting it.

  He walked a few blocks and then heard a commotion from an alley between a bakery and butcher's shop. The sound of a struggle and low growls. He stepped into the alley and marched to the commotion. A vampire had a young woman on the ground. He drew blood from her neck. He had ripped open her blouse and clutched her left breast as he fed. Behind him, another vampire held a small boy and made him watch as his mother's life faded.