The Vampire of Plainfield

by Kristopher Rufty

  Nah. That’s silly. Nana’s as old as Eddie’s Ma was.

  But as Timmy approached the front door, he heard Nana unleash a boisterous laugh and he couldn’t help but wonder.

  “Oh, Eddie, you shouldn’t!” she cried.

  The deep clucking of Eddie’s laughter was followed by a quiet mumbling that Timmy couldn’t understand. Then Nana really let a guffaw go.

  Timmy peeked through the display window. Dust made the glass look powdery, and the setting sun glinted off the window in a blinding gold shine. He made a visor with his hand and leaned close, pressing his face to the dusty glass. A nippy breeze drifted across his back, making the sweat under his shirt feel like ice on his skin. The wind was bringing a cold night to Plainfield.

  Through the glass, he could see the counter across the room. Eddie, leaned over the top on his elbows, talked to Nana who stood behind the register with an arm braced on the lip of the counter. Both were smiling. Shaking his head, Timmy walked back to the door and opened it.

  The bells jangled above the door, announcing his entrance.

  Nana leaned to the side to see around Eddie’s shoulder. Her face brightened even more when she saw Timmy. “If it isn’t my favorite grandson!”

  “I’m your only grandson.”

  “And my favorite,” she said. “Come on in.”

  Eddie smiled as Timmy approached the counter. “Haven’t seen you in a long time,” he said, winking.

  Timmy feigned a laugh. This was a normal banter for them.

  “You went to Eddie’s today?” Nana asked.

  “Yeah. Peter and I rode over there earlier. He gave us some pop.”

  “And fed you lunch,” said Eddie.

  Timmy’s stomach growled as if to dispute Eddie’s claim. Peter had eaten the sandwich, but Timmy hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast. Then he remembered the head in the box, and Eddie’s gift—the shrunken head, which Timmy could feel in his pocket, pushing against his leg. He’d left the comic, rolled up, in his satchel on the Cruiser.

  “Where’s Peter now?” Nana asked.

  “Had to get home for supper.”

  “Shouldn’t you be getting home for supper?” Nana asked.

  “Ma said I didn’t have to come home until six.”

  “Ma? When’d you start calling her that?”

  “I always have,” said Timmy. He felt heat in his cheeks. He’d only started calling her that when talking about her to the guys at school after they began teasing him for still referring to her as Mama. Since they called their mothers Ma, Timmy decided it would work for him to.

  “Does she know that?” Nana asked.

  “Yeah,” said Timmy, lying. He wasn’t brave enough to try it on her yet.

  “Well, I was just inviting Ed over for supper. Got a huge pot of vegetable soup that needs to be eaten by somebody.”

  “Did you make it with deer meat?” asked Timmy.

  “Of course I did!” Nana laughed.

  Timmy’s mouth slavered. Mama liked to think she made the best vegetable soup around, but it couldn’t compete with Nana’s. Something about the spices and how she let it slowly cook all day made the difference. Mama rushed it in the evening, putting it together and hurrying it along.

  “Can I come?” he asked.

  “You sure can,” said Nana. “But your ma might get upset.”

  “I don’t think so,” said Timmy. But he knew it would hurt her feelings. She seemed to take things like that as a personal attack.

  “I’ll call her and get her approval,” Nana said.

  Timmy smiled. If Nana called her, then Mama would say yes. Nobody argued with Bernice Worden. “Okay.” He turned to Eddie. “You’ll be there too?”

  “Wish I could tonight,” said Eddie.

  “But he has plans,” said Nana.

  “You do?” Timmy hadn’t meant to sound quite so shocked.

  “I bet he’s just planning to swing by Mary’s place for a few beers.”

  Eddie’s cheeks flushed.

  Nana laughed. “I knew it. You’d rather spend your Saturday evening at the tavern than getting a full belly from my soup?”

  “Oh, Nana,” said Timmy. “Don’t tease him about it.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Everybody goes to Mary’s,” said Timmy. “It’s all there is to do around here.”

  “There’s a movie theater not far away. Much better way to spend a night, if you ask me.”

  Timmy agreed. He saw in the paper that the theater was doing a triple-showing of Dracula, Frankenstein, and The Wolf Man. He’d seen them already, but that was two years ago. He’d love to see them again. Maybe tomorrow he could talk his dad into dropping him off there for the day.

  Nana pointed at Timmy so quickly, he jumped. “I better not ever catch wind of you snooping around that scanty place, Timmy.”

  “Nana!”

  “Well, I mean it!”

  Nodding, Timmy took a few steps back. Eddie gave him a sympathetic look over his shoulder. Then he turned around to face Nana. “How much for the new handle?” He held up a small bar of wood.

  Looked about the size for a hammer. Timmy remembered the broken hammer in the box.

  With the head.

  Timmy restrained a shiver as he made his way over to the book racks.

  Scowling, Nana pecked some numbers on her cash register. Timmy was glad Eddie had distracted her before she could start lecturing him about Mary Hogan.

  “Give me a dollar and we’ll call it even for what you still owe me for the antifreeze.”

  “Yes, ma’am. You’re breaking me, you know.” Laughing, Eddie reached into his pocket and tugged out a crumpled dollar bill.

  “I’m going to break you if you don’t stop calling me ‘ma’am’. I’ve told you a million times to call me Bernice. You’re one of the few I don’t mind doing so, and you’d better start.”

  It was odd to Timmy hearing anybody refer to his family by their proper name. He was eight before he’d even realized his parents had names other than Mama and Papa.

  And Nana was right. She hated to be disrespected by folks and thought it showed manners if they said ma’am or sir. Apparently, Eddie had been exempted from that regulation.

  “Sorry, ma…er—Bernice.” Eddie smiled as if he’d just sampled something that tasted fine. “Bernice.”

  “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

  She took the dollar and slid it into the drawer, then bumped it closed with her hip. “Let me write you out a receipt.”

  “Fine.”

  Timmy stood before the books that were crammed into the narrow shelves. As he usually did, he gazed at the myriad eye-catching paintings on the covers. He saw gothic horrors; castles cresting the jagged peaks of cliffs; lone gunmen westerns about revenge and cattle wars; and scantily-clad women on the mystery novels, dressed in some kind of bosom-revealing negligee and looking frightened by the ominous shadow-man approaching her.

  He wasn’t allowed to read any of them since they were geared towards adults. Sometimes Dad let him read the age-appropriate science fiction titles. Though he enjoyed space adventures, they weren’t as fun to him as monster stories.

  That might explain why Timmy had started writing his own. Whenever he saw creepily attractive covers on horror books, he imagined what they were about. Then he’d go home and start writing his own interpretations since he wasn’t allowed to read the actual book. The course of creating his own imaginative versions of those books he dreamed to read, he’d learned something about himself—he loved writing stories.

  Now, he wrote stories originating from ideas not influenced by books he couldn’t read.

  He saw the latest issue of Weird Fantasy on the rack and picked it up. His parents used to let him read Tales from the Crypt and The Vault of Horror but when they saw how bloody and gruesome the stories really were, they stopped allowing it.

  “Hope your daddy doesn’t walk in,” said Nana.

  Timmy returned it to the comic rack.
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  Nana laughed. “I was just teasing, Timmy. You know I don’t mind if you flip through them.”

  “I know.”

  “Was that what brought you by?” she asked. She shook open a paper bag and dropped Eddie’s hammer handle inside. She handed the bag to Eddie. “Wanted to peep at my newsstands?”

  “No,” said Timmy. He walked over to the stationary section which was just a small stand with paper, ink, pens, black greeting cards, sharpeners, and pencils. “Need to get some things.”

  “Ah,” said Nana. “Some supplies, huh?”

  “Yeah.” He grabbed a pack of plain paper and a few pencils. Nana had a few kinds to choose from, but he liked the Black Stallion brand. A smooth-writing pencil, painted black. He carried them to the counter, and set them down.

  “Starting another story?” Eddie asked.

  “Yeah,” said Timmy.

  Nana slipped a paper bag off the top of the stack beside her register. “How many does that make now?”

  “This will be number ten,” he said.

  “Wow,” said Nana. “That’s very impressive, Timmy.”

  “What’s this one about?” asked Eddie.

  Timmy was nervous to talk about his stories very much. Eddie seemed to like them, but when other adults learned what he liked to write about, they wouldn’t shy away from letting him know how much they disapproved.

  He cleared his throat. “Well…” His shirt suddenly felt too tight and he pulled at his collar. “It’s about a dad bringing home an old radio. He sets it up in the living room. It only plays one mysterious broadcast over and over, and it sort of brainwashes the people in the town and makes them start killing each other.”

  “Neat!” said Eddie.

  “My heavens,” said Nana, dropping the paper and pencils into the bag. “It’s no wonder you don’t ever let anybody read them.”

  “I’ve read them,” said Eddie. “I read a lot, and can honestly say they’re really good. Timmy’s talented.”

  Smiling, Timmy felt the back of his neck go hot and prickly.

  “I don’t doubt he’s got talent,” said Nana. “But if he’d write about something other than murderers, monsters, and goblins and things coming back from the grave, he might not have to keep his talent such a secret.”

  But Timmy didn’t like writing about anything else. His dream was that he’d write something good enough to submit to EC Comics.

  “Here,” said Nana. She slid Timmy’s bag across the counter. “You can work that off for me.”

  Timmy nodded. That was their arrangement. She paid him with items from her store for helping her.

  “Well,” said Eddie. He pushed himself away from the counter and pulled out his pocket watch. He opened the faceplate, looked at the time, and whistled. “Guess I better be on my way.” Taking his bag with him, Eddie started walking for the door. He ruffled Timmy’s hair as he passed by.

  “You keep your senses out there, Ed,” Nana said.

  “Can’t keep them, if I don’t have them.”

  “Not funny, Ed.” But Nana grinned. “Drive safe. I can tell by how it looks out there that warm weather we had today is on its way out. Keep warm.”

  “Yes, ma…” Eddie cleared his throat. “Bernice. Bye, Timmy.”

  “Bye, Eddie.”

  The bells rattled when Eddie opened the door. Then he walked out. Timmy watched him pass by the window, his shoulders slightly slouching and head down. He tugged at his plaid hunter’s cap, pulling it low to his eyes as wind made his coat shudder.

  “All right,” said Bernice. “Now comes the hard part.”

  Timmy turned around. “The what?”

  “The hardest part of my day.”

  “What’s that?”

  “When I tell your Ma that you’ll be eating supper with me.”

  Timmy made a gulping sound that was partly fake, but mostly real.

  Nana laughed, and headed over to a small desk behind the counter. Sitting down, she scooted the chair up to the desk. The legs made tooting sounds across the floor. She lifted the phone from the cradle, and began spinning the dial.

  Timmy sat in one of the stools Nana kept at the counter for customers. As Nana started talking to Mama, he began to jot down notes for his new story.

  -5-

  Ed drove through town, an elbow hanging out the window. Chilly air rushed into the truck, caressing his cheek with an icy hand. He waved when he saw somebody out and about. Mostly, the town was empty. It was after six, most folks heading home for the night.

  About to eat supper.

  I could be eating supper with Bernice.

  Eddie was tempted to put off the graveyard trip another night. Nothing like a night of Bernice’s company and a belly full of warm food. Besides, Timmy would be there. And he liked the boy a lot.

  But the grave...

  He had one left to dig, and he wanted to see what was in it.

  Ed forged ahead. He left the main strip of Plainfield behind, heading for Mary’s Tavern. Bernice had been right. His plan was to waste some time there since it was still too early to visit the isolated graveyard.

  The businesses were replaced by fields and farms on both sides of the road. He saw the tavern up ahead on the left. With the purple hues of the darkening sky behind it, the tavern was a dark block cresting a small hill.

  Mary’s Tavern, owned and operated solely by Mary Hogan, was a popular joint that served cold beer and stale nuts at cheap prices. Where you went to be loud, say whatever you wanted and ogle Mary’s enormous tits. She had a pair as large as watermelons hefted high up on her chest, and liked to wear shirts that complimented their size. The rest of her was full and thick without being fat.

  Meaty, as Mama used to call her type.

  Ed knew Mary didn’t mind letting men squeeze and fondle them if they were paying customers. If they bought two pitchers, they might even get squeezed back, more if they were willing to pay extra. Most Ed had gotten was a quick grab of a boob, and it had felt like kneading dough, yet jiggled like rubber.

  He steered his truck onto the gravel parking lot, and parked at the far end. Killing the engine, he shouldered the door open. He climbed out, adjusted his cap, and started walking with his hands buried in the pockets of his coat.

  The tavern was a humdrum, box-shaped structure, and Ed had to walk under the slanting roofed porch with his head tilted to get to the entrance. He passed customers standing on the porch, guzzling beer, and groping the rumps of the women they’d managed to persuade into joining them. Ed recognized none of them, so they must have traveled in from out of town.

  Pushing open the tavern’s door, Ed went inside. The stink of old beer and sweat rushed to greet him. There were masses of conversations coming from all directions. The loud volume was a little disorienting, mixed with the twangy music coming from the jukebox. He began to sweat as he shuffled his way through the crowd.

  “Hey, Ed!” called Mary from behind the bar. Her voice was so loud and strident it muffled the others. “Was wondering if I’d see you tonight! Come have a seat. Take a load off.”

  He nodded. Though from the meek lighting, he doubted she saw it. Hanging from rungs along the ceiling were oil lanterns. The tavern had electricity and lightbulbs lining the ceiling, but other than the Christmas lights behind the bar, she rarely used them.

  Ed fumbled his way around tables and wandering people to an empty stool at the bar.

  Saving this seat for me?

  Probably not, but the possibility made him a little squirmy. She did say she was wondering if she’d see him tonight. Maybe she was keeping this stool open just for him.

  People liked to tease Ed that Mary had eyes for him, but whenever they did he always retorted back with: “She has eyes for everybody.” It usually got a good laugh because it was true. She didn’t mind taking a range of men to bed, and she also didn’t care who knew about it.

  Ed pulled the stool out from the bar and swung himself on top of it.

  “Good eveni
ng, handsome,” said Mary.

  Her hair was down tonight. It looked good resting on her shoulders in cherry-colored waves. She wore a tight, silky shirt that looked too small for her chest. A pond of pale skin showed from the hollow of her neck to where her nipples should be. The shiny top just barely concealed them. Her breasts were bunched together, and the vale between them was tight and thin. Ruffles adorned her sleeves and torso. She looked like a barmaid from the old saloon days.

  “Evening,” Ed finally said back.

  She knew he’d been staring and smiled coyly. “Want a beer?”

  He nodded.

  “Be right back.”

  She winked, then stepped down the bar to a row of levers. She reached underneath the bar and came back with an empty aluminum mug. She tugged the faucet in the middle towards her massive breasts with the mug underneath. It caught the frothy fluid as it sloshed out.

  While Mary poured Ed’s drink, he reached into his coat pocket and tugged out his tobacco pouch. He was packing some leaves into his pipe when Mary returned.

  She sat the mug in front of him. “How has your day been, hun?” she asked, leaning forward with her arms on the bar.

  Ed looked up to answer and was met by two constrained breasts behind her corset. “Fine,” he muttered. “Yours?”

  “Oh…it’s been just a day as any other. I’m glad you came in tonight, Ed. Been gettin’ a little boring in here. Why don’t you do something crazy to liven it up?”

  “I don’t know what I could do for that.”

  She leaned closer, pushing her breasts forward. The lights threw writhing shadows across their milky slopes. He could smell the powdery fragrance of make-up on her face. “You could do a lot more than you realize.”

  “Mary!” called someone from down the bar.

  Her smile dropped. “What!” The volume inside the tavern dipped.

  “How about a refill, huh?”

  “How about I refill your ass with my foot?”

  The bar erupted with laughter and applause. Ed even snickered himself. Mary never held back what she wanted to say, a trait that some people admired about her. Mostly, it was what nearly everybody else in Plainfield despised. She wasn’t ashamed of using her potty mouth.