The Vampire of Plainfield

by Kristopher Rufty

  Dorothy straightened her shoulders. She cradled her books in one arm, using the free hand to brush her dress. She took a deep breath and let it slowly out.

  Better.

  Nose in the air and smiling, she marched to the stairs and started up. She didn’t let it bother her as it became darker the higher she got. She pretended not to notice her slight relaxing when she reached the second floor and the windows let in enough sunlight to kill every shadow.

  Dorothy forged ahead to her bedroom. On her way in, she flipped on the light. Her room was empty, her bed made. Her dirty clothes were no longer on the floor.

  Mama had cleaned up before she’d left this morning.

  That meant Dorothy would get a stern talking-to when Mama got home. Maybe even a spanking. She’d told her last night to make sure she got her dirty clothes off the floor before school.

  I forgot.

  That wasn’t an excuse Mama tolerated.

  Dorothy tossed her books on the dresser. Her excitement of being home alone had been hampered by the dread she felt from knowing she was in trouble. Sighing, Dorothy crossed the room and sat down on the edge of her bed. She brought up a leg, turned slightly to the side, and put her foot on the mattress. She looked at the downy hairs on her shin as she started untying her saddle shoe. She hated the pale fuzz on her legs. Older girls didn’t have them.

  They get to use razors. Makes them smooth.

  A couple months ago, she’d used Mama’s razor on her own legs. She liked how they’d looked afterward, but was too scared to wear anything that showed them off. Mama would have known what she’d done. She’d promised herself she would never do it again until Mama told her she was finally of the age.

  She couldn’t wait until she was old enough to shave.

  Gripping the heel of her shoe, Dorothy started to slip it off.

  The floor in the hallway creaked softly.

  Dorothy paused, a hand under her shoe, toes still inside. The wind blew outside, making the window in her room pop. She listened a few more seconds, and heard nothing else.

  She looked down at her foot, about to pull off the shoe when the floor outside her room creaked again. She looked up.

  And froze.

  The shoe dangled from her toes, one leg propped up, her dress a curtain between her legs. Her first thought was Mama was coming in.

  Then she quickly remembered Mama wasn’t home.

  A boy stood in her doorway. Though he looked vaguely familiar, she didn’t think she knew him.

  Dorothy’s mouth slowly sagged. A breath of fear tickled the back of her throat, trying to form into a scream.

  “Don’t make a sound,” he said in a high, shaky voice. Soaked in sweat, his striped shirt was glued to his front. The fabric was dark with wet stains. “Just keep your mouth shut.”

  He entered her room and pushed the door. It closed with a snick that made Dorothy flinch. Though older than Dorothy and much bigger, he wasn’t a grown-up. His hair was flat and slick on his head. Wet, as if he’d been swimming.

  Dorothy knew she should run, but couldn’t. She felt stuck to the bed, stuck with her legs parted. His eyes flicked down there. The way he grinned made her feel sick inside. She started to lower her leg.

  “Don’t,” he said. He sounded as if he’d been running for a long time. Out of breath, his throat made squeaky sounds. “I want to see…lift the dress. Let me…see.” He took in a breath that made his chubby cheeks jiggle.

  “No, please…”

  “Do it.”

  Dorothy bit down on her bottom lip. She shook her head.

  The boy’s mouth pressed together. When he spoke again, it was through clenched teeth. “Now.”

  Dorothy didn’t want to, but his tone told her she better listen. With a quick flick of her wrist, she flashed him her underwear. Then she pulled the dress taut between her legs and held it there.

  The boy closed his eyes, sighing as if smelling something wonderful. “Good.” He opened his eyes again. They looked glossy and dark. Fake. “Take off your dress.”

  “N…No.” Dorothy shook her head. “I’m not going to.”

  “Do as I say. Take off your dress, take off everything…and lay back.”

  Dorothy looked down at her dress. Tears filled her eyes. “Please don’t make me do that.”

  “Don’t fight me and it’ll be okay. I won’t hurt you. Don’t want to hurt you. So pretty. So, so pretty. Nice skin…looks so soft. I just want to touch it for a while, okay. Will that be okay? If I just touch it?”

  “Nothing else?”

  “Maybe not,” he tried to smile but his lips wouldn’t stop trembling long enough. “I want to touch you…in there.” He pointed low on her body.

  Dorothy looked down. Saw her dress gripped in her hand, pulled tight. She sniffled. Shook her head.

  “Just undress, lay back.”

  “No.” She stared at him. “You can’t make me.”

  “Yes, I can.” He reached behind his back with both hands. When he held them out, a knife was in one and some rope was in the other. The rope hung from his clenched fist like a long fuse on a stick of dynamite. It reminded Dorothy of cartoons she’d seen.

  Oh, how she wished she were watching cartoons right now. She wished she was anywhere but here.

  Her eyes locked on the knife. She recognized it from their kitchen.

  She quickly looked around her room, trying to find a weapon of her own. She saw her school books resting on dolls and stuffed animals on her dresser. More stuffed animals piled up on the vanity mirror. There was nothing that could defend her from such a big person.

  The boy’s wide back showed in the reflective glass. There was a dark peak of wetness going up the middle of his shirt, as if trying to stab the back of his neck. She could also see herself on the bed. She looked so small and frightened. Weak. Her face was a wet mask of tears.

  Another gust of wind outside made the window in her room thump. The boy jerked rigid, squeezing the knife tighter.

  Dorothy threw her leg down, stomping. “Mama!” she called. “Mama, help!”

  The boy rushed forward and pushed her chest. Her legs flew high, the loose shoe flying off her foot. It landed on the carpet with a soft bump.

  She bounced when she hit the mattress. Her headboard rocked against the wall.

  “Shut up!” His breaths came like sharp wheezes. “She’s not here! Nobody but us. She won’t be home for two more hours and your daddy’s out delivering.”

  Dorothy sobbed. How’d he know that? She had hoped calling for Mama would have sent him running.

  As if he’d read her thoughts, he said, “I’ve been watching you for a couple weeks, Dorothy. I know all about you. I saw you at Buck’s that morning, with your mama. You got a root beer float. You sat on the stool, your legs hanging off the front, ankles crossed. You were wearing a different dress, though. It was shorter than the one you have on. I just wanted to rub your legs a little." He tilted his head. Those dark, glassy eyes gazed at her. "Now I want to rub more."

  Dorothy felt something like cold snakes squirming in her stomach. She wished she told Ms. Packer that Mama wasn't home. Ms. Packer would've come in the house, waited with her. This wouldn't be happening if she just told Ms. Packer the truth.

  Ms. Packer! Please come back!

  Maybe Ms. Packer would somehow hear Dorothy's pleas. If she thought hard enough, maybe Ms. Packer would suddenly sense that she was needed here.

  Her teacher wasn't coming back. She was probably halfway home by now, feeling proud of Dorothy for how helpful she'd been today.

  Dorothy felt hands grip her dress. Heard the fabric rip as it was torn from her body. She tried to hold on to her underwear, but it was useless. She felt them jerked away in a savage swipe. In nothing but her socks and one shoe, she tried to cover herself with her arms and hands. The air of the room felt cool and sickly on her bare skin.

  The boy's breaths rose in pitch. She looked up at him. Though her eyes were blurry with tears, sh
e could plainly see his evil leer. A cruel smile split his face.

  Looking away, her eyes landed on the mirror. She saw herself laid back, an arm covering her chest, the other reaching down between her legs. The boy blocked her view of her legs. She saw him step forward.

  The bed shook as he climbed up. His zipper made clicking sounds as it was lowered.

  In the mirror, she saw his pants drop. His shirt hung down, covering half of his wide, pale rump as he bent over.

  "Please don't," she said. Dorothy saw him push her legs apart. "Don't..."

  Ignoring her, the boy lowered his heavy body onto hers.

  -12-

  Timmy, hands in his pockets, walked in front of the buildings. It was mostly warm outside, but a cool wind softly blew on his neck. He made a long step over a puddle. The water trembled in the wind. Leaning over, Timmy put his hands on his knees and studied the puddle. He liked how the water rippled.

  Put it in a story.

  Maybe an alien invasion tale with spaceships swooping down from the sky. The hero realizes something big is coming his way when he feels the wind, sees the puddles quivering as if the ground was shaking.

  Yeah.

  Timmy started walking again, nodding as the story made images in his head.

  Then he looks up to the sky. Dark spheres are tearing through the clouds like hailstones, blasting everything in sight with lasers. The hero runs, ducks behind…

  A bell jangled. A door flew at his face. Wood whacked his forehead. He was thrown aside. His back hit something solid, bringing him to a jarring halt. The dust on the ground made his shoes slide out from under him. He dropped at an angle. His shoulder pounded the ground.

  “Timmy Worden! Golly!”

  A girl’s voice. Familiar. Lovely.

  “What did I do?” the voice cried. “Oh, no. Oh, Golly no. Jeez…”

  He heard the quick crunches of footfalls. Hands patted his chest, gripped his arm. Then he was pulled upright. Everything seemed slightly off balance and a little blurry. Timmy blinked a few times, but it hardly seemed to help his eyesight.

  “Talk to me, Timmy? Are you okay?”

  “Is he hurt?” A deeper voice said.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Vincent. He’s not saying anything.”

  Mr. Vincent?

  The drugstore?

  The bells Timmy heard must’ve been the front door. Somebody opened it. He remembered seeing the door coming at him, the dark glass filling his vision before…

  Timmy turned. He saw streaks of yellow swelling through a dusky canvas. Somebody leaned close to him, though he couldn’t recognize who it was. A pleasing scent drifted toward him that reminded him of summer.

  Blinking again finally cleared his vision. Robin Hicks’s beautiful face came into focus. It was just inches from his. Gone was his dizziness. Now all he felt were fluttery sensations in his chest.

  “Hi,” he said. He felt a smile forming on his face.

  Robin’s full lips parted, showing the white of her teeth. “You’re okay?”

  Timmy started to nod, but stopped when he felt a dull jab in his head. He groaned. “Mostly okay.”

  “Need me to call your parents, Timmy?” said the deeper voice above him.

  Timmy looked up and spotted Mr. Vincent standing over him. His hair was a stiff black mold on his head and the matching glasses, thick as pipes, made his face look overly small. He held a broom by the handle next to him as if it were his rifle.

  “No…but thanks, Mr. Vincent.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. “You took a nasty hit and had an even nastier fall.”

  “What?”

  “Jeez,” said Robin. She made a pained face that wrinkled her brow and lifted her cheeks. It somehow made her even more adorable. “My clumsy self.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t paying attention and just flung the door open and wailed you a good one, huh?”

  “I’ll be fine. Nothing a week or so in the hospital won’t fix.”

  Robin laughed. Mr. Vincent made a harrumphing sound. The storeowner patted the ground with the bushy end of the broom before turning away.

  “He’s just as goofy as normal,” said Mr. Vincent as he walked to the door. “He’s fine.” The bells jangled again when Mr. Vincent opened the door. He went inside.

  Robin gave a glance at the store. “He’s a nurturing soul, isn’t he?”

  “I’ll say.”

  “Want me to help you up?” she asked.

  Timmy didn’t think he needed the help. But having Robin touch him sounded great. “Sure,” he said.

  “Okay. Hold this.” She handed him a paper bag—her purchase from the drugstore, most likely. “I’m going to grab you here.” She stuck her hand under his arm. Her fingers brushed his ribs. Her sweet-smelling hair tickled his cheek. “Okay?”

  Timmy hardly had a voice when he said, “Yeah.”

  “On three. Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  She pulled at two, catching Timmy by surprise. He was jerked forward and quickly shuffled his feet under him and pushed up. Stumbling, Robin rubbed against his side, the hardness of her chest squishing against him. His nose brushed through her hair.

  Robin staggered to the side, letting out a squeal. She caught herself and pushed back. Her arm remained tight on his back to hold him up.

  “There we go,” she said.

  Timmy felt a little dizzy again, but mostly fine. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He realized she was still close, pressed against him. Being fifteen, she was slightly taller than him and Timmy had to look up to see her eyes. She gazed down at him, eyebrows raised and a slight smirk curling a corner of her mouth. “Better?”

  Timmy nodded.

  “Good.”

  She reached for his face. It felt warm on his cheek. Fingers tapped the tender spot on his head. Wincing, Timmy let out a hiss.

  Frowning, Robin said, “You’re not bleeding, but…it might leave a lump.”

  “It’s fine.”

  Her hand slid down to his shoulder. Squeezed. Then she pulled away, stepped back, and held out her hand. Her chin lifted, turned, as she watched him.

  At first, Timmy thought she wanted him to take her hand. Then he glanced down at his hands and saw her bag was still clutched in them. He held the bag close as if it were a purse. “Oh, right.” He held out the bag. “Here.”

  Robin took the bag. “Thank you.”

  “So…” he said, not really knowing what to say now.

  “So…” Robin squatted down, picked up her purse, and stood. She slid the paper bag under her arm. Timmy wondered what she’d needed from the drugstore. Probably best not to ask. Might seem like he was being nosey.

  “What are you doing now?” he asked.

  “Nothing really. Probably have to get home.”

  Timmy nodded. “Yeah. Me too.”

  “What were you doing out this way?”

  “Went by Nan…my grandmother’s store. Helped her out for an hour.”

  “Oh? That’s neat. Does she pay you?”

  “In supplies.”

  Robin laughed. “Pencils and paper?”

  Timmy nodded. “My wage.”

  Smiling, Robin said, “Still writing those scary stories?”

  “All the time.”

  “Wow. That’s really neat. I’m glad you stuck with it. I liked reading them. When I’d be at your house?”

  “You did?”

  She swatted his shoulder. “Of course I did. Why do you think I always asked to read them?”

  “Maybe you were just really bored?”

  Robin jabbed his side with a finger. “Hey, mister. You never bored me. I always had fun with you. A lot.”

  Timmy did too. He missed her sitting with him for his parents. The last time was last summer, and she’d worn a nice yellow dress that showed more of her legs than he’d ever seen before. He remembered how shiny her skin had looked, the way the light had gleamed on the tawny shade of her shins.
r />   “Want to walk with me?” she asked.

  “Me?”

  “No. The invisible guy standing beside you.”

  Timmy turned his head and immediately felt dumb. Robin laughed. He looked back at her. Her cheeks were flushed as she shook her head. He shrugged. “You never know,” he said. “Might be an invisible person following me around.”

  “There’s your story,” she said, turning around. She started walking. “An invisible maniac!”

  Timmy hurried to her side, then matched her speed. “It’s been done before.”

  “Not like The Invisible Man. Do it differently. Something about an invisible psycho, you know? He could get you during the daylight.”

  Timmy nodded. “That’s a good idea. You wouldn’t be safe anywhere.”

  Robin winced. “That’s scary, isn’t it? What if you’re in the bathroom? And he’s in there?”

  “Yeah,” said Timmy.

  “In the shower,” she said.

  Timmy pictured Robin standing under a shower’s hot spray. The steam curled around her wet flesh as water sluiced down her naked body, plastering her yellow hair against her neck. He quickly shoved the image away. “Yeah.”

  “Ew, could you imagine? Getting out of the shower? Naked? And somebody’s in there with you?”

  Timmy pictured it. Again, it was Robin and not Timmy.

  But maybe he was there.

  Maybe he was the invisible maniac.

  Not a maniac. Never.

  No. He’d just be there to watch. Maybe he’d touch, not hurt her.

  “Make it a woman,” said Robin. “The psycho? She sneaks into bathrooms and watches cute boys bathe themselves.”

  Blushing, Timmy nodded. “Yeah. Neat.”

  Then an idea sparked from the tainted fantasy. This usually happened to him when he was thinking about a particular part to a story. Something would pop out of nowhere. He smiled. “And you see the steam from the shower parting around a solid shape, a man or woman’s shape…”

  Robin laughed. “Yeah!”

  “Somebody’s taking a bath, and they see the water tremble. Maybe they feel skin rub against theirs?”

  “The invisible person’s getting in the tub?”

  “Yeah. The person feels somebody getting in the tub with her. Sees the water shaking, the dips of feet getting in…”