She promised! The dirty sneak!
Ed walked back to his spot behind the bushes and plopped down. He pulled his feet toward his crotch and crossed them. He looked through the space between the bushy limbs. Dorothy peered in his direction. The blanket still covered her.
“Thank you, Theodore,” she said.
“Welcome.”
“I’m going to close my eyes,” she said through a yawn.
“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Ed watched Dorothy. The blanket made quick, fluttering movements. Her toes stuck out the bottom of the blanket, curling as her legs wiggled. Then her legs stopped moving. Soon the blanket lifted in a steady rhythm of her breaths.
She was asleep.
Ed hated being stuck in this predicament—unable to help her like she needed because he was afraid of being caught for what he’d done.
But if he hadn’t freed the vampire, he wouldn’t have been here waiting on it. And he wouldn’t have met Dorothy. He didn’t want to think about the things Peter might do to her next. Hard to believe the boy was capable of the things he’d seen so far.
Opening his lunchbox, Ed removed his last peanut butter sandwich. He thought about offering it to Dorothy, but decided to let her sleep.
Ed chewed softly, keeping his eyes on her.
He wanted to be done with all this so he could go back to digging up things in peace.
And he had a vampire tour to plan.
-15-
Peter coasted on his bicycle. Cold night air whipped his clothes against his body, making sounds like a sailboat. His hair flapped wildly, wagging in his eyes and across his forehead. He felt good and light, though his belly was full.
He’d done it three times today.
Once on Dorothy’s bed and twice in the graveyard. The first time had felt the best, though it had been the quickest. That first burst had made him cry, it felt so good.
He was ready for another.
Should get home. Ma is probably waiting for me.
But he wanted to ride by the graveyard, have another go at Dorothy. In the morning, he’d bring her some food and water before school. After school, he’d ride back by the graveyard and have her again. He knew everybody was looking for her, but he doubted anybody would think to check the old graveyard. Probably most of the folks in town didn’t even know it was there.
But Peter knew.
His daddy had taken him there when Peter was still little. They’d gone for a drive and Daddy had told ghost stories. He’d promised to show Peter something neat.
And neat it was.
Peter had gone back to the graveyard many times since then. He felt close to his daddy when he was there. Sometimes he even talked, as if Daddy were there to hear him. It looked a little different now. The gate had been broken. Peter wondered when the damage had happened. Could’ve been anytime, since he hadn’t been out there in over a year.
It was safe though, he was certain.
Can’t keep her there forever.
No. He’d have to move her. Probably tomorrow night. Where, he had no idea. He’d think of that later.
It was still hard for him to believe he’d finally done it. It was reading the garishly weird stories in crime magazines that had started his fantasies of doing things to girls. Usually they involved Robin Hicks, but the day he’d seen Dorothy in Buck’s with Robin, his affection turned to her. She was a lot younger, but to Peter that made it even better.
He’d read stories about guys tying women up, cutting on them, smearing their blood over their skin, sticking their wieners in them. Sometimes there were pictures.
The magazines had taught Peter about sex, taught him how to force himself onto girls. He’d lie in bed at night, staring at his dark ceiling, dreaming of having his way with Dorothy. A rope and knife was all he’d needed.
He’d followed her around. Just a little here and there, to see what she liked to do, to see the places she liked to go. One night he’d tried to peek through her window and had been disappointed to discover her bedroom was on the upper floor.
Learning about Dorothy had been pretty easy, really. Because his Ma was friends with Dorothy’s mother, he was able to find out the girl was home alone on Tuesday afternoons. So today when school let out, he’d pedaled his bicycle straight to her farmhouse. Then he’d hidden his bicycle in the woods and sneaked over to the house and in through the back door.
Expecting her to be home, he’d been surprised to find she wasn’t. A few minutes later, she was dropped off by a car he didn’t recognize. He’d almost run away. But he was grateful he’d stuck around, because the person hadn’t come inside the house with Dorothy.
And now she was his for as long as he wanted her to be.
What was he going to do with her when he was finally finished?
Don’t think about that. She’s yours. Keep her for a long time.
First thing, he needed to pick a new place to hide her.
Maybe then he’d start cutting on her. He had the knife—taken from the Clark’s house.
His heart pounded even harder than it already was, making him a little dizzy as he thought about rubbing a blade across her soft skin.
The knife was still at the graveyard. Before he’d left, he’d buried it. Maybe he’d use it a little tonight, just to see if he liked it.
Nah, not yet. Save it for when there’s more time.
When Peter reached the intersection, he made a right instead of continuing straight to go to his house. As he pedaled away from home, he glanced back. He could see the porch light was on. Ma was probably pacing a gulley into the carpet, wondering where he was.
She’s gonna beat my butt!
But it was worth it. Being with Dorothy one more time tonight was worth any spanking he’d get.
So long as Ma didn’t ground him.
Please, no.
He doubted she would. She normally spanked him and left it at that.
Soon Peter left the neighborhood behind. He kept riding until he saw no more houses. Woods pushed deep shadows against him. The moon threw a blueish haze onto the road, making it a pale strip in the dark.
Thankfully he knew the road well enough to know the curve was up ahead. The trail to the graveyard was just past it. He’d have to cross the road to get to it.
He reached the bend and started across. Something in the woods caught his eye. He turned his head, steering the bike to the left, as he tried to see what it was.
The moon glinted off a windshield. He could make out the dark shape of a truck hidden in the woods.
Is that…Ed’s?
Suddenly he was washed in a glaring brightness. The sound of an engine filled the night.
Peter turned and saw headlights boring down on him.
He screamed.
-16-
Mary saw the boy too late. All that had been in front of her was an empty road for miles. When she took the curve, the boy was suddenly there—gazing at the front of her car in wide-eyed fright through the thick fissures in her cracked windshield. She could hear his scream above the grumble of her engine.
A bump resounded from the front.
She slammed a foot on the brake while yanking the steering wheel to the right. The car skidded off the road. When the tires hit the grassy verge, she nearly lost control.
She managed to bring the car to a bumpy halt.
“Hot damn! What the hell was that?”
Twice now, Mary had been surprised by something in the road while driving this route. And twice she’d managed to plow it over with her car.
Mary jerked the gear to Park, turned in her seat, and stared out the back windshield.
Everything behind her was awash in the red of her taillights. She saw a bicycle in the center of the road, upturned, the bent wheel pointing at the sky. She saw the boy on the other side of the bicycle, on his side. His back faced her. She couldn’t tell if he was breathing.
Dust hovered like a dirty fog.
“
Oh, shit.” Mary groaned. “What the hell am I going to do?”
The kid rolled onto his back. Now she could see the rapid motions his chest made as he breathed.
“Thank heavens for that.”
She faced the front and saw her hand going for the gear again.
Am I really about to leave a hurt kid behind?
Mary turned again to look out the back. The kid hadn’t moved. He still lay on his back, still panting. His arms were splayed out, but motionless.
What am I going to do with him?
The obvious choice was to take him to the hospital. She could drop him off up front. That way she wouldn’t have to worry about talking to anybody. People in Plainfield find out she’d mowed down one of their kids, she’d have hell to pay.
Besides, she needed to get back to the tavern. She’d just finished dumping what was left of Jenkins’s body and needed to get back to the master. She’d left the back room a mess after his feeding. It needed to be cleaned up, and she wanted…
The master!
Mary stared at the kid, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. She heard a wild laugh and wasn’t surprised that it had come from her lungs.
Move, Mary, move!
Throwing open her door, Mary jumped out of the car. She ran around to the boy’s wrecked bicycle, gave a quick look around, and crouched. She grabbed the front wheel and spun around. When she was facing the woods, she released the bicycle. It soared over the road, hit a barrier of limbs, and smashed through. It landed in the shadows with a rattling crash.
She gave another look both ways. The road was still clear.
Moaning, the boy tried to get onto his side, but couldn’t do it. He rocked the other way, ending up on his back again. A big fellow. He’d probably strain her back when she lifted him. But she was a bigger woman and could throw freight better than most men, so she had little worry.
Mary shoved her arms underneath the boy and, using her legs, hoisted him up. She threw him over her shoulder like a sack of feed, and turned around. Keeping one arm straight out, she hobbled back to the car with her shoulder digging into the boy’s stomach. Her other arm braced his rump to hold him in place. He made moaning sounds as if telling her he didn’t want to go with her. Ignoring him, she made her way to the car.
She chucked him in. He landed on his side, nearly falling into the floorboard.
“Slide over,” she said.
The boy held his stomach. She noticed scuff marks on his chin and forehead. His shirt was torn, as was a leg of his trousers. The skin showing through the rip was wet and dark.
He looked at her from over his shoulder with glassy eyes.
Mary slapped him on the rump. “I said slide over, damn it.”
Crying, the boy scooted across the seat to the other side. His hands fumbled for the door latch. Leaning into the car, Mary grabbed his arm and shook him.
“Don’t you dare,” she snapped. “Stay still, you little bastard!”
Mary got into the car and pulled the door shut. She looked through the windshield, turned and checked behind her. Nobody was coming toward them. No headlights could be seen from either direction.
Smiling, Mary jerked the gear and drove away.
-17-
Mary flung the back room door open. From the dim glow flickering inside, she realized she’d forgotten to blow out the candle when she’d left.
Good way to burn the place down.
“What are you going to do to me?” the boy cried.
“Get in there,” she said, shoving him.
The fat kid stumbled a few steps, and fell forward. He grabbed the edge of the sink to catch himself. On his knees, hands gripping the sink, he looked back at her. His nose wrinkled as he sniffed, grimacing as if he caught the scent of something terrible.
It smelled like rotted meat in here. Jenkins's leftovers had filled the room with a copper-like scent mixed with something like old meat.
“Get up,” she said.
Nodding, the boy pulled himself upright with a groan. He had to be in some serious pain, but he seemed to be moving around just fine on his own, though a little sluggish.
Grabbing the collar of his coat, she pushed him, making him walk. The boy shuffled forward, feet tripping over each other, to the back of the room.
The boy saw the mess on the bed and screamed.
“Shut up,” she said, slapping both hands on his back and shoving.
The boy flew forward. His knees hit the edge of the mattress. His legs shot out, throwing him onto the bed. He splashed in thick puddles of black blood.
Mary quickly scanned the room. Blood everywhere. It covered the floor like a gloppy rug, hung from the walls in thick gooey strings. “Got you somebody!” Mary called.
A retort of growls came from under the bed as the purple smoke eddied out in thick currents.
The boy froze. Turned his head sideways. And screamed.
He bucked against the mattress as he tried to get up, but kept slipping in the murky paste smothering the bed. His face dropped into a mushy pile of Jenkin’s innards and he when he lifted his head, his screaming mouth was ringed with blood. A wet clump stuck to his bottom lip, reminding Mary of her grandfather when he chewed tobacco.
Now the fat kid really lashed, throwing his body up and down. He looked as if he was practicing how to swim by the way his arms and legs flapped and whirled. His skin was slick with dark blood.
A gnarled hand reached up from the edge of the bed, slapping three elongated spike-like claws down on the mattress. Seeing this made the boy shriek like an infant. He tried to pull his arm away in time.
But didn’t.
The master’s hand clenched a chubby wrist.
Then the boy was jerked from the bed, vanishing over the side. Feet kicking, it looked as if the boy had dropped something and was reaching down for it.
His feet shot out of sight as if he’d been sucked under the bed.
Mary stepped forward, fingers pressed to her mouth. She listened.
A heavy blanket of silence swathed the room.
Seconds that felt like hours passed by.
A juicy crunch made Mary jump. Blood spewed from under the bed as if from a hose. It showered the thick, oil-like puddles with fresh crimson, thinning them. The boy’s screams covered the sounds of the master’s feeding.
A calming tingle made her feel dizzy and weak. She walked out of the room and plopped in a chair at the small table in the kitchen area. She grabbed the box of matches, slid a cigarette from her pack, and struck flame to the match’s tip with her fingernail. She raised the dancing flame to her cigarette, lighting it. Leaning back her head, she pulled in a deep drag of smoke, and gazed at the ceiling.
The suckling sounds stopped.
Mary turned her head, gazing into the room. “Master?”
Silence.
The master was never finished this quickly. Maybe because the boy was younger, it hadn’t taken as long to feast.
Might not’ve been hungry.
Mary got to her feet. She shuffled toward the room on exhausted legs and was about to enter when a hole exploded in the mattress, sending metal springs, cotton, and bloody clods out in a cloud. Mary jumped back, screaming. The cigarette flew from her fingers.
The master appeared in the hole. The mattress covered him to his knees. Holding out his fuzzy-haired arms, elbows bent, it looked as if he was flexing. Head tilted back, his chin dropped, stretching its blue jowls like thin sheets of dough. Thin purple lips bared a row of spiked teeth that dripped blood. Tiny shreds of flesh clung between them. The master’s eyes, which had been a faded orange when she’d met him, now blazed like an inferno inside the thrones of Hell.
A shriek ripped from the master's throat that vibrated the walls. Mary's breasts shook, her insides trembled. Other than his threadbare clothes, the master looked wonderful and healthy.
"Muh-master?" said Mary.
His large head slowly turned in her direction, the thick coal-colored hair shimm
ering as if wetted. His leaf-shaped nose was moist and flaring as he sniffed, the pink walls of his nostrils quivering with each inhale. The cavernous ears tilted this way and that. Gazing at her, the master ran his forked tongue across his mouth, leaving his lips dripping with moisture.
"You're...healed?" she asked.
"Reborn."
His voice touched her in places that made her quiver. The master held out his arm. His three, thick fingers curled upward. Walking to him, Mary was about to climb on the bed when the master held up his hand. Mary paused. "What?" she asked.
"We have...another."
His voice was deep and swished through her head like a faint spell. It nearly brought Mary to her knees.
"A son..." The master looked down. The hole he'd made in the mattress was a wide circle. Tattered sheets hung like old flags around his legs. He reached his other hand down and opened it.
Mary watched as a pale arm rose from the darkness of the hole. Its palsied hand slipped into the master's. The master lifted, pulling the boy up with him. The boy's clothes were sodden with blood and hung like wet blankets on his body. The boy's face wasn't recognizable under the red veneer and lumpy bits. Releasing the boy's hand, the master turned, allowing the boy to hug his waist.
He now has a son.
The master faced Mary. Opened his hand to her.
Mary climbed onto the bed and embraced them both.
-18-
“Theodore?”
Ed’s eyes snapped open. He wasn’t sure where he was—darkness all around, a cold hardness beneath his back that seeped freezing dampness through his clothes. Sitting up, Ed bonked his head on something hard. He dropped back, holding his head.
He groaned.
“Theodore?” The soft voice was concerned now. “Are you okay?”
“Who?” said Ed through a pain-filled moan.
“You,” said the voice.
Theodore?
Ed stopped moving.
He remembered. He was at the graveyard. He’d told the girl his name was Theodore.
And he’d fallen asleep.
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