The Vampire of Plainfield

by Kristopher Rufty

  Rotted wood.

  Peter gave a short laugh. A hand shot out and clasped Ed’s throat. Ed dropped the broken stake and used both hands to grab Peter’s forearm midway between his wrist and elbow. He tried to pull the hand away from his throat to no avail.

  Peter sat up, holding Ed in place with ease. Getting to his feet, Peter lifted Ed from the ground as he straightened. Ed rolled his eyes down. Below Peter’s extended arm, Ed could see his kicking feet were above the ground.

  Ed couldn’t breathe. His lungs pulled for air that wasn’t there to take. His chest felt as if it were swelling, fit to burst. He uselessly slapped and pounded Peter’s arm.

  The boy-creature took a few steps forward, ran his tongue across his lips.

  “You released the master,” Peter said in that dissonant voice.

  Ed tried to speak but could only make quaking sounds.

  Peter laughed in a tone like grinding stones. “He made me like this. Dorothy was to be my first feed. Now I’m whole. And now, Eddie, now you will be like me. You’ll…” Peter gasped. His head shot towards the sky. His mouth stretched wide around the breathy hiss that gusted out. This one wasn’t hungry and evil like the others. There was fear. “No,” Peter cried, “no!”

  Ed noticed a subtle change as everything seemed to fill with a pale glow that thinned the dark. At first he thought it was his eyeballs about to pop from their sockets. But he realized it was actually the sun giving its first peek through the clouds.

  The pressure around Ed’s throat went away. He dropped. His knees punched the ground. Though Peter had released his stranglehold, Ed’s neck still felt as if it were being squeezed. Ed held his throat. The skin felt hot and itchy where Peter’s hand had been. Looking up, he saw Peter was still focused on the brightening sky. His features were less monstrous now. Though he was milky white, he looked less like a thing and more like the Peter Ed had known.

  Peter stepped back, head thrashing like a fox caught in a trap. His wild, feral eyes landed on Dorothy, then shot back to the sky. Peter’s body sizzled as smoke began to drift from the sleeves of his T-shirt. “It burns!” he cried.

  Peter, arm thrown over his face, ran toward Dorothy. Ed thought he meant to grab her, but instead, he snatched the blanket and spun it around his back and over his head like a shawl. Then he ran into the woods, the blanket flapping behind him, leaving a swirling trail of smoke in his retreat. It rose toward the thick branches above him, thinning until Ed could no longer see it at all.

  Ed stayed on his knees for a long time—until the choking sensation in his throat went away. Until his knees could no longer take holding him up. Until the sun had burned away all evidence of the night.

  He made himself get up, ignoring the aches he felt all through him. His heart still pounded his chest like a mallet. His breath still came in quick spurts.

  Birds began to croon from all around; some chirped while others performed sweet melodies that seemed to carry on and on. Things scuttled and scampered, out of sight, making the leaves rustle and crunch.

  A butterfly appeared in front of him, twirling and dipping low to the ground. Its paper-thin wings worked vigorously in yellow and black blurs. It was the first one Ed had seen this season. When the butterflies came out, that meant spring was here. And Ed could tell it would be a lovely day.

  He watched the pretty insect flutter along the ground and perch on Dorothy’s shoulder.

  “Dorothy,” Ed muttered.

  In the bright sunlight, she looked painted white with a deep shading of blue. From where Ed stood, he could clearly see the dark holes in the side of her neck, an inch apart. Blood had left crimson rings around the holes and a thin line of red trickled down from each. Those looked dry as well.

  The girl was dead.

  Ed sighed. He felt zero remorse from her death, nor did he feel any real anger. It was the same kind of feeling he’d get when seeing somebody’s pet on the side of the road, half trampled by tires. Was a sad thing to know how much her death was going to hurt somebody when they found out, but it didn’t affect him at all.

  He felt blank inside.

  Ed walked through the undergrowth to his sack, leaned over, and grabbed it. He heaved it out from under the bushes. Grabbing the bottom of the sack, he flipped it over and dumped out the tools. They fell to the ground with a loud clatter that made him wince. He gave a quick look at Dorothy, expecting the racket to have awakened her.

  She was still dead.

  Ed turned the sack around and flapped it loose. He carried the empty sack over to Dorothy and dropped to his knees at her feet. Her broken ankle had turned a plum hue and hair-thin marks spread out from the bruise like cracks in glass. Keeping his eyes away from her upper body, he grabbed her feet and pulled her legs straight. Then he pushed her ankles together.

  Opening the sack wide, he slipped one side under her feet, the other side over her toes and began to push the sack up like pants. Her rump stopped it. He moved around to her side, pushed her up by the hip, and pulled the sack through. He kept pulling it until Dorothy had been entirely swallowed.

  Then he pulled the line taut to close the sack up.

  Ed pulled the strap to his shoulder, slipped his arm through, and stood with a groan. Dorothy’s weight pulled the sack against Ed’s shoulder, but it wasn’t so heavy that it made the chore impossible. He adjusted it the best he could, then walked to where he’d dumped his tools. Dorothy tugged at his shoulder, as if trying to hold him back.

  He used his foot to lift the tools, one at a time, by their handles. When he had everything bunched together in his arms, he turned and started for the trail.

  He checked around for Peter as he hiked toward the road. The woods were empty. He hadn’t expected to see him anywhere. If the sunlight hadn’t killed the boy, he was surely long gone by now.

  At the end of the trail, Ed paused. He listened for sounds of automobiles. All he heard were the birds, singing happily as if nothing depraved had happened in their woods. He left the trail behind and walked to the spot where he’d hidden his truck. Not a bad spot at night, but during the daylight, it looked as if he’d just abandoned it on a small patch of flat land.

  He threw his tools in the back. They made hollow clangs when they hit the metal walls of the bed. He left Dorothy in the sack and put her in the cab. He shoved her against the passenger door, then climbed inside the truck, and fired it up. He revved the gas until the exhaust chugging out the back was hardly noticeable. Then he drove off.

  He was hungry. He decided on his way home he’d stop off at Buck’s for a plate of food. A hot breakfast would make him feel better.

  -19-

  Timmy was surprised to spot his father standing in front of his police car when he walked down the front steps of the school. Dad had parked on the side of the road and stood with

  his arms crossed. Even from the distance, Timmy could tell he hadn't shaved recently. He also looked thinner.

  Dad threw his hand in the air and waved. “Timmy!”

  Nodding, Timmy waved back, then turned around and stared at the propped-open front doors of the school. From the brightness outside, looking into the school’s hallways was like peering into a cave. Students hurried out in groups, some walked in pairs, and others were alone. They passed Timmy without noticing him.

  Timmy gave another look at his father. The grim look on the man’s face made his stomach turn ice cold.

  “Come on, son,” Dad called, waving a little more impatiently now.

  “Okay,” said Timmy. He gave another glance at the school. “Just a second!”

  “Are you waiting on someone?” he heard shouted from behind him.

  Heads of students turned to look at him as they walked by. Some giggled, others smiled. Some looked curious.

  Timmy felt his cheeks warm. He nodded without turning around.

  “Five minutes!” Dad said.

  Timmy nodded again. His face felt like it was on fire. Everyone outside had heard their exchange and
would probably tease him about it for weeks. At least Peter wasn’t here. Peter would be holding his gut with laughter, his chubby face the color of an apple. But he’d missed school today. Maybe he was sick.

  He was fine last night.

  Not completely fine, now that Timmy thought about it. He’d been acting…

  Timmy spotted the springy bop of a girl in the hall.

  It’s her!

  His breath caught in his throat. The shadows of the hallway seemed to thin around her, as if she were a glowing light in a deep cave.

  Robin.

  Timmy couldn’t look away as he watched her walk. Her hair, pulled firmly back, was held in place by a curved band. Her long ponytail swung behind her head like a golden pendulum. She hugged a few books to her chest. Her pink sweater was bundled on top and her chin rested on the fluffy fabric. Being a ninth grader, her locker was at the far side of the school. It had taken her longer to reach the front than Timmy.

  Robin neared the doors. She saw him. Her cherry lips parted to show white. The mole over her lip rose with her smile. Timmy noticed guys had stopped to watch her walk by. When her back was to them, they turned to each other, their heads moving as rapidly as their mouths. Probably talking about how beautiful she was.

  “Hi,” she said. “This is a surprise. Waiting on me?”

  Timmy gave a quick glance at his father and saw his eyes widen. A bit of a smile showed on his face.

  Facing Robin again, Timmy said, “Hi. Yeah. I was…am. Yes.” Timmy shook his head.

  Way to go, bonehead.

  Her nose wrinkled. “What’s wrong? You look…flushed.”

  “Well, I wanted…but…” Timmy sighed.

  “Came to walk me home?”

  Timmy nodded, then shook his head. “My dad’s here.”

  Her pleasant expression seemed to lessen. “I see.” Frowning, she looked over Timmy’s shoulder. “I wonder if something’s wrong.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Hopefully nothing else has happened.”

  “Hope not.”

  Robin continued to frown, her eyes squinting from the bright sunlight. There were two small lines at the bridge of her nose. Puffy crescents underneath her eyes showed through her make-up to reveal how exhausted she truly was.

  But she still looked as beautiful as always.

  Perfect.

  “Maybe he’s come to tell me good news,” he said.

  Though Robin smiled, he could tell it was without merit. “Maybe,” she said.

  “I guess I can’t walk you home today,” he said.

  Robin stuck out her lip into a cute pout. “I’m sorry. But my dad’s car’s over there.” She pointed to the parking lot. There were a lot of cars out there. Timmy nodded as if he could see it. “I wouldn’t have been able to walk with you,” she added. “Daddy insisted he pick me up from school.” She groaned. “Sometimes he just makes me so mad…”

  “That’s fine,” Timmy said.

  “It was a sweet gesture, though, Timmy. Honest. Means a lot.”

  Heat filled Timmy’s cheeks. “No problem.”

  “You can walk me to Dad’s car,” she said. “If you want to.”

  Timmy smiled. “I’d love to.”

  “Great.”

  Robin shifted her books to one arm and curled her now free arm around his elbow. Timmy felt warm tendrils shoot through him.

  “Let’s get moving,” she said.

  Though he felt dizzy, he managed to keep himself together as they started down the steps. A soft breeze stirred his hair. It was slightly cool in the warm day. He gave Robin a glance from the corner of his eye and missed the bottom step. His knees folded, but Robin jerked his arm back before his knees bashed the concrete.

  “Whoa!” she said. “Can’t have you getting hurt again because of me.”

  Timmy leaned forward, putting his hands flat on his knees. He felt a mixture of embarrassment and anger. Tears made his eyes moist. He quickly blinked them away before Robin could notice. “Clumsy me,” he said.

  Robin laughed. “Falling head over heels for me?”

  Timmy’s stomach gave a sickening lurch. “Uh…”

  Robin jabbed her elbow into his side. “Just teasing you.”

  Now disappointment trickled into the frenzy of emotions he already felt. “Bet everybody saw it.”

  “Not everybody. Just those who were here.”

  Timmy groaned. “Great.”

  Laughing, Robin tapped his shoulder. Timmy looked up at her. “Ready to try again?” she asked.

  “I guess.”

  “Okay. Remember to put one foot in front of the other. Okay?”

  “A laugh machine, we have here.”

  Robin giggled. “Come on.” She gave his arm a gentle tug.

  Timmy stood up straight. Nodded. “I’m ready.”

  “Good to hear.”

  Holding his arm, she guided him up the sidewalk.

  “What time do you want to meet Friday?” he asked.

  Robin shook her head. “Six?”

  “Okay.”

  “Talked to your parents about it?” she asked.

  “Not yet. I haven’t seen my Dad to ask him. He hasn’t been home long enough to…” Timmy stopped talking when he noticed the sadness in Robin’s eyes. Then he realized what he was saying.

  Another fine job, goober.

  Complaining about Dad not being home to the cousin of the girl he’s been out looking for.

  “Maybe you can ask him today,” Robin said. Something about her tone was odd. Almost sounded as if she no longer wanted to go with him on Friday. Trying not to show his concern, Timmy kept walking.

  He glanced over his shoulder as they reached the end of the sidewalk and spotted his father. Now he stood on the sidewalk at the bottom of the school stairs. He watched Timmy, but said nothing. He didn’t have to. Timmy understood if he walked any further, his dad was going to be mad.

  “Guess this is as far as I can go,” said Timmy.

  Robin looked, saw Timmy’s dad, and nodded. She waved at him. Dad gave a single wave in return.

  “This is fine,” she said. “Don’t want your Dad getting mad. He might not let you go on Friday if he does.”

  “So you’re really going to be there?”

  He hadn’t meant to ask. The question had already been on its way out before he’d realized it, and he wanted to kick himself. He supposed he needed to hear it one more time to make sure it was really going to happen. Last night, he’d lost a lot of sleep wondering if Robin had been pulling some kind of prank. He’d tried telling himself over and over that Robin wouldn’t do that.

  But still…the worry wouldn’t go away.

  Robin’s mouth hung open. “You don’t think I’ll be there?”

  “Well…” He huffed through his nose, nibbled his lip. “I…uh…”

  Laughing, Robin bumped him with her hip. “You better stop that baloney. I’ll be there. I would never stand you up, Timmy Worden. I asked you, remember?”

  “Yeah. Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize. We’ll have a good time.”

  “Yeah, we will.”

  “All right,” said Robin. “Now that we’ve agreed, you’d better go.” She turned, stepping in front of Timmy and blocking his father from his view. “Your old man might have a heart attack if he saw this.”

  “Saw wha…?”

  Robin stepped forward and gave him a quick little kiss on his cheek. She pulled back, smiled, and said “Bye. See you later.” Then she twirled around and hurried away, holding her books close. She didn’t look in Dad’s direction.

  Timmy stared at her, watching her rump make the back of her skirt swish. The bottom floated around her calves, showing their smooth backs above the fluffy white of her socks. He could still feel her lips on his face, a phantom brush of softness. Reaching up, he rubbed his cheek and felt a greasy line from her lipstick.

  She looked back at him from over her shoulder. “I didn’t leave a mark.” Be
fore vanishing behind a truck, she added, “Stop acting so goofy or he’ll know.” Then she was gone.

  Timmy had no idea how long he’d stared at the empty section of sidewalk before a hand slapped down on his shoulder. Timmy didn’t even jump.

  “Stop gawking, son. Just looks bad to stare like a creep.” His father shook him softly. “Ready to go?”

  Timmy thought he might have nodded.

  “Good,” said Dad. “I need to talk to you.”

  “Sure,” said Timmy.

  He felt as if he were walking on marshmallows while Dad guided him to the car. So far, so good. If Dad had noticed Robin had kissed him, he gave no signals. Dad opened the passenger door and Timmy plopped down in the seat. His legs felt heavy and weak when he pulled them into the car.

  The door banging shut snapped Timmy out of the shock Robin’s lips had left him in. Blinking, he looked around. He saw Dad’s thermos on the seat between some wadded-up food wrappers. There was a stench hanging in the cab—a combination of cigarette smoke and coffee and maybe even body odor. Something about the smell made Timmy think his father had been in this car for a long time.

  Though he shouldn’t have told Robin, it was true he’d hardly seen his Dad since he dropped him off yesterday. He’d come home way past Timmy’s bedtime, but he’d still been awake, thinking about the conversation with Robin and her subsequent phone call, when he’d heard the car pull up outside. Though his parents tried to be quiet, he’d been able to hear their voices through the wall. They’d been in the kitchen, probably sitting at the table and drinking coffee while Dad told Mama everything. It was hard to decipher every word Dad had said, but he’d understood a little.

  There was nothing to go on. Dorothy might have vanished entirely.

  Dad’s door opened, startling Timmy. He turned to watch his father sit down. Dad leaned back, let out a small groan, and pulled the door shut. He turned to Timmy.

  “Tired, Dad?”

  Dad gave a slow nod. “So tired I can’t see straight. But I better perk up, huh? The search parties start tonight.”

  “What’s that?”