The Vampire of Plainfield

by Kristopher Rufty

  “Dorothy! It is you!”

  Dorothy didn’t move. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her feet slightly parted. She stared straight at Carol. “Mommy?” she said. Her voice was soft and hoarse. She sounded very parched.

  “Oh, baby!” Tears dripping from her eyes, Carol got to her feet. Her hip throbbed with dull pain, but she didn’t let it slow her down. She ran onto the porch, down the stairs, and onto the pathway in one quick burst. “Thank you, God!”

  Carol scooped Dorothy into her arms, holding her close. Somehow she seemed much lighter now, as if she were hollow inside.

  Stop it.

  And her skin felt like ice. Carol tried to make her skimpy gown somehow stretch around her naked daughter. It wouldn’t reach. She held Dorothy tightly, kissed her on the forehead. It was like kissing cold meat.

  “What happened to your clothes, baby?” Carol asked.

  “I’m thirsty, Mommy.”

  “Oh, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Let’s get you inside.”

  Carol charged up the steps, dashed inside. She elbowed the door, throwing it behind her. The wind, which was nearly screeching, sounded as if a giant hand had covered its mouth when the door closed.

  “Russell!” Carol shouted in the foyer. “Get down here! I have Dorothy! Bring a blanket!”

  Carol heard a loud thump upstairs followed by quick softer thumps that grew louder as they moved through the hallway. Russell appeared at the top of the stairs, naked, his hair a mess.

  “Wha…?” he said. Then he quickly covered his crotch with both hands. “Dorothy!”

  “Yes,” said Carol. “She came home!”

  “Oh my God! This isn’t a dream!”

  “No. Get a blanket, and damn it, get dressed!”

  “Okay…”

  As Russell turned away from the stairs for the bedroom, Carol ran into the living room. She dropped down on the couch, and clutched her daughter close.

  “Daddy’ll be back in a minute with a blanket.”

  “I’m cold, Mommy.”

  “I know. It’s all right.”

  Need to call Worden. Get him over here. Then take Dorothy to the hospital.

  “Hold me closer, Mommy.”

  “Of course, baby. Of course!”

  Carol turned Dorothy so she faced her chest. She pulled her higher. Dorothy’s long, skinny legs dangled over the arm of the couch. They looked so pale, the color of hospital bedsheets.

  She felt Dorothy’s face nuzzle against her neck. “So thirsty, Mommy…”

  “I know. In a minute we’ll…”

  There’s no breaths…

  Carol gasped. Her daughter’s mouth and nose were pressed against the side of her neck and she felt no warm breaths on her skin.

  “Dorothy, what…?”

  Her words stopped when she felt two sharp points sink into her neck. Her mouth opened, but nothing but choking sounds came out. She could feel her blood moving in a constant flowing motion in reverse as it was siphoned out.

  Dorothy was sucking her blood.

  Russell! Help!

  Paralyzed, Carol was unable to resist as her daughter sucked her neck and made whispery cooing sounds in her ear. She felt warm trickles slide down her neck, under her gown, and onto her breasts.

  A light clicked on in the foyer.

  “Carol?”

  In here!

  If only she could have said it aloud. Instead, she only mouthed the words and hoped Russell would hear.

  His feet pounded the floor. He appeared in the doorway, reached in, and felt for the switch. There was a click and light filled the room with a glare that hurt Carol’s eyes. She was able to make them move toward her husband.

  Russell, smiling, entered the living room. Bare to the waist, he’d put on pants. “Got her favorite blanket.” His relieved demeanor melted away as he came closer. “Dorothy? What are you doing to your…?”

  Dorothy’s head whipped toward her father. Carol heard her hiss, saw her arms jerk up and hands curl like claws. Russell’s eyes rounded. He jumped back, dropping the blanket. Then Dorothy sprang from Carol’s lap like a cat and crashed into Russell. Her hands and feet slapped against him and drove him to the floor.

  Carol slid down the couch, feeling her life draining away as the sounds of Dorothy attacking her father filled the room.

  Edward Theodore Ghoul

  Geiner:

  Why did Ed Gein’s girlfriend stop going out with him?

  Because he was such a cut-up.

  -23-

  The sun felt like a hot, heavy hand pushing down on the back of Ed’s neck. He stopped digging, leaving the shovel stuck in the dirt. He folded his hands on top of the rod, and rested his cheek on his gloves. The material was hot against his face. Reaching into his back pocket, he removed a kerchief. He pulled off his damp hat, using the kerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow. When he checked, he was surprised to find the thin towel was dry.

  Ed had no more sweat left to shed. It had saturated his clothes, leaving them hanging like wet rags on his exhausted body. Something like warm sand pumped underneath his skin instead of blood.

  He’d been digging through the night and the better part of the day. Deciding to start with the older graves, he’d worked all the way through the small graveyard behind the church. The plot was through a path and beyond a small cluster of trees, so he doubted anybody would notice the desecration right away. Good thing, since he’d been too tired to cover them back. Hopefully he could get back and finish the job before Reverend Carter noticed his cemetery had been disturbed.

  Now he was in Plainfield’s main cemetery, on the far south side near the trees. The sun had been starting to show above the clouds when he’d arrived. He was on his seventh grave, and so far, hadn’t found anything that might interest the vampire in the previous six. Just a lot of bones and tattered clothing and ragged hair.

  Ed stepped back from the shovel, his clothes making squelching sounds as he moved. His shirt was warm and soggy on his back. About to put back on his hat, movement to his right caught his eye.

  Ed made a lethargic turn. Though he should be in heavy panic, he had no energy to properly react if somebody had caught him digging. He could only stare through his sweat-blinded eyes.

  He didn’t see anything right away, then a small dark shape hopped along the ground near the tree line. It went a couple feet in one direction, jumped around, and hopped back the way it had come. Black curves fluttered on either side of its narrow body.

  What is that?

  Wiping his face with his hat, he dried the sweat in his eyes. When he looked again, the sun seemed even brighter, so he squinted harder.

  A vulture.

  Its body was thick with dingy feathers. Fluffy white sprouted from the narrow neck that supported a scabrous, oval-shaped head and hooked beak. The head bopped this way and that, looking around. Its beady eyes landed on Ed and froze. The beak opened and a raspy, drawn-out hiss was released. Wings spread, stretching like a tattered kite.

  Ed thought it meant to attack.

  “I’m not dead yet,” Ed said. “Get!”

  The vulture loosed another long hiss, giving its wings a terse flap. An old, moldy odor drifted toward Ed.

  “You’re not eating me, pal. Now, get!”

  The bird squawked.

  “I said get!”

  Ed threw his hat. It landed a foot or more in front of the bird. It hardly seemed to notice.

  “Shit,” said Ed.

  He regretted throwing his hat at the vulture. It somewhat kept the sun off his face, and he’d rather have just a tittle of protection than none at all. At least with the hat, his face wouldn’t feel as much like tight leather as the back of his neck did.

  “See what you made me do?” he asked the vulture. Huffing, Ed planted his hands on the rim of the hole and jumped. He seemed much heavier now, his arms trembling as they struggled to support him. His legs kicked behind him until his knees pushed into the loose soil around the hole. He
fell onto his side and squirmed away from the edge. Then he rolled over.

  On his stomach, he stared at the vulture. It hadn’t moved. It seemed to be…waiting.

  Bastard bird.

  Ed hoped it waited long enough for him to cave in its head with the shovel. Ed saw himself swinging the shovel down, the blade flattening the ugly bird’s head. Then he could sit back and laugh while he watched the bird scamper around with its head shoved down into its chest.

  Smiling, Ed wrenched the shovel from the hole. He brought it in front of him, throwing the blade over his shoulder. Chuckling to himself, he stalked toward the vulture. “Now you’re going to get it, you bastard bird.”

  The vulture hissed, twitched its head. Flapped its wings. Seemed to Ed that it was daring him to make a move.

  Ed planned to make a move, all right. The gloves made rubbery sounds as he gripped the handle. He began to lift the shovel off his shoulder. He stopped in front of the bird, bringing the shovel higher. The small, bumpy head tilted, black eyes blinked.

  Ed brought the shovel down.

  It panged when it hit the ground. The impact jolted his arms, sending a quivering burst into his chest. He quickly lifted the shovel and checked.

  No flattened bird underneath.

  A squawk resounded from off to his side. Ed spotted the bird at the woods, standing in a narrow gap between two large trees. The shade was heavy and dark, almost concealing the bird in its darkness. Wings rustled as if to mock Ed.

  “You are a bastard, aren’t you?”

  The bird hissed as if admitting this characteristic.

  “I’m going to pound you to bits, you little shit!”

  The bird squawked, turned, and hurried into the woods. Ed chased after it, pausing long enough to snatch his hat off the ground. He ran into the woods, turning sideways to fit between the two trees.

  A limb slapped his face. Another whacked his chest. Groaning, Ed stayed in pursuit. The bird was a few feet ahead, trotting forward with its wings held out. It hissed and squawked every few steps. Ed thought it might be laughing at him.

  “Get back here, you bastard!”

  The shovel blade caught the edge of a tree, making the handle slug his stomach. Grunting, Ed staggered sideways. His shoulder bashed another tree. He was thrown back to the right.

  “Damn!” Ed shouted.

  At least he’d stayed on his feet. But now he had fresh aches to add to those already abusing his poor body. Somewhere inside his worn-out mind, he understood how silly it was to be chasing after a bird. His anger and weariness exceeding his good sense, he picked up his speed.

  And he just wanted to beat the vulture into a puddle of feathers and chunky bits.

  Up ahead, the vulture made a quick right around a fat tree with low branches. Ed ducked his head and made the turn. When he came around the other side, he no longer saw the vulture.

  Ed stopped running. Huffing, he looked this way and that. He held the shovel in both arms like a rifle. A breeze made the limbs tremble, rustling leaves. It brushed coolness across his face. Specks of sunlight danced on the trunks like the beams of flashlights.

  But no vulture.

  He’d lost it.

  “Bastard,” he muttered.

  All that wasted energy. For nothing. A familiar feeling came upon Ed—he felt like a brainless nitwit. Disgusted with himself, Ed started to turn around.

  Then he heard the vulture’s raspy hiss from off in the distance.

  Spinning around, Ed laughed. “Got you!”

  He ran.

  Ed burst through a section of brush, a wild laugh rattling his throat. When he saw the glowing fence of spikes before him, the laughter was choked off. His run slowed to a trot, which slowed to a wary stroll.

  The enclosure formed a small area—once a circle, but now it was uneven from rods having sank into the ground. Other rods tipped forward, their sharp tops pointing at Ed. Though he could tell by the condition of the layout, the fencing was old, the rods themselves were in pristine shape. The skinny rods were the girth of cornstalks and shined even without the sunlight reaching them.

  Silver?

  Ed dropped the shovel, pulled off a glove, and rubbed a finger down the side of a rod. It felt smooth and polished, gleaming in the shadows.

  Silver, all right.

  He looked up. A wattle of intertwined tree limbs prevented any kind of light from reaching the area, giving a false impression of dusk. This probably explained why the vegetation looked dead and old. Brown vines curled through the spaces between the poles like thick spider webs. A carpet of dead leaves covered the ground beyond the barrier. The nearest trees were emaciated and leafless, the bark jagged and black.

  And, Ed detected, the temperature was much cooler in this spot. Felt like late autumn in this dark area. He began to shiver, his teeth clacking.

  The vulture’s hiss brought his attention to the center of the small clearing the fence enclosed. The big bird was perched atop a small, gray nub protruding from the ground.

  “How’d you get in there?” he asked.

  The vulture’s wings fluttered, sounding like an old flag in the wind. Its beak pointed to Ed’s left. Ed followed the path of its gaze and spotted an old gate. It was closed, so that didn’t explain how the bird had gotten inside.

  Then he remembered it could fly and felt, once again, like a nitwit.

  The bird had been showing Ed his way in.

  Ed followed the fence to the gate. An old-fashioned lock held it shut, with an oddly shaped keyhole in the center. Ed had never seen a key that looked the type to fit this ancient latch. He grabbed the bars of the gate and tried to shake it.

  The gate wouldn’t budge.

  Ed walked back to the shovel, grabbing it. Then he returned to the gate and wedged the tip of the blade in the small space between the gate and the silver frame. It didn’t go in far, but Ed slowly wiggled the shovel back and forth. The gate made rusty, squeaky sounds as the shovel slowly moved deeper. The gate began to show some give.

  “Come on...”

  Gritting his teeth, Ed pulled the shovel toward him. The gate whined, bars groaned. He stopped pulling and switched to pushing. This time, the gate really began to bulge outward. He could feel the frame bending in the opposite direction.

  Then, leaving the shovel sticking out of the frame, he stepped back. He threw his foot forward, kicking the handle. The wood snapped, causing him to stumble.

  And the gate shot open with a screech. The other broken half of the shovel dropped to the ground.

  Damn. Lost another one.

  At least he’d gotten the gate open.

  Ed entered.

  The vulture waited for him, its knifelike talons curled over the tip of the nub. No grass grew around it, so it was easy to spot—a gray protrusion among a flatbed of dirt. To Ed, it looked like a headless neck made of stone.

  “All right,” Ed said, “you got me in here. Now what?”

  The vulture hissed, then stepped back. Its talons scraped the top of the rock as it readjusted its position. Bending over, the vulture gave the top of the rock a few quick taps with its beak.

  Ed understood.

  This was where he should dig. As absurd as it was, this vulture had led him to where he needed to be. One ghoul helping out another. Somehow the vulture had just known what Ed was looking over, even if he didn’t know himself.

  Ed nodded his thanks. The vulture let out a quick squawk, then launched into the sky. The sounds of its wings flapping became fainter until Ed could no longer hear them at all.

  Ed returned to the busted gate and picked up what was left of his shovel. The broken handle was the length of a hammer, and he held it like one as he returned to the rock. If Ed’s assumptions were correct, the stone was what remained of an old grave marker. Since there wasn’t enough room behind the stone because of the fence, he’d have to dig in front of it.

  Getting on his knees, Ed leaned over and slammed the blade of the shovel into the ground. A su
dden wind blew against him, dirt peppering his eyes. He used the shovel for a while, then switched to his hands, throwing handfuls of dirt aside like a dog that’d found a nest of rabbits.

  When his hands ached, he returned to the shovel—stabbing, scooping and tossing.

  This went on and on as the wind’s force increased. The trees whispered and rattled, dropping leaves in a twirling rain outside the fence.

  Ed paid it no mind. All that mattered was the task. He needed to reach what was buried in the earth. Had to open it up, had to free it.

  For the master.

  Ed smiled. How pleased the master was going to be with him. It filled Ed with virtuous delight that increased the fervor of his digging. Slogging dirt in every direction, Ed continued to sink as the hole deepened.

  His movements came to a sudden halt when the shovel struck resistance.

  Laughing, Ed flung the shovel over his shoulder. He held out his hands. One was covered with a glove, the other bloody and calloused and dirty from the dig. He couldn’t remember how he’d lost the other glove, and this loosed another wild laugh. Then he began clawing at the dirt, flinging it between his legs in rapid swipes.

  A casket began to appear like a hidden treasure.

  It was a treasure, Ed knew. Thrusting his hands in the air, Ed howled. The master’s existence was inside the casket.

  Ed Gein had been the one to find it.

  With a little help from another ghoul.

  Ed looked up to the sky, saying a silent thanks to the vulture.

  And spotted somebody peeking over the hole. From the person’s position, Ed supposed he or she were on their hands and knees, gazing down at him. It was hard to make out any facial features through the mask of shadows hiding them.

  Before he could say anything, he saw an arm raise. The broken half of the shovel was clutched in a fist. The sun behind it, the narrowed point of the blade gleamed.

  Then it shot down at him fast. Ed heard a clang, felt a bam of pain, then darkness consumed him.

  -24-

  Water trickling down his face shocked Ed awake. Head throbbing, he started to sit up, but was pushed back down. He shook when he landed. Felt like a mattress under his back. Carefully, he moved his head. Comfort behind him—a pillow.