The Vampire of Plainfield

by Kristopher Rufty

  Reaching up, he caught a kicking leg in each hand. Her skin felt soft and velvety in his hold. He braced her legs as she wiggled through the window, legs sliding through his hands. Shins first. Then her knees.

  Then her thighs. His knuckles brushed the silky material of her underwear.

  Then she dropped down. The hard soles of her shoes made a solid whacking sound when she landed. Robin let out a long sigh of relief. “Made it without breaking our necks.” Though she whispered, her voice still sounded loud in the heavy quiet.

  “We’re not down yet.”

  “Where are we?”

  “The basement.”

  “I mean, where in the basement?”

  Timmy looked around. All he saw was darkness. The floor seemed nonexistent below them. As if they were to jump, they’d never touch bottom.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “Look.”

  Timmy couldn’t tell where she was pointing. “What?”

  “A lamp.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “Wait here,” she said.

  “No, Robin, I…”

  “I’ll be just a minute.”

  “But the light, somebody might see.”

  “We need it, Timmy. It’s too dark.”

  Timmy stopped arguing. He felt Robin turn beside him, press against him. Her lips kissed the side of his mouth. She’d probably been aiming for the front, and missed.

  “Give me a minute,” she said, turning away from him. She crouched slightly. Then jumped down. She let out a soft squeal when her feet smacked the floor. At least, Timmy figured it was the floor. Sounded like concrete. “That was unexpected.”

  “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Just wasn’t expecting to land so soon.” Her shoes made scuffling sounds on the floor as she moved away from him.

  Her footsteps stopped.

  Timmy waited. Silence fell over the room like a heavy blanket.

  “Robin?”

  No response.

  “Robin?”

  A hissing flame suddenly burst in the dark, washing Robin’s features in a fluttering glow. He saw her squint against the flame’s dim brightness. The flame lowered, vanished, then reappeared even dimmer.

  She was lighting the oil lamp.

  “There you are,” he said.

  “Yeah,” she said, leaning over a small desk. She pulled the match out of the lamp, shaking it out. “Sorry. It took longer to find the matches.”

  The flame inside the lantern grew, filling the corner Robin stood in with light. There was a bulletin board of some kind hanging on the wall. Stacks of paperwork had been tacked to it.

  Though the light made Timmy nervous, he was glad they had it.

  “Much better,” she said. Turning to face Timmy, she smiled. It slowly drooped into a confused grimace before changing into repulsion. “Oh, God, Timmy…”

  The look on her face made Timmy’s insides squirm. “What’s wrong?”

  “Look…” She pointed at him. “You’re standing on…”

  Slowly, Timmy looked down. A flat sheet of wood was under his feet. Turning his head, he noticed how the wood seemed to narrow when it reached the end. He looked at the other end. It was broader, a flat top and jutting corners.

  “Is that…?” Timmy started to say. “Oh, God. It’s a coffin!”

  Timmy leaped from the top. He landed in a squat, sprang to his feet, and dashed over to where Robin stood. Elbows touching, they stared at the coffin. On top of a table, the lid was closed.

  Timmy felt sorry, and a little sick, knowing he’d been standing on something designed to house a dead person.

  Over to the left, he saw another coffin, partially completed. On the far side of the room, the wall was lined with overstocked shelves: Books, tools, jars and bottles. Beside the half-finished coffin Timmy saw two slabs. On top of each were white sheets that draped the slab and hung over the edges. Shapes showed beneath, body shapes. Distinct forms of featureless heads, shoulders, and torsos. Poking out the bottoms of each sheet were bare feet. The larger set was smooth and gray, the smaller, petite pair had dark, clean scratches on the bottom. Both looked as if they’d been sleeping and accidentally kicked the sheet off their feet.

  “Oh, God,” he muttered.

  “That’s them,” said Robin.

  “Yuh-yeah…it is.”

  In shock, Timmy stared at the white shapes.

  That’s people under there.

  Not just people. Robin’s family.

  Spirals of tubing reached out from under the sheet that concealed the man. The other end led to a steel counter, hanging over the deep sink. Though the tubes were empty, Timmy noticed droplets of a murky fluid inside, remnants of whatever had been flowing through.

  On the counter’s polished surface was a line of tall glass bottles.

  Even from here, Timmy could read the labels: Embalming.

  “Well,” said Robin. “I came here to do it…so…” She took a quivery breath that shook her shoulders. Facing Timmy, she held out the prybar. “Hold this?”

  Timmy took the prybar from her hand. He noticed her trembling. “You don’t have to do this. We can leave.”

  “No. We’ve gone this far, right?”

  Timmy nodded.

  Robin took another deep breath that sloshed her cheeks. She shivered. “I’m going to do it.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  Robin closed her eyes, looking relieved. When she opened them, she offered something that resembled an appreciative smile. “Thank you, Timmy.”

  He held out his empty hand. Robin smiled again, raised her hand to his, and held it.

  Together, they approached the metal slabs. Timmy stared at the sheets to avoid seeing the bare gray feet. Robin made short steps around to the side of the gurney with the little feet, stopping near the top.

  And stared.

  Timmy was beginning to think she’d decided not to look when her hand lifted.

  It gripped the sheet, tugging it down.

  Gasping, Robin turned away and buried her face in the nook of Timmy’s shoulder. He stared, numb, down at the face of a nightmare. He knew it had to be Carol Clark, though what was left no longer resembled what he remembered. Her once pretty face had been mangled by deep gashes. An eye had been torn out of its socket, leaving an empty hole underneath the tatters of her eyelids. The other was a droopy slit that showed only white inside. Her lips were twisted, teeth bared.

  Timmy had to agree her condition supported evidence of an animal attack.

  Until he noticed her neck.

  Holes.

  Pairs of them covered the side of her neck in different positions. The girth of a sharpened pencil tip, the holes spread across her skin like a connect-the-dots puzzle. Spatters of blood connected a few of them together.

  Something had bitten her, many times.

  But not any animal Timmy had ever seen had teeth like that—a pair, about an inch apart, that could make such perfect spherical indentions.

  “What happened to her, Timmy?” Robin’s voice was muffled against his chest. He felt his coat flutter from her words. “What kind of animal could do this?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “Do you think it was an animal, Timmy? Do you?”

  Timmy gulped. His stomach felt odd, cold and quivery, as if it were shrinking. “No.”

  “Let’s go, Timmy. I don’t want to be in here anymore.”

  “What about…?” Timmy looked at the other body, covered in white. He noticed a few dark blotches of blood had seeped through the fabric.

  “Forget it. I just want to go.”

  Timmy nodded, though Robin couldn’t have seen it. Putting his arm around Robin’s shoulders, he started walking. Something hard bumped his thigh. He nearly screamed, but luckily he remembered he was holding the prybar. His sweaty hand clutched so tightly, his knuckles felt stiff.

  He wondered what Robin would want to do now. Would she continue to pursue her m
ission for the truth, or would she let it go?

  Does she think an animal did that?

  Probably not. But like Timmy, what could she do about it?

  Nothing much. We’re just kids. Nobody will listen to us.

  That wasn’t true, he realized. He knew of one person who not only would listen, but would probably believe—Eddie Gein.

  Nobody’d listen to him, either.

  Feeling defeated, scared, and a tad frustrated, Timmy led Robin toward the far wall. It was hard to move with Robin pressed so tightly against him. But Timmy didn’t stop. He didn’t look back, either. Once had been enough. That one glimpse of Carol Clark would haunt him for the rest of life.

  They were approaching the coffin when Timmy realized they’d forgotten to blow out the lamp.

  “Wait,” he said.

  “What’s wrong?” Robin lifted her head. Tears smeared her cheeks in shiny moisture.

  “The lamp.”

  Robin turned. Her hair brushed Timmy’s face. “Shit,” she said.

  “I’ll get it. Wait here.”

  “No. If you’re going over there, I’m going too.”

  “Sure.”

  They started walking toward the small desk.

  A noise drifted through the hopper window—the dry crunching sound a foot might make on gravel.

  “Somebody’s coming,” he said.

  Robin started to squeal, but Timmy got his hand over her mouth in time to stifle it. He felt the patter of her warm breaths against his palm. Being shorter than Robin, he had to reach up to make it work. Since he couldn’t turn around, Timmy stared at Robin’s lovely eyes.

  And watched them slide toward the window, growing wider as the footsteps became louder.

  They’re getting closer!

  The footsteps stopped right outside the window. Timmy watched the side of Robin’s face. His hand mashed her cheek toward her eye, making a bulge of skin above his thumb. His fingers were wet from her tears. Whenever she breathed on his skin, it tickled, making goosebumps rise.

  No other stepping noises came. Maybe whoever it was had left.

  Then somebody spoke. “Timmy? Robin? Are you in there?”

  Robin’s eyes flicked toward Timmy, narrowing with confusion.

  Timmy was confused as well.

  Because the voice that came from outside the window had sounded like Peter.

  -28-

  Ed turned off the engine, stuffing the key in his pocket. Before he could say anything, Bernice shouldered her door open and climbed out. Ed followed her. Together, they quietly pushed the doors to the frames without clicking them in place.

  The weather was crisp, with a warm tinge mixed in. He wore his coat, but could probably go without it and not be cold. At least the clothes were clean. Though he’d protested it at first, he was glad Bernice drove them to his house so he could change.

  Bernice reached into the back of Ed’s truck, removing her bag. She carried it with her to the front and set it on the hood. Pulling the bag apart, she dug through the contents. The bitter odor of garlic hit him. His eyes brimmed with tears. Garlic tasted great on food, but on its own, it was hard to enjoy. And the smell was impossible to wash off his fingers. Seemed to cling to his skin for days afterward.

  Her hand came out, placing a large, shiny crucifix on the hood. The moonlight made it gleam and twinkle. Then she set two glass bottles beside it. To Ed, they looked like medicine bottles.

  “Holy water,” said Bernice.

  Not medicine, something better.

  “Put this on,” she said.

  She held out a wreath of garlic bulbs.

  “You’re kidding,” he said.

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?”

  Her grim stare told him she was very serious. He took the garlic wreath and slung it over his head. It hung across his chest like a giant, malodorous necklace.

  Bernice pulled one over her head as well. She looked back in the bag. Ed liked that she had a bag of her own, filled with her tools and trinkets.

  Like me.

  He looked to the back of his truck. His sack lay on its side. Though it was full of his shovels, Bernice’s contained fragments of a world Ed didn’t know existed. But the more he dwelled on that notion; he realized his also held evidence of a world Bernice didn’t know existed.

  At least he hoped so.

  “And we’ll need this,” she said. Bernice held up a block-shaped object with both hands. To Ed it looked like a large candy bar, but much thicker. Bernice began unfolding it. Each time she pulled out a section, it made a reedy click. A strap dangled from the front of it, held together by a pointed riser.

  A slingshot?

  Couldn’t be. Seemed too large for that. Bernice clicked other pieces into place—two curved limbs, string dangling between each tip. Soon, the block was transformed into something else. When he noticed the trigger, he realized what it was.

  “Was my granddaddy’s,” Bernice said. “He made it himself.”

  Not a slingshot, after all. It looked like an ancient crossbow. A pulley mechanism was attached to the top, a string stretching in a U-shape. Bernice’s finger slipped through the trigger guard, keeping almost an inch of space between the tip and trigger.

  “Arrows?” asked Ed.

  “Even better.”

  Bernice put a short, carved stake on top, blunt end against the band. Holding it below the point, she pushed the stake against the strap, making the string stretch back. There was a click, and the stake stayed in place. She held the flat, wooden stock up to her shoulder, leaning her head to the side. One eye squinted. “It’s a damn accurate shot,” said Bernice. “But it also has a hair-trigger. Be careful.”

  She held the improvised weapon out to Ed, keeping the sharp end of the stake pointed toward the tavern. Ed was wary of taking it. She thrust the crossbow at him to make him. Ed reached for it with trembling hands. Before he could take the weapon, Bernice pulled it away from him.

  “Now, Ed,” she said. “I warned you about the trigger. If you’re shaking like a naked baby in the snow, then I don’t know if you should be the one to handle it or not.”

  “I don’t know if I want to.”

  Bernice smirked. “Take the damn thing and be a big boy.”

  Ed took a deep breath, willing his hands to stop their trembling. It seemed to work. Bernice nodded once, then offered him the weapon again. This time, she didn’t pull it away from him. As dinky as the gadget looked, it was surprisingly heavy in his hands. The wood was durable, probably oak. And the mechanics were solid and old. He put it against his shoulder, squinted an eye, and gazed down the riser. It looked like it would hit whatever he aimed it at.

  He kept his finger away from the trigger.

  “What are you going to use?” he asked, lowering the crossbow.

  “Oh, I have these.” She held up two stakes, then slipped them into a harness. “And this.”

  Bernice showed him the curved blade of a scimitar. The long knife reminded Ed of paintings he’d seen of pirates in sword fights. She dropped it into the sheath on the side of the harness, the bending blade pointing behind her. With the weapons dangling like morbid charms, she tied the harness around her waist.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “Shouldn’t we come back in the daylight?”

  “Can’t. The full moon, Ed. It’ll be at its highest later tonight. Needs to be done now.”

  Bernice’s plan had put them entering the vampire’s lair when it would be alert and strong. Plus, they would also have Mary Hogan to handle, and she was another kind of dangerous obstacle he feared they weren’t prepared for.

  Ed followed Bernice toward the rear of the tavern. Darkness piled down from the overhanging roof, leaving a wide spread of impenetrable blackness. The shadows swallowed Bernice like murky water when she stepped through, as if she’d stepped through a black portal. He was tempted to call out for her, but held it back.

  Ed felt his hand holding the modified crossbow start to s
hake. With his free hand, he gripped his wrist to hold it steady. He took another deep breath, filling his lungs with chilly, night air. Then he slowly let it out.

  “Ed, come on,” he heard Bernice say in a sharp whisper.

  Nodding, Ed entered the shadowy chasm. Dark dropped over him.

  “Over here,” Bernice whispered.

  “Okay,” he muttered.

  Her voice had come from his right. He shuffled through a thick wall of darkness to the rear of the tavern, coming out next to Mary’s car. The front end was busted, windshield split with cracks, a headlight completely obliterated. He wondered when she’d been in an accident.

  He looked to his side. He saw the pale curves of Bernice’s body. Moonlight twinkled at her thigh from the polished blade of her scimitar.

  The ground was uneven, making Ed’s movements unbalanced. He kept the crossbow pointed down, just in case he accidentally set it off. Bernice stood at the back wall, waiting for him. As he neared her, he noticed a rectangle shape of paleness above her shoulder. Though it was also dark, it was a bit lighter than the black surrounding it.

  Oh, no.

  The backdoor had been left open.

  “Looks like they’re expecting us, Ed.”

  Ed’s heart dropped into his stomach.

  So much for the element of surprise Bernice predicted they’d have.

  “What do we do?” he asked.

  “Nothing’s changed,” she said, and started up the rickety steps. The wood groaned under her feet as she climbed. A Bernice-sized shape was cut into the soft light of the doorway when she walked inside.

  Though Ed sweated profusely under his clothes, he felt cold and shaky. His shirt stuck to him. He put a foot on the lowest step, noticing how badly his knee trembled.

  Stop it, Ed.

  He needed to quit being so scared. Bernice needed his help, and he needed her help to end what he’d started.

  Feeling a little calmer, Ed climbed the steps.

  He entered the tavern.

  -29-

  “Peter, is that you?” Timmy asked.

  “Yeah, it’s me!”

  Timmy couldn’t help the laughter that flowed from him. He looked at Robin, saw she was smiling, and laughed with her this time.