Unlike any vampire he’d ever seen. Sure, all he had to base its undead appearance on were comics, books, and movies. So his experience in vampire facades was limited. And if this creature was truly a vampire, then every rendition that existed up to 1954 had gotten it wrong.
Gulping, Timmy got to his knees. There would be no fighting his way out of this. For one, he’d never been in a fight before and wasn’t sure he was any good at it. Another reason, the most crucial one, was he was just a kid, held captive by a pair of monsters.
Sighing, Timmy raised his arm, reaching for the vampire’s proffered hand. He knew once his hand voluntarily slid into the vampire’s clutch, it would be taken as Timmy’s submission to the vampire’s hold.
But there was nothing else he could do. By now, the only other people who knew about the vampire were probably dead. And that made him feel helpless and very small.
“That’s a good boy,” the vampire said. “Take my hand.”
Nodding, Timmy unclenched his fist. The vampire went to grab…
Then Timmy knocked its hand away.
As Timmy jumped to his feet, the vampire unleashed an enraged hiss that nearly made Timmy’s bladder go loose. Holding back his pee, Timmy ran straight ahead.
Where he was going, Timmy didn’t know. He just ran as hard as he could. Pumping his arms, Timmy leaned forward, and pushed himself. He knew under normal circumstances, he could run faster than he was. But he was tired, confused, and fighting shock. Any kind of speed he could garner was a success, and he seemed to be doing all right.
Timmy saw the space between the trees, a wedge of path entering the blackness that filled the woods ahead. If he went that way, the trail should lead him to the cemetery, then he could get to the road.
He thrust himself forward. His shoes pounded the ground, kicking up small clouds of dust at his feet. He was almost to the mouth of the path when Peter stepped out the darkness.
He held Robin in front of him.
Timmy skidded to a halt, arms flapping. He looked behind him and saw the vampire, tall and menacing, under a shaft of moonlight. He hadn’t chased after Timmy.
Probably already knew there had been no need to pursue.
Winded, Timmy looked at Peter again.
“Where are you going, Timmy-boy?”
“Peter…” Timmy gulped, panted. “Let us go.”
“Can’t do that. Besides…” Peter used his finger to pluck Robin’s torn sweater open. A tawny, smooth breast was exposed. Her nipple jutted. Peter flicked it with the same finger, making Robin squeak in horror. “…you don’t really want to leave, do you?”
Again, that repulsive eagerness returned to Timmy’s groin. Despite his wishes, he felt himself getting hard.
“Leave her alone,” Timmy said, though the firmness of his voice didn’t match his words.
Peter laughed. “Turn around, head on back. We need your help.”
“My help?”
“Oh yeah,” said Peter. “Eddie didn’t finish the job. And I volunteered you to finish it for him.”
What’s he talking about?
“Now,” Peter said, “go on. Don’t make us chase you, or…”
Peter’s finger extended. The fingernail popped free to make room for a growing claw. He made a slow swipe above Robin’s nipple. Squirming, Robin moaned, but there was no pleasure in it. When Peter lowered his hand, a straight dark line was on Robin’s breast. Thin trickles ran from the wound.
“Son of a bitch,” Timmy said.
Peter laughed. “I would say watch your mouth, but you’ve met my mother.” The laughter stopped as quickly as it had started. “Go, Timmy-boy.”
Timmy took a few steps back. Peter repeated the movements, going forward. Timmy looked around him. Dark woods to his right and left, a clearing and two vampires, one to his front and back. One of them was his best friend, holding the girl of his dreams hostage in front of him.
His imagination tried to whip up possible strategies that would bring not only him, but Robin, to safety.
There were none.
He couldn’t escape.
Peter kept moving forward, and Timmy kept moving backward. A couple times, his feet nearly tangled and brought him down, but he managed to stay upright. Each near fall brought an amusing chuckle from Peter.
That’s not Peter.
Like Nana had said about Dorothy—Peter was gone.
Reaching the clearing, Timmy turned around. The tall vampire, smiling, put his hands together as if he was about to clap but decided not to. “Such potency in a small boy.” Its hand rose to its face, moving a strand of oil-black hair away from its eyes. “I could almost admire such bravery. Not tonight. In trade for your life, you will assist me.”
The vampire lifted an overly long arm, pointing toward a circle of rods. Timmy hadn’t noticed them before now. Assembled like a small enclosure, the rods were close together. Small gaps between each made it hard to see through. Timmy figured at one time, they probably had been touching, but through the years, elements had caused them to shift.
“Break the barrier that prevents me from reaching my essence.”
Timmy turned his head from the fence and looked up at the tall creature. Shadows streaked its face, but its red eyes glowed like two blood-filled stars. “I…I don’t know how.”
“Bring her to me.”
“Who?”
The vampire huffed, a low raspy rattle rose in its chest. Timmy recognized it was becoming annoyed with him. Its hand shot toward Timmy’s face. He flinched, expecting a hit, but the hand paused under his chin. A finger curved up beside his cheek, its thumb rose along the other one. It felt as if Timmy had slipped his head between mossy clamps.
He felt his head being tilted up.
“You are of the same blood as my destroyer. And though your demise is imminent, it will not be tonight. Do this for me, boy. Or your heart will suffer as mine.”
Timmy tried to open his mouth, but the U of the vampire’s hand wouldn’t allow it. Huffing through his nose, he wanted to pull his face free. Couldn’t. The vampire kept Timmy’s head poised back, their eyes locked. Timmy gazed into the twin, blazing circles of the vampire’s leer.
What did the vampire mean by his heart would ache…?
Robin’s painful cry echoed through the night, and Timmy understood what the vampire meant.
“Do we have a deal, boy?”
Timmy strained to say they did. The vampire must have understood since its hold on Timmy’s face was suddenly released. Timmy hadn’t realized he’d been pulled up to the tips of his toes until he stumbled back.
“Get to work.”
“I…” Timmy gave another glance at the fence. “I’m not strong enough…”
But the vampire was already retreating to the dark patches of shadow under the trees. It vanished within the black.
Timmy looked to the right and saw Robin squirming in Peter’s hold. His arm reached around Robin’s front, cupping a breast in his hand. His finger playfully flicked her nipple. With each touch, Robin whimpered.
Timmy wanted to run over there and rip Peter’s hand off. He felt himself begin to take a step toward them, but thankfully, stopped himself. He’d only make it a couple steps before being stopped. Then Peter would hurt Robin again, probably worse this time.
As much as he wanted to be Robin’s hero, there was nothing he could do to save her. He felt pathetic. Useless. How he’d felt every day until recently; until the other day, when Robin started making him feel strong and brave. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have had the courage to sneak out of his bedroom.
Wouldn't have had the guts to kiss her.
Robin gave him a strength he’d lacked all his life.
I’m not going to fail her.
Timmy started walking toward the fence. Everything inside the clearing was dead and rotting compared to the rest of the woods. He spotted a small pile of dirt on the far side of what looked like a flattened stump. As he got closer, the stump seemed to change
color. No longer dark, it looked soft gray, the color of stone. Standing outside the fence, Timmy realized it actually was stone—a broken gravestone.
Timmy felt tight and squirmy inside.
“Be a good little ghoul,” said the vampire, letting out a raspy chuckle.
Timmy glanced over his shoulder. He saw only darkness.
Why doesn’t it come over here? Or Peter?
Timmy looked at the fence, lightly stroking a rod with his finger. It felt cold and smooth, like…silver.
That’s it!
Timmy nearly laughed.
They’re afraid of the silver. In some vampire stories, they didn’t cast reflections in mirrors because of the silver backings. Silver weakened a vampire’s defenses. He’d even read one story where a silver stake had been used to slay a vampire.
Timmy could just stay right here, the vampires couldn’t come near him. Stay here all night, if he had to. Wait until sunrise, then track the vampires back to the lair and kill them while they slept.
Get Dad to help me.
His father wouldn’t believe him. If he went home in the morning, his dad was likely to whip his ass a good one and send him to his room before he could even begin to explain what was going on. Wouldn’t matter why Timmy had been out all night to Dad. If he broke one of the laws of the house, he’d be punished for it, no matter what reason.
No. It’s up to me.
He would be safe here. The vampires couldn’t touch him.
“Timmy!” Robin’s grief-stricken voice cut through the night. “Please, hurry!”
That canceled his plan. One thing he hadn’t considered was what would happen to Robin if he didn’t do what the vampire wanted.
Your heart will suffer as mine.
They’d kill her.
If there was a way he could get her away from them…
Sighing, Timmy turned around and started following the length of the fence. He reached what looked like a gate. It had been pried open, the frame bent outward, and he noticed scuff marks in the silver.
The gate pulled open easily, and Timmy went inside. The temperature seemed to plummet as he neared the grave. Though no wind blew, Timmy felt cold air swishing all over. His skin hardened with gooseflesh. His teeth clattered. The hair on the back of his neck stood erect. And there seemed to be a cold rock forming inside his head, sending sharp tendrils of fear down his spine.
He’d been terrified before, standing among the vampires, fearing for Robin’s life and his own. But as he slowly crouched at the hole of the solitary grave, he felt something inside that made his veins feel as if filled with ice water.
The hole looked partially dug. Dirt made a small pile on the far side of the hole.
What was in there was pure evil, and Timmy somehow knew if it was set free, everything he’d ever cared about would suffer more than his young mind could comprehend.
Robin squealed. Timmy could hear the sniffling hisses of her sobs. He tried not to imagine what Peter was doing to her, but it wasn’t hard to figure out.
Messing with her.
Any time Peter noticed Timmy balking, he’d probably mess with Robin to get him moving again. With no other option, Timmy climbed down into the hole. One foot came down on a slope of dirt. The other bumped something hard that clinked softly against the soil.
What?
Crouching, Timmy felt around the soft dirt. A knuckle knocked against something spikey. “Ow!” Timmy pulled back his hand and saw his knuckle had been punctured. A dab of blood scurried down his finger.
Ignoring the blood, he reached out again, being more careful this time. His hand found a bar. Felt like wood. He lifted it and was surprised by its weight. Bringing it up to his face, he recognized the round tip of a shovel. A dark stain that might have been blood streaked the underside of the blade. It looked dry, so Timmy knew it hadn’t come from his knuckle. Dirt clung to the blemish as if it had been glued on. About a foot of broken handle jutted from the metal tube above the blade.
He felt slits in the wood, a carved word. Using his thumb, he traced the letters—GEIN.
Eddie?
Eddie carved his name in all his tools. He’d once told Timmy it was because he’d loaned out a lot of tools over the years that had never been returned.
And Eddie had been here? Digging?
Was this the job he hadn’t finished?
Timmy wondered why the shovel was broken and bloody, but another cry from Robin diverted his thoughts. There was no time to figure it out. He had a job to do, if he wanted Robin to be okay.
Feeling like crying himself, Timmy held the broken shovel handle with his hands, and stabbed the round tip into the ground. He scooped out a clump of dirt, tossing it out of the hole.
He worked fervently, shoveling and tossing the dirt away. Some of it fell back in and he had to scoop it out again, adding more work to the already taxing chore. Sometimes the dirt sprinkled down like a dry rain, coating his head and shoulders in flakes. Bits became tangled in his hair. When he tried to ruffle it out with his hand, his fingers got entwined in his hair. He jerked his hand free, plucking out hair.
But he kept digging until the shovel struck something hard.
Timmy had no way of knowing how long it had taken him, but now that he’d found what he was looking for, he noticed his body was drenched. His eyes burned from sweat and dirt. He used his soiled forearm to wipe his eyes.
Standing, Timmy bent at the waist and used the shovel’s tip to scrape away the dirt. A strip of pale flatness appeared between the mounds of dirt. A thin line ran vertically on either side. Timmy scraped away some more dirt and recognized he was uncovering the top of a wooden casket.
My God…
Pushing the mounting fear aside, Timmy kept scraping until he’d uncovered everything. Some thin patches of dirt remained, but there was no mistaking that Timmy was standing on top of a casket. Broad up top, it gradually narrowed as it reached the bottom. At Goult’s, he’d accidentally stood on an empty casket. This one wouldn’t be empty. Something sinister was inside.
Panting, Timmy leaned against the dirt sidewall.
Robin let out a loud cry. “No! Stop!”
Peter’s disturbing laughter carried over to where Timmy stood.
He’d stopped working again, and again, Robin had suffered for it.
-37-
Ed didn’t use the brake when he whipped the truck onto the dirt road that led to the cemetery. Behind him, the truck’s tail swerved this way and that on the loose gravel, the taillights illuminating the dust like a misty inferno behind him. Straining to hold on, he kept it from smashing a tree.
Mary’s skin felt tight and itchy against his, trapping his body heat. He felt as if he was inside an oven. Soaked in sweat, the threaded parts pressed tightly against the areas where he was bent. But, overall, the suit felt fine. And he liked how Mary’s crotch hugged his groin, holding his testicles in a dry, comforting fold.
Dust swirled in the headlights’ glare, making it hard to see beyond the foggy barrier. But he knew the area well. He could spot every rut in the road with his eyes closed. He dodged them with the truck, making the hasty drive as smooth as possible.
The cemetery’s entrance appeared up ahead. A damp fog clung like webbing to the tops of the stone pillars, hiding the cemetery’s name on the iron signage. Ed stomped the gas and dashed through gateless ingress.
The pathway narrowed here, dipping and rising forward, gravestones undulating on either side. Ed punched the brakes, and brought the truck to a wild stop in front of a crypt. On top, a featureless, weeping woman chiseled from stone hugged herself. Her gown hung limply over her body, covered the front, leaving her arms bare. It was one of Ed’s favorite shrines. Though he had no idea what she represented, he loved trying to imagine what she looked like underneath the molded covering. Tonight, he couldn’t take time to cherish her blank beauty.
Ed switched off the headlights, killed the engine. He shouldered his door open and hopped out. Mary’s
skin tooted and squeaked with his movements.
Standing beside his truck, he gave a quick look around the cemetery. From here, he couldn’t tell which graves he’d exhumed. Under the fog hovering low to the ground, all of them looked untouched.
Reaching inside the truck, Ed grabbed the crossbow. He kept his finger away from the trigger as he twisted and turned the weapon to get it out. He checked to see if the bone stake was still loaded. It was—the tip patterned in Mary’s glutinous blood.
Ed started walking. He’d maybe gone twenty feet when he caught the sound of flapping wings. Looking up, he saw nothing above him but stars. A thin shredding of cloud was sketched across the moon.
Bringing the crossbow up, Ed straightened his index finger next to the trigger guard. Alert, he started walking again. He’d gone a few more feet when the flapping repeated.
Ed spun around, slamming the crossbow against his shoulder. He aimed.
Nothing was behind him. The fog swirled together, reconnecting where Ed parted it when he walked through. Taking deep breaths, Ed walked backward.
Wings flapped at the back of his neck. Something smacked the padding of his armor, sharp things scraped across. He felt the compressions, but not the pain, which meant the suit had done its job.
With an alarmed cry, Ed twirled on his heels. He thrust the crossbow forward.
Nothing there. More curling fingers of fog, thinning and stretching to block his path.
Ed faced the other way. He walked with caution, slowly, one step at a time. Putting the front of his boot down first, rolling his foot to silence his steps. The ground still made scratching sounds, but they were quiet.
The dry flaps returned, filling his ears. He felt something heavy pound his head. Things latched on and pulled at Mary’s fire-colored mane. The mask pulled taut against his face as it was being tugged from above. Ed pointed the crossbow toward his head, and quickly thought better of it. If he fired, the stake would probably stab through his skull. Lowering the crossbow, he swung his left arm over his head, swatting at whatever was up there attacking him.
His gloved hand smacked something solid, yet soft. Like punching a sack of dirt, hard but easy to cave in. The assault on his head momentarily broke before coming back even harder. He felt sharp things digging at the skin armor, unable to pierce its resilient texture.
The Vampire of Plainfield Page 27
