by Rook, Rowan
“Mason!”
He jumped at Merril’s voice, nearly jolting off the cafeteria bench.
She leaned over the table, her expression equally cross and concerned. “Geez, what’s been wrong with you the last few days?”
He looked down, swallowing hard to rein in his racing imagination. He was just being paranoid. No one suspected him: the quiet geek who was happy to sit in his room all day and leave the world alone. No one even thought about him enough to consider it. He was practically invisible. As long as he acted normal, as long as he acted like nothing was wrong, everything would stay that way.
In the few days since the murder, the rumors he’d heard online and on TV had indeed infected the school. His skin crawled every time mention of the mayor’s son left a student’s mouth, but at the same time, being the only pale, black-haired boy absent from school would only make things worse if anyone took notice. He needed to act normal while his thirst was still sated – he wouldn’t be hunting again anytime soon.
“N-nothing.” He sputtered, pausing to straighten out his voice. “It’s just, umm…pretty scary stuff, isn’t it?”
Merril tilted her head. “The rumors, you mean?”
He nodded, scratching the back of his neck. “It kind of makes you not want to leave the house, huh?” A liar. He was a terrible liar.
“Oh, is that it? Then you’re being a bit silly. Even if anything is out there, we’ll be fine so long as we don’t linger around alleyways at night. And that was never a good idea to begin with.”
If? Was she actually considering the possibility of such a thing? She was smiling, leaving him unsure if she was serious or simply teasing.
He frowned. “You don’t really think there are monsters like that out there, do you?”
Her smile stayed, but it wasn’t the same jest she’d worn before. It was something smaller, weaker. “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
A hush came between them, emphasized by the noise bustling about the lunch room.
“I-it’s just rumors, I’m sure.” He stared at the blank white counter. “This whole thing is ridiculous, but I guess it’s something to think about other than the plague. Maybe that’s it.” He forced a smile, himself. “You’re right. I’m just being stupid, like usual.”
Her grin widened in turn and her soft lips pecked his forehead. “Of course I am! Nothing new there.”
For just a little while, it felt like everything really had returned to normal. As if it could all be explained away so easily. Mason hoped those moments would never vanish.
****
The street was alive with noise as Mason and Merril made their way home. Shouting bodies crowded the church parking lot, their voices rising into a cacophony as each sought to be heard and in result, none was. It was a mess of flesh and sound.
Mason paused, just staring, but Merril kept moving.
“There’s someone tied up there!” She took off with a sharp, wide-eyed gasp, vanishing into the crowd before Mason had the chance to register what was happening.
Someone…was tied up?
He gulped before forcing himself to follow, something sinking in his stomach. “Merril, wait – !”
The sight in front of him dissolved his voice. A man stood atop the church stairway, looking out at the gathered crowd through narrowed eyes. His green pupils sat deep in his skull and a fine black business suit belied the scene before him.
To his own surprise, Mason recognized him quickly. It was John Swalow, one of Wheldon Hill’s most successful businessmen. A software engineer, Swalow was the man he'd once hoped to work for.
But that wasn’t what held his attention. A young man sat stooped on his knees by Swalow’s side, his feet fastened together and his hands tied behind his back. A rag covered his mouth like an image from an old movie.
Mason forced himself to meet the captive’s wide, terrified eyes. Tears gleamed from freckled cheeks and red hair jutted out every which way. He recognized this man, too; Errol Hadler, one of the prison’s scouts.
He stepped back, jaw sinking like everything else inside him.
He knew what this was about.
Several police officers stood by the stairs to protect Swalow from the onlookers. Some were horrified, outraged at what was taking place on the steps of their local house of worship. Others looked genuinely intrigued, curious.
“W-what is he doing with that kid?”
“Is that…is that Errol? The teacher’s boy? I thought he went missing three years ago.”
“Calm down, this is Swalow – he never does anything without reason!”
“There can be no reason for this – let the boy go!”
Swalow stepped forward, thematically sweeping out his arms before moving a finger over his lips. “Hush, now. How about you let me explain what’s going on. You see, I’ve discovered something that I simply must share with all of you.”
Voices still murmured – a few still shouted – but the crowd did quiet down. Whether they were obeying, or simply frightened, Mason wasn’t sure. It was fortunate that he no longer had to breathe – he couldn’t have forced air down his lungs if he’d tried.
Swalow hovered over Errol, grabbing his shoulders and leaning near his face. Sweat shown on the vampire’s brow, slick in the fading afternoon sun. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors. Murders. Missing bodies. Drained blood. Vampires. It all sounds mad, doesn’t it?” A strange smile spread across the man’s thin lips. “I thought so, too, until I saw my dead daughter walking about our yard.”
Another set of murmurs spilled through the crowd. Mason craned his neck, scanning the figures for the familiar one he was looking for with new urgency. He found Merril a few feet away, but a tall man stood beside her with thick palms balled into fists. Martin?
Mason blinked. He wanted his legs to move, to carry him to his friend and brother, but Swalow’s voice left him immobile. The tone was smooth and soft, but loud enough to carry throughout the parking lot. It was a dangerous voice, he thought.
“She would come just a few nights each week at first. I actually believed I was dreaming. But then it became more than that. She visited almost every night, lingering in the garden she’d loved in life. But how could that be? The child I adored was dead – I’d seen her with my own eyes. Cold, still, empty. So, a ghost, I reasoned. If my beloved daughter was there, even if just in spirit, I wanted to be with her. And so one night I made to speak with the figure in my backyard. Alas, that creature wasn’t my dear daughter. It was solid, made of flesh, but pale and cold, with no heartbeat or breath to give it rhythm. The animal in my daughter’s body attacked me, reaching for my throat. I saw the fangs then.”
Swalow undid the cloth with a flourish, grasping Errol’s jaw before he could so much as cry for help. Traces of red clung to his chin and the corners of his mouth. The older man pulled back the younger’s lips and revealed the jagged teeth jutting from his jaw. “It was then that I realized the rumors were true. I couldn’t deny the evidence in front of my eyes, no matter how mad it seemed.”
The hushed murmurs erupted into startled gasps and shouts.
“Those teeth! Th-that’s…!”
“I knew it! I knew they were really out there! I’ve seen ‘em, too!”
“That…has to be a costume, right? They sell fangs like that in stores.”
“Is that…real blood?”
Errol twisted and struggled while Swalow ran his fingers beneath the boy’s bloodied chin almost playfully. “Oh, my poor daughter! Even in death, she was not allowed peace. Instead, her face was worn by this mockery reaching for my neck. What was I to do but reach for the shovel by our flowerbeds?” He straightened. “The creature before me was already a corpse, and no matter what I did, it wouldn’t fall. At least…until I severed the head from the body.”
Mason shuddered, eyes round and wide as he stared at the well-dressed, well-composed man preaching to the crowd.
It was impossible to slice someone’s head off with
a shovel…it would have to be hacked off, the metal pounding the throat again and again until bone finally snapped.
He stepped back, legs moving even while his mind froze.
“It was agonizing, but at last, the mockery had ended and my beloved child could rest in peace, free from the clutches of the demon that’d wrapped its fingers around her silent heart.” Another smile. “But I began to wonder, then, was my poor daughter the only soul to suffer such a fate? The rumors I’d heard before, but always rejected, suggested otherwise. Then fate dealt me a hand that made my calling clear. From the window of my office yesterday evening, I witnessed the boy you see before you bite another man’s neck, all just days after the similar death of our poor mayor’s son.” He paced atop the stairway, his steps slow and deliberate. “I approached Mayor Moorn with what I'd seen, and we discussed the deaths of our children in great length. For the sake of his son and his city's safety, he has ordered our local law enforcement to collaborate with me, and now you can see this monster with your own eyes.”
“No way. He saw the boy do it?”
“Murderer! If his daughter was still walking, there’s no way she was dead!”
“That isn’t a monster, it’s just a boy! This…”
“Vampires? Seriously? This is a fucking joke!”
“But…”
“Now, now, I’m aware of how mad I must sound, so let me offer you a bit of proof.” Swalow pulled a handgun from beneath his vest and aimed it at Errol. A cold, messy gasp spread through the parking lot.
“D-don’t…! Someone, stop him!”
“But, if what he says is true…then…”
Swalow pulled the trigger and shot Errol in the stomach.
Screams split the gathering as loudly as the bullet. Mason’s body heaved, his feet nearly giving way beneath him. He heard Merril's high-pitched shriek and saw her hands fly over her mouth.
But Errol didn’t fall. He didn’t bleed. He jerked at the impact, but remained on his knees, eyes stretched and open.
Silence devoured the raucous crowd.
Swalow fired off more shots. One, two, three. The lungs, the ribs, the liver. Errol never collapsed, not bleeding.
“You see? The creature before you is already dead! It no longer carries blood of its own, and its organs sit unused.” Swalow turned back to the crowd. “They aren’t mere rumors. They’re out there among us, endangering our living and making a mockery of our dead. Whatever the cause, we must purge our town of these demons that walk our streets, for the sake of ourselves, our lost, and those we do not wish to lose.” Another well-practiced smile. “Won’t you join me?”
There it was. All the fear boiling in Mason’s body climaxed into ice that replaced the blood in his veins.
“Vampire! He really is a vampire!”
“H-how…did he… It can’t be!”
“This is insane! It has to be an act! It…it has to be…”
“He’s still alive! He isn’t human!”
“Th-there’s not even any blood! There really isn’t!”
“I knew it! I won’t let my children share a city with the dead!”
“Vampires… They’re really…”
“It's just like in Rocher! It's really true!”
“Demons! That’s what they are! It’s just like Swalow says!”
The cries and shouts melted away, leaving him standing there alone in a blank, cold place. They were screwed. It was over. They knew. Everyone was screwed.
Swalow looked at the trembling vampire. “There is one way to return the dead to death – a simple one, really.” He raised the gun once more and rested the barrel against Errol’s forehead. Mason lurched, absent heart smashing into his ribs.
“No!” He screamed, but the gunshot ate his voice.
Errol collapsed, half of his head in tatters. His body sprawled on the ground at the gunman’s feet. It didn’t twitch – electricity had left it long ago – but the one eye it had left stared blankly at the gray afternoon sky.
The boy was dead, and this time, he wasn’t going to rise.
The crowd erupted into screams. Terror. Shock. Horror. And something else, too – a different kind of electricity.
“He killed him! He killed that boy!”
“Th-that…! This is sick!”
“Would you still say that if that monster had sunk its teeth into your little girl on her way home from school?”
“He was a vampire! Swalow did him a favor!”
“Are there more? All it would take is a few guns and we could get rid of them.”
“Are you mad? They’re clearly still human! We can’t –”
“After this, I’ll never sleep again unless we do.”
“Kill them, kill them, kill them!”
Swalow kept talking, saying something about needing to destroy or disconnect the head, and the authorities being willing to stand with them, but Mason didn’t hear any of it.
All his senses honed in on Errol’s dead body. The carnage that made his vision swim, the gunshot that echoed in his ears, the tang of torn flesh and metal in his sensitive nostrils.
He stumbled away, no longer feeling the legs beneath him. It was a firm hand on his shoulder that kept him from toppling over. “Mason, Merril, let’s go.”
Martin. Mason looked up at his brother’s face. His lips were flat and firm, but a shaking hand wrapped around Merril’s wrist, and the other grabbed his.
****
Mason huddled on the edge of the couch, knees to his chest. The only sounds were Merril’s whimpers and the click click click of Martin locking every door and window. She shivered and sobbed with closed eyes, as if watching the slaughter play out over and over again on the back of her lids. “W-was that boy really…?”
He bit his lip but stayed silent.
“Are they real? Are they really out there?”
Martin stopped and put an uncharacteristically gentle hand on her shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. You’re both safe as long as you stay with me, I promise.”
Oh, if only Martin knew. If he knew that his little brother was one of them – the one who’d killed the mayor’s son, no less – what would he say then? Would Martin throw him out to the crowds happy to tear off his head? Would Martin put a bullet through his brain, himself?
No. He forced a deep breath. Paranoia was the opposite of logic, and that was what he needed most right now. One two in, one two out.
Was this…was all of this his fault, too? If his carelessness hadn’t riled up the rumors, would Swalow still have made his move? Would the mayor still have agreed to Swalow's madness if his son hadn't died?
Shit. Shit. Shit.
He needed to go to the prison. He needed to make sure Sorrel and the others all knew what was going on. He needed to tell them all to get the hell out of there while their legs still moved.
He whimpered aloud without realizing it, picturing what could happen if Swalow and whatever riot he patched together swept the prison with guns in hand. It…wasn’t as if he cared for the people there, but…
His Adam’s apple bobbed.
“You don’t think they’ll come here, do you? What if they come after Mason?”
Merril’s words shattered his thoughts. For a beat, he almost believed she knew, that she’d discovered his secret, until her next words made clear what she’d meant.
“The person who killed the mayor’s son was a boy his age with pale skin and black hair, right? Everyone’s gone mad! What if they start thinking it’s him? What if they think he’s…?”
Mason leaned closer and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t say anything, letting his chin rest atop her head while her breasts and brow pressed against him, but her voice dissolved into sobs. He forced himself to keep breathing, forced his chest to rise and fall.
“That isn’t going to happen.” Martin ground his jaw. “As long as we stay here, all of this will pass by outside our door.”
Merril raised her green eyes to meet Mason’s brown ones. “I
won’t let them take you. I won’t!” She shook her head. If they did decide to go after him, there was absolutely nothing the sickly girl could do, but her words sent out a shiver of ice and heat.
“I mean, the thought of you killing someone, it’s…” She swallowed. “They won’t think that, right? That’s impossible! It’s…!”
If guilt had weighed down his shoulders before, this time it broke them. He tightened his grip around her thin shape. He suddenly didn’t want to let her go. If he did, how did he know he’d ever get her back again?
“I doubt anyone even thinks about me at all.” He tried to paint a smile. If he ever needed to manage a convincing lie, it was now. “Being a social reject does have some perks, huh?”
She sniffed, but smiled just slightly.
Her body was warm against his – thank God, he’d fed recently. Her chest fluttered raggedly and her heart beat like a drum, melodies he hadn’t felt so clearly in a long time. His lungs were still and his heart was silent. His body was colorless and cold.
How could she not notice? How could she be so blind?
But she was as oblivious as ever. He was her Mason, after all. She was his Merril.
His fingers clenched the fabric of her lilac blouse.
Images of Swalow blowing Sorrel’s head off burned at the back of his skull, but he pushed them out. There was no way he could just ignore what was going on outside, but there was no way he could leave that night, either. It would have to wait until morning.
That evening, he simply closed his eyes. He cried. He cried for everything he should’ve cried for long ago. For the life he’d hated with Martin. For the future he’d lost four years ago. For his mother. For Merril. For Sorrel. For himself. For what he’d seen and what he knew was coming.
Chapter Eleven: The Evening Seed
It was raining, wet cement illuminated only by dirty yellow streetlamps. Light cut off completely as Mason veered from the sidewalk and onto the dirt road leading to the prison.
He’d left early, while Martin and Merril slept. He hadn’t passed many people, but he’d avoided downtown and walked with his head down. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone could pounce with each step he took. Heh. Who was the mouse, now?
