Table of Contents
Introduction
The Day I Died
Before I Became the Dearly Departed
The Day Before the Day I Died
A Party to Die For
Be Still, My Beating Heart
Bill the Vampire
It Sucks To Be a Vampire
Sunday Bloody Sunday
Coming Clean
The Long Road... err, Train, Back Home
How Do We Sleep When Our Beds Are Burning?
One Will Stand, One Will Fall
And Now for a Kung-Fu Training Montage
Back To the Meat Grinder
History Lesson
Date Night
The Dork Tower
Kicking Ass and Taking Names
The Terror That Flaps in the Night
99 Problems and a Bitch is Definitely One
Vampire on Vampire Action
The Road Trip of the Damned
On the Road Again
Grudge Match
Here Comes the Sun...
And, Of Course, There's an Epilogue
About the Author
Bonus Chapter
Bill the Vampire
The Tome of Bill
Part 1
Rick Gualtieri
Wayman Publishing
waymanpublishing.com
P. O. Box 160693
Clearfield, UT
84016
Bill The Vampire
Copyright© 2011 Rick Gualtieri
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without prior written permission of the author. Your support of author’s rights is appreciated.
All characters in this novel are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead, or undead, is purely coincidental. The use of any real company and/or product names is for literary effect only. All other trademarks and copyrights are the property of their respective owners.
The views herein are the responsibility of the author and do not necessarily represent the position of Wayman Publishing.
Edited by A Step Up Editing
Cover by Carl Graves at http://www.extendedimagery.com/
Visit the author’s blog at: http://www.poptartmanifesto.com
For Spike, a good cat
Introduction
There’s an old saying, “Death is easy, comedy is hard.” Personally, I don’t buy it. I don’t think comedy is particularly hard at all. Why? It’s not because I think I’m some kind of comic genius. Trust me, I’m not that delusional. It’s because no matter how lame a joke you make, or how badly you deliver it, someone, somewhere, will laugh at it. There, comedy! Horror, on the other hand, is hard. Now, I’m not talking about the ‘Jason jumps out of the bushes and you scream like a little girl’ type of horror. That’s fairly easy to do. My four-year-old could jump out of the shadows and get that result if he timed it right. I’m talking about true horror, the type of horror that makes you afraid to turn off the lights at night; the type of horror that makes you think, and not about good things. That’s hard, especially in written format. Of the dozens upon dozens of horror novels I’ve read in my life, I can only think of two that genuinely scared me. That’s not to say the rest were bad, far from it. But only two gave me reason to want to check under my bed before going to sleep.
Being that I’m not a complete prick, I’ll be happy to give credit where credit is due, and tell you which ones: Stephen King’s It, and The Relic by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. The latter is more of a techno-thriller than pure horror, but it’s pretty damn scary nevertheless.
If that’s the type of book you’re looking for, then I shall save you the trouble, my friend. Put down this book and go pick up one of the above. Of course, when you’re done, please feel free to come back here. It’s okay. I’ll wait. It's not like I have anything better to do. Just don’t take too long. Idle hands are the Devil’s plaything, and all that.
As for this book, it falls into one of my favorite horror sub-genres: the horror comedy. No, I’m not talking about dopey slapstick like Scary Movie, or its legion of increasingly unfunny sequels. I’m talking horror comedy of the type in which a terrifying situation is thrust upon main characters that just don’t give a fuck. We're talking guys who are too busy spouting one-liners or hitting on the babes to notice that the world has literally gone to hell around them. Army of Darkness and Ghostbusters are, in my not so humble opinion, classic examples of this genre. Think about it. The coming of Gozer the Gozarian could easily be construed as a soul-crushing horrific fate for the people of the world, if not for one Dr. Peter Venkman, who just couldn’t be bothered to take it all that seriously.
This is that type of story. So, strap yourself in and prepare for the ride. And feel free to leave most of the lights off while you do so. Sure, there may very well be creatures writhing in the darkness waiting for you, but sometimes the thing they expect least is to be met not with screams, but with attitude.
That being said, all that remains are my hopes that you will enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Rick G.
The Day I Died
*Thud, thud* Okay, somebody needs to turn off their goddamn stereo before I put my foot up their ass! God forbid a guy be allowed to sleep off a major bender without some dickhead blasting their bass to eleven. At least I think it was a major bender. I know I’m asleep, but I can still feel the room spinning. Yeah, I’ve gotta be drunk off my ass.
The funny thing is, I don’t remember getting drunk off my ass, although that doesn’t mean anything. The best parties are sometimes the ones you don’t remember. Still, I’m not sure I remember even going to a party last night. It is morning right? Can’t see anything. Well, duh, my eyes are closed.
Okay, my eyes aren’t opening. Guess I must be pretty shitfaced.
*Thud, thud* There it is again! For fucks sake! Some days I hate living here. There’s always some white-bread little teenaged douche pumping out Tupac from his daddy’s Beemer because he’s sure he can relate to life on the streets. Although why is it so loud? Maybe the window’s open. I should get up and close it. Oh yeah, that’s right. I’m out cold. I can’t really check the window in my current state. Oh, well, maybe I’ll get lucky and some real gangstas will come cruising down the block and pop a few caps in homey’s upper middle class ass.
*Thud, thud* ARGH! Really starting to piss me off now! Huh? What the hell was that? Holy shit, those are voices! Maybe I'm not at home, after all. If that's the case, I must still be at a party. Oh crap! I hate passing out at someone else's place. I really hope someone isn’t drawing dicks on my face. Last time that happened, the fuckers used a permanent sharpie. Let me tell you how much fun that was to scrub off. Probably took off five layers of skin, and you could still see it. Tom was an asshole about it, too. He kept pretending to be helpful just to get a laugh. “You want me to go to the store for you, dickface?” “I’ll get it. Hello? Oh Bill? Sorry, he can’t come to the phone right now. He's too busy trying to get a cock off of his face. Can you call back later?” One of these days, I’ve really got to get my own apartment.
*Thud, thud* Okay, it's getting a little lower now. Song must be ending. Still can’t make out what the voices are saying, but it doesn’t sound like laughter. That’s good. Means that maybe they haven’t started using my face as an easel yet. Maybe I can still wake up before that happens.
Jeez, my body still isn’t responding. Man, what the hell was I drinking!? Even passed out, I still feel seriously fucked up. I’m wondering if maybe I was doing a little more than drinking. I vaguely remember Ed saying s
omething about scoring a few joints. Shit! Hope they weren’t laced with Draino or something. Although that might explain why I’m lying here having an internal soliloquy. Hold on, though, didn't that happen last week?
*Thud, thud* Why does that sound so familiar? I don’t usually listen to any shit rap music, but damn if that doesn’t ring a bell. It’s on the tip of my tongue... UGH! Speaking of my tongue, what the hell is that taste in my mouth!? Oh shit! Please don’t let me have puked. There’s nothing worse than puking at a party and waking up in it. Nobody ever gets laid after that. Well, okay, puke or not, it’s been a while since I scored at a party, but it could still happen... maybe. Although not if I’m lying in a swimming pool of my own spew.
Crap! I hope someone turned me on my side. Last thing I want is to pull a Hendricks. Okay, okay, relax. People aren’t that big of assholes. If I can hear them talking, then that probably means I’m okay.
*Thud, thud* Weird tasting puke, anyway. Kind of coppery. Oh, okay. Maybe I didn’t puke. Probably bit the inside of my mouth, instead. That makes sense. Hopefully I bit the inside of my mouth. Damn! What if this is some kind of seizure? I could have bitten off my own damn tongue, and these assholes are just standing around me debating the artistic merits of penises on my face. Maybe that’s why I can’t wake up. Popped a blood vessel in my brain and even now I’m spiraling into a coma.
Although I don’t think I’d be quite as lucid if I were in a coma. Then again, I haven’t been in enough comas to know what it'd be like. Alright, calm down. I'd probably feel it if my tongue was bitten off. I think that would be a wee bit on the painful side. Okay, I need to try and concentrate. Let's see... I can still taste that crap in my mouth, but I can sorta feel my tongue, too. At least I think I can. I tried moving it around a bit inside my mouth. Yeah, I still had a tongue... OW! What the hell was that!? Had my tongue a second ago, but I’m not so sure now. What the hell!? Did someone stick a razor blade in my freaking mouth?
*Thud, thud* Thank god! Just barely a whisper now. Damn song just goes on forever. Funny that I can hear the bass, but nothing else. Still sounds so familiar. Almost like a...
Oh, no.
That can’t be right.
*Thud, thud*
It can’t be.
Please don’t let that be my heart that I’m hearing.
*Thud*
Oh shit!
I am choking on my own puke!
Or having a seizure.
*Thud*
Or a goddamn brain aneurysm!
*Thu...*
Ohcrapohcrapohcrap!
Okay, I shouldn't worry. I’m sure someone will start CPR on me.
Any second now.
Any minute now.
Come on, people! I only have a few minutes here before that whole brain death thing.
FUCK!
Please start beating again.
Pretty please!
It’s not fair! I still have so many reasons to live. I was going to go out with Sheila! Well okay, maybe. One of these days, certainly. Hell, I would have gotten to it eventually. You don’t just walk up to an insanely hot chick like that and ask her out, especially when you look like me. You have to work your way up to it. Sure it’s been two years, but I was almost there, dammit! Now it’s all gone.
Or it will be all gone.
Any minute now it’ll be all gone.
Jeez, this death thing isn’t quite like I thought it would be. I can still taste whatever is in my mouth. Yep, I can still move my tongue, too. Can dead people move their tongues? Don’t know. Haven’t Frenched too many corpses.
Okay, this is starting to get a bit odd. Shouldn’t I be seeing a tunnel with a light at the end? Maybe Grandma, Grandpa, hell, maybe even Elvis waiting for me at the end of it.
Nope, nothing.
No, that’s not quite true. Is that... yes! I can feel my left arm now. Do dead people start getting sensation back? Hmmm, can’t move it much, but it feels like I’m laying on something soft. No, I’m not in my bed. Feels like carpet. Yep, I’m definitely on a floor somewhere. Feels thick... kinda like a... oh, no... a shag carpet. Either I’m stuck in a bad 70’s flashback, or I’m at that...
Loft!
Oh, fuck! And with that, the fog suddenly clears from my head. I can remember where I am and how I got here. If I’m right about what’s going on, then a face full of dicks isn’t going to sound all that bad in comparison.
Before I Became the Dearly Departed
Okay, let’s back up a little bit. I’m probably getting ahead of myself. Before I bore you with little things, like, say, my death, I should probably fill you in on the basics first. How’s that sound? Okay, then let’s start over, shall we?
My name is Bill. Bill Ryder. William Anderson Ryder, if you want to be formal. Not sure why you’d want to be formal with a dead guy, but just in case that’s something you’re comfortable with. It’s a pretty cool name, if you ask me. Although it did get a little annoying a few years ago when The Matrix came out. For a couple of months there I had to deal with every single person I know ending everything they said to me with, “Mr. Anderson” in a deadpan voice. It was funny the first time, much less so the five-thousandth time. Anyway, I’ve always liked how my initials spell out WAR, kind of like W. Axle Rose, if a bit less cool, maybe. Not that much less cool, at least these days, but a bit. Although, since I go by Bill, my friends have always pointed out that BAR might be a better acronym. I can’t really complain about that one either, as under duress I might admit to spending a decent amount of time pounding back cold ones on the weekends.
Now, I’d love to tell you that I’m a private detective, maybe a boy wizard in training, or even a normal Joe by day/superhero by night. But that would be stretching the truth just a bit. As with all things, reality tends to be less exciting than what we would hope it would be. Here are the basics: I’m twenty-four, currently single, and with no real potential hopefuls in sight. Well, there is Sheila, but we’ll get back to her later, especially since I’m not one-hundred percent certain she’d be able to pick me out of a police lineup. Not that she has any reason to. It’s not like I’ve been stalking her these past few years. Sure, I know where she lives, what time she gets to work, what her favorite perfume is, but I assure you I’m definitely not stalking her. Really!
Oh, yeah, and she has this super cute ass that shakes so nicely when she walks...
Okay, sorry! Sometimes I get caught up in the moment. Where was I? Oh, yeah, the basics... I’m twenty-four, think I might have mentioned that already. Short brown hair, brown eyes, glasses, maybe an inch or two above average height, and about twenty... well okay, maybe thirty pounds overweight. I’m not quite a hideous mutant, but I don’t exactly have the ladies swarming all over me like pigs in shit, either. That might have something to do with the fact that I probably look like someone who’d be right at home sitting around a D&D game (which I might admit to doing occasionally... or every Sunday, whichever comes first).
I have a degree in Computer Science from NJIT, graduated with honors, etc. I like to think I’m a pretty smart guy. Maybe not MIT material (fucking elitist cocksuckers!), but I can hold my own in front of a dual monitor setup. Speaking of which, I work as a game programmer for Hopskotchgames.com. You’ve probably heard of them. You know Jewel Smash? Yep, that was me, baby! That little gem (no pun intended) alone has made the company millions in online revenue. I dare say I got a nice little bonus on that one... emphasis on little. Cheap bastards! But still, I can’t complain, at least not too much. I make more than enough to support my 'lavish' lifestyle, I get full benefits, and I can work from home pretty much whenever I feel like it. Overall, there are far worse places to work. Don't get me wrong, though. The second I win the lottery, those guys can go fuck themselves sideways.
Anyway, said lavish lifestyle consists of the top floor apartment of a building in the Bay Ridge section of Brooklyn. I share it with my two aforementioned roomies, Ed and Tom. Ed is my partner in crime over at Hopskotchgames.
He does graphical design for them, and we’ve partnered on more than a few of their top downloads. We met in college, and he's the one who got me the interview over there. He’s a good guy, if a little odd. He’s got a lot of talent, but he is absolutely the least passionate artist I have ever met. Life is one big ‘Meh!’ to him. Some days I think you’d need to set him on fire and cut his balls off with a dull hacksaw to get a reaction out of him. Not that I fantasize much about setting him on fire... or his balls, for that matter. But you get the idea.
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