Vampires Rule

by Bob McGee

  “What's the play?” Josie asked.

  “I'll have you and Constance come through the back door. Vera and I will take the front. But we need him alive. No matter what he does we spare him until we find out where grampa is.”

  The girls opened their doors to exit the vehicle until they saw an elderly woman head up the steps.

  It was difficult for them to see as the night fog rolled in. They could see that the woman walked with a heavy gait and wore a black dress and gloves, as if returning from a funeral. When she reached the front door she looked right and left to make sure no one was looking just like Marvin did.

  She knocked hard.

  “Yeah?” Marvin opened the door.

  “Can I come in?” the woman asked.

  Marvin looked to the street again to make sure they weren't being watched then nodded his head.

  The old woman grabbed Marvin by the throat and lifted him up, his feet off the ground, then she threw him inside.

  Calm and cool, she entered the home and closed the door.

  “What the shit!” Josie yelled.

  Heather and the rest of the team sprinted toward the house. She took out a stake from her coat pocket.

  “No time for subtleties,” Heather said as they reached the front door. She kicked it down and found the old woman laying on top of a prone Marvin, slurping blood from a gaping wound on his neck. She looked up and snarled at the girls as they stormed in. Josie shuddered at the ugliness of the woman's face, she had a hooked nose and reminded her of a crow pecking at a dead rat. Her eyes were a diseased yellow.

  Heather kicked the woman in the head and she rolled backwards.

  Josie drove a stake through Marvin's heart. “Here's one recruit you won't get tonight.”

  The old woman got up and snarled, her spit and blood hit Heather's face. “Fucking cunts!”

  Heather thrusted forward with the wooden stake. The old woman anticipated the blow and side-stepped the slayer like a matador.

  But Constance, coming up from the rear, kicked the old vampire in the back of her knees while Heather followed up her miss with a spin-kick to the old woman's face.

  “Teamwork, baby,” Constance said.

  The old woman fell to her back as Heather stood above her, shoving a wooden cross in her face.

  The vampire hissed and spat. “Cunts! All of you!”

  “What coven are you from?” Heather demanded.

  “Fuck you all!” the vampire snarled and jolted up, only to be greeted by Heather pressing the cross against her forehead, leaving a smoking welt.

  Josie and Constance held the now screaming woman down on the ground by her arms.

  Heather hunkered down in front of the old lady, her voice mockingly warm and reassuring.

  “That's a lovely fragrance you're wearing,” Heather said. “What is it, dried piss?”

  The vampire spat at Heather. “Get the fuck off me you cunty ass, cum drinking, cock sucking little whores!”

  Heather held the stake over the old vampire's heart. “I won't ask nice again. Where is your coven?”

  Hugo opened the door and walked in with a purpose.

  Abraham knew better than to bitch out and ask the man what he planned to do with him. Besides, if they wanted him dead, he would have been offed by now. But he wondered if what they had in store for him could be a fate worse than death.

  “Look at you,” Hugo said. “All dressed up with no place to go.”

  Nailed to the wall, Van Helsing tried to pry his hands free but could not get any leverage.

  Hugo depressed a button on the far wall and a door lifted up. He entered the space and lit a candle inside.

  Skeins of cobwebs and dust marked the smaller chamber which had a coffin housed in the center.

  Hugo wheeled the coffin out, placing it a few feet in front of the old man. He knocked on top of the coffin three times.

  “She will be our queen,” Hugo said, rubbing his acne scarred nose. The coldness of his voice chilled Van Helsing's spine.

  “Whoever she is,” Van Helsing said, licking his dry lips. “She can bite my ass.”

  Hugo moved toward the door, shaking his head as if deeply amused. “You'll be the sacrifice for her. Just the way it was meant to be. Consider it your long awaited destiny. But it is her destiny that trumps yours. The great Van Helsing will be no more. After she tastes your suffering blood she will only grow stronger. We will grow stronger.”

  Without looking back at the old man, he left the room and closed the door behind himself.

  Van Helsing could see the coffin ran about eight feet long.

  Then the top started to rise. Slowly at first, the dry oak wood creaking until he could make out the little arms that pushed the cover up and over.

  The girl looked no more than ten years old. She wore a purple dress and had skin that looked as if it had not seen sunlight in years.

  “What's your name little girl?” Van Helsing asked.

  The girl hissed like a rattlesnake and bared her fangs.

  She slithered out of the coffin and walked slowly toward the old man.

  He saw her face up close. A smiling evil that came from a place of his darkest dreams. Her rancid breath curdled his stomach. It smelled like burned flesh.

  She stepped in front of him and looked him straight in the eye as if she wanted to see him suffer. To give her a facial expression that begged for mercy.

  Van Helsing simply looked down on her with a curled upper lip. Unblinking.

  Then she scratched his chest, digging her ragged nails deep as she sliced down.

  Van Helsing could only close his eyes as her tongue tasted his blood.

  Heather and the slayers arrived at the dilapidated bar. There were no windows just dull brown paint and a long faded sign that read “The Hideout.”

  “Kinda ironic, eh?” Josie pointed at the sign.

  Heather didn't respond. She nodded her head toward the rear and the girls knew what to do. Josie and Vera would take the rear door. Heather and Penny would enter through the front. They were trained for situations like this. Only this time, this was personal.

  Heather tried the knob but found it locked. So she smashed her foot through the wood.

  Penny did the rest of the work as she barreled her shoulder into the door and forced it open.

  In the center of the room, Hugo greeted them with a smirk.

  Then he charged at them without fear.

  Heather side-stepped his tackle and watched the man barrel into the wall.

  Spinning around, Hugo kicked the gun out of Penny's hand. Then he tackled her, rolling the cop onto the floor.

  Hugo proved to be way too strong as he quickly constricted his arms around Penny's neck.

  “All it takes is a little squeeze,” he whispered. “A little squeeze to my right and your vertebrae is snapped.”

  Heather stood over the man, her cross-bow aimed at his head.

  “Don't even think about it,” Hugo said, strengthening his hold on Penny.

  “I don't think,” Heather shot the arrow straight into his eye. “I do.”

  Penny slipped out of Hugo's eased grip as he writhed and rolled on the ground.

  Until Heather relieved his agony with an arrow to his throat.

  “Heather!”

  The scream sounded like it came from beneath the floor.

  “Vera,” Heather whispered as she ran toward the back of the club. They found a spiral stairwell which led them down into the cellar.

  “Heather!” the voice cried out again.

  They saw the prone Vera first. Their comrade laid on the ground, a pool of blood trailing from a bite her neck.

  A little girl in a purple dress wiping the red stains from her mouth.

  Then Heather saw her grandfather, standing on wobbly legs as blood spewed out of his palms.

  And Josie had a gun to his head.

  “Weapons on the ground,” Josie demanded.

  Heather and Penny hesitated.

>   “Now!” Josie pressed the muzzle of the gun against Van Helsing's temple.

  The old man nodded his head for the women to comply.

  With agonizing slowness, the slayers placed their weapons on the ground.

  “Now kick them over to me,” Josie said. “You know the drill. Come on.”

  The slayers complied.

  “What the fuck, Josie?” Penny asked.

  “My daughter,” she said, nodding over at the little girl now getting seconds on Vera's neck. “You wouldn't understand. I had to find her. I figured sooner or later we would get to her.”

  “You can't-” Heather moved as if she were about to pick up her cross bow.

  Van Helsing held up his arms as if to tell Heather don't do it.

  “Sorry about Vera,” Josie said. “But I never liked her. And my girl has to eat. Now move to your right please. Turn your backs and place your hands against the wall. Now!”

  The slayers had no choice to comply. Josie moved toward the stairwell with the gun pressed against Van Helsing's head.

  “I just want my daughter. That's it. You can't kill her. No one will.”

  Josie reached the bottom of the stairwell.

  “Come on, Carly,” she said. “Time to go with, Mommy.”

  The little girl looked up from her meal and snarled.

  “Mommy said come,” Josie said. “Now!”

  The little girl appraised her mother for a beat then got up and walked toward her.

  “Go up the stairs and wait for mommy there.”

  Carly climbed up the steps, humming to herself and wiping her mouth with her arm.

  “You come after us, I'll kill you. I'll kill you all. I will keep her under wraps. She will harm no one. You leave us alone. Now and forever.”

  Josie pushed the old man toward the women and ran up the steps.

  Heather and Penny reached down for their weapons but heard the door slam shut and the lock turn.

  Then the entire room went black.

  VAMPIRE SUNRISE

  TORI DRAKE

  Derek didn't like bars.

  He would go to McGee's more out of social inducement than anything else. It was the bar of choice for everyone he had grown up with and he inherited the place much like some people inherit their religion or favorite team.

  “McDonald's has the garlic fries now,” the patron next to him said.

  They were two men, one with his hat on backwards and the other bald. They both wore Golden State Warriors basketball jerseys with the name “Curry” written on their back.

  Derek looked up at the large screen TV in the corner, seeing the McDonald's commercial.

  “How is it?” the man's friend asked.

  “It's alright,” the man with his hat on backwards said. “I like my fries crisp. But with garlic fries I think it should be sloppy and kinda greasy. This was not it. They just make the fries like they always do and doused it with enough garlic to kill a vampire.”

  Derek grew tired of their conversation and moved to another stall by himself, carrying his bottle of Corona. He took out his Smartphone and began surfing around the Internet.

  He was weird that way. He didn't want to be alone so he went to the bar. But when he got there all he wanted was quiet.

  Until a woman across the bar caught his eye.

  She sat at the edge of a larger group, the neon lights from the bar hitting her blonde hair just right. She chatted and laughed, adjusting the spaghetti strap of her dress. She stood up and swirled a glass of rosé around in her hand, motioning for one of the bar girls to give her a refill.

  He could see she had striking blue eyes and pale skin. This contrasted starkly with her crimson lipstick and butterfly tattoos that adorned both her arms. She looked like Taylor Swift had the pop singer been raised in a trailer park.

  Derek counted six women at the table. They all sipped spritzers and cocktails with little yellow and pink umbrellas, leaving little lipstick impressions on the rims of their glasses. A brief laugh erupted amongst the women and then the blond, arm in arm with a brunette who had been sitting next to her, crossed the bar to go to the bathroom.

  Derek watched at how just about every man in the bar followed the two women with their eyes.

  Derek sipped from his beer. He wanted to approach the blond woman but had never been any good as a pick-up artist. Not like he ever tried. He was a good looking man in his younger days but now alcohol, age and life disappointments had taken a toll on his face.

  He looked at his reflection in the window and felt a semblance of self-pity.

  How the hell did I wind up like this?

  Then he saw the two women returning in the reflection. Turning his head back around, Derek thought that something looked odd about the brunette.

  She looked as pale as a sheet as if she had just seen a dead body or something worse. The two women were still arm in arm but now the brunette was leaning ever so slightly onto the blond, as if she needed support. Both took their seats and the blond obviously made some witty remark as the four remaining women burst into another round of raucous laughter. The brunette sat quietly, a meek smile on her face, and no one seemed to notice her pallid complexion and drained, lifeless eyes.

  Feeling unsettled, Derek emptied his beer in one gulp and ordered another. He smiled at the barmaid, Emily, a little too enthusiastically, the beer causing an embarrassed pink glow to rise in his cheeks, when she handed him a fistful of change. Emily was an English rose of a girl. Born and bred in Hertfordshire, England, she had all the wonderful traits of an English girl. She had a delicately posh accent and reminded one of summer, with her shiny blond hair and cherry red lips. She’d come to California on a summer internship programme but had loved her new life so much she’d decided to stay and now she worked at the exotically named The Bar full time. Very witty. Very meta. She was twenty-eight and working as a full time barmaid, but Derek was in a similar position. He was thirty-five and a poorly qualified estate agent, earning hardly more than her a year.

  Immediately smitten with her, Derek had taken persevered until she agreed to go on a date with him. At first she’d said she wasn’t into dating but she’d seen his flowers and chocolates as endearing, albeit clichéd. They messaged each other daily but it had never really taken off and become a relationship. Each tried but both were slightly hopeless at it.

  “Enjoy your evening,” she said with a broad smile. “I’m busy after work tonight but how about we get together later in the week?” she suggested shyly.

  “Sounds perfect,” Derek replied, his eyes darting over to where the blond and her friends had been sat. His mouth popped open and his eyes widened as he realised the blond was gone.

  Emily had disappeared to serve another customer and a strange, uncontrollable fear erupted in Derek. Where had she gone? He spun around, his eyes registering every face, but none matched the one he was looking for. Then he caught her eye across the bar. She was stood waiting to be served, her bottomless topaz eyes staring at him, eating into him. It made her look like a savage animal. He lowered his eyes, grabbed his beer and returned to his seat. After a few minutes, he allowed himself to glance back towards the bar to see the blond give the barman a flirty smile and zigzag back through the tables and chairs towards the group of girls.

  When she had taken her seat, Derek continued to peer past a wooden pillar, poison ivy carved into its surface, to watch her. He made a mental note of the way her rosy lips held the straw in place, the way her cheeks hollowed slightly as she made a sucking motion. A moment later she laughed, causing a strand of golden hair to fall in front of her face. She tucked it neatly behind her ear with a pristinely manicured hand, and then stirred her drink with her straw.

  Half way through his beer the blond put her leather jacket on to leave and Derek realised for the first time what she was wearing. Up until now he’d been completely focused on the beauty of her face. Her body had been poured into a fitted red dress, one with little triangular cups for her breasts,
and finishing at a teasing height just above the knee. Kissing goodbye to all of her friends one at a time, she pushed open the heavy wooden door and left the bar alone.

  Filled with an overwhelming desire to follow her, to see where she went, just to continue looking at her, he left his pint half finished and exited the bar through the same thick door. Seeing a flash of red disappear around a corner, he started at a calm pace. Turning the corner, he saw her clearly in front, just twenty paces ahead of him, her hair swaying slightly as she walked.

  At roughly 1am on a Saturday the streets still had a few people milling about, making their way home, tumbling into a takeaway shop or marching, equally determinedly and drunkenly, into the next bar. If Blondie happened to look back, chances were she wouldn’t notice him any more than the next guy. Walking on unwaveringly, she seemed oblivious to his presence.

  The streetlamps gave the town a yellow hue, which blended into the fog like a sepia image. The clouds were thick enough to completely obscure the moon and rain had just started to drizzle down. It made a soft pattering sound on the floor and drains began to gurgle as if life was being breathed into them.

  Gradually she moved away from the moderately busy town and wandered deeper into the suburbs. Derek made sure she never left his sight. The rhythmic clack of her heels was masked by the steady fall of rain but no matter how thickly the rain fell, she didn’t seem to get wet. Her hair remained sleek and dry, as if it could repel water. Derek blinked through the raindrops on his eyelashes, trying to make sense of her unchanging form.

  The walk seemed endless, despite the alcohol in his system. He continued following her down long streets, occasionally turning corners. Did she live this far out of town? He kept further back now they were in emptier streets.

  In the suburbs the houses were huge and the gardens even bigger. Most of them were painted white. Not cream. Not ivory. White. The kind of white that needs repainting every year. They had large bay windows and little balconies around the top, with wrought iron railings and little porthole windows just below the arch of the roof.