The Vampire Megapack: 27 Modern and Classic Vampire Stories

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “Well, why don’t you come into the kitchen and have a beer and we’ll see if we can sort this out.”

  “NO!” he shouted. “I mean…no thank ya. I think maybe I made a mistake. I’d better git goin.”

  “Hold on. Hold on. You can’t do that. You can’t come here, tell me there’re things you should tell me and then high-tail it out without an explanation. What’s going on? What’s got you so spooked?”

  “Spooked,” he almost coughed the word out. “That’s it all right. Spooked. There’s things here in this house…on these grounds that ain’t natural; ain’t meant t’be in this world. I been comin here—”

  Crash! Something in one of the rooms behind us smashed to the floor. It caught us both off guard and stopped Jacob in mid sentence. I turned and looked down the hall, wondering what…or who…it could have been. When I turned back, Jacob was closing the door to his pick up truck. I thought about calling out, but watched him drive away instead. After his truck disappeared down the driveway in a cloud of dust and cinders, I closed the door and headed down the hall to find out what had been broken.

  In the reading room, a glass globe paperweight, with a butterfly inside, had been smashed. Pieces of glass were spayed across the floorboards. But the butterfly—the butterfly was sitting on the wall, opening and closing its wings. Under normal circumstance, I would have been surprised. Instead, I just walked over to in and picked it up. It had a sticky feel to it, like it was coated in resin or plastic.

  I carried it out to the front door and let it go. It fluttered out then dropped to the ground, its wings folding back up into the position they’d held all these years inside the globe. There was no need for me to check it. I knew that it was dead—that it had always been dead, even when it flew out the door.

  That was the final straw. I had to find out what was going on here. What was happening and why. I knew, inside, that the answer was in that building out there. And I knew something else; I knew that I already knew what was in there, I just couldn’t remember.

  It was at that point that I felt it. A deep cold settling over the room, and I knew what that meant. I was in for another confrontation. But I was ready this time. My mind was made up and nothing was going to stop me from getting to the bottom of all this.

  “I know you’re here, goddammit,” I shouted. “And you know I do. Come on…what’ve you got for me tonight.”

  There was a deep and booming laugh that filled the entire room. I couldn’t tell where it came from; it was coming from everywhere—all around me at once.

  “That’s it?” I cried. “A laugh. That’s all you have for me tonight?”

  As soon as the words were out of my mouth a cold hard hand slammed across my face. The force turned my head but I remained in place. I could feel the sting, like dry ice, on my cheek. I could also feel my anger building. I couldn’t ever remember being so angry before. My eyes were burning, they felt like they were going to burst into flames at any moment.

  “Where are you, you bastard?” I yelled, but it came out more like a snarling growl than yell. “You can’t intimidate me…and I’m not leaving. So whatever you’re going to do…get on with it and let’s see what you’ve got.”

  I moved across the room, sweeping my hands out from side to side. Nothing. I moved back again. Nothing. But the cold hung on. The booming laughter rang out again and then died slowly away, taking the cold with it. I was alone again.

  I was alone, but I was still angry. Angrier than I’d ever been in my life. I couldn’t seem to get control of it. I moved swiftly over to one of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and, with one hand, toppled it to the floor. “Arrrrgh!”

  When the case hit the wooden planks it split and sent books sliding across the room. The crash of the case and swooshing sound of the books gliding over the wood brought me back to myself, and I could feel the temper easing. I could also feel—or sense—something else. I still wasn’t alone. She was here. I knew it. And I knew something else, too. It wasn’t me that had frightened him off; it wasn’t me that made him leave; it was she.

  I circled the room with my eyes, squinting, hoping against hope that I’d be able to see her. There were no windows in this room. I saw nothing, until my eyes fell on the small mirror that hung on the wall. And there she was, two feet to my left. She was looking at me the same way a mother might look at a frightened child. There was deep compassion and tenderness in her eyes.

  She reached out her hand, and in the mirror I could see where to place mine. Our hands touched. It was cold, but comforting. She waved her other hand over her mouth, telling me what I already knew. With no windows, she was unable to speak to me. I wanted in the worst way to turn and face her, but without the mirror, I wouldn’t be able to see her.

  Suddenly, it dawned on me. She couldn’t speak, but I could.

  “Meet me upstairs,” I said. I watched the mirror closely, waiting for her to nod agreement, but she just disappeared. “Ok, see ya there.”

  I got as far as the doorway before being slammed backward. I’d let my guard down and paid the price. I tumbled across the floor, literally head over heals and landed hard against the far wall. Before I could get up, my opponent, the unseen man, had me by the front of my shirt, lifting me off the floor. Whatever it was, it was incredibly strong.

  I brought my fists down hard on where its wrists should have been, and I was dropped. I’d broken its hold, but I was still at a disadvantage. I couldn’t see it, but it sure as hell could see me. Another strong blow landed on the side of my head sending me staggering sideways. I could feel the rage building up; I could feel my eyes starting to burn again.

  I spun around, and now, the room looked different. It was bathed in a bright red glow, as if I were looking through one of those infrared cameras. And there it was, on the other side of the room. I could see it—could see him. He was hunched down, his knees bent as if he were getting ready to broad jump. Suddenly, he pushed off and came flying across the room at me.

  I waited. When he was no more than a few feet from me, I moved to my left and he went crashing into the wall. I wasted no time. Swiftly, I reached out and grabbed him by his throat and hoisted him up into the air above my head. His arms were thrashing wildly at mine, trying to break my hold and his legs were kicking the air. His mouth was open in what appeared to be a soundless scream, and there was surprise on his face. I tightened my grip.

  It seemed I had gained some kind of strength I never knew I had. With one hand, I held him in the air, jiggling like a puppet. His face was contorted in anger and, what I took to be, fear. He desperately clawed at my hands and wrists, but it didn’t help him, I held him firm.

  For a moment, I had no idea what to do with him. Then, I started toward the door, dragging him along with me. The sound of his pounding and kicking on the walls as we struggled down the hallway echoed in my ears. At the front door, he made one last attempt at breaking free, raking his cold, sharp fingers down my face. I didn’t let go. I held him tightly by the throat as I opened the front door, then tossed him out as easily as if I’d been throwing a beer can across the lawn. I watched his reddish shape sail helplessly through the air and slam into a old oak that stood thirty yards from the porch. When he hit the tree, he disappeared in a spray of mist. It was as if he had been a giant water balloon. He was gone—for now—but I knew it wasn’t the end of it.

  I turned and dashed up the steps; I was somehow able to take four and five at a time. When I got to the room, I knew she was gone. I had no sense of her.

  “Shit!” was all I could think to say.

  I sat in my desk chair, swiveling from side to side as I attempted to make some sense out of what just happened. Not the encounter, that didn’t need understanding. What I couldn’t get my mind around was me. Where did I get that strength? How was I able to see him? I had no answers. Adrenaline might be responsible for my burst of strength, but I didn’t think so. And adrenaline wouldn’t explain the vision. I was more confused than ever, but, at
the same time, that unexplainable sense that I knew more than I thought sat deeply inside me.

  And then there was Jacob. What the hell was that all about? Without realizing it, I sat in my chair lost in thought for the rest of the night. At around five-ten in the morning, I felt I was ready to try to get some sleep, but I wasn’t comforted by that. I was falling into the exact pattern I wanted to avoid.

  Realizing I needed some rest, but not wanting to sleep all day, I compromised. I set my alarm for noon. Hopefully, that would help get me back on track with the appropriate sleeping hours.

  8

  I’d never suffered from nightmares before, but I did that night—or day—or whatever. They came in waves, each worse than the last. The first began with me taking a shower. I’d just started washing when I noticed the tub was filling with blood. The metallic smell filled my nostrils. I tried to pull the shower curtain open to get out, but I couldn’t. The tub kept filling with blood, inching up my legs, until it started to overflow the sides.

  In the second dream, I was lost in the woods—deep in the woods. I was surrounded by trees that pressed in on me. I could feel the heaviness of their bark squeezing against my chest. I couldn’t turn, I couldn’t move. The branches slashed at me, ripping open my flesh and when I tried to fight back, they entwined themselves around my wrists. I was being crushed to death by trees.

  I floated from that dream into the last, into the most terrifying one of all. My eyes were closed and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t pry them open. A steady thumping sound reverberated in my ears and I couldn’t get my hands up to shut it out. I was locked in a small, confined space. When I realized what was happening to me, I did my best to scream, but nothing came out. I was being buried alive. Locked inside a coffin. The thudding sound that kept getting louder and louder was the sound of dirt being shoveled onto the casket as the hole was being back-filled.

  I awoke, sitting straight up in bad, clutching my chest and gasping for air. It was cold, too cold for a September morning—or evening, as it turned out to be. It was seven o’clock at night when I came out of my dreams. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and just sat there for a few minutes regaining my composure. I thought about taking a shower, but after the first dream, I thought I’d skip it.

  When I was finally able to stand, I walked over to the window and looked out. My bedroom was also in the back of the house, and I could see the willow over to my left. The fact that there was no breeze tonight was evidenced by the willow’s branches hanging down, absolutely still. I let the curtain I was holding aside drop back down and turned to go downstairs. I half expected another fight when I turned, but nothing happened. I crossed the room to the door, then stopped. As I passed the mirror, I noticed something odd. I went back over to it. What I was looking at shouldn’t be.

  I reached up and ran my fingers across my cheeks. They were absolutely smooth. But they shouldn’t have been. There were several scratches in them when I’d gone to bed. Leftovers from last night’s brawl. But they were gone. Completely healed, as if they’d never been there.

  There was something else odd too. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t been eating or sleeping right, but my skin seemed more pallid than I’d ever seen it. I was coming apart, and I thought, You’d better do something, Richard, my boy, before you really are dead and buried. You look terrible!”

  I don’t know why, but when I got downstairs I had the oddest feeling that I should check the front porch. When I opened the door, I found an envelope thumb-tacked to it. I pried it off, closed the door and went into the kitchen to make some coffee. As it brewed, I opened the envelope and read the note. It was from Jacob.

  Mr. Millay,

  Things are turning faster than I had hoped, and you are coming along slower than I’d hoped. There’s a rhyme and reason for everything in this world…even the things that don’t seem to fit it right. You need to bring yourself back to reality and stop fooling yourself. Your wife, Ronnie, understood. I’ve spent many years looking after you as best I could and I’m wearing out. There’s only so much I can do for you. You have to come into your own soon or it’ll be too late. You need to remember yourself. You need to pull yourself together. You need to take control and bring order to your house or all…ALL will be lost.

  Jacob Waters

  I put the letter back into the envelope and poured myself a cup of coffee. I took one sip and spat it out. It tasted rancid and burned, like a mouthful of moldy potatoes that had been soaked in acid. I could feel my lips start to blister. My stomach started to knot up and I thought I was going to vomit. The cup fell from my hands as I grabbed my stomach. A sharp pain shot through me.

  “Christ! I’ve been poisoned,” I said. “The dammed thing’s poisoned me.” But inside I knew I hadn’t been poisoned. Inside, things were beginning to clear, like mud settling back down to the bottom of a pond after it’s been disturbed. Maybe it was the letter from Jacob, but I had the feeling that it was everything that had been happening put together. I was starting to see things differently.

  I went up to my office, crossed to the window and looked down at the Weeping Willow. I closed my eyes, holding its image in my head. In my mind, it was younger, much younger, more than a sapling, but far from the mature tree it was today.

  I held that image, concentrating, forcing myself to recall what it was that was so special about that tree. And I knew there was something special about it, the same way I knew that it—and this house—was familiar to me. That it was somehow part of my past, and all connected.

  I remained statue-still, concentrating, trying to pull all the threads together. I guess you could call it daydreaming, for I disappeared into a kaleidoscope of different times and scenes. All of them separate and distinct, yet all of them blended together like some macabre collage.

  It was dark and fogy, I was standing on a street corner. Hansoms were clacking along the darkened, cobblestone streets, and the moon had a halo-glow. I stood there in the shadows of an alleyway, watching the carriages and pedestrians pass. The gas street lamps gave off an eerie glow in the fog, splashing their yellow rays down onto the cobblestones and sidewalks.

  A man in a top hat and evening clothes passed by me, dodging the carriages as he crossed the street. A woman in a long gown and evening gloves turned down the alley where I was standing, saw me and then went off in the other direction. Across the street, a woman, dirty and disheveled, was selling flowers from a cart. I stood there, watching them all.

  As I observed all these people, I had the feeling that I wanted something from them, something important, both to me and them, but I couldn’t place what it was. At the same time, I felt that I just wanted to be away from all of them. I was confused and ambivalent, locked in a state of indecision.

  Then the scene changed. I was now in the deep woods, and there was someone there with me. A dark figure. We were arguing, although I couldn’t make out about what. It was like a slow motion movie and the voices were unintelligible. We argued, then fought. I could see myself choking him. He was kicking and scratching. I saw myself lift him up and slam him against a tree. He screamed. I couldn’t hear it, but I could see his mouth open in a terrible, agonized gape.

  The scene changed again. I think I was out back of the house I now occupy and I appeared to be no older than fifteen or sixteen. There was a small willow tree and the stream that runs beside it. Again, I was fighting with someone. But this fight felt much more desperate, as if there were more to lose if I lost the fight. We struggled; at first, neither of us was gaining any advantage. Then, suddenly, I saw myself leap up into the air and come down on him hard. There was something in my hand and as I came down on him I pushed it deep into his chest. He let out a chilling cry, this one loud and audible. I was dragging him, screaming and clawing at me, over underneath the willow when the scene changed again.

  Now I was younger, maybe eight or ten years old. I was standing beside a woman who I knew was my mother. She was telling me something—somethi
ng very important, but I couldn’t understand her. Her mouth was moving, but it was as if she were speaking a foreign language.

  I tried to concentrate harder, to bring her voice into focus, if you will. With a great effort, I heard the last part of what she was saying before the scene dissolved. She was bending over me.

  “…life will be different. You’re very special and you must always…always remember that. Your father and I…”

  The scene changed again, despite my efforts to make it stay.

  “NO, no, no!” I cried. The sound of my own vice assaulting my ears brought me out of my daydreams. I stood there at the window, watching the moon rise, my hands in my pockets, and tried to make sense of it all. Understanding was so close. I knew it, I could feel it, but it wasn’t close enough. Not yet.

  “Where are you?” I asked. “Where are you? I need to understand and you have the answers, don’t you?”

  I kept my gaze on the window pane, hoping she would appear behind me. All night, I stood there, waiting for a specter that never came. By four o’clock, I was exhausted and could no longer keep my vigil. I retired to my room, falling asleep almost immediately.

  9

  Again, the dreams came. I was floating above a lake, looking down at a couple sharing their intimacy in the back of an old Chevy convertible. A sensation which I can not describe came over me. I don’t know why, but I felt anger and desire well up in me, over take me like the rushing waters of a flood. I wanted her. No, I needed her. No, I needed something from her. I drew closer, descending from above, my lust for her drawing me closer.

  The young man looked up, gazing directly into my face, into my eyes. I expected him to swing at me, to defend himself, but he just kept staring at me. I settled over him, still hovering like some mutant hummingbird. The girl was screaming and trying to re-button her blouse. In a single, swift motion, I yanked the boy from the car and snapped his neck. He dropped to the ground, bouncing once off the side of the car and lay motionless.