Blood Like Ice

by Lee Hayton

  “Except those are just stories,” I explained. “This is based on real facts. There was a real man behind that name. I saw his birth certificate and everything.”

  At that, Dory tilted her head forward, so a cloud of frizzy blonde fringe hid her big blue eyes from sight. I thought she was nodding for a moment, but when she tipped her head back, I saw she was laughing. Really laughing. The joy sprang from her in waves.

  “I’m sure that any name they gave him could also be traced back to a birth certificate. I mean, come on? None of you can actually take this shit seriously? According to our version of the legend, he lives just up the road. That’s what they told me when I first arrived in town, and that’s what they’ll tell you if you ask the right people today.”

  “That just adds to the pool of facts,” I argued. “If they’re still giving out the same information now as they were back then.”

  “How old are you, love?”

  Dory’s sharp eyes bored into me, relentless. I tried to wriggle out of her spell and look to Asha for help, but I couldn’t. “I’m thirteen.”

  She puffed her lips out in irritation. “Not, how old do you look? How old are you? How many years have you been alive?”

  “A hundred and forty.”

  “Right. And you’re a vampire, so you’re not expecting to die anytime soon.”

  Asha’s warm hand pressed into the small of my back, steadying me. “No. Not unless something goes horribly wrong.”

  “How many humans do you know who live to be a hundred and forty? Any?”

  “I—”

  “Not talking about humans who get rebuilt as cyborgs or humans who’re clawed up by the light of a full moon and turned into werecats. How many bog-standard humans do you know these days who even live to be eighty, eh?”

  “I’m sure that some of the—”

  But Dory was flapping her hand at me. “Yeah, yeah. Some rich git in a castle with filtered air and filtered water. How many friends on the street do you know who even get close to that age?”

  She shook her head, and I had to stare down hard at the floor as the shame filled me. Poor, little Norman. Always believing things that couldn’t possibly be true. First, he thought that the vampires would all escape and live happily ever after. Then he felt that he could turn back into a human and solve every problem on his plate.

  “There’s no need to dig it in, Dory.”

  I shook myself free of Asha’s warm grip. Only children needed comfort like that and I didn’t want to be a child.

  “Believe me, honey. I’m a witch. I know exactly how much effort it takes to stay looking this young for so long. No human has the power to live as long as they’ve been spreading that rumor around these parts.”

  “It could still have happened.”

  I fingered the flash drive still tucked into my pocket. The interview with a man that I hadn’t been able to listen to. Was that because there was nothing on it to hear?

  “It’s a dream that a desperate vampire cooks up and retells every once in a while to give them hope. Believe me, if it were true, I’d be all in for giving you a helping hand.

  “It’s not. There’s never been a vampire turned back into a human. May as well try to turn charcoal back into wood.”

  I shook free of Asha, turned, and ran out of the house. With the moon above to guide me, I ran into the forest and kept going. Plowing through saplings and low hanging branches until exhaustion claimed me and I couldn’t run any further. My legs buckled, and I fell to the ground.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I don’t know how many hours passed before I became aware of my surroundings again. My head was awash with a thousand images jostling for position—each one more emotionally devastating than the one before. Finally, I couldn’t stand the horrendous slideshow any longer. I focused instead on my immediate surroundings, looking at the moss, the ferns, the trees.

  My legs had stopped aching from my headlong flight into the bush. My powers of quick healing had restored them, good as new. That gave me an array of choices, each of them less attractive than the one before.

  I could run back to the witch’s house and apologize for my behavior. I could run in a different direction until I escaped from the forest and hurl my bloodlust onto an unsuspecting town. I could sit where I was, pretending that the weak canopy of branches above my head would save me from the oncoming ravages of sunlight. I could dig into the earth, burrowing deep into a hole.

  What a choice. What a life I now had in front of me. Better to just go back to the apartment and try to enjoy being a shut-in.

  In the end, I got up and started walking because doing nothing left me too much space to think. That was the last thing I needed at the moment. I wanted the empty-headedness of activity to drive away the lingering visions and echoing voices in my head.

  The wood came to an abrupt halt. One moment, lush foliage offered shelter from the elements, a yard further on, the tree line cut short and fed me onto an exposed field of green.

  Farmland. My least favorite of all the lands. Not because I was scared of the insects and small beasts that made it their home but because it brought back the overly rose-tinted memories of childhood.

  The burning sun above my head and the scurrying of a community of small creatures under my belly. Now, the moonlight offered a poor substitute. How I longed for golden instead of silver rays.

  As I walked through the meadow, it seemed identical to the ones that I’d grown up around. If it were the Mason’s farm, then there’d be a windmill down by the lower stream.

  I turned in a circle, not expecting to see anything, just playing a game in my mind. The windmill was there, however. Older, one of the sails looked like it was held on with masking tape and a prayer, but otherwise, the same.

  I walked down the slope of the field, disbelief settling down on my shoulders like a cloak. As I drifted into the shadow of the mill, I craned to see up to the top. Once upon a time, me and Billy Walters had climbed all the way up there when we should have been setting out the bibles in church. While the town set off on a manhunt for us, we’d carved out names into the tallest beam we could reach in the attic.

  I stepped up to the door but could already see that the handle was held in place with a chain and a padlock. As a cloud swallowed up the moon, turning the night into the dull gray of just-poured cement, I pressed my forehead against the peeling paint of the door.

  With my eyes closed, I journeyed up the curving steps inside the windmill. Although I’d never counted them before, I did now, traveling up them inside my mind with greater clarity than I ever had in real life. At the top, I stepped out onto the landing and peered through the tiny square window. Below me, fields cut broad swathes of green and yellow through the thick, green forest.

  An owl hooted overhead, and I stepped back, opening my eyes. The sound was loud in the night, setting my skin crawling as though I were its prey feeling the weight of its eyes searching me out.

  From here, I could travel to my parents’ old house. I could go to the priest’s cottage or stop by the store where I’d once worked for two hours a day after school.

  I could do that, but those memories belonged to a human boy, not a blood-crazed vampire. I’d spent more time here with another group than I ever had with my so-called family and friends.

  The route to the old parsonage was tangled over with wild blackberries. Although their fruit had long ago rotted on the vine, the prickles from their stems had dried into even angrier weapons in the fall season. Barbs looking for a target, taking out their anger though they no longer had a crop to protect.

  The gated entrance had rusted shut. I threw my whole weight against the structure, closing my eyes as the iron flakes drifted down, the same color ginger as the cat.

  Although I couldn’t imagine that anybody lived nearby, given the state of disrepair, I was scared to make too much noise. Who knew when an insomniac from the local village would take to wandering, trying to find a walk long enough to
exhaust him into the numbness of sleep.

  The brickwork that the iron gate was set into had no handy foot or handholds to aid climbing. The long hanging ivy had managed to gain a place on its flat surface though. Thanks for doing the work, buddy, now just hold tight while I crawl up your back.

  I plunged my hands deep into the foliage, taking a dozen vines on each side and hoping that would be enough to hold my weight.

  It turned out to be ample. As I hauled myself up the dark green jumble, a myriad of tiny creatures fled from the terrible noise. Unused to being disturbed during the night, or during the day, either, mice and insects scattered, rustling the leaves in their wake.

  When I was high enough up to throw over a leg and straddle the top, I sat for a while, staring out at the surrounding land. Few changes had been made to override my memories. Plants overgrowing old structures weren’t nearly on the same par as knocking down a forest to build a mall.

  For some reason, the march of progress had been routed around this small settlement. Like Sleeping Beauty’s castle, it seemed to have been left undisturbed for a hundred years.

  When I had my fill of the view, I swung my leg the rest of the way over the top and jumped down the other side. Now, I needed to be careful. There were old stones in this small cemetery—those would be bad enough to bump into or trip over—but there’d also been a few more substantial structures. Double holes in the earth with stones laid over the graves in protection. Left open to the elements, a careless foot might stamp straight through a broken lid-liner into a grave.

  The old path might not be visible in the dark ground in front of me, but it shone like a lit path in my mind. I traced out its route, following along with the curves and twists in disbelief that I still remembered it so well. In a few minutes, I stood in front of the parsonage door, ready to knock. Don’t be stupid. No one’s going to be at home.

  Old habits died hard, though. It had always been part of our code. We might tear out the throats of passers-by without a second thought, but you never just barged in through the front door. This place was a community, and every society needs some standards. To continue to live here in peace, you knocked.

  The sound of my knuckles produced a hollow bang. At least that meant the inside of the structure wasn’t as overgrown as the grounds outside.

  When a minute passed with no answer, I twisted the old handle, closing my eyes with an emotion close to ecstasy as its smooth marble slid under my hand.

  The door was so overgrown that even when the latch unclicked, I couldn’t push the door open. I attached the flora with my hands, grabbing great handfuls of greenery away.

  “Who’s there?” a voice called out from inside.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I took a step back in fright, losing my footing on a slick of mud behind me. I fell down on my ass, feeling my tailbone crack as it struck hard on the ground.

  “What the hell are you doing, boy?” The growl from above my head sent a shiver dancing down my spine.

  A gnarled hand appeared close to my face, the nails thick and twisted into claws with old age. I jerked back in fright, then recognized the tattoo on the inner wrist. A second later, I grabbed hold and let the vampire pull me upright.

  “Norman? Is that you?”

  The elderly vampire Percival stared at me with rheumy eyes, his face scrunching up as he peered closer to see.

  My voice dried up, the spit in my mouth turning to glue that sealed it shut. I nodded, reaching out to stroke my forefinger down the side of the old vampire’s face.

  “Well, come on in.” Percival turned and led me into the old parsonage. When I stepped over the lip of the door, he pulled it shut with a clang. “’Scuse the darkness,” he said. “I don’t get enough company to keep up with the electricity. There’re candles in the kitchen, though. Come through there so I can see.”

  As we walked through the old rooms, I pressed my tongue against the inside of my lips, working at them until I could freely open my mouth.

  “Do you live here by yourself?”

  Percival turned to me so slowly I could swear I heard the creak of his neck.

  “There’s a few things around here keep me company,” he said, a shadow passing over his face. “I had an old barn owl used to nest in the attic, but it either moved on or it died. I kept the vermin down in the cellar happy for many generations, but even their numbers have dwindled away. Why? Aren’t I enough for you?”

  “No, you’ll do.”

  He snorted and turned to face forward again, once more leading me on a gentle stroll through the house. “Typical bloody teenager. You let them in, and they don’t offer up one word of gratitude. Just starting to know what else is on offer as though their company is some sort of prize.”

  I laughed loudly at that, surprising myself and a few of the remaining vermin. Whatever else had come to pass in the hundred years intervening, Percival hadn’t changed.

  “Here we go.” He pushed open a door and held it open while I stepped through. A single candle flickered in the breeze from the open door, threatening to go out.

  “Careful, careful,” Percival whispered, mostly to himself.

  I walked across and cupped my hands around the tiny frame. The breeze from me moving seemed to cause equal distress to the flame as my hands prevented.

  “If you let that go out, there’ll be no more,” Percival said in warning. “Damned if I can just get out to buy matches, these days. Keep an eye on it, and I’ll fetch another.”

  He shuffled off to another room while I kept watch on the candle. From the scant light it fed out to the walls and the windows, nothing inside had really changed. Thanks to the absence of occupants, even the dust levels had stayed pretty much the same.

  “Here we go,” the old man said as he returned to the room. “Well, step back from the candle, boy! I can’t reach it through you.”

  Biting my lips together, I withdrew, still cupping my hands as though they offered any shelter from a foot away.

  “There.” Percival’s voice was full of satisfaction as he finished, the second candle lit and already dripping the cheap wax down onto his hand.

  I pulled a saucer off the windowsill and offered it to him as a holder. After dribbling some wax into the base, he soon got the candle to stand. Next thing, Percival shoved it back into my face.

  “Well, you haven’t changed much,” he muttered after delivering a minute of intense scrutiny. “What have you been up to since I saw you last?”

  “Hard labor, mostly,” I said, jumping up onto the bench. Poor Percival must have been close to eighty before he was turned. It took him three goes before he sat up on the countertop beside me. From the look of distaste on his face, it wasn’t ample reward.

  “They get you in the slave camps, did they?” Percival sounded surprised and pursed his lips when I nodded. “Don’t know why, but I thought that it was your parents came and took you away.”

  “They did,” I said, then hesitated. I’d told this story so recently that the pain felt diminished, but it hadn’t gone completely. “When the authorities said the best thing for vampires was to turn them in, they believed the rhetoric.”

  “Ah,” Percival said, nodding. “So, that’s where you got it from.”

  “Got what from?”

  “Well, you were always a bit on the thick side, weren’t you? Stands to reason that since you were lacking in brains, that came from somewhere.”

  I opened my mouth wide to protest, then caught the twinkle in his eyes. Instead of shouting, I turned to one side, sticking my nose in the air. “I guess by that reckoning, your parents missed out on the housekeeping gene.”

  “Careful, lad. You’re a guest in here, remember?”

  “I remember. Last time I stayed here for a few years, you frequently reminded me of the same.”

  Percival smiled, his long eye teeth catching the candlelight and gleaming in the dimness. “Yes, and I’ll do it again if you plan on stopping by in future. Lucky your parents
took you out before I had to kick you out. It wouldn’t have done my reputation any good at all.”

  I smiled but the memories pressed down all around me, and the expression soon slipped from my face. So much time had passed since I was last here, yet the house just carried on without me. Not noticing that I’d been caged and whipped and burned with chains.

  When Percival spoke again, his voice was quiet and soft, full of caring. “What are you doing here, young lad? There’s nothing back here for you after all this time.”

  I nodded, and a tear slipped out from my eyelid, sliding down my cheek. When I raised my arm to wipe it away with my sleeve, another joined it. Then another.

  “Hey, now. I didn’t mean it like that.” Percival reached across the gap between us and put a shaking arm around my shoulder. “If you want to stay here, then you’re welcome. Long as you like, this time.”

  I nodded, then shook my head. “I have my own place now. We’ve just come up here on a visit, chasing down something that turned out not to be real.”

  When I lapsed into silence for too long, Percival gave me a jab in the ribs with his elbow. “Well, then. What was it? Don’t keep an old guy in suspense.”

  “Did you ever hear the old urban myth about the man who became a vampire and then became a man again.”

  “Aye. Yup. That damn fool came from these parts, you know.” Percival shrugged. “I mean, nowadays his legend’s such that he probably came from all over, but the true fella came from here.”

  “What do you mean, the true fellow?”

  “Just that. He used to stay in here sometimes when it got difficult with his girlfriend. Never for very long. He didn’t get on with the likes of us, so he only came along when he needed something.”

  Percival sniffed. “There’s been far too many like him along the way if you ask me. Just use me and my house for what they want and then never even so much as drop by to see how I’m doing.”

  I stared at him with a frown, choosing one nonsensical thought over the other. “You realize that most vampires are in slave pits now. It’s not like they can grab hold of a phone and order you flowers for Father’s Day.”