by R. L. Stine
“I’m succeeding better than you are,” he replied coldly.
Thoughts of April, of the nectar, the sweet taste of nectar, warmed him. “At least I haven’t killed anyone.”
“That’s no problem,” she said with a nonchalant shrug of her slender shoulders. “No problem at all. You don’t think I’d let a little thing like that stand in the way of my winning our bet, do you?”
He uttered an unpleasant curse. “You cannot win. April is a willing victim.”
“Ha!” Jessica cried nastily, crossing her arms. “What did you do? Sneak up from behind and bite her back?”
“No need to sneak,” Gabri replied. “I have won her affections. She has broken off with that boyfriend of hers.”
“What?” For a brief moment Jessica’s eyes revealed surprise.
“She is no longer seeing Matt. She is with me now.” The smile that crossed his face was triumphant and leering.
“That’s a victory for me—not you,” Jessica said, recovering quickly.
“What do you mean?”
“By splitting up April and Matt, you’ve made it easier for me to conquer Matt,” she told him.
He shook his head, brushing back his hair once again, smoothing the lines from his cheeks with both palms. “Dream on, Jessica,” he said dryly. “You can stand here and brag about what you’re going to do for the rest of eternity, but April will be an Eternal One by the end of the week.”
“I’m not the one who’s bragging—” she started.
He pushed past her toward the shadows near the window. And as she turned to face him, the shadows began to whirl, a dark dust storm.
The dust cleared. Gabri emerged in bat form. “I must fly to her now!” he rasped, and took off through the open window, soaring until he disappeared into the darkening sky.
“What a cornball idiot,” she muttered aloud. Reaching into his coffin, she grabbed up a handful of dirt, the precious dirt that helped maintain Gabri, and tossed it angrily to the floor.
• • • • •
Courtney jumped on Gabri’s shoulders. Whitney grabbed him around the waist. Giggling loudly, they pulled him to the deck and climbed on him.
“No! No!” he cried helplessly, laughing and squirming, trying to unseat them, causing them to hold on even tighter.
“Girls—give Gabri a break!” Mrs. Blair cried, shaking her head.
“It’s okay. I can handle them,” Gabri boasted. “Owww!”
His words caused the two girls to bounce even harder on his back.
“Come on, girls,” Mr. Blair pleaded, looking up from the newspaper. “Gabri isn’t a carnival ride, you know.”
“Yes, he is,” Whitney replied.
“He’s a roller coaster,” Courtney said. “Wheeeee!”
“Ow!” Gabri cried, laughing through his pretend pain, slapping the deck floorboards like a wrestler.
Finally April appeared from the house. She was wearing snug-fitting white leggings, and a black T-shirt under a bright banana yellow shirt tied in a knot at her waist. “What’s going on?” she cried.
“You look very nice,” her mother said approvingly, having to shout over the twins’ squeals.
“But what are Courtney and Whitney doing?” April repeated.
“They’ve really taken to Gabri,” her mother replied in a confidential whisper.
“That’s because he lets them do whatever they want!” April said, amused by the spectacle of seeing a grown teenager helpless beneath two tiny girls.
“Helllllp!” Gabri moaned.
April came to his rescue, grabbing an arm of each sister and pulling the protesting girls off. “Gabri and I have to go,” she told them.
“But the ride isn’t over,” Whitney said grumpily, making a move back to Gabri, who was struggling to get to his feet. She caught him around the knees. He grabbed the deck railing to keep from falling.
“That’s enough!” Mr. Blair called firmly. “I mean it, Whitney.”
She ignored him, of course, and continued trying to tackle Gabri, who held on to the wooden railing for dear life.
It took another ten minutes to pull the girls away—and convince them to stay away. April’s parents kept apologizing, but Gabri insisted he’d had a great time. “Next time, I’ll outwrestle you both!” he boasted to the twins. Then he said good night to everyone and he and April stepped off the deck and began to follow the sandy path that led past other beach houses to town.
“My sisters really like you,” April said.
“Because they can beat me up,” Gabri said.
“My parents think you’re really nice too,” she added, her eyes on the path.
“Your parents have good taste,” he said, smiling.
“Oh. Look. I almost forgot to show you,” April said, stopping suddenly.
“What is it?”
“My dad got me an early birthday present,” she replied, her hand searching under the black T-shirt. “My birthday isn’t until next month, but Dad can never wait.”
The yellow shirt she had on top seemed to shimmer in the moonlight. Gabri stared, following her hand as it found the chain she was wearing around her neck.
“Look,” April said, and raised the small, shiny pendant for him to see. “It’s a silver cross. Isn’t it elegant?”
The cross caught the moonlight and glowed, the light catching the horror on Gabri’s face.
Gabri took a step back and tried to soften his expression before April noticed.
His thoughts churned. The light of the cross had burned him as if it were a searing flame.
“Very beautiful,” he managed to say.
What am I to do? he thought, suddenly in a panic. I dare not come close, I dare not puncture her throat, I cannot taste the nectar while she wears that cross.
What to do? What to do?
Its simple power could blind him forever, its light could burn his already-dry flesh; it could consume him in flames.
What to do? What to do?
Then, as April replaced the cross, trying to tuck it back under the shirt, it slipped out of her hand. “Oh!”
Gabri saw it hit the sand.
April bent down quickly, her hands searching the ground. She pulled it back up, a frown on her face. “The clasp is a little loose,” she said, squeezing the cross in her hand. She turned to him. “Would you help me put it back on?”
“Okay.” He stepped behind her so she wouldn’t see his hands trembling.
With the cross at her throat, she raised the ends of the chain behind her neck. “Just clasp it for me.”
“No problem,” he said softly, being careful not to let his eyes rest on the cross. He took the ends of the delicate chain and pressed them together.
He pretended to have difficulty, then pretended to succeed in closing the clasp.
“It should hold,” he told her.
But he had deliberately left the chain unclasped.
“Thank you,” she said, turning to flash him a grateful smile.
He smiled back, careful not to glance at the cross, gleaming just below her throat. “It’s very pretty,” he said, a cold tremor coursing down his back from the thought of it.
They made their way toward town, walking slowly past rows of beach cottages, all of their windows glowing with orange and yellow light.
As the houses gave way to a field of tall grass, Gabri saw the unclasped cross slip off and silently fall to the ground.
They kept walking.
April hadn’t noticed.
Gabri smiled at her, unable to conceal his joy and relief.
Happily, so happily, eager for what was about to happen, he put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close.
• • • • •
Later that same night Matt arrived home from his date with Jessica. He stopped at the back door, closed his burning eyes, and pressed his feverish forehead against the cool glass.
I’m so tired, he thought.
So tired, it seemed an impossible eff
ort to pull open the door and get into his bed.
It couldn’t be that late, Matt thought, opening his eyes and pushing himself with great effort away from the doorway. The moon was still high in the sky. The air was cold and heavy with dew.
He coughed.
His throat ached.
Hope I’m not getting sick.
To his surprise, his night with Jessica was already fogged in his memory.
Where had they gone? What had they done?
He remembered the dark beach. He remembered her mouth, her lips, her kisses.
He remembered the pain. The sweet pain.
Pain?
No.
Couldn’t be pain.
I’m too tired to remember, he told himself.
I’m just . . . so . . . tired.
Somehow he pulled open the door. Silently he moved across the squeaking floorboards, through the dark kitchen, through the short, narrow hallway, past his parents’ room.
Silence.
To his room.
So tired. So weary. It took such effort to push open the door. He felt so heavy. His clothes felt so heavy.
His hair felt so heavy on his head.
He was breathing hard from the exertion of walking.
He had to get undressed, out of the heavy clothes that were weighing him down.
He had to get to bed, to sleep.
Had to sleep away this weariness.
Sleep away the aching of his throat.
But where was he?
Why was everything tilting and swaying?
Just tired. Just . . . so . . . tired.
Jessica, he thought, picturing her pale, dramatic face; picturing the flowing red hair, the burning eyes.
Jessica, why am I so tired?
What did we do, Jessica? What did we do?
He forced himself not to think about her. If he started to think about Jessica, he’d never get to sleep.
First, I have to get undressed, he decided, struggling to clear his mind.
The familiar furniture in his room was a blur of shadows.
A blur. A blur among blurs.
But suddenly, one of the blurs came into solid focus.
Matt blinked. Once. Twice.
Someone was sitting on his bed, sitting in the dark room, his back to Matt.
He blinked again, willing the image away. But it wouldn’t leave.
It was really there.
Someone was on his bed.
Gripped with fear, Matt stared at the unmoving form.
Who was it?
Who was in his room at this hour?
How did he get in?
“Hey—” Matt uttered in a whisper. “Hey—”
Holding his breath, summoning his courage, struggling to clear his head, he reached out and tapped the person on the shoulder.
As Matt touched him, the dark figure slowly turned.
His face came into view.
And Matt began to scream.
CHAPTER 21 “BUT—YOU’RE DEAD!”
Pressing both hands over his mouth to muffle his shrieks, Matt backed away from the bed.
He bumped into his dresser, sending a stab of pain down his back.
Ignoring it, he gaped in horror at the somber-faced figure, hunched on his bed, staring back at him across the room.
Slowly, gulping for air, Matt lowered his hands.
“Todd—” he cried, his voice escaping his throat in a hoarse whisper. “Todd—you’re dead!”
The figure, hands resting on the knees of his black slacks, leaned forward slowly, and his face edged out of the shadows into the square of pale moonlight from the window.
“Todd—” Matt repeated, his back pressed hard against the dresser.
Todd’s face appeared in the light, green and swollen. His eyes were open but had sunk back in his head. Encircled by pus, the pupils were solid white.
A tear in the flesh of one cheek allowed the skin to sag like a pocket. When Todd finally opened his mouth to speak, his jaws grating as they opened like a squeaking, rusty door, Matt saw that several teeth were missing.
“Hi, Matt.”
The voice was like wind, a rush of air.
“No!” A wave of fear nearly brought Matt to his knees. He turned and gripped the dresser top to keep himself upright.
“No!”
“Yessssssss,” the creature on the bed hissed.
The curtains on the window appeared to billow up in response.
“Yessssss,” Todd repeated as if testing his own breathless voice. And again the curtains flapped in reply.
This isn’t a dream, Matt realized, feeling the knob on the dresser drawer press into his back.
How many times had he dreamed about Todd since that terrible morning when he had discovered him bobbing in the water, cut and lifeless?
How many times had Todd returned to invade Matt’s dreams?
But this was no dream.
Todd—dead Todd—sat on Matt’s bed, his sunken egg-white eyes staring up at Matt, his sagging, ripped face testifying to his death.
“Todd—you’re dead,” Matt repeated.
The thought formed a barrier to any other words. He couldn’t get past it.
“You’re dead.”
“I’m not dead at night,” Todd whispered, leaning closer to make himself heard.
The curtains blew out the window, as if being sucked out by some invisible force.
“I’m not dead at night,” Todd repeated breathlessly. “At night I’m caught between life and death.”
Todd’s head angled to one side, dropping nearly to his shoulder, as if holding it up were a strain.
“No!” Matt cried, closing his eyes, unable to continue staring at this hideous, distorted form of his old friend.
When he opened his eyes, he gasped in horror.
Todd had risen up off the bed.
“No—please!” Matt cried, trying to back away, but he was trapped against the dresser.
Todd moved forward quickly, seeming to float across the room. He reached out and grabbed Matt by the shoulders.
His grip was hard as bone.
The blank white eyes, so deep in their red, pus-filled sockets, stared into Matt’s eyes as if accusing him.
“Todd—no!”
But Todd’s grip tightened.
An odor of decay filled Matt’s nostrils.
He tried to hold his breath, but his chest was heaving.
The foul odor encircled him, closed in on him, until he uttered a strangled cry. He almost suffocated under the power of the fetid smell.
Still Todd gripped his shoulders, his white eyes staring blindly into Matt’s, hovering over Matt, floating above him in the dark room, imprisoning Matt, cornering him, paralyzing him with the odor of decay, the smell of death.
“Todd—what are you doing?” Matt managed to cry out in a terrified voice he didn’t recognize. “What are you doing?”
CHAPTER 22 WARNING FROM THE GRAVE
“I—I came to warn you,” Todd whispered, the words escaping hesitantly in small bursts of foul breath.
“Huh?”
Matt closed his eyes, tried to keep down the waves of nausea.
Todd loosened his grip but didn’t back away.
“I came to warn you,” he repeated, tilting his head till it rested on his shoulder. Matt opened his eyes to see a foot-long tear in the flesh of Todd’s neck.
“Vampires,” Todd whispered.
“Yes,” Matt agreed, nodding solemnly. Everything was spinning, spinning so fast. He had to close his eyes again.
If only he could escape from the smell, so putrid, so sour, so sickening, so suffocating.
“They’re vampires, Matt,” Todd warned, reaching out to Matt as he floated backward.
“I know,” Matt whispered, his eyes closed. “I know, Todd.”
“Lisssssssssten,” Todd hissed, suddenly sounding far away. “Lissssssten, Matt. I came to warn you. They’re vampires.”
“I know, Tod
d. I know!” Matt cried with a loud sob. His eyes were shut tight. He tried not to inhale. The smell was so powerful, so disgusting.
“I know, Todd,” he repeated weakly. “But I’m so tired.”
Silence.
Matt kept his eyes shut.
“I’m so tired, Todd. Really. I’m just so—tired.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry, Todd. I’m really sorry. But I’m very, very tired now. I’m just . . . too . . . tired.”
• • • • •
Matt swam slowly to consciousness and, one eye open, peered at the window. A wash of gray morning light filled the room.
He groaned and tried to open his other eye, then gave up and closed them both.
He didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember sleeping.
He only remembered the dream.
Am I ever going to stop dreaming about Todd? he wondered, yawning, stretching his legs over the bedcovers.
“Hey—”
He pulled himself up and, squinting, looked down.
He was still dressed. Still wearing the denim cutoffs and blue long-sleeved polo shirt he had worn with Jessica.
“Ohh,” he groaned, seeing that his sneakers, caked with wet sand, were still on his feet.
The bedspread was streaked with sand. He must have just fallen onto his bed, unconscious.
Reaching for his alarm clock, he knocked his Walkman onto the floor. It hit with a loud clunk and bounced. It was only seven-fifteen. Still early.
What was that smell in his nostrils?
That sour smell?
It was in his throat too. It seemed to be on his skin.
Had he thrown up without realizing it?
Still squinting and struggling to wake up, Matt pulled himself to his feet and looked about unsteadily.
Bits of the dream flashed into his mind.
It had been a terrifying dream. So real.
So real the foul aroma had stayed with him.
He stumbled to the mirror over the dresser and grabbed the dresser top for support.
Even though he had slept for hours, he didn’t feel at all rested or refreshed.
In fact, he had never felt this tired in all his life.
Must be sick, he thought the foul odor clinging to his nostrils.
He bumped the Kleenex box onto the floor.
Not bothering to pick it up, he peered into the mirror.
And saw the dark pinprick bruises on his throat.
