Lee Falk - [Story of the Phantom 12]

by The Vampires

  “No, this is our home,” said Roko, shouting angrily.

  “Home? This old dump?” said the man, nasty now.

  “Is it fair to keep your wife in this pigpen when she could have a decent stone house in town with a real tile roof?” he added scornfully. Like all Koqania farms, Roko’s house had a thatched roof of straw. This was too much for Roko. He had the best house in the district.

  “Get out. Get off my land!” he shouted.

  The spokesman nodded to his silent companion. “Hans,”

  !: he said. The big man grabbed Roko by the collar and | banged his head against the doorframe. The wife screamed.

  Roko was big and heavy, but no match for this one called fj Hans.

  “Hans has orders to make you accept our offer, if he ! has to break every bloody bone in your body,” said the spokesman, no longer the polite bond salesman.

  The Phantom bounded out of the closet, leaving the rifle behind. As he reached the door, Hans punched Roko > hard in the stomach. Roko doubled up with pain and fell to his knees. Hans and the spokesman looked up in surprise as the big stranger filled the doorway. Hans, with steely eyes and a battle-scarred jaw, asked no questions but aimed a punch that never landed. Instead, an iron fist smashed against his jaw. Hans flipped over backward, off the veranda onto the ground. The spokesman was reaching inside his coat (for a gun?) when the Phantom grabbed him, lifted him into the air, and hurled him on top of Hans. The two men scrambled around in the dirt, then a horn sounded from the automobile. The two jumped to their feet and, without a backward glance, ran to the car. It began to move before they reached it. The doors were open and they leaped in. The car picked up speed and vanished over the hill.

  Roko was sitting on the floor staring at his rescuer, Mr. Walker.

  “You are something,” he gasped, holding his stomach. He had taken a hard blow. The Phantom helped him to his feet and walked him to the table where he sat down heavily. His wife was almost hysterical.

  “That settles it,” she cried. “I won’t stay any longer in this crazy place. Sell it! Sell it to anybody! I want to get out.”

  “You’ve held out this long. Try a little longer,” said the Phantom.

  “Hold out for what? Until we go crazy?” she cried.

  “She’s been at me to sell ever since the troubles started. I’m the one who’s held out. Maybe she’s right—a man can go just so long.”

  “True. You’re a brave pair to hold out this long. It must have been a nightmare for you,” said the Phantom. “That it has been—a nightmare,” said the woman.

  “I’m here to help you and all your neighbors.”

  “Who are you, Mr. Walker? Some kind of policeman?” asked Roko.

  “No,” said the Phantom. “I must ask one more question about the witch of Hunda.”

  The couple tensed at the word. Their eyes darted from side to side.

  “Shh, you said that name before,” said Roko softly, glancing around the room as though the walls might have ears.

  “Why are you afraid to talk about her?”

  “She hears everything that goes on. She knows,” said the wife.

  “How do you know that?”

  “It has always been like that.”

  “Since you were children?”

  “Since our grandfathers and their grandfathers were children.”

  “The children of Piotr said they saw her. Where?”

  “On the hill, in the ruins,” said Roko.

  “Shh,” said his wife sharply. “Why are you putting your I nose in our business?”

  “Enna, is that the way to talk to him after he saved me? That damn thug might have killed me,” said Roko.

  “Mind your tongue, Jebbon Roko. This is not a tavern,” snapped the woman. “Saved you? Saved you from selling this accursed place. Nobody else will buy it. Who are you, mister?”

  An automobile motor sounded outside as a car approached the house.

  “They’ve come back,” said Roko, jumping up.

  “Where’s my rifle?”

  “Jebbon, if they want to buy, sell!” shouted the woman.

  The Phantom peered through the shutters. It was not the big shiny car. It was a small pickup truck. Sergeant Malo was at the wheel.

  “It’s Sergeant Malo. He may be looking for me,” said the Phantom. “You are not to tell him I am here. Is that clear?” He looked at them briefly through his dark glasses, then stepped back into the closet. Roko opened the door in answer to the knock.

  “Malo?” he said curtly, his tone barely concealing a dislike for the policeman.

  “Sergeant Malo,” was the equally curt reply. “Have you seen a stranger around here?”

  “Stranger?”

  “A big man.”

  “Yes.”

  Inside the closet, the Phantom crouched, ready to leap out.

  “Go on. Where did you see him?” asked Malo.

  “Him? More than one. A big man. A short fat one. They came in a long black automobile. They’ve been here before trying to buy this land.”

  “Not them,” said Malo with some irritation. “This man , is alone. He has a dog, a big gray dog.”

  “Didn’t see a big gray dog,” said Roko, mimicking Malo’s tones. He spoke the truth. Devil had remained outside hidden in the high grass.

  “Did you see him?” said Sergeant Malo to Enna, the wife. She looked at her husband. Her fists were clenched under the table. Inside the closet, the Phantom waited tensely. If she glanced in his direction, it would be enough to send Malo, or a bullet, through the drapery.

  “Speak up, woman,” said Sergeant Malo impatiently.

  Whatever she had been about to say died on her lips as she glared at the swarthy policeman.

  “1 have a name,” she snapped.

  “You don’t call my wife ‘woman’ in my home or any place else, Sergeant Malo,” said Roko angrily.

  Through a tiny opening in the drapery, the Phantom had a partial view of Malo. His face turned red and his hand brought his gun halfway out of the holster.

  “People who obstruct justice end up behind bars or worse!” he shouted, working up a violent rage as he had done in the chiefs office. The Phantom knew this man was capable of shooting Roko in cold blood. He moved his own hand silently toward one of his concealed guns. But the violence died as quickly as it had begun.

  “I’ve done no ‘obstructing.’ I have a witness,” said Roko coolly, glancing at his wife, the cousin of Chief Ivor Peta, a fact that Malo knew well.

  “Damn you,” he said, and turning smartly on his heels in military fashion, stamped out of the house to his car, and sped away.

  The couple laughed, the first time they’d been able to do so in a long time. The Phantom came out of the closet. They’d almost forgotten him.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Why is he after you?” asked Roko.

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  “Join the crowd. He doesn’t like anybody.”

  “And nobody likes him. He’s mean and nasty,” said Enna. “I don’t know why cousin Ivor keeps him on.”

  “Because he does all the work and keeps your precious cousin supplied with schnapps,” said Roko.

  The Phantom was looking out the window. Sergeant Malo’s truck was moving along the road that led to the ruins. He watched for a few minutes. The vehicle turned, came back, then turned again. He appeared to be patrolling the road.

  “Do you mind if I stay here until he goes?”

  “You’re welcome to,” said Roko.

  “I’ve got my housework to do,” his wife said peevishly.

  “I’ll stay out back, in your barn, until dark.”

  “It’s not very clean,” said Roko apologetically.

  “It’s clean enough,” snapped the woman.

  The Phantom smiled at her, and she smiled in spite of her bad humor. There was something attractive about this big quiet man. His voice for one thing. Deep and strong.

  “Excuse me.
I’m not myself. I’m so nervous these days,” she said.

  “You have every right to be. You are a brave woman,” he said. “Perhaps we will meet again.” And he slipped out the back door. They watched him move swiftly into the bam. There was a soft whistle. A big gray shape bounded out of the grass and ran into the barn.

  “I wonder who he is,” said the woman.

  “Mr. Walker, whoever that is,” said Roko.

  They busied themselves with their chores, fixed another meal, discussed the exciting events of the day, occasionally looked out at the barn but saw no movement (perhaps he was gone), lit kerosene lamps, and were preparing for bed when they heard the moaning and scratching outside the house.

  Chapter 12

  “Come out. We want you,” moaned the voices— scratching on the side of the house—“We want you. Come out.” Husband and wife clutched each other. It was night outside, no moon, and the vampires had returned.

  “Jebbon, that Mr. Walker who was here. Maybe he’s really one of them?” gasped Enna.

  “Can’t believe that, I just can’t. He helped us.”

  “Helped us? Saved us for himself.” cried the wife, shaking with terror now and grasping her husband tightly. He pulled her arms away, looked about the room wildly, then went to the closet and got his rifle.

  “No, Jebbon ... you can’t go out there. Bullets won’t stop them.”

  “Come out. Come out. We want you.” Moans and shrill laughter now, and scratching.

  Roko pulled open a window, pushed aside the shutter, and fired wildly into the darkness. There was wild laughter from another side of the house . . . then something struck Roko in the face. He staggered away from the window, momentarily blinded by a lump of cow manure.

  There was a sudden blaze of firelight outside.

  “Come our or we’ll burn your house down,” called the voices. “Come out. Come out.”

  Wiping his face on his sleeve, Jebbon edged along the wall near the window. Enna, speechless with terror, stood pressed against a back wall. As Roko peered out, trying to identify the firelight, a large rock crashed through a win-dowpane. Enna screamed. Outside, fire glowed from behind a boulder. As Roko peered breathlessly from the corner of the window, he could see two black figures—in capes and big hats—he had a dim impression of white, white faces . .. exactly as many had described them—the vampires! In fear and anger, he raised his rifle again. Fire sailed through the air like a rocket. It was a flaming torch, thrown from behind the boulder by a dark figure. It landed on the thatched roof. Jebbon and Enna stared in terror at the ceiling. A few wisps of smoke came through. In minutes, the roof would turn into a flaming inferno over their heads.

  “Come out. Come out, or we’ll burn your house down,” called the mocking voices. And another burning torch sailed through the dark night, landing on the roof.

  “The house is on fire,” screamed Enna.

  Roko grabbed her hand.

  “We can’t stay here. Let’s go!”

  “No,” she screamed again. “That’s what they want. They’re waiting for us—the vampires!”

  “We can’t wait to burn to death!” shouted Roko. He pulled her with one hand toward the door, his rifle in the other hand. But as they reached the door and Roko flung it open, a strange figure flashed out of the darkness. They saw it for only a second in the flickering torchlight—a lithe figure out of a dream. Then it jumped into the air and was lost from sight. _

  The Phantom had reached the roof in one powerful leap. He snapped up the torches that had just begun to ignite the straw and hurled them toward the boulder. He quickly stamped out the burning straw fragments, then was gone in the darkness. There was silence in the house and silence behind the boulder. What—who was that?

  Roko slammed the door shut. Something had intervened to save them and their house. Whatever or whoever had done it—was he one of them or against them? His mind reeled. It was too much.

  Behind the boulder, the dark figures muttered to each other. Then they turned and began to run away. A voice came out of the darkness near them.

  “Wait, vampires. Don’t you want me?”

  A large figure was moving through the high grass toward them. The two muttered to each other again, then drew foot-long knives from their cloaks.

  “Yes,” said one in a heavy voice. “Whoever you are, we want you.” And they rushed at the lone man, barely visible in the darkness. But when they reached the spot where he had been, he was not there. His voice came from another side.

  “Over here,” he said.

  They turned and rushed toward the dim outline, knives held high, ready to stab and slash. When they reached their destination, only a few steps away, he was gone. They paused in confusion. Who was this man who could move like a will-o’-the-wisp? They made a quick, muttered decision—to get away fast. But they didn’t make it. The dark figure suddenly loomed before them, and before they could lift their knives something like a rock or an iron bar struck twice within a split second, first one jaw beneath the wide black hat, then the other jaw. Both men dropped in their tracks.

  Inside the house, Jebbon and Enna had heard the faint muttering and exclamations, but could make nothing out distinctly. Then silence. They stared at each other, wondering what would happen next. They didn’t have long to wait. There was a dragging sound outside the door as though something heavy was being pulled along the grass onto the porch. Then a knock on the door. Roko raised his rifle, about to shoot through the door. Then he heard a familiar voice.

  “Roko, it’s me, Walker. Open up.”

  “No,” cried Enna, afraid of everything now. But Roko went to the door and opened it. Standing in the doorway was the figure they had barely glimpsed in the flaming torchlight. A powerful figure, masked and hooded, in a skintight costume, a wide leather belt holding two guns in holsters, a gleaming insignia on the belt (a skull?). Dangling from each hand, held by the collar and lying limply on the ground, were the two dark figures who had thrown the torches.

  “Mr. Walker?” said Roko, shaken by this unexpected sight.

  “Yes, Jebbon and Enna, your friend. I changed my clothes.” He whistled, and in a moment, a huge gray animal leaped through the doorway. Roko knew a wolf when he saw one. But he’d never seen one this big. He automatically raised his rifle.

  “No, Roko,” said Walker. “This is my friend. Sit, Devil."

  The big animal with the long fangs and pale-blue eyes sat obediently, his head above the tabletop. Walker pulled the two men into the room and dropped them on the floor. They were obviously unconscious. The upper parts of their faces were covered with black kerchiefs. The lower halves were dead white, and two red-tipped fangs protruded from their mouths.

  “The vampires. The walking dead!” cried Enna. “Take them out of here.” She ran to the end of the room, shuddering. Roko stood transfixed, afraid to look, too shocked to move. Vampires? In his house? And this weird figure, Mr. Walker?

  “Mr. Walker” bent over the recumbent pair. He pulled off the hats and the kerchiefs. The upper half of each face about the nose and eyes had a normal complexion. The lower half, mouth and jaw, was covered with a white powder and something else—an odd, identical mark on each jaw. They were still a ghastly sight with their protruding crimson-tipped fangs. Blood? As Roko watched in horror and amazement, Mr. Walker reached down and pulled out the fangs. Obviously artificial, made of bone or plastic, they were the sort children use in their monster games.

  “Here are your vampires. Recognize them?” said Mr. Walker.

  “Enna,” said Roko.

  “No, I won’t, I can’t look,” she said from the far end of the room.

  “Don’t be an old fool. Come here,” said Roko impatiently. And from his tone, Enna knew somehow that the terror was gone. She joined him and stared at the unconscious men. One was powerful with a square jaw and scarred face—Hans. The other one was stout, the would-be land buyer of the afternoon.

  “The vampires?” said Roko. “No, t
hose are the men who tried to buy my farm.”

  “Those aren’t the real vampires,” said Enna. “They’re imitating the vampires, trying to scare us.”

  “What makes you so sure these aren’t the real vampires?” asked the Phantom.

  “The real vampires are not fake. They are real,” said Roko awkwardly. “I mean, we know that Ivor—Chief Peta—fired four shots into them and didn’t hurt them at all.”

  “Five shots,” said a belching voice at the door.

  It was Chief Ivor Peta himself, swaying in the doorway, a gun in his right hand. He squinted his bloodshot eyes at the people standing in the room, at the men on the floor, at the big animal.

  “Which one—hie!—is the vampire?” he demanded. “Ivor,” said Enna excitedly. “Thank God you’re here. It’s been terrible.”

  “I saw some light up here. Is that the vampire?” he said, his wavering gun pointing at the Phantom.

  “No, Ivor,” said Roko quickly. “That’s Mr. Walker. He is our friend. He helped us.”

  Chief Peta stared at the strange figure that loomed like a giant in this small room.

  “That’s your friend?” he said. “Uh—what is he?”

  “We met before in your office, Chief. I’m Walker.”

  Now it all came back.

  “You’re the one that made all that fuss? Say, you’re the one I’m looking for,” he said with a sudden delighted grin at this stroke of luck.

  He waved his gun at the big silent figure. “Come along, you. Don’t give me any more trouble. I’ve got a cell waiting for you.”

  “Chief, are you still drunk?” said the Phantom sternly. This unexpected question set the chief back.

  “Me drunk? I’m sober as a judge.”

  “Really, Ivor, a man in your position,” said Enna sharply. “I thank God my sainted Aunt Ruta didn’t live to see you like this.”

  Sainted Aunt Ruta would have been Chief Peta’s mother, thought the Phantom.

  “It’s a lie. Sober as a judge,” mumbled Peta, for the moment a boy facing a disapproving female cousin.

  “We’re wasting time,” said the Phantom. “Come with me. We’ll catch the real vampires.”