The Utterly Uninteresting and Unadventurous Tales of Fred, the Vampire Accountant

by Drew Hayes

  “Thanks for the assist, Freddy. You literally saved some lives tonight. Once this is all said and done, we should get lunch or something before we head home.”

  “Sounds like a pleasant way to spend an afternoon.”

  “Yeah.” She went to the door that led into the school’s second floor, pressing her ear against it and keeping her gun at the ready. Her free hand crept down to the knob, turning it slowly until it came to an abrupt stop. “Damn, it’s still locked.” Her head flicked toward me for a moment. Then she took a knee and produced a set of picks from her hair. In seconds she had the lock disabled and resumed her careful opening of the door. She pulled it open inch by inch, minimizing the sound and getting a full view of the hallway. After stepping out to make sure it was clear, she walked over to me.

  “Okay, Freddy, listen close. The nearest balcony to here is to your right. Once you walk out the door, go right till you hit a wall, and then go to the left. Trace your hand along the wall on your right, and when you feel the third door, open it. It should be a classroom with a big window and door to an outside balcony. I know it will hurt, but you need to jump off that balcony and run to your car. Roll with the landing if you can—it will minimize chances you’ll break something. You got all that?”

  “I believe I can handle it.”

  “Good. One last thing.” She pushed a stiff, smooth rectangle into my hand. “That’s my card with my cell number. Give me a call when you’re safe, and let me know you lived through this. Okay?”

  “I certainly will,” I lied.

  She got up and headed back to the door. Gun in front she exited, pausing only to look at me once more. I remembered that I wasn’t supposed to be able to see those looks, and then that made them all the more curious. At any rate, I was ready to get out of here. Krystal had handed me an exit, and I had no inclination to let that information go to waste. I’m sure a Hollywood vampire would have run after her, swept her into his arms, and handled all the villains himself. That, however, was not me. All I wanted to do was get back to my hotel room safely and relax.

  Werewolves, real or not, most definitely fell into the realm of someone else’s problem.

  5.

  Staring down from my hiding place on the balcony, I discovered that the werewolves fell squarely into the realm of my problem. There were three of them patrolling the parking lot, three sedan-sized mounds of fur and muscle, with teeth that looked as though they could tear through metal. They were staying low among the vehicles, visible only from a higher vantage point. So far two separate groups of humans had made it to the parking lot, only to be struck down before they could get near their cars. The werewolves weren’t killing yet, just subduing. Every so often a howl would echo from the school’s interior, and the sentries would perk their ears. I could only guess at what messages were being conveyed.

  I was lying flat on the balcony, my eyes watching the scene from a nearby window’s reflection. None of the options placed before me were too appealing. I could either vault the balcony and make a run for it, hope to stay here until the werewolves moved on, or sneak back into the school. The problems were that I didn’t know if I could outrun these things. If I stayed here till sunup, I’d be dead anyway, and from the sounds inside, it seemed like other werewolves were working their way through the building. Once they caught my scent, I’d have no hope of hiding out. The heavy padding that arose from down the hall, behind my hiding spot, made my decision for me. At least with a running sprint, I’d have the advantage of surprise.

  I shot upward and leapt the balcony’s railing in a single motion. On pure instinct I rolled with the landing, and promptly cursed myself for wasting time instead of hitting the ground running. I recovered quickly and took off through the lot. I kept my speed in human limits to start with. I might only get one chance to outrun or maneuver these things, and I didn’t want to give them any warning of what I could really do.

  A pair of werewolves rushed out from the parking lot’s entrance, trying to pincer me from both sides. They angled themselves diagonally, blocking the lanes to the left and right, and prepared to charge if I tried to go around them. I must admit; these things were far smarter than mere animals. The only options they had left me were to fruitlessly try to dodge and get torn to pieces, or to run smack into the grill of a pickup truck in front of me.

  I chose the latter. I jumped atop the truck and over its roof without breaking stride. If you have never been fortunate enough to see a look of utter surprise race across a werewolf’s face, I highly recommend you do so. My furry foes were forced to backpedal and change directions, getting into the rows on either side of me. No doubt they expected me to disembark from the truck and give them a chase on the ground. Their hopes were dashed when I vaulted directly from the truck onto the next car in line and kept running. Going from car to car would have been hard for humans, but not impossible. They would have to be exceptionally well balanced and in excellent shape to use the strategy at a full run, though. In life I was neither of those things; however, I was rather happily enjoying my advantage at that moment.

  The chase continued across several lanes of parked cars. A few times one of my pursuers would try to mount a vehicle in hopes of overtaking me on higher ground, but their vast size and weight always made the footing unstable. They contented themselves to snapping at my heels, never quite snaring me but doing considerable damage to the metal beneath my feet. I sincerely hoped everyone who made it out of here was insured. Speed wise they were able to keep pace with me, unfortunately. The upside was that I could move faster than this if I needed, and while they would tire out eventually, I was under no such limitations. I allowed a cautious amount of optimism to creep over me. Once I tuckered these two out, I could make an earnest break for my car and escape. It seemed like I was going to be okay.

  In keeping with the ways of the universe, it was at that moment I was run over by a third werewolf. I was so preoccupied with handling the two below me I had forgotten there was another to watch for. He slammed into me from his hiding place in the bed of a nearby truck and hurled me from my position. I crunched into a motorcycle a few yards away and lay there. A hit like that would have easily incapacitated a human, and as far as these things knew, that’s what I was.

  The one who hit me, a grey beast whose size seemed closer to the bear family than the wolf one, came over to me and sniffed. I kept myself still as death, which is ironically still quite difficult for me. Just because my body doesn’t have to move doesn’t mean my consciousness doesn’t want to. The only concession I made was to move my chest up and down, making sure they all knew I was still “breathing.” A sharp tug on my leg let me know they were dragging me to wherever they had taken the others. I kept my eyes closed and my false breathing steady.

  My therapist says I have confrontation issues. He’s not wrong. At least he better not be at his prices. As I lay there, being dragged toward who knows what, my thoughts were not on fighting my way free or saving the rest of the class. My mind was in my apartment in Winslow, Colorado, all those miles away, fervently trying to think of a way back there.

  6.

  By the time I felt like it was safe to “wake up,” I had been blindfolded and tied to a metal bar in, of all places, the gym. I couldn’t see anything through my black-fabric blindness, but I could smell the fear and blood coming from all my fellow victims. It seemed like nearly all of us were here, and from the sounds of struggling, they were just as restrained as I was. Four figures were moving around freely, two of them on four feet, and two of them as bipeds. There was no talking, only barks and snarling. In the far distance, I could vaguely make out the sounds of someone drawing closer to our location. Part of me hoped Krystal was coming to help out, but part of me wished she would just see it was hopeless and leave. She had been kind to me that night, reminding me of the few people I had liked and trusted in my living days. I didn’t want to see her get killed in some pointless attempt to save us. A loud, booming voice interrupted my
attempts to track the approaching figure.

  “Ten years!” It echoed, “Ten years since our pack was formed, ten years in secret, ten years in silence, ten years in darkness!”

  It sounded familiar. Guttural and with a canine undertone, but familiar nonetheless. It continued, “You have all come here to reunite over what you once were, while we have come to see the last you will ever be. Tonight we no longer hunt in secret! Tonight we force the world to see us and accept us for what we are! A superior species to the weak humans!”

  The voice I might never have placed; however, the ego shone through crystal clear. Brent Colter. Looks like my old bully had traded up in the world. No wonder he was still so muscular and strong. Doesn’t it figure? I become an undead creature of the night, and I can’t even get a date. He becomes a glorified mutt, and he manages to pull off a grand murder plot. Jerk.

  “Tonight we sacrifice all these souls to our goddess, Grwlbrkgrwl [Look, I’m doing my best to be accurate here, but if you know a way to transcribe a name that’s pronunciation sounds like nails in a garbage disposal, then I’d love to see it.], who will bless us with the strength to overcome all who stand against us. Then we shall spread our strength until it is the humans who hide and live in fear, and never again the True Wolves!” Howls, of what I assumed was agreement, followed Brent’s speech.

  The bonds holding me in place were suddenly severed, though the ones binding my hands were left in tact, as I was pulled into the air by rough, coarse hands. A tug tore away my blindfold, affording me a full view of my surroundings. The party atmosphere had been largely wrecked by the mad trample for the doors. Tables and chairs were overturned, streamers and bits of costume littered the floor, and unclaimed nametags were scattered like confetti that yearned to be identified. In the center of the room now stood a small platform, and atop it a metal framing with straps for holding appendages. The roof had been opened, and moonlight was spilling down onto the new platform, illuminating a series of blades and blunt instruments attached to it.

  My fellow classmates were all bound to the bleachers, arms tied together so they had no hope of getting free. They were blindfolded as well. It made a bit of somber sense—give someone a feeling of fear, and they get passive. Let them know inescapable death is at hand, and they’ll fight with every measure of strength they have.

  The hands holding me in the air did indeed belong to Brent, though they were much bigger than normal. He stood below me, half in wolf form, and half in human. He was at least seven-feet tall, covered in shaggy black hair, and his face was contorted into a hideous partial muzzle. The other two werewolves from the parking lot were still in full-fuzzball mode, though the grey wolf had shifted into a form similar to Brent’s. I didn’t recognize who the grey wolf was, but I’d had a voice and a personality to help me figure out Brent’s identity through this morphed and furry visage. He smiled, I think, and his voice rumbled.

  “Well, well, well . . . Faggy Freddy came back for the reunion, huh? I can’t think of a better person to start with.” With that he tossed me over his shoulder and began sauntering slowly toward what I had already come to think of as the Death Rack. He took his time, moving in a rhythmic precision that I can only assume was part of the ceremony. Panic was welling up in me, and it was looking more and more like my only chance was going to be showing my nature and making a dash. As I looked at my old classmates, though, my constant plan of flight faltered. These people weren’t ones I particularly cared about; however, it still sickened me that they were lined up like cattle waiting to be slaughtered. In fact, that’s exactly what they were. As I stared at them, I began wondering what kind of lives they had, what families would miss them when they were gone. Sure, I’d coped with my death easily, but my life hadn’t been that great either. I hadn’t had anyone who would miss me. All of this was bouncing around my skull during Brent’s slow march toward the Death Rack, my eyes trained on all these helpless people. And then, staring at them made me realize something entirely different.

  They were all blindfolded. That meant they couldn’t see me. For the next ten seconds or so, I was free of the rack and there were no human witnesses. My eyes began darting around, desperately searching for something I could use to turn this situation in my favor. We were halfway to the rack when I saw what I was looking for. It would be close, but I had a shot. Brent continued moving forward in that strange, faltering manner. When we were only a few steps away, I sprang to life (so to speak). I snapped the cords tying my arms, pushed off Brent’s shoulder, and knocked him off balance. I had a feeling he wouldn’t let go. Thankfully, I was able to stagger him enough to make a diving lean for my target.

  As I look back, it seems like there were a number of options available to me. I could have grabbed a plank off the bleacher wall and cracked it into my adversary’s spine, I could have sunk my fangs into his arms and ripped myself free, or I even could have used my strength to punch him in the head. I didn’t do any of those things. The problem with all of those solutions is that I was never a violent person, and a few death and near-death situations weren’t going to change that. I was still me. So, I took advantage of the fact that the Kent party planning committee had anticipated all foreseeable (or so they thought) emergencies.

  I pulled myself to the wall and chomped down on a fire extinguisher. I don’t know if this is something you’ve ever had occasions to do; however, I recommend against it unless you have a vampire’s jaws and body temperature because that stuff comes out fast, and it comes out cold. In seconds a white mist had filled the air around me, coating everything with the slick, white, flame-dousing foam. I said a silent “thank you” that it was a full-size model and not a dinky miniature. I wriggled free of Brent’s grip in the confusion, taking care once I hit the ground due to its slipperiness. From the startled yelps and sounds of impact, it seemed that the werewolves couldn’t maneuver so well in these conditions.

  I felt Brent shift from beside me and rear back. By the time his fist struck the wall, I was on his opposite side. It took only a well-timed shove to send him sprawling to the ground where he scuttled around, trying to get footing. I must say I took extreme pleasure in that part. The initial mist was already clearing, though the white foam was going nowhere, so I capitalized on the chance to free my fellow classmates.

  I didn’t bother freeing their hands; instead I pulled a knife from a nearby gladiator costume and began cutting the cords that held them to the wall. Tearing off their blindfolds as I went left them free to escape if they wanted, albeit their hands were still tied in the matter. Heh, heh.

  They were funneling out of the door to the south, and I was making good progress, but the werewolves were regaining their footing. I was only a quarter of the way through, and it began to look like that was all I would get done. The whole pack was in pure wolf form now, and with four feet on the ground and no mist in the eyes, they were rising like the tide from that cold, damp floor. I’d done all I could do, and now my only choices were to free as many as I could before they attacked, or to run like the hounds of hell were chasing me . . . which they would be.

  I flipped over the knife in my hand a few times and swallowed out of habit. No more clever justifications or stall tactics left, no way to convince myself the people I left behind would find their own way out. Anyone I left here would undoubtedly die. Painfully. Whatever I did now, I’d have to live with for the rest of my unlife. I looked at the four, behemoth killing machines advancing toward me, then at the shivering humans helplessly lined up along the wall.

  I made my decision.

  That’s when the gunshots rang out.

  7.

  “You were really waiting back in the commentator’s box that whole time?” I asked.

  “Well, not the whole time,” Krystal said. “I saw them take you down, so I followed where they brought you. The box had been trashed and I figured they’d realized I was gone. It seemed like the best place for me to be was the one I knew they wouldn’t look.” She poured
five packets of sugar into her coffee, followed by at least three creamer packets. Stirring without spilling was shaping up to be an ordeal.

  Krystal and I, still in costume no less, were sitting in a small all-night diner a few miles away from the high school. It was 3 a.m., and the emergency vehicles could still be seen heading to and fro along the highway.

  “I have to wonder, what will the official story be on this?” I said as she began slurping down her diabetes in a cup.

  “Mental breakdown by charismatic former athlete prompted him to create a murder cult.” Her words came between rapid gulps of the steaming beverage.

  “And our part in it?”

  “Never happened. Local law enforcement responded with quick, surgical precision and averted a potential catastrophe. Sadly, the cult members were unwilling to listen to reason and had to be brought down. Two men on the force will be getting promotions.”

  I shook my head. “You don’t think the two men receiving these rewards will be a little suspicious?”

  “I think that this happens more than you might expect, and that the men who receive them will be chosen because they are either too dumb or too smart to question it.”

  Our conversation was cut short by the doddering waitress finally arriving with our food. Egg white omelet for me, waffles and bacon for Krystal. I lectured her for at least five minutes on cholesterol after she ordered. We dug into our food, but my eating was more for appearance’s sake. I’d taken a healthy draw from my flask while driving over, so I was quite full after the night’s festivities. We dined in peace for a few minutes. Krystal spoke up midway through the food, words slurred and muffled by her syrup-slathered batter morsels.