49 - Vampire Breath

by R. L. Stine - (ebook by Undead)

“No! Get away! Get away from me!” I howled.

  Her eyes flashed excitedly. Saliva dripped from her pointed fangs. “So thirssssty…” she hissed.

  “Get away! Get away!” I pleaded.

  “You want to escape, don’t you?” she teased. “This is the only way to escape!”

  She tossed back her head and opened her mouth wide. Then she dove for me.

  “No way!” I cried. I ducked away. Her long, curly hair slapped against my face. I staggered back. Caught my balance.

  She prepared to attack again.

  “Freddy—the Vampire Breath!” Cara cried. “Use the Vampire Breath! Maybe it will take us to the future!”

  “Huh?” I had forgotten I had it in my hand.

  “So thirsty…” Gwendolyn murmured, licking her dry lips. “So thirsty…”

  I raised the Vampire Breath high. The blue glass bottle caught the light from the torch.

  Gwendolyn gasped and drew back in fear.

  I grabbed the top. And started to pull.

  “No—please!” Gwendolyn begged. “Put that down! Don’t open it! Please—don’t open it!”

  I squeezed the glass top—and pulled open the bottle.

  23

  Nothing happened.

  All three of us stared at the open blue bottle in my hand.

  “It takes a few seconds,” I told Cara. My voice came out high and shaky. “Remember? Back in my basement, it took a few seconds. Then it came whooshing out.”

  Gwendolyn’s eyes were wide, locked on the bottle.

  We stared in tense silence.

  A few seconds went by. Then a few more seconds.

  Gwendolyn broke the silence with a gleeful laugh. “It’s empty!” she declared through her laughter. “The castle is filled with empties! There’s a whole room of them over there.” She pointed into the darkness.

  I raised the bottle to my face and squinted inside. Too dark to see anything. But Gwendolyn was right. It was definitely empty.

  I let it fall to the floor.

  Gwendolyn’s grin was so evil in the shadowy light from the torch. I tried to back away. But I bumped into a stone column.

  Trapped.

  As she grinned so hungrily at me, Gwendolyn’s fangs shone in the pale light. “So thirsty…” she whispered. “Freddy—don’t run away. Help me. I’m so thirsty….”

  “I’m thirsty, too!” a voice boomed from behind me.

  I spun around to see a flash of orange torchlight. The light bounced toward us. And inside it, I saw the angry face of Count Nightwing.

  He floated to us, his eyes narrowed at Gwendolyn.

  Her mouth dropped open. She raised both hands in front of her, as if to shield herself.

  “Gwendolyn—what are you doing down here with my prisoners?” Count Nightwing demanded angrily.

  He didn’t give her a chance to reply. He floated up off the floor, floated over her. His cape floated out like bat wings. His silvery eyes locked on hers. And he opened his mouth in a furious hiss.

  Gwendolyn’s fangs glistened wetly in the torchlight. She tossed back her blond ringlets and, still shielding herself with both hands, hissed up at the old vampire.

  Oh, wow! I thought, They’re going to fight!

  I leaned forward, horrified—but eager to watch.

  The two vampires floated off the floor. They hissed at each other again, like two snakes about to strike.

  “Freddy—come on!” Cara whispered. She grabbed my arm and pulled. “This is our chance.”

  Cara was right. While the two vampires hissed at each other, we had to try to get away.

  My heart pounding, I grabbed Gwendolyn’s torch off the floor and darted after Cara.

  We ran blindly through the dark basement.

  There’s got to be a way out! I repeated to myself. There’s got to be a way to escape!

  Finally, I saw an open door.

  Cara and I burst through the door. I glanced back. I saw Count Nightwing floating high off the floor. His cape swirled behind him. Gwendolyn hissed up at him weakly from the cellar floor.

  No time to watch their fight. I followed Cara into the room. “Where are we?” I whispered.

  I raised the torch in front of us.

  “Wow,” Cara murmured as the shelves against the wall came into the light. “I don’t believe it!”

  We had found the room of empty Vampire Breath bottles that Gwendolyn had told us about. Shelves covered every wall from floor to ceiling. And each shelf was crammed with blue bottles. Stacks and stacks of blue glass bottles.

  “There must be a million empty bottles in here!” I whispered.

  We gazed around the room. The bottles sparkled like blue jewels, caught in the light from the torch.

  Cara shook her head hard, as if trying to shake the amazing sight from her eyes. She turned to me, her expression solemn. “This isn’t helping us escape,” she whispered.

  “Escape?” a hoarse voice rasped from the doorway.

  Count Nightwing moved quickly into the room. “There is no need to talk of escape,” he said, narrowing his strange silver eyes at Cara, then at me. “For there is no escape from Count Nightwing’s castle.”

  He raised his cape and floated off the floor.

  “What are you g-going to do?” I stammered.

  He tossed back his bald head and uttered a frightening hiss.

  I felt myself pushed back, back, deeper into the room. He was using some kind of force, some kind of ancient power.

  He floated higher. The cape billowed around him. He looked like a frail insect inside a purple cocoon. But I could feel his power.

  Pushing me back…. Holding me…. Pushing me….

  And then, suddenly, I felt him let go.

  He dropped heavily to the floor. His eyes flashed. He snapped his bony fingers.

  A thin-lipped smile creased his face. “Yesssss!” he hissed.

  Cara and I backed up to the shelves at the far wall. My legs were trembling now. He had gripped me in some kind of ancient force. And now I felt totally shaky. I struggled to catch my breath.

  “Yessss!” he hissed again. “I remember now!”

  24

  Cara and I stared at the old vampire in silence. He turned to the shelves of blue bottles.

  “This is where I hid my full bottle of Vampire Breath,” he told us. “I hid it here in the empties room. I knew the others would never look here.”

  As he smiled, I could see his gums, soft and smooth inside the dry-lipped mouth. His smile faded. And his silvery eyes narrowed.

  “I’m so thirsty,” he whispered, eyeing Cara and me. “I must find the full bottle—refresh my memory—and get back my fangs.”

  He dove for the nearest shelf and began pawing through the blue bottles. “Which one? Which one?” he muttered to himself. “Thousands of bottles, and only one is full.”

  His small, bony hands moved quickly over the shelf. He pushed aside empties, muttering to himself. Bottles crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces.

  “Cara—quick!” I pointed to the far shelf. “Let’s move!”

  She understood me instantly. We had to find the full bottle first. We had to find it before Count Nightwing did.

  I dropped to my knees and began sifting through the bottles on the bottom shelf. Empty… empty… empty… empty…

  I pushed them aside one by one. My fingers moved quickly over the glass tops. I squinted hard in the dim light, searching, searching for the only full bottle.

  Glass shattered on the hard floor. Bottles rolled and spun all around me.

  Beside me, Cara worked frantically over a low shelf. “No. No. No. No.” She muttered to herself as she moved her hands over the empty bottles.

  “You two—” Count Nightwing called from across the room. “Get away from there!”

  We ignored him. We kept pawing through the bottles, working faster, faster. Desperate to find the full one first.

  And then—my hand landed on it.

  I sucked i
n a deep breath when I realized it felt heavier than the others. My hand trembled as I carefully lifted it out from the others.

  Yes! It definitely felt heavy. Yes! It was still sealed shut. Yes!

  “I found it!” I cried, jumping to my feet. “Cara—look! I’ve got it!”

  I raised the full bottle up to show it to her—and Count Nightwing grabbed it from my hand.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  25

  With an eager smile, the old vampire raised the bottle and reached to open it.

  “Noooo!” I howled.

  I leaped at him. Caught him by surprise.

  I shoved my shoulder into his chest. He felt light and feathery, as if he had no bones at all.

  He uttered a startled choking sound.

  The bottle of Vampire Breath flew from his hand.

  I reached out—and grabbed it in the air.

  Holding it tightly in both hands, I backed toward the shelves.

  Count Nightwing recovered quickly. He narrowed his eyes at me, and once again, I felt his strange power holding me, holding me in place.

  “Freddy, you will hand the bottle to me now,” he ordered in a soft, calm voice.

  I didn’t move. I couldn’t.

  “Hand the bottle to me now,” the old vampire insisted, floating toward me, his bony hand outstretched. “You will hand it to me, Freddy.”

  I swallowed hard. I couldn’t give him the Vampire Breath. I knew that Cara and I were doomed if Count Nightwing opened it.

  But I couldn’t move. He had frozen me there. I was helpless!

  “Hand it to me,” he insisted. He reached for the bottle.

  “Monkey in the Middle!” I heard Cara call.

  She seemed far away. And at first, her words didn’t make any sense to me.

  “Monkey in the Middle!” she called again.

  This time, I understood.

  I sucked in a deep breath. It took all my strength to move my arm.

  Count Nightwing swiped at the bottle. His bony fingertips brushed against it.

  But I tossed the bottle high over his shoulder.

  Cara bobbled it, fumbled it into the air—and then grabbed it. “The catch of the day!” she cried.

  With an angry groan, Count Nightwing spun around. “Give me that!” he rasped. He dove toward Cara.

  She pulled her arm back and heaved the bottle to me. A low toss which zipped past the old vampire’s knees. I caught it at my shoelaces.

  Count Nightwing whirled back to me. His strange eyes narrowed in fury. “I want that bottle!” he snarled.

  I tossed it high, over his head. Cara caught it in one hand.

  When we baby-sat for Tyler Brown, Cara and I played Monkey in the Middle all the time. That little shrimp could never take the ball away from us. We could keep him running back and forth for hours!

  But I knew Count Nightwing would soon run out of patience. There was no way Cara and I could win this game.

  But what else could we do?

  The old vampire dove for Cara, his hands outstretched, his cape flying.

  Cara tossed off-balance. I stretched for the bottle. But it sailed past my open hand.

  And crashed into a shelf.

  Bottles toppled and broke.

  Count Nightwing flew to the shelf. He grabbed blindly at the bottles.

  But I got there first. I picked up the bottle and tossed it to Cara.

  “No—!” Count Nightwing rasped. “Enough!”

  He hurtled toward Cara.

  She tossed the bottle to me, a high throw over the old vampire’s head.

  I raised my hands to catch it.

  But to my surprise, Count Nightwing flew straight up—and caught the bottle in both hands.

  As he sailed slowly back to the floor, a pleased smile spread over his face. “I win,” he said softly, his eyes flashing. “I win. It helps to be able to fly.”

  He raised the bottle in front of him.

  “No—don’t!” I begged.

  His smile grew even wider. He reached out—and pulled the top off the bottle.

  26

  All three of us froze. And stared at the open bottle in Count Nightwing’s hand.

  “No,” Cara murmured. “No—please.”

  A few seconds passed. A few more seconds.

  “Nothing is happening,” Count Nightwing whispered. His smile faded. He raised the bottle to his face and tilted it to see inside.

  Beneath the purple cape, his slender shoulders slumped. He sighed, a long, dry sigh. “Empty,” he said. “This bottle is empty, too.”

  Cara and I exchanged glances. I suddenly knew what had happened. In my wild scramble to pick up the bottle, I had grabbed the wrong one off the shelf.

  Sure enough. I turned to the shelf—and spotted the full bottle right in front of me.

  “I have it!” I cried. I picked it up carefully from the shelf. “I have it!”

  The old vampire let out a furious growl. He leaped at me.

  “Cara—catch!” I screamed.

  I heaved the bottle to her.

  But Count Nightwing swung his arm. His hand slapped the bottle in midair.

  “Oh—!” I gasped as the bottle sailed into the wall.

  It bounced off. Crashed to the floor. Cracked open.

  And the sour, dark mist poured up into the room.

  “We’ve lost,” I murmured. “We’re doomed.”

  27

  I tried to hold my breath, but it didn’t help. The foul odor of the rising fog seemed to seep into my skin.

  Across the room, I saw Cara cup a hand tightly over her nose and mouth. Her dark eyes grew wide in fright. She waved her other hand frantically, trying to fan the smelly fog away from her.

  I choked on it. My eyes started to burn. I closed them. Felt hot tears seep down my cheeks.

  When I opened my eyes, I couldn’t see Cara anymore. The fog had grown too thick.

  I could see Count Nightwing’s purple cape, dark inside the mist. Then it disappeared, too.

  And I was alone. Alone inside a thick, billowing cloud.

  I dropped to my knees. Covered my face with both hands. I tried not to breathe. I could taste the foul mist on my tongue!

  How long did I kneel there? I’m not sure.

  But when I finally opened my burning eyes, the fog was fading.

  Count Nightwing’s purple cape came back into view as the mist lowered itself to the floor. And I saw Cara across the room, shielding her face with one arm.

  The fog continued to melt away.

  The room came back into focus.

  And I realized I was staring at an air hockey game.

  I blinked several times. A pool table stood in the center of the room.

  Pool table? Air hockey?

  Cara came running over to me, her dark eyes flashing with excitement. “We’re back, Freddy!” she cried happily. “We’re back in your basement!”

  “Yesssss!” I cheered. I pumped both fists in the air. “Yessss!”

  I staggered across the room and hugged the air hockey game. Then I kissed the wall. I actually kissed the wall!

  “We’re back! We’re back!” Cara chanted, jumping up and down. “The Vampire Breath—it brought us back to your house, Freddy!”

  “Noooooo!”

  I turned to see Count Nightwing toss back his head in a long, angry wail. He swirled his cape behind him, then clasped his hands into tight fists.

  “Noooooo! Noooooo! This can’t be happening!” he cried hoarsely.

  Cara and I huddled together as the vampire advanced on us.

  “I don’t want to be here!” he declared. “I must go back. I must find my fangs! Without my fangs, I will not survive. I will perish!”

  He rose up over us. His eyes burned angrily down at us. His dry lips quivered. He stretched out his cape as if to trap us inside it.

  “I must go back!” he rasped. “Where is the Vampire Breath? Where is the blue bottle?”

  My eyes glanced quickl
y around the room.

  No sign of it.

  “It didn’t come back with us,” Cara announced.

  The old vampire tossed back his head in another angry wail.

  Then, raising his cape even higher, he swooped down to attack us.

  Cara and I staggered back against the pool table.

  The vampire moved quickly, wrapping his heavy, purple cape around us both.

  We were trapped. Nowhere to move.

  Then, suddenly, the cape slid off. Count Nightwing took a step back. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

  I followed his gaze—and saw Mom and Dad hurrying into the basement. “Mom!” I cried. “Dad! Look out! He’s a vampire! He’s a real vampire!”

  28

  Count Nightwing squinted at my parents, his mouth still open in shock. He locked his stare on my mom. “Cynthia—?” he cried. “Cynthia, what are you doing here?”

  Mom smiled at him. “Daddy, you finally woke up!” she exclaimed.

  “Huh?” Cara and I both gasped in shock.

  Mom rushed forward and threw her arms around the old vampire. She hugged him for a long time.

  “Daddy, you’ve been napping down here for at least a hundred years,” she said. “We didn’t know whether to wake you or let you sleep.”

  Dad came rushing over, too, a big smile on his face. He rested a hand on my shoulder. “Did you meet our son Freddy?” he asked Count Nightwing. “This is Freddy—your grandson.”

  Grandson?

  Me?

  I’m the vampire’s grandson?

  Count Nightwing stared down at me, shaking his head. I could see that he was as confused as I was!

  “Cynthia—?” he said to my mom. “Cynthia—my fangs. I’ve lost my fangs.”

  Mom slid her arm around the vampire’s waist. “Daddy, your fangs aren’t lost,” she told him. “They’re in the glass in the bathroom. Right where you left them.”

  “Here. Over here,” Dad said. He led the way to the little bathroom in the corner that we never use.

  A few seconds later, Count Nightwing stepped out, adjusting the fangs over his gums with both of his thumbs. “There. That’s better,” he said. “Now let’s fly out of here. I’m so thirsty! It’s been a hundred years!”