"The men were. They left the church and began the walk to the Connelly house. Ben Connelly led the group. He volunteered his house since it was the closest toilet to the church. We watched them from the windows, and some of the men left in the church had the rifles ready to shoot if anything happened.
"Arthur Taylor followed the group with the women and children in the middle. They walked with a purpose, Ben and Arthur looking every which way, like they were watching a tennis match. Of course, they were looking for those monsters.
"They got almost all the way to Ben's house before they began to relax. You could see their gait change. The men stopped looking around, and the women released the children's hands and let them walk along untethered. One of the children wandered away from his mother. He went a few strides toward the shadows at the edge of the street. I think they all felt the threat had left when the strangers walked out of town. That was why the child's mother let him wander.
"They could not have been more wrong. The boy vanished. Those things can move faster than the eye can see. Almost that fast anyway. One of them snatched that child into the shadows. His mother, Emma I think her name was, ran after the boy. Ben and Arthur trained their weapons at the darkness.
"While they watched the woman chase after her boy, both of them were grabbed. We didn't see the creatures until they seized Ben and Arthur from behind. Both rifles fired when they were attacked. Poor Emma was hit. The shot took the right side of her head clean off. She went down in a heap. One of her legs went into a spasm, like she was having a fit. The rest of her didn't move."
"Jesus," Roland uttered, his head shaking back and forth as if he could stop the ancient event from happening through sheer will.
"The things almost released Ben and Arthur when Emma went down. I think the sight of all that blood pouring from the woman's head distracted them. One of the men in the church fired at them. It would have been a difficult shot for a professionally trained marksman. Pete Muldoon was a decent shot, but he wasn't up to that. His bullet struck Ben in the shoulder. The demons went into a frenzy. They both bit fatal wounds in the throats of their prey. Blood sprayed out in pulsing streams. And those things, those…"
"Vampires," Roland said trying to fill in her statement.
Patricia nodded. "Vampires. They lapped it up with relish. Linda Ferry, the other woman in the group, grabbed up her daughter and ran back to the church. The other child, Emma's little girl, walked over to her mother. That leg still twitched, and even from the church. I could see the blood pooling around her.
"Another vampire thing appeared, standing over the child. Three shots rang out from the church. They were trying to protect the little girl. Two rounds found their target, and the vampire near the girl staggered. Dark stains began to blossom on the thing's shirt. It bared its teeth at us. I will not forget those teeth. They were like wolf fangs, long and gleaming in the light from the bonfires. He grabbed the child. Oh, Roland, how that baby screamed. The thing holding her looked back at us and smiled. Then he sank those fangs into that child.
"She didn't fight him," Patricia said. "Well, a little when he first picked her up, but he stroked her face, and the child calmed right away. When he bit down on her neck, she went rigid for a second, then relaxed, and that demon drained her. There was nothing anyone could do. If we went outside, we would have been next.
"When the child had nothing more to give, that thing threw her into the dirt like she was a piece of rubbish. I couldn't look away. I was repulsed by the vision, but powerless to avert my gaze.
"Ben and Arthur were also left in the dirt as the three vampires walked back into the woods, leaving the four bodies behind."
"What about the Ferry woman and her daughter?" Roland asked.
"They got back to the church. A man at the door, I can't remember who, refused to open it. Daddy went to the door, knocked the coward aside and let Linda in. Poor woman was so scared she wet herself. She carried her child as far from the church door as possible and vomited."
Chapter 28
Roland went to the kitchen. As usual, Patricia had set out a tray. On the tray were glasses, a plate of chocolate chip cookies and a pitcher of something red.
The ice clinked against the crystal side of the pitcher as he carried it to the porch. He set the tray on the table between their chairs and filled two glasses.
"Wild-berry punch," she said with a smile.
"My favorite combination," he quipped. "Wild-berry punch and chocolate chip cookies."
"Yours too?"
He raised his drink to her. They clinked glasses, and they both sipped.
"So, you have an overcrowded church, no plumbing, and homicidal vampires," Roland said, raising a finger to count off each point. "What happened next?"
"Daddy took charge again. I could see the tired look in his eyes. He wanted somebody else to take the lead, but nobody did.
"'I counted three,' Daddy called out to the men around him. 'Is that right?'
"He got some nods, and a few answered with a 'yep' or 'uh huh.'
"'Okay, it's like I told some of you earlier, to kill them you have to take off their heads. A shot to the chest hurts them, but it doesn't stop them."
"'Just how do we do that?' someone called out.
"'Scatterguns. A load of buckshot will do it, but you have to let them get close. How many scatter guns do we have? Hold 'em up, let's see."
"They did what they were told," Patricia said. "Five guns were held high. Daddy counted them out, then asked for four volunteers to go out with him. I put my hand up right away."
"I would have been surprised if you hadn't," Roland said. "They didn't let you go, did they?"
"Daddy said only men could go. A few men started to raise their hands, only to have their wife pull it back down. It took Daddy some time to convince everyone that this was something we had to do.
"Some said he should go out there alone. They said it was his fault everyone was stuck in the church in the first place. I wanted to go right over there and slap them that said that. Of course, that part was true. What wasn't said was how defenseless these people would be isolated out on their farms.
"So, five men exited the church. They walked quickly, Daddy leading the way to the three bodies. He checked each one, then looked back over his shoulder to the church. He didn't say anything or make any gestures, but I knew from the slump in his shoulders that there was no hope for those poor people." She took another of her pauses. Looking away over the horizon, she took another sip of wild berry punch, then wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
"A moose wandered out of the trees just then," Patricia said. "Oscar Rivers spun at the sound of it and fired both barrels at the dumb animal. It gave such a squeal, then turned and ran back to the trees."
"Wrong place at the wrong time," Roland said.
"I fear the moose ran into something worse than a load of buckshot when he got into the trees. There was a ruckus in the trees, then that moose fell into the middle of the road. Those monsters killed it and flung it through the air. It wasn't the biggest moose I have seen, but it was an adult. Do you have any idea how much an adult moose weighs, Roland?"
He shook his head. Each chapter of this tale was beyond belief, so why not a flying moose.
"I don't know for sure, but I think the bleeding moose sent those things into hysterics. One of them ran out and grabbed Oscar from behind, and bit down on his neck. Oscar's gun was empty. At first, he tried using it as a club, as the others watched in horror. They couldn't shoot without hitting Oscar, after all.
"Do you know, Roland. Oscar stopped fighting shortly after the initial bite. He just stood there, almost like it was pleasant.
"Fred Drummond was the first to overcome his horror. He walked up to Oscar and point blank fired his scattergun at the thing's head. It was so rapt with Oscar's blood it didn't notice Fred until it was too late. It fell to the ground, most of its head was gone. The legs and arms were still flopping around, but to no purpose
.
"Oscar didn't even flinch from the thunderous report just inches from his ear. He just swooned in place, as blood streamed down the side of his neck. Fred tried to talk to him, but he was gone. His mind, I mean.
"Daddy pushed his hanky against the wound, took Oscar's hand and pushed it against the hanky. When Daddy released Oscar's hand, it stayed put.
"I think Fred really angered them when he killed one of their own. We heard human screams of pain from the woods. It sounded like anger, not sorrow. I don't think they felt that way about each other.
"One of the men, a young man I didn't know, panicked and ran for the church. Like a blur, one of the vampires grabbed him and dragged him into the woods. He was too far away for the others to help. Daddy took Oscar by the arm and began to lead him back toward us. Fred picked up Oscar's gun, and they all made their way back toward the church."
Chapter 29
A tear rolled down Patricia's cheek. She didn't try to hide it, or to apologize for her emotional display.
"I am feeling a bit tired," Roland said, sensing she could use a break. He feigned a yawn to give her an excuse to postpone the next piece of this nightmare. "The old well may have taken a bigger toll on me than I realized."
Patricia wiped her tear away with a tissue she produced from the pocket of her slacks. "You do look tired," she said. "I think I would like to listen to some music for a while. It calms me, you know. Sometimes when I think about those dark days, and I feel I may never be happy again, I listen to Sinatra, or Dino, and I feel much better."
"Dino?" Roland asked.
"Dean Martin, child. Surely you have heard of Dean Martin. His voice is like velvet. I saw him in movies. Well, I have to tell you he wasn't much on the screen but he sure could sing."
"If you say so," he agreed. "I don't know if I have ever heard him."
Patricia just stood and went into the house. Just before the door closed behind her, she said, "You stay away from that well, boy."
Roland retrieved his recorder from the table next to the tray. He slugged back the rest of the mixed berry punch from his glass, plucked a cookie from the tray and trundled down the steps to his car.
He gobbled the cookie down, realized that he hadn't eaten since breakfast and decided the first thing he would do was get some lunch or dinner. The sun was still bright and high in the sky, but at this time of year, that didn't mean it was midday.
Roland got in his car, and before he could stop himself, he pulled into the gate at the old cemetery. He took his computer with him and began to catalogue the names and dates on the headstones.
When he got to the big marker, with Owens, Robert, and Louise, Roland paused. He did some math in his head and was sure that Robert Owens did not live through that night the town's people took shelter in the church.
He walked from grave to grave, typing in names and dates. He also took pictures of the headstones.
"Jesus Christ," he hissed. "What the hell happened in this town, and why is there no record of it?"
Roland put his computer and camera on the passenger seat of the car. He reached in to get a bottle of water from the cup holder and chugged it down. He grimaced at the warm liquid, twisted the lid back on and tossed the empty on the seat with his computer.
"Roland," a voice called.
It sounded like a whisper. He couldn't tell if it was male or female. He didn't know where it came from or who said it.
"Who's there?" he called.
He heard no response. He closed the door, walked around to the driver's side of the car and reached for the door.
"Roland," he heard again.
He looked to the source of the voice. It appeared to be coming from the opposite side of the road, and back in the direction of the old woman's house.
No, he realized. The voice was coming from the direction of the old well. He didn't know how he knew that. He knew that a whisper could not be heard from that well, it was too far away. He knew those things, but what he knew with absolute certainty was the well wanted him.
Roland got into his car and drove into town for something to eat. Patricia didn't have to be there to tell him that going to the well would be a bad thing.
Chapter 30
Roland sat across from Patricia at the kitchen table. His eyes had the look of a man who hadn't slept in days. Small veins tracked prominently, etching a path toward the iris. Shadows beneath the lower lids appeared tattooed there. He was dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans. The television reporter polish that Roland had when he walked up Patricia's driveway a few days prior looked tarnished or gone altogether.
Patricia continued to age exponentially with each passing day. Her cheeks drooped, and her color had turned yellow. Whatever presence living within her memories waged a war against the teller of those memories, and the one-man audience looked to be collateral damage.
On the long oak table, a basket of muffins sat untouched. Roland had poured them both a glass of OJ from the crystal pitcher that followed them everywhere Patricia decided to sit.
"I watched with some relief when they started back to the church," Patricia began. "In a few moments, Daddy would be safe inside with us. At least that is what I thought, that inside the church it would be safe."
Roland reached for a muffin. Patricia slid a small plate to him. He pulled the muffin apart, set the top on the plate, peeled the paper off the bottom, twisted a chunk free and nibbled at it.
"I always eat the bottom first as well," Patricia said.
He smiled. "I have always saved the best for last."
She nodded and sipped from her glass.
"For some naive reason, we all felt safe inside that building. The damn thing was made of wood, and there were bonfires all along the street. A few burning logs tossed on the roof of that church would have had us all running into the street."
"Is that what happened?" Roland asked.
"It seems they had some fear of the church, or maybe what the church represented. The bastards didn't come closer than standing out front."
"Is all that crap in the movies about vampires true?" Roland asked. He was completely serious. Maybe in the weeks or months to come, he would come to look at these stories as the ramblings of an old woman. It was one hundred years ago. Having several deaths in a short span of time could be the result of a bug that could easily be cured with a course of antibiotics today.
This wasn't in the days or weeks to come, however. Roland believed every word he heard from this old woman.
"I have watched them all," she said. "Most people don't believe that I watch them, but I can't help it. Most of what is in those movies is bunk. A few things seem to be accurate, but I think it is more by accident than anything."
"For instance?" he asked.
"They do fear the church. It doesn't hurt them or burn their skin if they touch a cross. It is like a phobia to them."
"That is odd isn't it?" he said. "Phobias are not contagious."
"These things absorb a bit of whatever they feed on. If they drain the blood from a deer, they might improve their hearing or speed. If in desperation they ate spiders, maybe they would find themselves climbing walls."
"Could they turn into bats, if they fed on them?"
Patricia guffawed, uncontrollably. Red flushes rose up in Roland's cheeks, and he could feel his ears warming. Patricia laughed, and it brought back some of the color to her features.
Roland chuckled a bit, which heightened Patricia's enthusiastic chortling. This sent him off, and together they laughed like children with no worries in the world.
"No," she said through her fading chuckles. "They remained the shape of men and women. They took on a devilish ugliness as time passed. Their skin grew taut and pale. Their eyes turned the color of blood or blackened orbs. Their hair went dry and wispy. Even the mildest breeze sent it flittering around their heads. Ugly things."
"But no flying," he said, still laughing.
She turned serious, like flipping a switch. Roland
intuited her reaction, and his face went stiff and attentive.
"They can't fly, but the way they jumped it seemed like they could. They could jump so high and fast that you might think they flew away, only to find them standing right behind you. They could also jump from great heights and not be injured.
"That is what happened that night in front of the church. Daddy and Fred were leading Oscar back when one of them landed right in Daddy's path. Daddy's reaction was immediate. He unloaded his gun in the thing's face. The head exploded, a black mist sprayed out behind it, and the thing's body fell to the ground. Fred began to run for the door, dragging Oscar, and Daddy did the same."
Roland looked on with amazement as she stared up to the ceiling with what he thought was a look of admiration. It was as though she had seen this all happen last night. She adored her father, and his last dash for shelter, hauling the bleeding and traumatized Oscar, was heroic.
"Two more landed directly in their path," she said. "Their guns were spent, and they were too far from the church for the guns inside to be of use. Daddy and Fred let go of Oscar and swung their guns like clubs. They should have reloaded after shooting, but hindsight is always clearer, isn't it?"
"Are you up to a stroll around the yard?" Roland asked. He could see that she needed a break. He had developed a liking for Robert Owens. Taking a bit of a break to delay his inevitable demise seemed about right.
"That sounds wonderful," she said. "Why don't you wait on the porch while I get my wrap."
Chapter 31
Roland stood at the foot of the steps, basking in the sun. The house held the cool night air, while the sun had warmed the outside and filled the day with color and life. The Bimmer sparkled in the sun's glow, and every blade of grass and leaf on the trees leaned toward the source of the rays to soak up the energy it gave.
"It is lovely, isn't it?" Patricia said, walking out onto the porch. "The winters here are bitter, but one day like this will erase the memory of a whole winter. Wouldn't you say so, Roland?"
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