A Grave Situation

by Zoey Kane

  “I agree. I think we ought to let a little more unfold before bringing in the police and media. It’s a great special-interest story.”

  “Why don’t you write it? Send it to your ex-magazine’s competitors. That’ll show ‘em!”

  “Yeah, huh?! I’m forgetting I’m a writer and editor.” Her phone rang. “Hello? Okay … sure … sure. See ya.”

  Claire placed her cell phone back in her pocket with a smile. “Something sorta interesting,” she mused.

  Zo’s interest was piqued. “What?”

  “Speaking of the media, Jim just informed me that the Citizens Against Wannabe Vampires was just on the news. They say they’re planning a demonstration here in the graveyard tonight—at eight. So we have a date to watch it.”

  “But I don’t want to be in the midst of them. Even intellectual mobs are bad to be around. I think they take themselves way too seriously … which makes them as dangerous as beady eyes and a noose.”

  “Don’t worry.” Claire smiled, used to interesting crowds, having lived in New York for so long. “We’ll dress warmly and bring buttered popcorn.”

  “Okay,” Zo relented, her daughter’s enthusiasm becoming contagious. “And let’s bring a couple thermoses of hot chocolate and a can of real whip cream too.”

  *

  At dinner that night, Dracula served on an impeccable table of white linen and silver, squab and wild rice, buttery Italian string beans, and a mixed salad with romaine and Kalamata olives. For dessert was the perfect treat for fall—pumpkin pie.

  The only guests there besides the Kanes were Mr. Federbal and Frank.

  “It loogs like I will have leftovers,” complained their host.

  “It’s their loss,” responded Frank, referring to the sisters, while readying his plate for the first bite.

  “Where’d they go?” Claire asked.

  Frank muttered, “They’re in and out of here all the time. Remember what they said the first night?”

  “Oh yeah,” Claire said.

  “Did you know, dear Drac,” Zo asked, straightening her napkin over her lap, “that there’s going to be a meeting of an anti-vampire movement tonight at eight o’clock in the graveyard?”

  “Curses! I am the last to find these things out! I expect them to be pounding on my door at nine o’clock.” He genuinely looked worried, pulling at his beard, a couple strands actually coming loose. He looked down in further worry and joked, “All this stress is making me molt.”

  “Mom and I are going to attend. Not to be a part, but to watch.” Claire took hold of silver tongs and scooped a healthy amount of salad onto her plate. “If it gets out of hand, if they start burning crosses, we’ll drive up to whisk you away.”

  “No need to worry.” He pressed his hands together in satisfaction. “There is a portcullis, an iron gate that drops down in front of the castle door.” His accent dropped away as it sometimes did.

  “Do you want to go, Frank?” asked Claire.

  “No!” He busily chewed, then swallowed. “My job is to detect false ghosts, not loonies who show up in all manner of get-ups, including suits.”

  “Mr. Federbal?” inquired Zo.

  “No, nooo.” He patted his mouth with a napkin, not looking up.

  “Well then, how ‘bout them 49ers?!” Zo asked, chewing a large hungry bite.

  “Football? Haha Hahaha.”

  Everyone was glad to see their host amused. They all chuckled and dinner continued to be delicious. And soon it was time for the Kanes to make their way to the big demonstration in the cemetery.

  FOURTEEN

  The Kanes arrived a little early to the demonstration, having walked down the road from the castle to make sure they had a good place to sit. They found their spot on a lone bench at the edge of the graveyard, and opened a big box of Crackerjacks in a grocery bag, ready to get their munch on. There were already people gathering, conversing in groups with lanterns and flashlights illuminating and beaming.

  One man had a battery-operated karaoke machine with a microphone. He wore a host of slogan pins on a fishing hat and had dark hairy arms. When he saw Zo and Claire, he waved for them to come over.

  Zo yelled, “We just want to hear what you’ve got to say.”

  “Well, welcome!”

  More people meandered in among the gray shadows of the early evening. A couple of news stations had arrived in their vans, Channel 2 and 6, their anchor-people busily holding brief interviews. One guy in a polyester, patterned shirt and leisure pants called out to the crowd, asking if they’d brought their stakes. It got a laugh. A woman in skinny jeans, though she wasn’t skinny, passed out flyers of some kind. There was something said about “Kicking butts!” and then the speaker took the mike.

  “Okay, it’s a quarter after and I think it’s time to get started,” he said.

  A voice called out, “You gonna sing to us, Dilbert? I see you got your machine.”

  “Louder, Dil!” another said.

  The volume was turned up and his voice boomed across the cemetery, causing a few crows to take flight. “THE QUESTION IS ASKED, AM I GOING TO SING? YEAH! WE ARE AT WOODSTAKE AND WE ARE GOING TO ROCK AND THROW!

  Laughter.

  A couple ladies stood close by Zo and Claire’s bench. “Hear that, Ruth? … Woodstock? … Rock and roll?”

  “I got it!”

  Dilbert went off mike a moment. “Which reminds me, Carl—did you bring the rotten tomatoes from Pico’s fields?

  “Six crates!”

  “Good. WE GOT TOMATOES HERE, FOLKS. SOME OF YOU BROUGHT YOUR OWN EGGS.”

  A beer-bellied man in suspenders handed a note to the speaker. “IT SAYS WE HAVE ONE-HUNDRED FOUR PEOPLE HERE.” He waved the paper. Applause went up.

  “TIME TO GET SERIOUS, FOLKS! THIS CULT OF WEIRDOES THROWING VAMPIRE PARTIES, AND THE GUY UP ON THE HILL THAT STARTED IT ALL, HAVE GOT TO GO. IF WE CAN’T CONVINCE THEM TO CHANGE THEIR WAYS TONIGHT, THEN WE WILL PUT ON THE PRESSURE TO RUN THEM OUT OF TOWN. YOU’VE ALL HEARD ABOUT THE CAT KILLINGS.”

  “Yeah!” the people shouted back.

  “THEN THERE WAS MURDER. WE ALL KNEW CHERYL! YOU SEE WHAT THAT RABBLE HAS PRODUCED?”

  “Yeah!” some shouted.

  A CD began to play We Are The Champions, as Dilbert continued. “OKAY! WE’RE GOING TO WALK UP THE ROAD TO THE CASTLE AND GIVE OL’ DRACULA WHAT FOR, AND—”

  A scream was heard from a woman standing behind the speaker. Everyone turned their attention to the main part of the cemetery.

  Vampires were standing up from behind the tombstones, their faces white with dark hollow eyes, and blood smeared across their clothes and faces. They were baring fangy teeth and hissing, while some were chanting, “We want your blood,” and “Soooo hungry!” Some had their arms stretched out while others walked slowly in an exaggerated march.

  “We are getting closer…”

  Then We Are The Champions ended and Michael Jackson’s Smooth Criminal started from Dilbert’s “favorite tunes” playlist. “HOLD YOUR GROUND, PEOPLE,” he said. “IT’S THE COO-COOS.”

  The bloody marchers chanted back, “Dilbert! Dilbert! Dilbert!” Then in a low monotone chorus they threatened, “We are coming for yoooooou. We are coming for yoooooou.”

  Dilbert licked his lips. “THEY ARE JUST RIDICULOUS TOWNSPEOPLE! DON’T BE SCARED!”

  “He’s scared,” noted Claire.

  “Yep.” Zo popped a caramel popcorn into her mouth.

  Five men ran over to some tomato crates and tore away the wooden slats to grab a bag each. The vampires finally neared Dilbert and the CAWV men began throwing tomatoes. Several vamps were prepared for such an event and opened umbrellas. Others of them ran up to the crates and took bags of rotten tomatoes for themselves. The fight was on. Some joker sang, changing the song lyrics from Annie to “Harry is you OK, is you OK…” pointing to a man on the ground. “Is you OK, Harry?”

  The first crate was near empty when another CAWV member cracked away the rest of the sla
ts for renewed ammo. A very costume-y wannabe-Dracula ran to the edge of the crate, flaring his cape with his mouth snarling, his fangs in a threatening gesture, and then he threw a rotten tomato.

  The member ran, dodging the wet and icky ordinance, only to get a soggy, stinky tomato to the back of the head. A bad imitation of Michael Jackson’s voice came over the karaoke machine: “You been bit by, you been sucked by, a smooth criminal!”

  A Dracula in an old-fashioned English police uniform came running by and stopped in front of Zo. He said, “Oh, look! Our pure sacrifice from the other day. Hello, ladies,” and ran on.

  Next, not too far off, a red-caped vamp and a regular ol’ jeans-and-sweatshirt woman ran up to each other, gripping tomatoes, juice dripping from their hands.

  “Norita, is that you?” the latter asked. “I didn’t know you were a vampire.”

  “Carol, I’m aghast! I didn’t know you were a CAWV member!”

  The two laughed while wrestling to keep from getting tomatoes pushed into their faces. It happened anyway.

  “See you for lunch next week?” asked Norita.

  “Yes. And bring that pumpkin muffin recipe with you.”

  Even the Kanes were surprised when fifteen uniformed policemen came running.

  One yelled, “Police! Cease and desist!”

  Someone said, “Quick, play the Batusi!”

  An officer stopped in front of Zo and Claire. “How am I going to arrest you if you’re just sitting there doing nothing?”

  “We are bystanders, not affiliated with either side,” offered Claire, before taking a quick sip of hot chocolate. “Who called you here?

  “Some guy who gets his K’s, G’s and T’s mixed up.”

  Zo and Claire laughed, looking at each other, knowing who that would be. Their Dracula host.

  “Just don’t get off the bench,” ordered the policeman, and then added, “Popcorn and drinks … yummy!” He didn’t get too far before the English vamp-cop ran up and plastered the side of his head with a wet tomato.

  “Gotcha! Sorry, brother, but you come in here at your own risk, and we have no scruples in a tomato fight.”

  “Dang you, Jeremy!” the officer laughed. “What are you doing here? I’m telling Ma. And you’re gonna have to sleep with one eye open from now on.”

  “Ha!” The vamp ran off.

  So now there were three distinct organizations of people in the noisy fray. The lanterns gave a soft warm glow to the surroundings, while the flashlights cross-beamed through the raucous crowd and up into the dark sky.

  The Kanes could hear things being yelled in the distance:

  “You lousy vampire-imitating miscreants need to get out!”

  “RACIST!”

  “What? Vampires aren’t a race, you little rat!”

  “That would be little bat!”

  “Why, yes, you dingbat. Take this!”

  “Missed me!”

  Two lady vampires sporting black cloaks and gray buns stopped mid-run. “Zo and Claire, how are you dears?” asked one.

  Claire said, “We didn’t know you two were vampires.”

  “Hoo hoohoo,” they laughed behind fingers.

  Next, a chubby little man with fangs, a belly and a bowler hat loped heavily by.

  “Mr. Federbal?” Zo asked, amazed.

  Claire chuckled over the sight.

  “Ah hoohoo! We’re being a bad influence on Mr. Federbal … teehee.”

  Finally, the police captain came in with a bullhorn. “Anyone not cleared out in twenty minutes will have their cars impounded—with fines.”

  Everyone stopped dead in their tracks, just looking at the captain.

  The captain turned a moment to talk to an officer who was following behind him. SPLAT!

  The crowd roared with guffaws.

  The paunchy captain took out a hanky and wiped the back of his head and neck. “You have just eighteen minutes now!”

  SPLAT!

  The captain turned to walk out the way he came in, wiping seedy juice off his cheek.

  SPLAT!

  “Crap, Mom,” Claire laughed. “They got him again!”

  Everyone else was laughing, too, but while running to get in their cars.

  Pretty soon the screeching of car tires could be heard as their drivers sped out and away. The Kanes took their time sitting, having walked down from the castle.

  A woman in a white gown and black wig came walking up. “Lacey?” Claire asked. “What—no vampire teeth?”

  “No. Actually, I’m playing the part of the ghost tonight, openly. I’m a good girl now. I don’t want to cause any more trouble to my friend Dracula, now that I see how psycho people can get.”

  Claire sat forward, gesturing. “Then what about the holes on your neck?”

  “I had two moles removed.” She touched the scabs. “I gotta go. I’ll see ya later…”

  The same fanged clown Zo saw the other night went running past in his floppy shoes, smiling big with exaggerated red lips. He honked his horn.

  “I love you!” shouted Claire after him.

  Honk, honk!

  “Don’t say that to him,” Zo told her daughter. “You’ll give him hope.”

  Hooooooooonk!

  “Well, Mom … let’s go. I wouldn’t have missed this evening’s events for the world.” Claire stood up and grabbed the bag of treats and thermoses. “It was so fun. I think most people, on both sides, actually had a good time.”

  “I’m agreeing with you.” Her mother sat a moment longer. “I think I’ll suggest a Hall Cemetery vampire vs. CAWV annual event. It should become tradition.”

  “I like that…”

  Jim and Frank came walking into the cemetery with their flashlights. Claire ran to meet them, to ask why they’d come so late when everything was over.

  Zo was gathering her purse and a bag of peanuts when she heard Frank answer, “We saw it all. We stayed in the trees and got a good view from there.”

  “Yeah, I really didn’t feel like getting sloppy tomatoes on my new shirt,” answered Jim in the distance.

  “Uhhhh…” said something from behind.

  Zo turned to look. A familiar white smiling mask was sitting atop a tombstone, not too far away. It gave her a start. Moonlight shone eerily through its white scraggly hair. Eyes behind the mask blinked, then stared back at her with the crazed look of an icy killer.

  FIFTEEN

  Zo’s heart jumped in surprise. “You?” she said.

  It was the same person who had kidnapped her.

  The head began to rise off the stone to reveal a body dressed in a black trench coat. A gloved hand lifted a stake as she stepped forward between tombstones.

  Zo glanced over her shoulder. Claire and the guys were out of sight. She turned back and said, “Oh! You just try it! You ugly old broad!”

  The stake was lowered as the maniac paused. Then she raised it again, resuming her steps.

  Zo grabbed at a limp tomato resting on top of Wilma J. Carpenter’s headstone and threw it in the face of her attacker, who stopped to rub it out of her eyes, smearing black makeup onto the mask.

  Zo asked, pointing a finger at her, “What is your motive for coming after me, you freak?!”

  The masked face tilted. “Meow…”

  Then the mystery person raised the stake higher, readying for it to come down like a knife, and rushed forward, scraggly hair flaring out like white flames.

  Zo planted her feet firmly apart, and caught the maniac by the wrists. They wrestled over the stake, until the attacker was soon winning, pinning Zo on the ground between tombstones.

  The pungent smell of moss and wet granite filled Zo’s senses as she fought to release herself.

  “Mommm!” Claire’s voice came from somewhere in the distance. “Where are you? We have to go!”

  The wood stake now pressed heavily against her throat, Zo tried writhing away, but felt weak. Then blackness enfolded her mind…

  Zo awoke moments later, unable t
o remember why she was lying on the ground. Someone was lifting her. A shadow? A man? Her memory came back suddenly of the masked maniac. But as she bumped along softly in the man’s arm, she knew without a doubt he wasn’t the killer in the mask who’d had the stake at her throat.

  It was so dark. Her lashes fluttered as she tried to make out the man’s features. He set her down at the edge of the cemetery, closer to Claire and her friends.

  As soon as she stood and said, “Thank you,” he turned to swiftly stride away back through the graveyard.

  “Wait! Who are you?”

  Claire jogged over to her mother. “There you are. We have to go. We have a ride from Jim. Why do you look so peculiar?”

  Zo summarized what had just happened on their way to the car.

  “We’ve got a clue. We actually have a clue,” Zo said as Jim’s blue Buick pulled into Dracula’s long driveway. “Let’s all go in and have hot apple cider or something and I’ll give you better details.”

  *

  Mr. Federbal was found sitting in the parlor between Beth and Lenora on an overstuffed velvet loveseat. Beside them sat three near-empty wine glasses on a heavy end-table. “Hi-ho!” he said, welcoming those now joining them.

  Everyone entering said hello, excited about the upcoming conversation, although dragging a bit at the feet.

  Claire’s focus centered on the red wine on the end-table, as she took her place on the empty leather couch. She remembered what Cheryl had said about Lenora’s supposed blood-drinking ways.

  Zo sat beside her daughter, moving a throw pillow. Frank and Jim took their spots in armchairs across from them.

  The yellow glow in the extra large fireplace was cozy, cozy being rare in the castle. Dracula entered and asked what his guests would like to drink or eat. The sisters asked for more wine; Frank—coffee; Mr. Federbal and the Kanes accepted hot apple cider. Jim just wanted water. Dracula took a water, too, soon joining his guests, each with their beverage of choice.

  “Would anyone like some Chopin music for background?” asked their host.

  The Kanes and Jim nodded. The rest didn’t really care.

  After the soft classical piano music was on, turned low, Dracula leaned around the corner of Zo’s chair and whispered into her ear, “Come to my room tonight and I will make wondrous love to you, lady.” He looked at her intently, raising his eyebrows up and down a couple of times.