Vampire Shift (Kiera Hudson Series #1)

by Tim O'Rourke

  With a struggle, the old man managed to get his dog past the station and almost at once the dog seemed to calm down. Looking back at me, the old man said, “So long, pretty lady. Whatever your business in The Ragged Cove is, leave as soon as you can.” Then releasing his dog, he followed it away and out of sight.

  Pushing against the door of the police station one more time, I made my way back to my car. Sitting behind the wheel and strumming my fingers on the dashboard, I thought about what the old man had said. Why weren’t there any police officers on duty during the day in The Ragged Cove? Then, realising I knew very little about my colleagues, I wondered where they went, where they lived, and what they did in such a small town when not on duty.

  Outside the Post Office, I noticed a public telephone box and it gave me an idea. Climbing from my car, I went to the phone box and yanked open the heavy red door. On the off chance, I lifted the receiver and wasn’t surprised to find the line was dead. But it wasn’t the telephone I wanted, it was the telephone directory. Taking it from beneath the phone, I thumbed through it until I got to the letter ‘M’. How many Murphys could there be in such a small town as this? Running my finger down the list, I couldn’t find one Murphy listed. I then looked under ‘P’ for Potter, but again there wasn’t anyone with that surname living in town. Drawing a deep breath, I turned to the letter ‘B’ and just like the others, there wasn’t anyone with the name Bishop listed either.

  Stepping out of the phone box, I went into the Post Office. By the door, there was a stand that contained postcards. Taking the first one that came to hand – I really didn’t care what picture was on the front – I wrote this message.

  Dear Sgt Phillips,

  I believe I’m in great danger in the Ragged Cove. I don’t want to leave my post – but please come. Your help and advice urgently needed.

  Kiera Hudson.

  I quickly scribbled the address of Police Headquarters onto the card and bought a stamp from the postmistress. Taking it from me, she placed it into a sack that hung on the wall behind her. Leaving the Post Office, I went back to my car and drove away. As it was still early, I decided to go back to the church. I wanted to examine the open grave in daylight – I needed to know if there was anything that I’d missed and anything that might lead me to the vampires, if that’s what Kristy Hall had really transformed into. Not only that, I wanted to have my facts straight for when I returned for my nightshift. I suspected that Sergeant Murphy would want a full account of what had happened.

  Following the winding roads out of town, I managed to find my way back to the church. Parking just down the road from the front gate that led into the graveyard, I climbed from the car. The day had turned bitterly cold, and I thrust my hands into my coat pockets. My fingers brushed against the bottle of holy water and the crucifix and I hoped I wouldn’t have to use them again so soon.

  As I approached the wall circling the graveyard, I could see flecks of white paint where I’d crashed the car. The gate wailed on its rusty hinges as I made my way into the graveyard. I weaved through the gravestones and although it was day, it took nothing away from the creepiness of the place. As I made my way deeper into the graveyard and towards the overhang of the trees in the corner, I could see two people standing by the desecrated grave that I’d climbed into the night before.

  Crouching, I ducked behind a gravestone and peered into the distance. One of them was the priest, Father Taylor, and the other I couldn’t quite see. Darting from my cover, I raced towards another gravestone and snuck behind it. From here, I had a better view of the second person. Looking at them, my stomach began to knot and my mouth turned dry, realising Father Taylor was deep in conversation with the hooded man who’d been following me and leaving crucifixes outside my bedroom door. Shifting my position behind the grave, I strained to see his face beneath that hoodie. But however much I tried, it was dark beneath the trees, and the overcast sky only made it more difficult to see him. I was too far away to hear what they were saying to one another. From my hiding place, I watched them talk. Several times the hooded man pointed into the open grave.

  After only a few minutes of spying on them, they shook hands, and Father Taylor walked away. And as he did, I noticed that he was limping. He hadn’t done so the night before – I was sure of it – I would have seen it.

  Making myself as small as possible, the priest walked right past me on the other side of the gravestone that I was crouching behind. I watched him go back towards the church. Turning back to spy on the hooded male, I watched him kneel down and carryout some kind of an inspection of the earth around the open grave. Taking a small bag from his jacket pocket, he scooped up some of the earth and placed it inside the bag.

  As I watched, part of me wanted to sneak up on him, pull back his hood and find out his identity. But what if he saw me? I’d already had a confrontation with him and come off worse for it. So I decided to wait for him to finish whatever it was that he was doing, then follow him. After all, he knew where he could find me and it would be nice to be on equal terms. I didn’t have to wait long before he turned away from the open grave and started back across the graveyard.

  Peering over the top of the grave, I watched him go to the front of the church, where he disappeared from view. Scrambling to my feet, I darted amongst the gravestones, desperate to catch up with him. As I neared the front of the church, I saw the male speed out from the other side on his bike and cycle down the path to the gate. On reaching it, he lent forward, pulled it open and maneuvered through it and was gone. Then a thought hit me and I froze. To get back down the road, he would have to cycle past my car. He would know that it was mine – how many other beat-up old red Mini’s were there in the town?

  Keeping as low as possible, I made my way towards the wall. Peeking over it, I could just make out my car parked further down the road next to the hedgerows. I couldn’t see the cyclist. Passing through the gate, I made my way towards my car. Once I was sure that he wasn’t nearby, I ran towards it, wanting to catch up, so I could follow him from afar and see where it was he was headed.

  Climbing into my car, I started the engine, and turned the car on to the road. Hitting the accelerator, I drove back towards the town, scanning the road ahead for the cyclist. After a mile or so, I’d hoped that I would have seen him ahead of me, but it was like he had vanished. Then glancing in my rear view mirror, I hit my brakes. He was tailing me on his bike. Not believing what I was seeing, I pulled over and stopped, but kept the engine running – just in case. I stared at him in the rearview mirror and waited for him to draw level with me, but he didn’t. Once he was within a hundred yards or so of my car, he stopped in the road.

  Jumping from my car in frustration, I clenched my fists and shouted up the road at him, “What do you want from me?”

  Again he said nothing, but just sat on his bike, staring at me from the shadows of his hood.

  “Right, you chicken-shit,” I said under my breath. “I’ve had enough of your fun and games.” Then climbing back into my car, I spun it around in the road and raced towards him. On seeing me coming, he took something white from his coat pocket, lent over on his bike and attached whatever it was onto a branch protruding from the hedgerow. Then swooping left on his bike, he cycled away and sped down a narrow lane set between two fields.

  Pulling alongside the lane, I could see that it was far too narrow for me to drive my car down. Thumping the steering wheel with my fist, I screamed in anger as I watched him disappear into the distance. Looking to my right, I tried to see what it was he had placed in the bushes. Climbing from my car, I went over to find that the male had skewered a folded piece of paper onto a branch. With the edges of the paper flapping in the breeze, I pulled it free. Unfolding the note, I read what was written upon it.

  Sorry, didn’t mean to hurt you yesterday. There is more danger to come – be careful.

  I looked at the piece of paper and I knew that the cyclist had been aware of my presence in the graveyard the w
hole time. The piece of paper had been torn from a bigger piece. In the far corner, I could just make out the word ‘Mary’s’, which suggested that he had taken it from a piece of headed note paper from St. Mary’s church. The only opportunity he would’ve had to write the message was while he’d gone to the church to collect his bike after leaving the graveyard. And if he’d written the note then, he must have been aware of my presence in the graveyard. He then hid somewhere along the road and waited for me to pass him in my car.

  Whoever he was – I was certain that he meant me no real harm. He’d had a couple of opportunities to do so. But who was he? And why did he have to behave as if he were some kind of guardian angel?

  Tucking the note into my jeans pocket, I got back into my car and headed back towards the Inn. As I pulled-up out front, the first specks of snow flurried past on the wind. Hurrying to my room, I pulled the bedcovers over my head and tried to get some rest before my next vampire shift began later that evening.

  Chapter Ten

  I arrived at the police station just before seven. While I’d slept the rest of the day away, it had continued to snow and was now coming down in thick flurries. The narrow streets of The Ragged Cove were covered with it, as were the fields that stretched out on either side of the country roads I’d taken to get to work. Several times, the back wheels of my car had slipped and skidded and I’d had to be careful not to drive head first into some ditch. So it was with some relief that I arrived at the station without wrecking my second car in less than twenty-four hours.

  Hurrying into the station and out of the snow, I found Sergeant Murphy, Potter, and Luke all sitting at their desks behind the front counter. It was as if they were waiting for me. Coming around the front counter, I glanced at Luke and he held my gaze with his brilliant green eyes. The last time I’d seen him, we had been curled up together on my bed in my poky room. I wondered how he felt about that. Luke half-smiled and I looked away. Sometimes I found it hard to look at him, I could sense something between us, but I didn’t quite know what. If I were to be honest with myself, I knew that I found his rugged looks attractive, but there was something else – I didn’t know what – that told me I should try and keep my distance.

  “How are you feeling tonight, constable?” Sergeant Murphy asked, and I noticed straight away that he hadn’t called me by my first name like he had before.

  “A bit bruised and battered,” I said, placing my uniform and utility belt on the desk in front of me.

  “Not as battered as the police car you wrecked last night,” Potter chipped in, lighting a cigarette.

  I looked across at Luke and he was still staring at me. Ignoring Potter’s remark, I turned to face Sergeant Murphy and said, “I don’t know if Luke has already briefed you, but there was an incident last night up at the graveyard.”

  Popping his pipe into his mouth, Murphy looked straight at me and said, “I’d like to hear your account of what took place last night.”

  “It’s difficult to explain without sounding -” I started.

  “Without sounding like what?” Potter cut in.

  “Like I’d lost my mind,” I said.

  “Tell them what happened,” Luke told me. “You’re amongst friends here.”

  Hearing this, I glanced at Potter and wasn’t so sure. Turning away from him, I looked at my sergeant and explained how I’d carried out an examination of the open grave.

  “When I was down in the hole, I lifted up a piece of the coffin lid to find scratch marks on the underside of it,” I told him.

  “So?” Potter said, putting out his cigarette and immediately lighting another.

  “So,” I continued, “it suggested to me only one explanation – and I know this sounds far-fetched – but the girl Kristy Hall must have been buried alive.”

  “Buried alive!” Potter scoffed, squirting streams of blue smoke through his nostrils.

  Raising his hand as if to silence Potter, Murphy said, “Lets’ hear Constable Hudson out before we comment.” Then looking at me, he nodded, as if telling me to carry on.

  “I also found claw marks on the inside of the grave, again supporting the theory that someone had climbed out rather than in,” I told them. “I tried to call Luke on my radio, but it seemed that he either didn’t receive my transmission or there wasn’t any signal. I climbed out of the grave to find Kristy Hall standing there.”

  “Oh this is just such a lot of old bollocks,” Potter cut in again.

  “Be quiet, Sean!” Murphy snapped, and he sounded as if he were getting angry. “Carry on, constable.”

  “She looked pale, as if she were sick,” I said. “Not only that, she was covered in earth and mud. She kept asking for her mother. I asked her if I could help her, but she kept saying that she was hungry.” I stopped and again I looked at Luke, who was staring at me, his eyes keen and sharp looking. I couldn’t tell if he believed me or not. I wanted to go on with my story, but it was so bizarre that I felt I risked my professional reputation before I’d even fully started on my career.

  “Go on,” Murphy said, sounding impatient.

  Swallowing hard, I said, “Then she started to change.”

  “Change?” Potter laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?’”

  “I won’t tell you again, Potter,” Murphy hissed. “Put a sock in it, or get out.”

  Lighting another cigarette, Potter folded his arms across his chest and grinned at me.

  Trying to ignore him, I carried on. “The girl began to wail as if in pain. Then I heard this awful sound – like flesh ripping. Her teeth looked as if they had grown.” Then closing my eyes, so I didn’t have to look at any of them, I added, “The girl had fangs.”

  I heard a snigger come from the corner of the room and I didn’t have to open my eyes to know that it was Potter who was laughing at me.

  “What happened next?” Sergeant Murphy asked.

  “I ran for my life, Sarge,” I said, opening my eyes and staring straight into his. “I didn’t know what else to do. I kept calling for Luke over the radio, asking for help, but again I don’t think my messages were getting through. I managed to get to the police car, but the creature – or whatever it was – came after me. It smashed the windscreen with its face. I drove the car forward and the thing crashed into the graveyard wall. I drove the car at her, but…” I paused.

  “But what?” Murphy persisted.

  “She escaped,” I said, as Potter stifled another fit of the giggles. “She leapt away at an incredible speed. I managed to turn the car as I tried to escape. I was injured and my nose was bleeding. As I drove away from the church, the vampire-thing attacked again. She was so fast and strong. She punched her fists through the bonnet as if it were made out of paper.”

  “If she were so strong and powerful, how did you manage to survive?” Potter smirked.

  “I had a crucifix on me, and as she tried to bite me, I stuck it into her mouth. It was almost as if she had swallowed poison. She started to convulse on the bonnet of the car. Her mouth started to foam up and it ate through the car’s paintwork like acid. Then before I knew what was happening, she exploded into a pile of ash and dust. Realising that the threat was over, I started to lose consciousness, and before I blacked out, I saw Luke, peering in at me through the broken car window,” I finished.

  “And?” Sergeant Murphy asked me.

  “That’s all, Sarge.” Then glancing quickly at Luke, I added, “The next thing I was aware of was waking in my room this morning.”

  Without saying a word, Sergeant Murphy sucked on the end of his pipe, not taking his eyes off me. After what seemed like an eternity, Murphy said, “So that is your statement, Constable Hudson?”

  “Yes Sergeant,” I said, knowing that I had only told him what I believed to be the truth. “You don’t wish to change anything?” he asked. “No, Sergeant.” Standing up, again he was wearing jeans and slippers, he came towards me, his right pelvis sloping to the right as if in need of a hip replacement. ‘�
��I’d heard good things about you, Hudson,” he said, and he sounded almost sad. “Excellent things in fact. I was led to believe that you were the most gifted recruit at training school. That’s why you were recommended for this difficult posting. I thought you would be an asset to this station – that you would be able to assist us in tracking down those responsible for the killings in The Ragged Cove.”

  “But that’s -”I started, but he spoke over me. “Instead, I’ve been sent nothing more than an immature fantasist – a know-it-all,” he barked. “But -” “In less than twenty-four hours, you’ve clambered over two crime scenes, destroyed evidence, recklessly destroyed police property – namely one of our only two police vehicles - and have now brought into question your own honesty and integrity by coming up with a pack of lies to excuse your unruly behaviour,” he said.

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’d done nothing wrong. Every word of my statement had been true. Not prepared to stand by and have my integrity questioned, I spoke up and said, “Have you actually been up to the grave and examined it yourself?” I asked him.

  “No, I sent our forensically-trained officer up there today to carry out a proper examination,” Murphy said, and looked at Potter.

  “What, him?” I asked, and now it was my turn to scoff. “Yes me!” Potter said. “Got a problem with that, Columbo?” “Well, if you’d examined it properly, you would’ve seen what I had,” I said. “Sure - I found the coffin lid – what was left of it after you’d trampled all over it,” he snipped. “And the scratch marks?” I asked. “There were scratch marks, but they’d been made by animals – foxes, rats, badgers – after the girl’s body had been removed,” he said.