by Leo Romero
He said a small prayer to himself before he reached for the doorknob. He slowly began to turn it, easing it round bit by bit, not wanting it to make a sound, telling the vamp there was an intruder in his nest. All the while, sweat dripped off his skin. He felt it run down the back of his legs, down his arms and down his chin. The doorknob finally went all the way around.
And stopped.
Dom puffed his cheeks and then flicked his light out.
A second.
Two.
Three passed before he slowly eased the door open, praying that its hinges weren’t as decayed as most of the house, that they weren’t about to inform the thing asleep somewhere in 1428 that intruders were inside by screaming at the top of its voice with their dry, rusty mouths. Easy, buddy…
Easy…
A guardian angel must have been watching over him because luckily for him, they didn’t make a peep. Instead, the door swung smoothly open into another dark room. Dom wiped away the sweat from his forehead, then poked his head into the gap between door and frame. The room beyond was pitch black as he expected it to be.
God, I wish I’d brought a flashlight along... he bemoaned with deep chagrin. He flicked his Zippo on again. He shut his eyes briefly, then took a big step fully into the room, his stake bared like it was a deadly weapon. His head swung left and right, trying to soak in as much information as possible. The flame on his lighter showed him bare floorboards that ran all the way to the blocked up windows, a tattered, cushionless sofa sitting on them. But no sleeping vampires. His chest relaxed and he brought the Zippo around; a smashed-up TV was pushed up against the far wall.
Apart from this, the room was empty and he was glad about that. A wave of relief washed over him. He was suddenly grateful for the experience of walking into a room with nothing but a metal stake and a Zippo, and surviving. It would give him a much-needed confidence boost for later on. He let the lighter go out, plunging the room into darkness again before he stepped back out of the room and into the gloomy corridor. There, he wiped more oily sweat from his face and puffed his cheeks. The adrenaline flowing through his body was giving him a bizarre kind of rush that he supposed would be the same as running out onto a battlefield with an AKA47. It was a danger rush, the kinda thing you experienced while walking through the cemetery at midnight. But it was greater than that, more concentrated. More intense.
He shook his legs to try and stiffen them up and checked the time again: 1:35. He was taking too long, he had to get moving.
Having already realized the kitchen was empty, it meant the ground floor was clear.
Now it was upstairs.
He stared at the staircase; it now resembled a trail of hot coals. He didn’t want to go near them, never mind actually step on them. The hard truth was he had no choice; there were no vamps on the ground floor, so he had to be sleeping upstairs. That tingling in his spine told him so. He tiptoed back the way he came, careful not to step on any bits of grit loitering on the floorboards. When he reached the foot of the stairs, he stared up them. The summit was a black hole. One or two paintings had been hung on the adjacent wall, but it was too dark to make out what they were.
Up there’s where you gotta go, buddy. He gave himself a wry smile before reaching for the rickety banister rail with his free hand. Carefully, he put a foot on the first step and placed his weight on it, testing it for sturdiness and squeak factor. It passed both, so he got moving up them, sparking up his Zippo. The sudden light shone something up next to him and his head spun. His eyes locked onto a giant messed-up face with a massive hooter. He flinched back. It was some kind of weird painting; looked like the effort of a five-year-old. He shivered; something about it creeped him out. Its flat eyes watched him as he turned his head back the way it came. He puffed his cheeks and started climbing the steps one by one. As he did, the gloom at the top of the stairs began dancing in a kaleidoscope of shadow and light with every movement, the shadows created by the banister spindles resembling bars on a jail cell. There was a cautious, restless fear gnawing away at him; on the one hand, he wanted to get business over with. Quickly. But on the other, he was scared to make too sudden a move just in case he made a sound and the vamp jumped out to surprise him. He licked his dry lips with a tongue that felt like it had been sun-dried. As he passed more weird paintings hanging on the wall—1960s ladies lying on trees, weird portraits with swirly lines—he found himself transported back to when he and Eddie were kids playing Resident Evil on Playstation, walking around the creepy old mansion shooting badly pixilated zombies. This, this felt just like that freaking game. There were weird paintings hanging on the walls of that mansion too, just to freak you out while you played it. Exactly, the—
His foot landed on a loose step and the floorboard moved down like a pressure plate. It screamed in agony; a long, drawn out sound like rusty nails wrenched out of a wooden plank. The silence shattered, the noise lasting for what seemed like forever. Dom’s heart leaped up into his throat; he stopped dead in his tracks like the music had been killed during a game of musical statues. The only things moving were the flickering flame on his Zippo and his eyeballs rolling around their sockets in crazy circles. In his chest, his heart hammered like a hummingbird’s wings, the sound of it pulsing in his ears.
Did he hear? Did he hear?!
He remained rooted where he was for a prolonged second. Waiting. Waiting for something to happen. Expecting the vamp to jump down from the top of the stairs and tear into his throat. His eyes rolled left and right, sweat dripping, tickling the end of his nose. He tried his best to ease his breathing, but his chest was desperate for air as if he was suffocating. The following seconds were an infinity.
But, nothing happened.
Soon, thankfully, silence punctuated by the occasional caw of a crow took over and everything settled down again, the danger averted.
Dom’s chest loosened. He was finally able to inhale deep, which felt glorious.
I can’t take more of this, he realized with mild alarm. He wiped the grime from his nose and forehead with the back of his free hand. Slowly, he lifted up his foot once more. The floorboard clicked back into place without another creak. He thanked his lucky stars for that before lifting his Zippo up high; the top of the stairs was illuminated. He was now about halfway up.
Slowly, with the caution of a professional thief, he carried on up the stairs step-by-step, being uber careful where he placed his feet on his way to the summit.
*****
Marlon’s eyes snapped open to full darkness.
His head spun; he couldn’t see jack. But he could hear, and he knew he definitely just heard something. What the hell was that noise that just woke him? It was a loud creak like a floorboard or something. Outside the room somewhere. At first he put it down to the effects of the venom, but the high had already worn off; his head was pretty clear. No, he knew he definitely heard something. Something felt wrong. Drake was pretty paranoid about the danger he was in, which explained the guards outside. Maybe it was them, patrolling the corridors. Maybe...
Marlon scanned the darkness while his mind ticked over. If it was a threat, it needed taking care of; he enjoyed the venom rush and he wanted more of it, not less. If someone wanted to take out Drake, then Marlon could kiss that venom high goodbye. That thought was suddenly the worst thing in the world. Besides, Drake was his responsibility now. He had to protect him at all costs. In the darkness, he could feel a snarl emerging on his face. There was no way he was gonna sit there like a chump and let some punk kill his buzz; kill his new father.
He began fumbling in the dark till he found the bare lamp on the floorboards. He flicked it on. The room was then lit up in artificial light. He stood up, laying eyes on Drake sleeping soundly on his makeshift bed. A sudden rush of love and compassion flooded his heart. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, Father,” he whispered. Drake’s eyelids flickered, but he didn’t awaken.
Marlon threw on his pants. He dug his free hand into his pocket;
he pulled out his folding knife. He opened it up, the blade razor sharp and virginal. If there was some punk out there meaning to do Drake harm, he’d see them off.
“I’ll just be gone for a second, Father,” he whispered before he tiptoed toward the door.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dom edged nearer to the summit of the stairs. Since the loud, creaky step, the rest had been quiet like church mice. He prayed that the last few would keep it shut too. The closer he made it to the top, the more of a rush he was getting. It was a dark excitement that swirled around his stomach like toxic gas. At the same time, the unknown quantity of the situation ate away at him like termites. He tried to swallow, but his mouth and throat were as dry as a desert well. Instead, he continuously puffed his cheeks, releasing hot air into the surrounding atmosphere.
He made it to the corner step before the stairwell curved around. He stopped, breathed in and held it. With a shaking hand, he pushed his lighter forwards and around the corner, daring to poke his head round with it. The clipper illuminated the landing. He couldn’t see much bar an old rug that had been laid down over the floorboards. The good thing about that was it would quieten his footsteps. He smiled to himself. Maybe someone up there was looking out for him.
He tried to crane his neck more; he ended up putting too much weight on one side and lost his balance. He threw an instinctive hand out for the wall. He turned his head to be faced by yet another bizarre painting; a giant pumpkin head that looked like it had its eyes gouged out. Two black holes stared at him from where they should have been. A shiver raced up his spine and he turned away, not wanting to stare at it more than he had to.
Man, these things are freaky.
Just carry on and forget the weird paintings.
He steadied himself and nodded. The good thing, he now realized, was that the creak the step made a little earlier hadn’t caused any serious damage to his mission. He’d surely be dead by now if it had. It meant the vamp still slept like a lamb. That particular thought made him feel slightly nauseous.
He ignored it and took another step.
He eased his body round the corner, now almost on the final step. From here, the flame on his Zippo showed him that there was one room across the landing from where he stood. The closed door faced him. The vamp could be behind it. He tightened his grip on the stake noticing how it felt like it had been rubbed with Vaseline. He took the last step, finally, his foot touching the landing. Soon, the other joined it, both of them touching the rug. Relief surged up into his chest. Man, that was hell! He took a look over his shoulder to see the bottom of the stairs, which was now like staring down at the base of Mount Everest from its peak. He turned back.
Now it was about to get serious.
He surveyed the landing. Over to his right was another closed door leading to yet another room. On the left was what he guessed was the bathroom and another bedroom door. He squinted his eyes, trying to get a better look. Yeah, the door was slightly ajar, but he couldn’t see behind it. A faint glow came through the gap, lighting up the gaps in the doorframe. Dom frowned. Was that a light burning in there? He arched his body forward and moved his clipper toward it to get a better look. His fast movement caused the flame to bend back and burn the webbing between his thumb and index finger. Hot pain shot across his hand; he gasped, instinctively shaking the lighter till the flame went out. The whole area was dumped into pitch black. He quickly tried to light it up again, but the flint wheel was as hot as a branding iron; it burnt the tip of his thumb, forcing him to stick it in his mouth afterward to cool it off. He then started blowing frantically on the wheel to try and cool it down. All the while, the darkness grew terrifying. It swallowed him, sending his nerve endings into overdrive. He wanted light. Any light. Just enough so he wasn’t trapped in this sea of darkness. He panicked, his breathing rattled while he tried to spark up the Zippo again. It sparked endlessly, refusing to light.
Come on! Come on!
He shook it in his hand to stir up the lighter fluid and tried again, ignoring the fact that although he had partly cooled it, the wheel was still as hot as hell. It sparked again and again, teasing him.
Work! Work, goddamn you!
By then the things that were hiding in the darkness had come out to play. He heard imps and demons with big noses and gouged out eyes cackling, could smell their rotten breath on the air around him. You’re all ours now, they told him. We’re going to rip you open and eat you alive! He heard the Twilight Zone theme tune playing in his tender mind. He looked down at his feet because he swore he just felt something brush past his leg...
Work, work! he pleaded, on the verge of tears.
He shook the lighter like crazy, feeling the fluid inside it swish up and down. He tried it again. It sparked and sparked again. The voices in the darkness around him grew louder. Buckets of sweat streamed off his face. He wiped his grimy cheeks and forcefully flicked the flint again.
This time, to his relief, the flame lit and danced on the air. The demons were instantly shut back in their boxes and everything became as silent as a tomb. His chest collapsed in a sigh. A small laugh jumped out alongside it.
Christ, that was painful…
He briefly closed his eyes. Calm took over and he opened them again. Now that that crap was over, he turned his attention back to the slightly open door to his left. There was definitely a glow emanating from the room beyond it. Dom nodded; he knew that was where his vamp was sleeping. He took a step toward it, his feet falling on the thick rug, cushioning his steps. Compared to the hot-coal-like floorboards, it felt like damp grass. As he approached the door, he became more and more certain that it was the vamp’s sleeping quarters. That tingling in his spine increased the further he delved into that corridor. The closer he got to that door, it upped in volume, telling him he was getting closer. Closer.
He tiptoed across the rug, his breath baited, feeling like an insect caught in a test tube, feeling like there were a million eyes on him. He was so far into this, there was no escape. That corridor seemed to go on forever, every step he took seemed to make the door move further away. He constantly had to wipe the sweat from his face, his whole body overheating in the pressure. He was barely breathing, his heart hammering harder than it ever had.
Stay calm, buddy. Stay calm...
He fixed his stare on that door as it drew closer. His feet stepped off the rug and onto hard floorboards once more. He was nearly there. Nearly. There.
He moved further into that deathly silent corridor, his senses on high alert, that door drawing closer. Closer.
The glow from inside beckoned. It called. And like a moth to light, he was drawn.
In the next instant, he was standing ahead of the door. He turned to face it, tightening his grip on the stake again. He steadied himself that tingling now a burn.
Okay, buddy, this is it. This is it...
He reached out to push the door fully open. He stopped.
His ear pricked.
His head snapped to the side. What was—
His heart stopped, his chest seizing. He spun to the left, his Zippo held high. It lit up a face. And this time it wasn’t a painting because it was rushing towards him from the bathroom.
What the—
Something swung across the air. Dom’s reflexes took control. He ducked his head in a flash, managing just in time to dodge it. He heard it thwack into the doorframe behind him. The light on his Zippo went out, plunging the area into darkness again. He staggered back, his legs suddenly feeling like they were about to collapse. From somewhere deep down inside him, a burst of adrenaline jolted him, stabilizing them. He used it to spin and propel himself forward, away from his attacker. Big, rough hands caught him around the waist, foiling his getaway. Before he could react, he was shoved forward, control of his own limbs now completely gone. He yelped as he flew back through the dark corridor, across the rug he’d just traversed. He tried to shake off the hands stuck to his waist, but they were as strong as metal clamps.
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Wind rushed past him, his arms flailed. There was a sudden shove to the right, dangerously close to the stairway. “Woah!” Dom shouted, his eyes wide in alarm as he found himself staring down that set of stairs. His back straightened. His arms thrashed on the air as he teetered on the edge of the stairs, fear juddering through him. He threw out an arm, latching his hand onto the banister. His forearm flexed; it held him there like a Rottweiler’s lockjaw. He wanted to swing his stake, which he somehow still managed to hold onto throughout, and hopefully connect with his attacker. Bu, before he had a chance, there was a loud grunt, and then a massive jolt of pain to his lower back, winding him in an instant. Dom gasped under the pain. His body flaked under the strain. The blow loosened his grip on the banister. The momentum from behind pulled him forward, and then gravity took over. His eyes bulged as the stairwell came rapidly into view. He fell head first down them, helpless. He thudded onto the wood, pain rocketing across his chest and shoulders. He bounced and rolled like a ball, the world spinning. Jarring pain jolted him with every step he hit. He smacked his head on the wall on the way down, just before he finally hit the floor at the foot of the stairs. He smashed into the floorboards back first with a forced grunt, the wind stolen from his chest. He lay where he was for a second, his mind hazy, his body a heap of pain.
