In Your Face Horror (Chamber Of Horror Series)

by Billy Wells

  What did he know about loved ones dealing with vampires? In the old Dracula movie with Bela Lugosi, Van Helsing had tried to convince a distraught husband the thing in the cemetery was no longer his wife. But even when he saw her in the casket, he didn’t have the fortitude to drive a stake through her heart. He still saw his dearly departed until she sprouted fangs and turned into a monster that wanted to drink his blood.

  Doug went to his computer and read everything he could find on the subject. Could he take any of it as anything more than folklore? He hoped he could bank on sunlight and a wooden stake through the heart to kill the fiendish monsters.

  It was noon, and he still had five hours until dark. He went to the basement, and finding a few pieces of two by twos, placed them on a lathe and crafted two wooden stakes.

  En route to the cemetery, he called Presley on his cell. He answered on the second ring.

  “Presley,” said the no-nonsense voice.

  “This is Doug Blackstone. Do you know where the cemetery is off Route 281 on the right going toward Newark?”

  “Yeah, I know the place. What’s this about?” Presley sounded as if he was in a hurry.

  “I think I know where my wife and son are hiding.”

  “Your wife? What’s she got to do with it?”

  “I believe my son and my wife were involved in the plane crash.”

  “I thought your wife was dead.”

  “I thought so, too, but now I’m sure she’s with my son.”

  “I’m right in the middle of something. Can I meet you in a few hours?”

  “It’ll be getting dark by then. We need to go now. Do you want to solve this case or not?” Doug insisted.

  After a pause, Presley said, ”I’ll be at the entrance in fifteen minutes. This better not be a wild goose chase.”

  Doug sat in his car when he saw Presley pull up in his Crown Victoria. They both exited their cars and approached each other.

  “Where do you think they’re hiding?” Presley asked, peering at tombstones as far as the eye could see.

  “It’s not far, just over that hill.”

  “In there?” Presley pointed inside the gate.

  “That’s where they are.” Doug replied with conviction.

  “Should I bring more firepower, and maybe some smoke bombs? A stun-gun?”

  “None of that will do any good,” Doug said handing Presley a wooden stake and a mallet from a cloth bag.”

  “What’s the hell are these for?”

  “Stop asking questions, and follow me. It probably won’t matter, but make as little noise as you can.”

  “Have you lost your mind?” Presley grumbled, assuming he really was on a wild goose chase with a nut case.

  Doug bounded into the cemetery and headed briskly to the right. Presley reluctantly followed.

  When Doug stopped in front of one of the larger mausoleums, Presley saw “Fiona Blackstone” engraved on the marble.

  “I thought you said….”

  “Sshh.” Doug responded as he continued to the entrance of the enclosure. Taking a key from his pocket, he unlocked the door, and the two of them eased inside. The interior was dark and foreboding and had a dank smell. Presley pulled out a flashlight and pointed it into the blackness.

  In the far corner of the room, they saw two coffins resting on slabs of marble. Doug lit the eight candles he saw on marble pedestals.

  “I knew she’d be here,” Doug said. “I didn’t know why she made me buy this expensive mausoleum, but now it all makes sense.”

  The two men moved to the nearest coffin and lifted the top with little effort.

  “There she is,” Doug said, “the beautiful bride I married twenty-five years ago. She’s the picture of an angel.”

  Presley stood there with his mouth agape, looking at a corpse that appeared to be merely sleeping. “Are you sure she’s dead?”

  “That’s what the coroner said seven years ago. What you are looking at, Agent Presley, is a vampire, who with the help of my son, was responsible for the deaths of over four hundred innocent people on the airplanes that crashed. God knows how many more she slaughtered over hundreds of years. If you don’t believe me, be here after the sun goes down, and you can be her next meal. Help me with the lid on the second coffin.”

  Presley complied, and the two men lifted the lid and found Zack, a young, handsome man, lying in red velvet inside. He was pale, but otherwise showed no sign of decomposition after five years. They both looked the same as they had been the last time Doug had seen them.

  Doug returned to his wife’s coffin and stood there looking at her. “I don’t know if I can go through with it,” he said taking a step back from the coffin.

  “What do you mean?” Presley said looking at Doug in bewilderment.

  “How can I drive a stake through the hearts of the two people who meant more to me than life itself? Could you do this to your wife and child?”

  “We never had a child. We were too busy arguing, and she never wanted to fuck after we got married. There’s no love lost between my wife and me. We’re divorced, and I wouldn’t throw a glass of water on her if she were on fire. Step aside. I’ll do it.”

  Presley shoved Doug aside, pulled out his Glock, and aimed it at Fiona.

  “Stop!” Doug screamed. “Bullets won’t kill vampires, you moron! Use the wooden stake!”

  Presley thought about it and put the gun away. Pulling the stake from his belt, he placed it just below Fiona’s left breast. Doug handed him a mallet and looked away. When Presley hit the stake with all his might, blood splattered from the wound in all directions. Fiona’s heavenly face morphed into the mask of a demon. The evil that emanated from her eyes sent shivers up Presley’s spine.

  Doug turned toward the casket, and they both saw Fiona’s body begin to decay right before their eyes. It was like watching a maniacal time-lapse video; She aged hundreds of years in a matter of moments. Writhing in excruciating agony, her bony, fleshless fingers clawed at the air for purchase until they disappeared into the coffin. Her beautiful ivory gown had become a worn-out shroud in a pile of bones.

  Presley upchucked the burger and fries he’d had for lunch, and turned toward Zack’s coffin. Without remorse or reservation, he plunged the stake into the heart of the beast and hammered it again and again as blood splattered his face in scarlet bursts. As Doug fell to his knees and began to sob hysterically, Presley watched Zack’s facial expression transform into a hideous bloodsucker. Then the cheeks deflated like air from a balloon, and the skin crumbled away, exposing the rictus grin of the skull beneath. After the deed was done, Doug, his face mingled with blood and tears, joined Presley between the two coffins. They stood there, drenched in blood, looking at each other.

  In only a few minutes, both bodies had disintegrated into harmless piles of gray dust.

  “I guess I won’t need to take you to the nut house after all,” Presley said, heaving a giant sigh of relief.

  “I’m sorry to say; your job is just beginning. There are many more out there.”

  “True, but your son seemed to be one of the main players since he was on both planes that crashed. Maybe without him, they won’t try again. At least, it’s a start.”

  Blackstone and Presley left the mausoleum and returned to the parking lot.

  “I’ll keep you posted if anything weird surfaces,” Presley said, moving toward his car. “I know what you did wasn’t easy, but think of the lives we probably saved.”

  “Do you think they’ll believe you when you file the report?”

  “What report? I’d be the laughing stock of the Bureau right before they put a straitjacket on me. If it ever comes up, I’ll deny it. Didn’t you ever see Night Stalker on TV? Nobody believed Kolchak when he said there were vampires or any other kind of monster.

  “I never watched that show, but nobody ever believed Fox Mulder on the X Files, that’s for sure. Well, good luck and keep your crucifix handy.” Doug said raising a cross from b
eneath his shirt.”

  Presley stood there with a puzzled look and watched his partner in killing vampires get into his car and pull away. Doug could see him looking out across the tombstones in the cemetery in his rear view mirror.

  * * *

  A month later, while Doug was brushing his teeth and preparing for bed, the phone rang.

  “Who could be calling at this hour?” he thought. Picking up the phone, he saw “Presley” on the read out. “Is it all right if I call you Wolf? After what we’ve been through, Presley is too formal.”

  Doug heard heavy breathing on the line, but the FBI agent didn’t speak.

  Downstairs he heard a loud thump on the front door, and the line went dead. Had Presley come for a visit?

  He went to the front door and looked out across the front lawn through the sidelight. There was no one in sight. Opening the door, he saw the bloody head of Presley staring up at him from the welcome mat.

  In the midnight sky, the full moon looked like a giant vanilla wafer in a sea of black licorice shining down on him. When he smelled the reek of rancid meat on the wind, he knew he wasn’t alone.

  * * *

  To Know the End

  Harry left his doctor’s office with sweat streaming down his face. Weeks of tests had proven the diagnosis correct beyond any doubt. He had only days, possibly only hours to live. The streets were crowded, but he felt entirely alone. No one in the world could help him now.

  His church was just around the corner, so he took the time to stop there, probably for the last time. Unlike the streets, the sanctuary was entirely deserted. Only God was present within, and he could feel his presence. Every Sunday for years, he had frequented the church and almost always had occupied the same pew, the fifth row from the back. He had married his wife there forty years ago.

  He had loved his wife then, and he still loved her more than ever. The devotion he had felt on their wedding day had never ceased. Remembrances were many as he sat there looking back into the glorious past, but he knew he shouldn’t linger since time was precious; he had none to waste.

  He departed the church. His next stop was the flower shop on Beverly. He had known Mr. Sinclair ever since he had moved there, and each day he bought a small bunch of flowers for Mildred. The gossip of the sales ladies was the same as always. The roses were as beautiful as they always were.

  He left the shop and purchased the morning paper on the corner, the same as he did every day. He stood there a while and glanced at the headlines. Finding nothing of note, he headed for home.

  He usually took a shortcut, which saved him from walking three extra blocks, but today he decided to take the long way home through the park. The birds were singing loudly, and it saddened him to think he would never hear them again.

  Finally, he reached the house. So many beautiful memories lingered there. All the happiness of forty years had taken place within those walls.

  He placed the newspaper on the kitchen table and descended the steps down to the cellar with the bouquet. The room below was particularly dim that morning, and he turned on the lamp. He noticed that his plants were extremely dry, so he filled a bucket with water from the laundry tub and watered them.

  Beside the flower box was an oblong chest of iron, which was decorated with flower petals engraved into the top. He removed the lid on the box and placed the roses inside. A smile caressed his lips as he looked lovingly at Mildred and said, “I brought you some new roses, Mildred. I know you’re going to love them. So much has happened today; I have so much to tell you.”

  He placed the water bucket on the window ledge and climbed into the chest to lie next to his beloved wife of forty wonderful years. He closed the lid, and only a murmur emanated from the coffin. The furnace whirred as a mouse darted across the floor and disappeared into a dark corner. A spider weaved his web across the windowpane.

  Days passed. Harry never reopened the casket. Mildred had passed away five years before, and now Harry had joined her in a bond even stronger than their love had been.

  Ravenous

  After a week of feeling poorly, I made an appointment with a doctor. A week later, I went to the doctor’s office, signed in, and took a seat in the waiting room.

  I was getting weaker each day and I was very worried that so many strange symptoms had cropped up so quickly. I was beginning to look like an albino. My skin was very pale, and my eyes were bloodshot.

  The nurse called “Charles Simmons,” and I followed her into a room to wait for the doctor.

  We made small talk as she weighed me, checked my blood pressure, and took my temperature. She looked at the results quizzically and checked my blood pressure and temperature a second time.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked.

  “Your blood pressure and your temperature are unusually low.”

  “What does it mean?”

  “Don’t be alarmed. The doctor will be in shortly and discuss the findings with you.”

  She scurried out of the room before I could muster another question. I tried to feel my blood pressure by pressing on the artery in my neck, but I couldn’t feel anything. It did feel uncommonly chilly in the room. I saw goose bumps rise on my arm and shivered.

  I heard a knock, and Dr. Frank entered the room and took a seat. After reviewing my chart, he checked my blood pressure and my temperature for the third time, which I found peculiar.

  “How do you feel, Charles?” he asked as he reviewed my chart.

  “I feel ravenous, but I can’t keep anything down. I am very weak.”

  “Have you ever had an iron deficiency?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  Looking at the chart, the doctor asked, “You say you don’t have diabetes?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “You aren’t taking any kind of medication?”

  “No.”

  “You’re not allergic to anything?”

  “I filled out all this information on your questionnaire,” I said wearily.

  “Bear with me,” the doctor replied, picking up his stethoscope. “I’m just verifying a few things pertinent to diagnosing your problem.”

  He had me lie down on the examination table and asked me to remove my shirt.

  He started moving the freezing metal chest piece across my bare skin and began listening. He asked me to take some deep breaths and continued with his questions.

  “Have you visited any foreign countries in the last year?”

  “Yes. My friends and I did a European tour about six months ago.”

  He beckoned me to sit up and said, “You can put your shirt on.” Making a note in the chart, he continued, “When did you begin to feel weak?”

  “I’d say about the middle of March.”

  “This is September…so that would put it not long after your trip.”

  “I guess so. I never had any reason to suspect the trip had anything to do with my problem.”

  “Did you visit any of the Baltic countries?”

  “We did. We toured Finland, Germany, Russia, Sweden, and even stayed in a castle in Transylvania, which was in Romania.”

  “During your travels, did you eat anything that disagreed with you?”

  “Not that I recall.”

  “When you were on vacation, did anything happen to you that was out of the ordinary?”

  “If you count getting bitten by a bat out of the ordinary, I guess it did. We were sitting around a campfire at what was called the ‘Count’s Castle’ having some brews and shooting the shit, when this big winged thing swooped down and took a piece out of my neck.”

  The doctor pulled back my shirt collar and looked at my neck. He surveyed the tiny scar atop the jugular vein and said, “The wound is aggravated and red. I’ll give you a prescription for some salve to put on it.”

  “We talked about the bat for months. It was so eerie to be bitten by a bat in a castle in Transylvania, but it turned out to be nothing. I went to a local hospital, and they tested me f
or rabies to be sure. I got a clean bill of health.”

  The doctor looked at me with concern and said, “Charles, I am going to try to get you admitted today at St. Barnabus. We need to do quite a few tests, and I think time is of the essence.”

  “What do you think it is? Is it life threatening?”

  “I hate to alarm you, but as your doctor, I have to be frank. You don’t have a pulse, and I’ve examined corpses that had a higher temperature than you have. Your vitals are telling me you are already dead, but since you are talking to me, there must be some other explanation.”

  “Dead? There must be something wrong with your equipment. I must have some kind of stomach virus that’s preventing me to keep down solid foods. If I could get some nourishment, I’d be fine.”

  “An ambulance will arrive within the hour to take you to the hospital.”

  “Do you think the bat has something to do with this?”

  “I do,” the doctor said as he stood and withdrew toward the door. “Judging from the way you look, your ravenous hunger, your lack of blood pressure and body heat, if vampires were real, I would say that you are in the early stages of becoming one.”

  “That’s absurd. Vampires only exist in folklore.”

  “I have never had a patient like you before, but I have read about people who believe they have become vampires, and once they have tasted human blood, they can no longer tolerate eating normal food. Since you can no longer eat food and you have become deathly pale, you may soon require an infusion of blood to stay alive or to remain in whatever state you’re in now.”

  I looked at the doctor like he had two heads and recalled how my incisors had been aching the past few weeks. Everything he was saying, no matter how bizarre, seemed to explain my current condition.

  “Over the last few weeks, have you experienced any inclination to attack a human?”

  “Of course not. I could never harm another person. You must be some kind of nutcase.”

  I arose from my chair to leave when a strange sensation swept over me.

  Suddenly the thought of human blood gripped me with an uncontrollable desire to sink my teeth into the doctor’s jugular. The doctor’s bulging eyes told me he was feeling a menacing apprehension in my attitude as he put down my chart on the table and moved toward the door.