Peter And The Vampires (Volume One)

by Darren Pillsbury

“Percival!” Old Man Parker yelled. “Get over here!”

  The dog growled once more, then turned and loped after its owner.

  It felt like ten minutes went by before Peter breathed again.

  “Jeez,” Dill gasped.

  Peter looked around at him. “You didn’t really pee in your pants, did you?”

  Dill looked down. He was wearing black corduroys that wouldn’t have shown any wet spots even if he had lost control of his bladder. “Uhhhh…no. ‘Course not. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “Are you crazy? We’ve got to go in there.” Peter pointed at the stone building and the iron door.

  “Are you crazy? I peed my — I mean, I almost peed my pants already, I don’t need to…almost do it again.”

  “We have to know what Grandfather saw in there.”

  “I think I can go the rest of my life without knowing that.”

  “Then stay here.”

  Peter started towards the crypt.

  “Aw, man,” Dill muttered, and followed after him.

  The building was large, with a floor that sunk deep in the ground. The smell of damp earth filled the air and seemed to press against their faces. Cobwebs hung like clouds from the ceiling.

  It’s now or never.

  Peter walked down the stone steps into the dim light of the tomb and waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness.

  He kind of wished he hadn’t. Long cement blocks rose from the ground one after the other, four feet high, with tarnished brass plaques bolted to the sides. There must have been twenty of the graves, each with a giant stone slab neatly stacked atop it.

  Except one.

  On that one, the stone slab was pushed askew…so that someone could look inside.

  Or so something could get out.

  Peter approached the grave slowly, his heart thudding in his ears.

  Grandfather came in here and left. Either he did something…or he didn’t find anything…which makes it safe…right?

  He reached the cement block. A brass plaque hung on its side, too, still shiny and new in what little light shone in from outside the tomb.

  MERCY CHALMERS

  “Is…is that it?” Dill asked, his voice trembling.

  Peter took a breath, stood on his tiptoes, and peered over the side of the crypt.

  There was nothing inside.

  No body, no coffin…

  …no Mercy Chalmers.

  19

  “So what do we do now?” Peter asked as he and Dill rode their bikes away from the cemetery.

  “Well…your grandpa looked like he meant business.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Like he showed up to do something.”

  Peter remembered the angry expression on Grandfather’s face as he stepped out of the tomb. “Yeah…”

  “So I figure we oughta get some stuff and get busy, too, in case she comes back.”

  “What kind of stuff?”

  Dill pulled a hard left into a parking lot across the street. Peter followed and coasted to a stop beside him.

  “Here,” Dill said, pointing to a gray building.

  Peter looked at the sign out front in the grass. On it was a picture of a lady in blue, kneeling and praying. The name of the place was spelled out in gold letters next to her.

  “‘Our Lady of Perpetual Peace,’” Peter read. “This is a church, Dill.”

  Dill nodded. “A Catholic church.”

  “What are we going to get here?”

  “Whatever we need. This here is like ‘Kill–A–Vampire–R–Us.’”

  “Dill…” Peter warned.

  But Dill was already up the front steps and opening the door.

  “Dill!” Peter hissed, then followed him inside.

  The church was big and open. Wooden pews lined the center aisle all the way up to the front, where there were a couple of tables and a cross on the wall. Red and gold banners hung from the ceiling. Light filtered in from stained glass windows. No one was inside.

  All this was like other churches Peter had been in, except for two things. One, there was a stand near the entrance that looked like a skinny bird bath. As Peter got closer, he saw that the bowl on top did indeed have water inside. And two, a six–foot tall box stood against the left wall of the church. It looked like a fat, wooden telephone booth, but without any glass to see inside.

  “Dill, what are you doing?”

  Dill had plucked a cross off the wall. A tiny figurine of Jesus was attached to the wood. “One cross. Check.” Dill swiped his hand through the air like he was checking off an invisible ‘to do’ list.

  “That’s stealing!”

  “We’re just borrowing it,” Dill whispered back. He reached in one pocket and brought out a plastic circular thing, then screwed it apart and flicked with one hand. Little plastic rings popped out and formed a cup, which he dipped in the water bowl on top of the bird bath.

  Dill grinned. “Collapsible drinking cups are awesome.”

  “Are you going to drink that?”

  “No way — this is that holy water stuff. It’s like acid for vampires.”

  “But this is Mercy we’re talking about! I don’t want to throw acid on her!”

  “Well, I like my neck without any holes in it, so if you can talk her out of doing that, I’ll keep the holy water in the cup.”

  “I’m pretty sure they don’t want you taking that!”

  “We need it. They can make more.”

  “Dill — ”

  There was a squeaking noise from across the church. Both boys froze for a second, then ducked behind a pew.

  A door opened in the wooden telephone booth, and a little old lady tottered out towards the church entrance.

  “Where’d she come from?” Peter asked.

  “That’s a…a concession stand,” Dill said.

  Peter was quite confused. “They have hot dogs in there?”

  “Uh…okay, maybe it’s called something else. You gotta go in there.” “WHAT? Why?”

  “Cuz there’s a priest in there, too, and you gotta talk to him.”

  “Why?”

  “Cuz he’s about to come out, and I gotta get more stuff, so go now, man!”

  Dill pushed Peter towards the wooden booth, but was careful not to spill the holy water in his collapsible cup.

  “What do I do?”

  “Say, ‘Forgive me, father, four sins I have’…or something like that, I can’t remember, they say it in the movies all the time. Just make it up. It’ll be easy, they’re always nice on television. Go, before the priest comes out! GO!”

  20

  Peter ran towards the open door, got inside, and sat on the wooden seat built into the booth. He looked out frantically at Dill, who waved at him and pantomimed closing a closet or something. Peter reluctantly reached out and shut the door.

  It was totally like being inside a wooden phone booth. Really dark.

  Peter jumped as a voice came from somewhere on the other side of the wooden wall.

  “Yes, my child?”

  “Uh…uh…”

  Peter’s heart was beating just as fast as when he looked in Mercy’s tomb. “I…have…forty sins, or something like that…forgive me?”

  “How long has it been since your last confession, my son,” the voice said. It sounded friendly and kind. An older man. Peter relaxed a little bit.

  “Uh…I don’t know, to tell the truth. Forever, I think.”

  “Have you ever confessed before, my child?”

  “Uh…not to you guys,” Peter said. “My mom has made me confess stuff before, but this is kind of new.”

  “You sound very young. How old are you?”

  “Nine and a half.” Peter relaxed a little. Dill was right. This was easy.

  “Aren’t you supposed to be in school?”

  Okay, not so easy.

  “Yeah…I was hoping you could forgive me for that.”

  “I would guess that something as simple as that would not have
brought you in here today, my child. Is there anything weighing on your mind?”

  How about vampires?

  “Kind of.”

  “Would you like to talk about it.”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Peter considered. The voice seemed so nice and gentle…maybe this guy really could help him.

  “Well…there’s this girl who likes me. She’s kind of weird.”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t like her so much.”

  “Why not?”

  “She’s a girl. Plus, she’s weird.” Peter wanted to say, Pay attention, dude.

  “Mm. Go on.”

  “She bugged me a lot. At school.”

  “Mm–hm.”

  “And then she got sick and died.”

  “I’m very sorry to hear that. That must be troubling you greatly.”

  “Yeah, I was really sad at first…but now she’s still bugging me.”

  “You mean, you think about her a lot?”

  “Well, yeah, but, I mean, she’s still bugging me.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “She came by last night and was bugging me.”

  “In your dreams?”

  “No, outside my window.”

  There was a long pause.

  “Young man, is this a joke?”

  Uh–oh.

  “No, no — we thought she might be a ghost at first, but now I’m pretty sure she’s a vampire.”

  “Young man, this is a very serious place, and it is not the time for silly pranks.”

  Okay, maybe this guy couldn’t really help him.

  But Peter decided to try one last time.

  “Soooooo…any advice?”

  “Yes, you should stop this foolishness and tell me what sins you have committed, including this lie you’re engaged in right now.”

  Okay, this is absolutely no help whatsoever.

  There was a clatter outside. Peter winced.

  “What was that?” the voice asked, alarmed.

  “Uh…I don’t know. Can we get back to how bad I am and how I’m a liar and all that?”

  “Hold on,” the voice commanded.

  “Uh, wait, no, come back!” Peter said as he stumbled out of the phone booth.

  The priest was already outside. He looked close to Grandfather’s age, but with a full head of hair and a clean–shaven face. He was dressed in a long black robe with a white collar at the top. As Dill would’ve said, just like in the movies.

  On a regular day the priest might not have been such a bad guy. Except this wasn’t a regular day, what with Dill in the middle of the church aisle, arms crammed with a dozen crosses ranging from tiny to huge, and the collapsible water cup still clutched in one hand.

  “Oh crap,” Dill muttered, then ran for it.

  “STOP!” the priest called out.

  Maybe God is on this guy’s side, Peter thought, because as soon as the old guy yelled, Dill tripped and went down in a pile of crosses. The collapsible cup hit the floor and, well, collapsed. Holy water went flying everywhere.

  “Ow!” Dill yelled, first when he hit the floor, then again when the priest yanked him up by one ear. He was pretty fast for an old guy.

  “OW–OW–OW–OW–OW!” Dill howled as the priest hauled him up.

  “YOU!” the priest yelled at Peter. “OVER HERE, NOW!”

  Peter sighed.

  This wasn’t going to be pretty.

  21

  “You understand this is extremely disruptive behavior,” the priest said.

  “I do,” Grandfather agreed. “And they’ll both get the thrashings of their young lives, Father Stevens.”

  The priest sat behind a desk in a room at the back of the church. There wasn’t much on the walls, just a few framed Bible verses and a couple of paintings of old guys in funny hats.

  Peter and Dill both huddled in two high–backed chairs facing the priest. Grandfather stood between them, his arms folded. He glared down continuously, first at Peter, then at Dill.

  “I just can’t understand why someone would do this,” Father Stevens said. “One of them lies while the other one steals — this is extremely alarming behavior, especially at this age, Mr. Flannagan.”

  “I didn’t lie!” Peter protested.

  “I was just borrowing that stuff!” Dill said indignantly. “I woulda brought it back. Except for the holy water, but I’da brought that back, too, if I didn’t use all of it.”

  “What in the world would you be borrowing ten crucifixes for?” Father Stevens asked angrily. “And holy water?”

  “Vampires, man,” Dill said.

  “You see?” The priest looked at Grandfather but pointed at Peter. “That was the same nonsense this one was saying! What exactly are you letting them watch on TV?”

  “Far too much, it would appear,” Grandfather said.

  “We don’t even have a TV!” Peter complained. “Everything I told you was the truth — why won’t you believe me?”

  “Vampires? Little girls who ‘bug you’ from beyond the grave?” Father Stevens scoffed.

  “Dude, you believe in guys who come back to life,” Dill pointed out.

  The priest got red–faced. “Our Lord Jesus Christ was not a vampire!”

  “I’m not sayin’ he was,” Dill shrugged. “But he was dead, and he came back, right? I’m just sayin’.”

  “That is blasphemy!” the priest sputtered.

  “What’s that?” Dill asked.

  “It’s saying bad words with God’s name,” Peter explained.

  “Well, jeez, my dad does that all the time when he stubs his toe or runs out of beer. Why don’t you get him in here, not me.”

  “MR. FLANNAGAN!” the priest roared.

  Grandfather’s hand clamped down on Peter’s shoulder. He didn’t dare look up.

  “I assure you, Father,” Grandfather said in a very solemn voice, “the problem will be taken care of. Of that you can be certain.”

  Peter shuddered. After hearing that, he wished the priest would keep him locked up in the phone booth.

  22

  Dill and Peter followed Grandfather silently out to the truck. After he placed their bikes in the back, the old man held the passenger door open for them, closed it, went around, and got in himself.

  The boys waited. Grandfather cranked the engine. Putter putter, clank clank. The truck backed up, then grinded forward into drive. Grandfather never looked at them once.

  Dill was about to burst. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “What…uh…what’re you…”

  “Spit it out, boy.”

  “Are you going to kill us?”

  “No.”

  The truck turned right out of the parking lot instead of left. Left would have been towards home.

  “Where are we going?” Peter asked.

  “I am taking you two criminals to school.”

  Dill pointed back at the church. “That guy can’t prove anything.”

  “He’s a priest, Dill,” Grandfather said without any humor whatsoever. “Juries tend to believe them more than juvenile delinquents.”

  “Grandfather…you know we were taking all that stuff for a reason, right?”

  Grandfather was silent for a moment. Peter thought that meant the end was nigh. Instead, when the old man spoke, it was a quiet, simple question:

  “You were there in the cemetery, weren’t you.”

  “Huh? What cemetery? I don’t know what you’re talking OOF.” Dill grunted as Peter elbowed him.

  “Yeah,” Peter admitted.

  “Dude,” Dill hissed in Peter’s ear, “he can’t prove anything, either.”

  “I saw you, Dill,” Grandfather growled. “Behind the statue, out of the corner of my eye.”

  “Wasn’t me.”

  “Did you go in?” Grandfather asked.

  Dill and Peter answered at the same time.

  “No.”


  “Yes.”

  “Well, which is it?”

  “We didn’t see anything,” Dill vowed.

  “Because there was nothing to see,” Peter added. “No coffin, no…body. Nothing.”

  “Do you remember what I told you last night, boy?”

  “…that there aren’t any such things as vampires?”

  “That’s right. Officially, in broad daylight and in serious people’s minds, vampires do not exist. They are stories used to frighten children into saying their prayers and eating their greens. Do you remember what I told you that night you were sick, and we talked about Mercy’s family? Her great–great–great–great–great–uncle and the coffins he sold?”

  “Um…you said that cholera didn’t kill those people.”

  “Yeah, the pooping did,” Dill said.

  Grandfather looked at Dill with an expression somewhere between angry and confused.

  “Cholera. Death by pooping,” Dill explained helpfully.

  Grandfather looked back at the road and shook his head.

  “Well, what killed them, then?” Peter inquired, trying to divert attention away from Dill.

  “No one’s entirely sure how — ”

  Dill opened his mouth to answer.

  Grandfather looked sharply over at him.

  Dill shut his mouth.

  “How the first death occurred,” Grandfather continued. “It was Gilbraith Chalmers, the youngest son of John Buchanen Chalmers, a mere 15 years old when he died. But however it happened, Gilbraith did not stay dead.”

  “He was a vampire?”

  “There are stories from a Winnapotaka Indian tribe that a European traveler passed through this region in the 1800’s and killed two young men from the village. The warriors of the village pursued the European, who fled into the night. The village mourned and did all proper burial rights for the two braves, according to Winnapotakan customs. But they were astounded when the two young men appeared in the village the very next night, alive and well. However, they were…changed.”

  The skin on Peter’s neck crawled. He remembered Mercy at the window. He remembered her eyes, black like a great white’s. And with teeth like a cobra’s…

  “There was a great battle in which the two braves killed almost half of the men of the tribe. The Winnapotakans claimed the young men could fly, but they were finally caught in clever traps devised by the village elders. To the great surprise of everyone in the tribe, the two young men burst into flames when the morning sun came and shone upon their bodies. To be safe, the Indians burned the bodies of all the others the two had slain…and nothing happened. No one else appeared after death ever again. The Winnapotakans lived only five miles away from the township we know today as Duskerville. And that story they told happened exactly one week before Gilbraith Chalmers was officially laid to rest: January 12th, 1822.”