Peter And The Vampires (Volume One)

by Darren Pillsbury

  “Peeeteeeeeer…I thought you might come.”

  Peter held up the cross with one hand and the flashlight with the other. “Let him go, Mercy. Let him go and we’ll leave you alone and never come back, okay?”

  Mercy slowly circled around the table. Peter went the other way, trying to keep as much space between them as possible.

  “I think we both know that’s not true,” she smirked. “I heard your grandfather up there hitting the cellar door with something…an ax, maybe? That’s not a very polite way to knock.”

  Peter darted his eyes between Mercy and the darkness around her, trying to find some glint of moonlight to let him know where the door was. If he could just open it, and Grandfather could come down here and save him…

  “It’s not so bad, Peeeteeeer,” Mercy whispered. “It’s just like falling asleep… waking up in the box was scary at first, but my daddy was there…just like I was there for Agnes. I didn’t even bury her, I just brought her down here.”

  Peter glanced at the old pine box and the dried red streaks within.

  Mercy followed his gaze. “Silly, I wouldn’t put her in there. That’s what saved me, though. Daddy said our family had kept it all these years, he didn’t know why…why would you keep an old coffin down in your basement? But when I got sick like you did, they wouldn’t take me to the doctor. I begged and pleaded with them, Peeeteeeer, but it’s not our way…our preacher says only God can heal, and you have to put your faith in Him, not doctors. But Daddy said when it was near the end, and he could feel me slipping away, he came down here…he said he could hear the voices whispering to him, they told him what to do…he scraped off some of that red and put it in a spoonful of water, then Mommy made me drink it…said it was medicine, better medicine than any hospital could give me. And then I fell asleep, for a long time. When I woke up, I felt so much better…except I was thirsty, Peeeteeeer. I was thirsty.”

  Mercy’s voice changed…became sadder.

  “And I was lonely. Mommy said I couldn’t see any of my friends ever again. She said I wasn’t like them anymore, that they wouldn’t understand. But they were afraid of me, Peeeteeeer…my own mommy and daddy, they were afraid of me. I could see it in their eyes…I could smell it on them. And I was soooo thirsty. Daddy and Mommy gave me some of their own, squeezed into a glass, but it wasn’t much…not enough. I knew I had to drink more…and if I had to do it, why not make my friends understand me at the same time? Why not make them just like me? Then we could all be together, and have a wonderful time…forever.”

  Mercy stopped circling the table and looked into Peter’s eyes. Her little white coffin lay between them.

  “I just wanted you to like me, Peeeteeeer. I just wanted to be with you. Put down the cross. It won’t hurt, I promise.”

  His voice shook. “Let Dill go, Mercy.”

  “After you put down the cross, Peeeteeeer. Put it down.”

  “Let him go first, Mercy.”

  Mercy’s face contorted with rage. “I SAID, PUT IT DOWN!”

  She slammed her hands against the white coffin and sent it zooming across the table. Peter had no time to react; the casket smacked him in the chest and sent him falling backwards to the ground.

  The flashlight went spinning off across the floor. His backpack, half unzipped already, spilled its contents everywhere. The wooden stake went rolling away, the hammer dinged and clattered on the cement. The garlic, the knife, and everything else — paper, pens, pencils — went flying across the room.

  KICK. Mercy’s foot sent the wooden stake clattering off into the shadows.

  CLANG. The hammer flew through the air and disappeared under an old, cobwebbed bed in the corner.

  But the cross was still in his hand.

  Peter looked over just in time to see Mercy pick up the knife, examine it, and throw it over her shoulder into the darkness. He tried to flip over and scramble away, but she pinned him to the floor with one foot.

  “Peeeteeeer,” she chided him, “you weren’t planning on being very nice to me.”

  Peter looked over his shoulder. “You’re…you’re not planning on being very nice to me, Mercy.”

  “That’s not true.” Mercy removed her foot and kneeled down beside him. “It’ll be just like Sleeping Beauty or Snow White…except I’ll put you to sleep with a little kiss, and then I’ll wake you with another. That’s all, Peeeteeeer. I’ll be Cinderella, and you can be Prince Charming, and we’ll dance in the sky together. We’ll dance in the sky with the stars.”

  She leaned over him. He could hear her breath.

  That’s when he swung out with the cross and clocked her in the head.

  Thump. She slumped to the ground.

  Peter looked about wildly. It was all gone — the stake was gone, the hammer, the knife — there was nothing to kill her with. Relief washed over him. Now that he couldn’t do it, all that was left was to save his friend.

  He ran over to Dill and set the cross down on the ground. Dill ‘mmphed’ and ‘mrrmed’ as Peter tried to unknot the rag around his wrists.

  “I know you wanna talk, but we gotta get you out of here, Dill, so hold your horses.”

  As soon as the bindings slipped off his hands, Dill immediately reached up and clawed the gag out of his mouth.

  “PETER, BEHIND YOU!”

  Peter looked over his shoulder.

  Mercy was rising up over the other side of the table. Murder was in her eyes.

  Peter whirled around to reach for the cross —

  Mercy was faster. She reached out and flipped the heavy table over effortlessly. The white coffin spun through the air and crashed upside–down on the cross, pinning it out of Peter’s reach.

  “PETER, RUN!” Dill screamed, but before the words were out of his mouth, Mercy was across the room and clutching Peter’s neck in her hands.

  “I JUST WANTED YOU TO BE NICE TO ME!” she screamed, and threw him into a carton of old books. Peter bounced off and thudded to the floor.

  “WAS THAT SO MUCH TO ASK?” she bellowed as she hauled him into the air again. “WAS IT SO HARD TO BE NICE TO ME?”

  She tossed him like a rag doll. He crashed onto the white coffin and rolled off onto the ground. He looked around blearily, trying to focus his eyes on anything he could use to defend himself. A pen, an eraser, a notebook —

  A pencil. A yellow number 2 pencil.

  Made of wood.

  And still sharp.

  He put his palm over it and slipped into his long shirt sleeve.

  “I just wanted you to like me,” Mercy cried behind him. “What was it, was I not pretty enough? Was I not smart enough? Was I not cool enough?”

  Small hands grabbed Peter by his shirt and pulled him to his feet.

  He was face to face with her, peering into her black eyes.

  Except…they weren’t scary anymore. They were just sad.

  “Why couldn’t you like me, Peeeteeeer?” she whispered.

  “Mercy…” he breathed.

  “Yes?” she asked, hopefully.

  Tears stung his eyes.

  “I’m so sorry…”

  His arm stabbed outward.

  Her body jerked a little, and a look of surprise came over Mercy’s face. She tilted her head down slowly to her chest, where half of a number 2 pencil jutted out of her blouse.

  She started to fall.

  Peter caught her in his arms, and lowered her gently to the floor.

  She looked up at him and smiled wistfully. The black in her eyes was fading, like a video of an ink stain played in reverse. First there was a little white near the corner of her eyes, and then more, and then a tiny ring of blue as the black shrunk still more.

  He brushed the hair back from her forehead. “I’m sorry, Mercy…I’m so sorry.” And to his surprise, Peter realized he was crying.

  The black was almost all gone…her eyes were back to normal now.

  She smiled at him again. “Peeeeteeeer…”

  And then she was gon
e.

  39

  Peter stared down at her. His whole body shook.

  Dill was behind him, tugging at his shoulder. “Peter, man, come on…we gotta get out of here…”

  Peter looked at the pencil he had plunged into her heart.

  She just wanted to be Sleeping Beauty…she just wanted to be Snow White…

  He remembered his grandfather’s words in the truck.

  I’ll finish the job. But whatever you do, don’t take out the stake.

  The books say there’s only one thing to do…

  This isn’t a fairy tale…at least not one with a happy ending.

  The books aren’t wrong. Not about this.

  Peter looked at Mercy’s face, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling.

  He took hold of the pencil.

  “Peter…what are you doing?” Dill whispered in horror.

  With one strong yank, he pulled the pencil out.

  Immediately the hole in her skin began receding, healing.

  “PETER, NO!” Dill yelled.

  The black…the black began flowing back into her eyes.

  Peter held his breath…then leaned over and pressed his lips to hers.

  “OH, GROOOOOOOSSSSSSSSS!” Dill screamed.

  Beneath him, Mercy gasped. Just a little.

  Peter drew back, and looked down into her eyes.

  They blinked. Blue and normal. The black was gone.

  “Peter?” she whispered.

  “It’s okay,” he told her, and struggled to help Mercy to her feet. “It’s okay. The books aren’t always right.”

  “…what?”

  Thudding footsteps cut short his answer. Peter spun around to see Grandfather standing at the base of the stairs, sweaty and bloodied, eyes flashing wildly around the room.

  In one hand he held a hammer. In the other, a wooden stake.

  “No, Grandfather, it’s okay!”

  The old man raced across the room. “Out of my way, boy!” he bellowed as he raised the wooden stake.

  Mercy screamed.

  “Grandfather, NO!” Peter yelled, and covered Mercy with his body. “It’s okay! She’s alright! I kissed her!”

  “What?” Grandfather gasped, eyes wide with alarm.

  “I staked her with a pencil, but I kissed her — she’s okay now!”

  “It’s true, it’s true,” Dill groaned from the corner, his hands hiding his eyes. “I saw it all, the whole horrible thing…ohhhhhhh…”

  “The staking?” Grandfather demanded.

  “The kissing,” Dill moaned.

  Grandfather grabbed Mercy’s face roughly and turned it this way and that. He looked at her eyes, then forced open her mouth and peered at the even row of small white teeth.

  “Dear God in heaven,” Grandfather whispered.

  “That’s Gilbraith Chalmers’ coffin, Grandfather!” Peter said, and pointed at the pine box. “They gave her Gilbraith’s dried blood when she was about to die — that’s what made her a vampire!”

  Grandfather approached the coffin and peered inside. From his rear pocket, he produced a cross and touched it to the dried brown stains inside.

  The coffin immediately burst into flames.

  “Outside!” Grandfather yelled. “Outside!”

  “I’m goin’, I’m goin’!” Dill howled as he hopped towards the staircase, rags still binding his ankles.

  Fire from the coffin spread to the piles of trash around it.

  Mercy and Peter ran up the stairs. Grandfather grabbed Dill under his arms and sprinted up the steps behind them.

  By the time they reached the lawn outside, the entire first story of the house was ablaze.

  Mr. Chalmers lay sprawled on the grass. His wife knelt beside him, blotting a cut on his mouth with the edge of her dress. They watched in shock as the windows shimmered with crackling yellow light, but neither of them paid any more attention to the fire when they saw the little girl running out the front door.

  “MERCY!” Mrs. Chalmers screamed, and ran to her daughter.

  “Mommy!” Mercy cried as her mother swept her into her arms.

  Mr. Chalmers tottered to his feet, bawling like a baby, and grabbed Mercy to his chest. He sank to his knees and cradled her in his arms. His wife hugged them both for dear life.

  Dill, Peter, and Grandfather stood by the old man’s truck and watched the family embrace in the light of the growing flames.

  “See?” Peter said. “Sometimes the books are wrong.”

  Grandfather grunted.

  Dill leaned against the truck. “With everything I’ve seen tonight, I’m gonna have to get some therapy…”

  “The pencil in the heart?” Peter asked.

  “The kiss on the lips,” Dill scowled.

  From behind them in the truck came a scream. “AAAAAAAAHHHH!”

  Dill jumped two feet in the air and came down with his hands bunched in his hair.

  “What was that?!” he cried out.

  There was a banging from inside the metal box in the truck bed. A little girl’s muffled voice called out, “Can somebody please get me outta here?”

  “Who’s that?” Dill gasped.

  “Agnes — and it sounds like she’s okay now!”

  Grandfather cautiously unchained the metal box.

  “I think I peed my pants. AGAIN,” Dill moaned.

  “You mean, since the other day in the cemetery?” Peter asked.

  Dill paused.

  “…uh, yes. Yes. That was the only other time, yes.”

  Dill paused again.

  “And then only a little.”

  40

  The fire trucks came far too late to save the house, but they watered it down until there was no danger of it spreading to the surrounding forest.

  Agnes and Mercy — both fully recovered — cried in a far corner of the yard, then laughed and talked, at least until Agnes’s parents showed up, and then the crying started all over again. A couple of sheriff’s deputies came and tried to sort out how one little girl who had gone missing, and another who had been dead and buried a week, now seemed to be fine and dandy. The deputies spent a lot of time talking to Grandfather, the Chalmers, and Mercy and Agnes. Peter and Dill kept out of the way as much as they could.

  While the deputies were still questioning the adults, Mercy broke away and stole over to the truck.

  “Hey, Peter. Hey, Dill,” she said shyly.

  “Hey, Mercy,” Peter smiled back.

  Dill just scowled and hid behind the truck.

  “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

  “I understand. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to be going back to school,” Mercy said.

  Dill popped out from behind the truck. “Really?”

  “My mom and dad said there’s nothing here for us now…and it might be hard with people talking about it, so…I think this might be the last time we see each other.”

  “That’s awesome,” Dill beamed.

  Peter kicked him.

  “OwwwwWWW,” Dill grunted.

  “I just wanted to say thank you. I’m glad we…” Mercy stopped and blushed. “I’m glad it turned out the way it did.”

  “Me, too,” Peter said.

  “I’ll never forget you, Peter.”

  She leaned over and kissed him lightly on the cheek. Then she smiled and ran back to her parents.

  “Oh God,” Dill choked out, and made puking sounds. “This just gets worse and worse.”

  “Be quiet, Dill.” Peter laughed, then stopped. Grandfather was walking over.

  “Get in the truck,” the old man muttered. Dill and Peter hopped in immediately.

  41

  Grandfather drove down the tree–covered driveway and out into the main road. The very first light of morning was just starting to color the sky.

  “Well?” Peter asked.

  “Those people should be hanged,” Grandfather snarled.

  “Mercy and Agnes?!”
<
br />   “No, the Chalmers, her parents. Doing what they did…playing with dark forces like that, with no regard for the consequences…a family of bad apples.”

  “They just wanted to save their daughter,” Peter pointed out. “Wouldn’t you have done that for Mom? Or for Beth?”

  Grandfather looked down at him and narrowed his eyes.

  “Or me?” Peter asked.

  “Them, maybe. But not a troublemaker like you,” Grandfather grunted, and turned back to the road.

  Peter smiled. Things were definitely back to normal now.

  “What if Agnes talks?” Dill asked worriedly.

  “She won’t,” Grandfather answered.

  “How do you know?”

  Grandfather glowered. “I made sure of it.”

  “What about Mercy?” Peter prodded. “She said this was going to be the last time I see her.”

  “Which is a good thing, as far as I’m concerned,” Dill added.

  “I convinced her father that getting out of town might be just what the family needs,” Grandfather said.

  “You did that?”

  “Thanks, man,” Dill said gratefully. “I owe you one.”

  “The official story will be that Mercy had a rare heart condition, one that caused her to lapse into a coma. The family, in their grief, dug up her coffin and miraculously found her alive. In their shock, Mr. Chalmers knocked over a lantern and set the house ablaze.”

  “And Agnes?”

  “In a fit of mourning, Agnes ran away from home and was sleeping in Mercy’s old bedroom, unbeknownst to the Chalmers. Luckily she made it out of the house, too, after the fire started. And that’s the official story, to be entered into the town history books,” Grandfather stated bitterly.

  “Poop,” Dill said.

  Grandfather turned sharply towards Dill. “What?!”

  “It’s like the cholera story,” Dill explained. “The official story. Death by poop.”

  “Hm.” Grandfather turned back to the road. “A whole avalanche of it, boy. History repeats itself once again.”

  “What about Katie?” Peter asked.

  “Who?”

  “The girl who called you. She saw Mercy — in fact, she saw Mercy fly off with Dill.”

  “Hrm.” Grandfather paused. “Did anyone else?”

  “No.”

  “Well, you’ll just have to deny it, then.”

  “You want us to lie? Everybody’ll think she’s crazy!”

  “I can live with that,” Dill nodded.

  “Just stick to the official story,” Grandfather said. “The unofficial story always has a way of getting out, anyhow.”