Vampire's Tomb

by Shawn Underhill

  “Same age as my son. Wanna meet him?”

  “Not really. Ever since I was little I’ve measured men against my grandfather. You don’t know him, but, pretty much everyone else is a weenie compared to him.” She shrugged. “Sort of puts me in a bit of a pickle.”

  “I hear you,” the guy said.

  Then another man stopped in a truck. Then a third man stopped.

  “I notice you all leering at me,” Evie said. “Are you guys about to compete in the hope of impressing me?”

  “Of course,” the first guy said, and at once the three men started arguing among themselves. Each claimed to know the most about cars and to be the best man to help the stranded young lady. Each claimed to have the best truck, with the most pulling power and best fuel economy. None of them were willing to back down, so inevitably a fistfight broke out. Then weapons were produced, and what began as intended acts of kindness, sadly, ended like a road rage incident. All three men lay dead.

  No, Evie thought. Even though the fantasy of having multiple men fighting over me has failed to work out as I’d hoped, I won’t let it get me down. I won’t let anything ruin this fairytale scene. This is my dream.

  ***

  Like a fairytale, or a musical, Evie began dancing and twirling her way into the enchanted woods. Though she wasn’t a great singer, she knew she needed some sort of musical backdrop to complete the scene. The trouble was, she didn’t know how those fairytale girls came up with lyrics and melodies on the fly. Finally she settled on imagining herself moving to some beautiful soundtrack that was being performed by a huge orchestra. They would of course be performing the score before a huge screen showing her as she danced.

  Perfect.

  Unfortunately, the resulting scene fell short of her grand expectations. She wasn’t far into the woods before her gown got caught on a branch. An average girl might have tripped, but not Evie. She twirled gracefully away from the branch, and looking back to see her gown clear the obstacle, she lost her balance when her foot struck a smaller branch obscured by dead leaves. Only her excellent reflexes saved her from a face plant into an icy mud puddle.

  But, unfortunately, she did roll one of her ankles in the excessively high heels. Grumbling under her breath, she reached down and removed the beautiful but dangerous shoes. She tested her ankle. It was okay, being that she was significantly stronger than an average girl. So she mustered the enthusiasm to rebuild her inner house of cards and then resumed dancing in her bare feet.

  Within a few minutes, though, the routine started to get old. Dancing alone started to feel more like mental illness than enraptured delight. What she really needed was a partner to spice things up and impress the already jealous audience. She made the request known aloud, and instantly she was given a partner completely suitable to her current surroundings.

  A big black bear stood up and began dancing about on his short hind legs, all clumsy and awkward. Evie tried to take his paws and lead him through the steps, but soon found that he was hopelessly out of his element, and in her opinion, really wasn’t pouring his full heart into the effort. His massive belly certainly wasn’t helping matters any. She could hardly reach him with her arms fully outstretched without getting belly bumped. In the end she gave up on him and let him drop down to four legs, where he felt much more agile.

  But maybe he’s my soulmate in disguise, she thought. Yeah, this is my dream, right? And I am a fictional female. So maybe this is fate. Or if it’s not fate, I can make it become fate. Maybe if I kiss him he’ll transform into my incredibly buff future mate.

  It wasn’t the worst idea in the history of the world, but in all the confusion of that morning, Evie had overlooked one important detail. She had forgotten to brush her teeth before leaving the house, and as it so happened, this particular bear was in fact an individual, not a mindless animal. And the truth was that he wasn’t a big fan of coffee or coffee breath. Plainly speaking, he downright disliked anything that didn’t smell like berries or honey or ants living in rotted tree stumps. He ran from her attempted kiss (which she never asked permission for) and quickly disappeared into the woods, leaving our fabulous heroine dressed to kill but completely alone.

  Sad.

  Dejected.

  Vulnerable.

  Then the dream took its darkest turn yet.

  Evie spun quickly at the sound of low and unpleasant laughter. It was like a madman laughing to himself, mixed with a scuffing sound. What she saw made her skin crawl.

  About thirty yards from her there was a rectangular hole in the ground. Beside it was a pile of fresh earth and loose stones. The pile was being added to even as she watched. It was a grave. The head of a man was poking up out of the grave.

  Then he saw her.

  No, she thought with a gasp, clutching her chest. I don’t want this story to take a turn that leaves me needing to be rescued from this psycho. Not in my dream.

  ***

  The gravedigger was no average man. Of course, any man digging a grave in the woods would’ve been bad enough. A woman digging a grave in the woods wouldn’t have been much better. But this particular man was of the very worst sort to be found in the US.

  A clown.

  No, not a harmless clown that you can just ignore, like a mime. And not like the prankster clown, Binky, from the old Garfield cartoons. I mean a very disturbing clown, bordering on demonic. Beyond ugly, with nasty yellow teeth filed to points. Dressed in tattered clothing, bright colors subdued with dirt and possibly blood stains, he had blotchy makeup smudged all over his hideous face, further distorting his already unpleasant features. All the standards for a scary clown. Evie guessed he was one of those creepers that kept turning up on the news, scaring folks and trying to lure kids into the woods.

  “I hate the news,” our heroine muttered, knowing that if she’d been able to completely avoid it, a scene like this never could’ve crept into her subconscious.

  “News?” the clown said in a taunting voice.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” she said louder.

  With an exaggerated expression of shock the clown climbed from the grave and said, “Is that any way to treat a guest? I’ve been digging like a dog here. The Granite State is no exaggeration.”

  “Yeah, tough cookies. You’re a trespasser, not a guest. And I happen to be having a very bad morning. Translation, I’m in a bad mood. That means you’ve got till the count of five to get away from me and off my family’s land.”

  “Are you Wonder Woman or something?”

  “Five,” she said, and as she spoke, just knowing that she was possibly seconds from becoming the wolf had a strong impact on her. It made her feel less like a fairytale character and more like her usual self. The real her, not this other game she’d been playing. Showing off for vanity’s sake.

  For a contemplative moment she felt silly for her behavior. Embarrassment turned to mild pain. Her heart ached at the realization of her self-centered conduct. It was in polar opposition to a healthy wolf’s personality and complex pack structure. It didn’t fit with her life any more than her gown and shoes fit with the local terrain. But, thankfully, along with that hurt came the clear understanding that she’d finally reached the moral of the tale. With any luck that meant that the dream sequence was nearing its end.

  She shivered. Her shoulders were bare in what was certainly sweatshirt weather. But now, seeing things more clearly, she couldn’t stand the idea of openly complaining about it as she’d planned.

  “You still with me?” asked the clown.

  “Five,” she said again with an icy glare.

  “Would you like a balloon?” he asked, sneering through his nasty teeth as he produced a crimson balloon from behind his back.

  “Four.”

  “My, aren’t we a bossy little princess,” he said, stepping closer. “Don’t you like fun and games? Most princesses long for a little excitement. Isn’t this exciting enough for you?”

  “Three.”

  “Y
ou’re not as much fun as those kids from Maine,” he said, his voice deepening almost to a growl as he took another step.

  Suddenly a different voice, seemingly laboring to sound tough, said, “Don’t you dare touch her.”

  Evie and the clown looked at each other for a surprised moment. Then they looked over at the newcomer on the scene.

  ***

  The new guy was just some guy. Nobody they recognized. He looked to be in his early twenties. Tall and thin and dressed apparently in leather pants and a tight shirt, at a glance he seemed like the sort of guy that cared immensely about his appearance. His hair was styled in a manner to suggest carelessness, but in fact had taken a good deal of effort to achieve.

  “Who are you?” Evie asked.

  “Doesn’t matter,” he returned.

  “Don’t get all huffy, I was just asking.”

  “I know. But it really doesn’t matter. What matters is that I’m here now. I’m here to take you away from all this.”

  “Say again?”

  “You heard me.”

  “You want to take me away? From my home?”

  “You are my home.”

  “What? Have we even met?”

  “No,” he admitted, looking to the ground. “Although it feels like we’ve known each other forever. You see, for a while now I’ve been admiring you from afar, waiting for the perfect moment. That moment has arrived. This is a perfect moment. Don’t you feel it?”

  “And people say I’m weird,” muttered the clown.

  “You shut up,” snapped the young suitor. “If you hurt her, you’ll destroy my only reason for living. I won’t let that happen.”

  The clown made a taunting expression of shock and then started laughing, pointing his gloved finger mockingly at the young man.

  “Try me,” the guy said.

  “And you’ll do what?” returned the clown.

  “To begin with, I’ll be very upset,” he said. “Then, I guess I’ll … Uh …”

  At that point Evie broke in, saying, “That’s nice of you to stick up for me, but I can handle this. Really. I got it covered.”

  “Maybe. But you shouldn’t have to,” the guy returned. “That’s why I’m here.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I guess I’m just not getting it. Who are you exactly?”

  “My name doesn’t matter.”

  “No, seriously. I’m asking you to tell me your name.”

  “And I’m telling you, it doesn’t matter. I’m anyone and anything you want me to be, Evie. Don’t you see? You’re a female lead, and I’ve been sent to be the popular solution to any and all of your potential problems. Yes, that’s right. I’m a book boyfriend. But not just any book boyfriend. I am yours and yours alone. Other women hold no appeal to me, though many of them will find me dreamy. That means I’m clay in your soft, beautiful hands, Evie. You can mold me into whatever you desire at the moment, whatever fits your current needs and mood.”

  (“Bwahahha,” laughed the clown.)

  Oh no, she was thinking as she took a step back and said, “You said you’ve been watching me?”

  “I know it sounds weird,” book boyfriend said. “But you’ll have to trust me.”

  “Let me get this straight. You appear out of nowhere, say all that weird crap to me, and now you’re advising a lone teenager to trust someone she met in the woods?”

  “This is similar to how many romantic scenarios unfold,” he explained. “A stranger appears. He himself doesn’t matter, except that he’s reasonably attractive. His only purpose is to be obsessively devoted to the leading lady. That’s you, Evie. So here I am. For you. I am you. You’re everything to me. Forever and ever. We must never be apart.”

  “This is by far the worst dream of my life,” she muttered.

  “But I’m in love with you,” he said, producing a single red rose from behind his back. “Don’t you believe in love at first sight? Don’t you want to run away with me? Maybe do a reality show or something?”

  (The clown was bent over by now, holding his belly, laughing in gasping fits and struggling to breathe.)

  “No,” she answered. “I actually like where I live.”

  “Don’t you want to be with me?”

  “Not at all. Honestly, you’ve started so badly, I don’t think there’s a snowball’s chance in hell of that ever happening, even if we were the last people on Earth. Unless you brainwash me, of course. Or hit me with a tranquillizer dart and lock me in a cage.”

  He clenched his jaw and shook his head slowly.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Honesty prevents a lot of unnecessary melodrama. Just shooting you straight, buddy.”

  “Buddy,” he repeated under his breath, still shaking his head. Then he got irrationally angry out of nowhere and clenched his fists as he shouted, “But you’re everything to me!”

  “That’s it,” Evie said, holding up her hands. “Both of you, get the hell out of here! I’m a reasonably nice person, but this is getting out of hand. I really don’t want to lose my patience with you.”

  Book boyfriend went on shaking his head. “You don’t mean that.”

  “I really do.”

  “You’re just upset.”

  “Stalkers have that effect of people. And no I’m not one of those girls that openly complains but secretly enjoys the obsessive attention. I really, truly wish to be left in peace. Please.”

  “You just need some time.”

  “I need you to go away.”

  He made a sudden agonized expression of pain. As if her words were bullets piercing his tender heart. Or as if his leg was being slowly gnawed off by a crocodile. His whole body convulsed. Then, randomly, he peeled off his shirt. Moved his hips sort of like Elvis. Flexed his abs and rubbed some baby oil all around his core.

  Evie looked closer. He had flat abs, but he had definitely added some flattering shadows of definition to make them stand out. The makeup was rubbing off with the oil.

  Why me, she thought as she looked over at the clown, who was by now choking with laughter. At least she could just kill him and be easily done with it. But this boyfriend guy would be harder to get rid of. He wasn’t evil. Just clingy and obnoxious. She didn’t have the patience to file a restraining order and then hope for the thin police coverage to actually be able to enforce it.

  “Don’t look so angry,” book boyfriend said to her.

  “I could do much worse.”

  “It kills me to see you this way.”

  “You don’t even know how close you are. Whoever you are, please go home.”

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “I really do.”

  “We were meant to be together.”

  “According to?”

  “Isn’t it enough just for me to think so?”

  “Not even close.”

  “You’re breaking my heart, Evie. My home is with you now, wherever you may be. If you send me away, I’ll be lost. Crushed. Shattered. Destroyed. Devastated. All those overly dramatic phrases. My world will literally crumble.”

  “Your world?” she shot back. “Are you hovering in a state of grace above the rest of us, in your own little dimension?”

  He sniffed, shaking his head, and then brushed away a tear. Evie closed her eyes and started rubbing her temples. A hell of a stress headache was setting in.

  “Please,” book boyfriend said. “Give me one more chance to prove myself to you. This isn’t a game to me.”

  “It’s a nightmare to me.”

  “Don’t do this to me,” he said, almost choking.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve crossed oceans of time to find me.”

  “That would be a lie. It’s like ten or twelve miles, really, from my mom’s place.”

  “Good grief,” she fumed aloud, her eyes still shut. “Some girls get a perverted billionaire. Some get a cowboy or a Navy SEAL. But no, I get stuck with the perfect guy for Taylor Sw**t.”

  “I can bury this weirdo for you,” the clown offere
d her, momentarily getting control of his laughter. “The grave is all set.”

  “I want you both gone,” she said, opening her eyes and glaring from one to the other. “Not soon. I mean now! I’m about done warning you both.”

  The clown looked back at the boyfriend, at which point he lost control and busted out laughing again. Simultaneously book boyfriend fell to his knees, leaned back, raised his fists to the sky, and began crying and wailing. It was a sound like every cute puppy in the world being murdered at once with a dull blade.

  Evie took a deep breath. She was descended from greatness and mentored by her extraordinary grandfather. So rather than letting herself flip out, she decided to calm herself by employing the old tactic of counting to ten. She tried to imagine herself being in book boyfriend’s shoes, how pathetic his life must be in order for him to act this way. Then she actually did start to feel pity for him.

  She went over and knelt by him and put her hand on his shoulder. He seemed to calm slightly.

  “So, what do you do for fun?” she asked.

  “You really want to know?” he said between sniffs.

  “No. But I’m trying here.”

  “Mostly I tend flowers,” he said. “I work in a greenhouse. My mom owns it.”

  “Oh, a family business. That’s nice.”

  He nodded. “My mom helped me paint on my abs to impress you. She says chicks dig abs. Except for the guys in that 300 movie. The Greeks were not nice to the people attempting to conquer and enslave them.”

  She dodged all that mess and said, “Do you like sports? Or anything outdoorsy?”

  “Not really,” he admitted.

  “Not even hiking? Sightseeing?”

  “I have allergy issues outside of a controlled environment.”

  “Uh … What’s your favorite food?”

  “Mostly microwave dinners. They give me a feeling of self-sufficiency without the hassle. And sometimes my mom makes excellent soy burgers.”

  “Well that’s the problem,” Evie said brightly. “You know, I’ve heard that wonderful advances have been made in the battle against high estrogen levels in men. You should really look into it.”

  He shook his head grimly.

  “It’s not your fault,” she assured him. “Low T is mostly due to our terrible American diets. All that packaged junk food.”

  “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

  She stood and lifted him up by the arm, saying, “Up we go. No more sitting around being sad.”