by P. J. Burgy
Three more ghouls had gathered at the gate, moaning, and groaning as they stuck their arms in through the bars. The night sky had begun to lighten in the east, the stars fading.
“Yes, I am human, Martin. And you’re not. What happened to the others? What happened to Jan de Vries? Tell me!”
He chuckled. “I told you.”
“You’ve done nothing but lie to me.”
“When they couldn’t create any longer, and they’d lost their spark, I freed them.”
“You killed them.”
“Without your spark, why would you want to live?”
“You’re a monster!”
“Ah, what do the kids say?” His lips twisted. “…Duh.”
“We’ll see what happens next then, Martin,” Lizzie stated. “Your move. Sun’ll be up soon.”
Smirking, he glanced off. He turned back to her, his eyes black pits. “Actually, it’s your move, my dear. I’ll see you soon.” With that, he disappeared, a dark smudge lingering in the air briefly before fading into nothingness.
The ghouls continued to moan and wail.
“All right,” Teddy hissed, limping forward. “Let’s clear the way and get moving. I’m going to kill this piece of shit vampire.”
Lizzie forced herself forward with Helena, moving to the gate and stopping a few feet in front of it to assess the ghoul situation. Five had amassed directly on the other side and another three shambled about from the front of the burning church.
Helena shot out the knees she could see, hobbling three of the things before Lizzie opened the gate door and hacked into one with her ax as soon as it fell into the cemetery. It happened fast; within a few minutes, all five were on the ground, flailing in vain with their limbs twitching nearby but severed.
Teddy pushed past Helena, limping out of the cemetery, and adjusting the bag on his shoulder. He’d gone back and picked it up apparently, the weight hurting his knee as he paused to shift where it hung. Imbued with purpose, he made his way down the road, huffing and puffing. He’d gone a good distance before he slipped and caught himself, cursing at the pain.
“Maybe let me carry that,” Helena called to him, stepping out from the gate and charging after him as Lizzie followed.
Teddy stopped to turn and smile, hiding a grimace. He nodded and chucked the bag to his sister. It coasted through the air toward her. Watching it fly, Teddy smirked at first before he frowned deeply.
He gagged, throwing his head back, and something punched through the front of him, blood spraying out like a fountain as his chest burst from within. His shirt ripped, a bloody hand appearing before his face.
Martin stood behind him, his arm sticking out of Teddy’s torso, his clawed fingers gripping something dark red and pulsating. His heart. He’d punched through his back, his fist exploding out of his chest and torn his heart out.
Martin yanked his arm out of the young man and Teddy fell to the ground, his gurgling cry soft and wet.
Helena screamed, firing the pistol at him.
Three shots landed, Martin entirely unphased. He merely stood there grinning and holding Teddy’s heart in his bloody hand as the bullet hole in his cheek sealed shut.
“There you go. That’ll make your journey far easier,” he said, his tongue lolling out and his fangs glistening. Martin dropped the heart onto the ground and disappeared again, the dark smudge of his speedy retreat flitting off down the road.
Chapter 18
There was no time for Helena to grieve over Teddy. Another wave of ghouls approached from the road. It wasn’t necessary to kill every ghoul; the wretched things moved so slowly that evasion worked better than confrontation as they jogged down Main Street.
They had to climb over the fallen tree and pass by Bill’s truck. His headless corpse lay splayed in the snow close by. Lizzie avoided looking for his head but knew exactly where it was.
By the time they’d gotten that far, the sun was peering over the horizon. It would be a lovely winter day, the sky cloudless and turning a vivid blue already.
The cold air bit at Lizzie’s cheeks and she wished she’d worn something warmer. Carrying her ax, she kept pace with Helena, who stormed forward with her head down. The girl had picked up the flamethrower and carried it under her arm. She’d pocketed the pistol so she might carry the machete in her hand. The backpack bounced heavily on her shoulder. In her back pocket, the gold crucifix shimmered in the sunlight.
They met the occasional ghoul along the way and either walked by it and let it give chase – there were at least fifteen of the things following them but out of sight – or engaged with it, pulling out the pistol, flamethrower, machete, and ax in that order.
Helena reloaded again, her expression hard to read.
“How much ammo do you have left?” Lizzie asked.
“Enough.”
Lizzie wanted to say something, anything, but felt her tongue go dry as they stalked down the road. She felt the same way over an hour later when they saw town proper approaching. This time, however, Lizzie’s insides clenched up at the sight before her.
The town was on fire. Buildings belched smoke from caved in roofs, the sky turning black above Puhtipstie’s business district. Ghouls wandered out there on the streets before them like lost children, staggering about as they waited for their quarry to arrive. Their wails rang out above the sound of the crackling flames, screams emanating from somewhere else in the town.
Her first instinct when she saw a car was to run to it. The tires had been slashed. Lizzie cursed under her breath.
“I’ll bet all the cars are junk,” Helena stated. “He probably fucked everything up while we were hiding.”
The first few ghouls that spotted them groaned and started hobbling their way. Lizzie wasn’t sure she knew any of them too well, but two had been frequent shoppers at the market and the third looked to be a mechanic.
Helena shot their knees out and set them on fire. Lizzie hacked them to pieces as they burned and thrashed. The noise attracted more of the things and the process repeated, slowing them down as they walked down Main Street.
Once she’d run out of bullets, Helena grumbled and put the gun into the backpack. They were forced to run from the encounters for a short time, resorting to using the flamethrower only if they had no other option.
Lizzie had to swing her ax into a ghoul that came hurtling toward them from a corner at an intersection. She took it down with one blow and hacked its legs off at the knees.
After two hours of fighting and running, they left the business district and continued down the long main road. Martin’s house would be on the left in another hour.
Lizzie checked her phone. The battery was dying, but it read 1 PM. It would be around two when they arrived. Sunset was after four. They had plenty of time, perhaps…
Helena was quiet, her machete at her side as she walked ahead of Lizzie. Her long, wavy brown hair kept getting caught in the light, chilly breeze.
Her tongue still too dry to speak, Lizzie glanced at the trees on either side of the road. During the day, they looked far less ominous. Still, she kept her eyes peeled for movement in the snowy bramble, not wanting to get surprised by a ghoul coming at them from the brush.
The things were far behind them, following slowly. She wished they’d crippled more of them before leaving town. They’d surely arrive at Martin’s house to cause trouble.
Not if he’s dead by then.
“Huh…” Lizzie blinked.
“Hmm?”
“Nothing.”
“What’s nothing?”
She exhaled. “I’m just thinking about killing him.”
Helena nodded. “Me too.”
“Why are you guys here?” Lizzie asked. “Seriously. Here in this little town, I mean. I know your father was born here, but how’d he meet your mother? She wasn’t a local.”
“I s’pose she was passing through and met my Dad where he was workin’ at the time. At the gun shop. Hit it off.”
&n
bsp; “Was she really a hunter?”
“Yeah.”
“Did she tell you stories about it?”
“Yeah,” Helena said. “When me’n’Teddy were little. Dad always kinda treated it like it was just make believe or like Mom was superstitious.”
“My parents were like that, sort of. Didn’t acknowledge the monster in my closet, or the things I said I saw, but thought that the Devil was real and could sway mankind. Like, the Devil-Devil.” Lizzie glanced at the tree line again. “Red suit, pointed tail, horns and all.”
“If there’s a God, there’s a Devil,” the girl said. “There’s angels and demons. It’s all real.”
“And that’s why it works when you hold that cross. I can’t believe in all that stuff. Even with something like Martin out there, I still can’t. What kind of God would let monsters run amuck on Earth?”
Helena snorted. “Now you’re gettin’ too philosophical.”
“Figured you had all the answers up ‘til now…”
“No one’s got all the answers, Lizzie.”
Lizzie laughed softly, her lips cracking in the cold air. She eyed Helena’s backpack, running her tongue over her mouth. “Damn, I’m thirsty. Let me get one of those water bottles.”
She shook her head, a small smile appearing and then fading. “That’s holy water, yah silly goose. Savin’ that for the vampire.” Her brows lowered. “I wanna see him burn for what he did.”
“I’m thirsty…”
“Eat some snow. You can’t drink the holy water.”
“Fine.” Lizzie grumbled under her breath and reached down to scoop up some snow into her hand. It hurt her teeth as she shoveled it into her mouth, melting as it met her tongue.
They came to his house and trudged up the snowy driveway. The crows had never left; they sat and cried in the trees, flapping their wings, and jumping around excitedly. Lizzie couldn’t help but tense at the sight of the place, the roof covered in snow and the windows dark. His car had been buried as well – not that he needed it. She pondered over their two car rides together, remembering him behind the wheel listening to soft music as she sat in the passenger seat.
She remembered his smile, gentle at first.
His grin, bloody and maniacal.
When they reached his porch, she reached into her pocket for her keys and frowned when she didn’t find them. Somewhere along the way, she’d dropped them and hadn’t even noticed.
Cursing under her breath, she sent a worried look to Helena, turning her pockets out. “Ah…”
“No key?”
Lizzie shook her head. “I’m sorry.”
The girl waltzed up to the door and tried the handle. It turned. The door opened into darkness, the hinges creaking. She blinked at Lizzie and shrugged, gesturing toward it. “Unlocked.”
“He’s prepared. He isn’t worried about us at all,” Lizzie said, her voice low.
Helena gripped her crucifix and pulled out her flashlight, shining it into the foyer. The vases sparkled and dust motes lit up like tiny little ghosts floating in the air. She went in first, scanning the area with narrowed eyes, and Lizzie followed.
The foyer felt cold, a draft leaking somewhere in the house.
A low moan alerted them to a presence coming toward them. A dragging sound. Another moan. A dragging sound. Cloth and bone against marble flooring. Dry paper crunching and scraping. Helena turned her flashlight to the left, a set of rooms becoming visible, and a figure staggered out into the foyer.
His brown hair was a mess with caked blood. The uniform ripped across the chest and stomach, his ribs exposed, the insides of him dried and pale. The bottom half of his face was gone, the jaw simply missing. No tongue. His hands hung at his sides limply, only a few fingers left on each. Tommy moaned softly, one eye creamy white and the other a hollow socket. He looked withered and dehydrated – bloodless. His skin tore when he tilted his head, ripping like ancient parchment.
Lizzie’s spine froze and she nearly dropped her ax, scrambling to hold it up as the Tommy ghoul approached. “Holy shit.”
He reached out for her and then stopped, his hand dropping. His attention moved to Helena, and he gurgled, lunging at her instead. The flamethrower lifted, the girl pulled the lever and sent a line of fire at him.
Lizzie swept in a second later and brought the ax down into his skull. He staggered, wreathed in flame, and fell to the floor. She swung at him again, taking off his head. Then his right arm. Then his left. She screamed at him, at herself, at Martin.
Panting, Lizzie stared at his corpse as it burned brightly. He’d stopped moving, stopped moaning. His top lip peeled back from his teeth, crinkling over his skull as his nose caved in.
Helena shook her from the daze. “Cellar. Come on.”
“He thought that’d stop me?” Lizzie whispered, her face hot.
They searched the entertainment room for another ghoul and found nothing. Satisfied with the result, they went around the staircase toward the kitchen. Lizzie scowled, scanning the area as Helena shined the flashlight around.
“The cellar door. It isn’t here,” Lizzie said, turning to the wall where it should have been.
“It isn’t here?”
“No. It was here, but now it’s not.” She touched the bricks and felt around. “He couldn’t have covered it up. Not before we got here, when he had to be down there.”
Helena sniffed and pulled the backpack off her shoulder. She dug around in it before pulling out her bag of salt. Gathering a small handful, she tossed some salt at the wall, and it glowed a light red for a few seconds before starting to smolder on the floor. She nodded thoughtfully.
Lizzie eyed her.
Pointing at the brick wall, Helena scrunched her nose. “Concealment spell.”
“Can you break it?”
“I sure can. Gimme a few.”
“Ghouls were behind us…”
“Then shut the door, Lizzie.”
She frowned and shut the front door, locking it. Tommy still burned, his body reduced to ashes and embers. Outside, she could hear the crows going wild in his yard again, gathering in a sudden mass near the trees and out near his car. Lizzie peered out from the peephole. The ghouls were on the street, falling in the snow at the base of his driveway. It might’ve been funny if her heart wasn’t threatening to leap from her throat.
Gasping, Lizzie jumped back and ran to the kitchen to find Helena crafting something with the salt and a stick of chalk. She wrote on the floor near the brick wall, glancing at a leather-bound book she had laying open next to her. As she drew the symbols in white, the bricks shivered and shimmied.
“They’re here.” Lizzie eyed the floor. “Wow…”
Helena shushed her, brows lowered, continuing to draw the symbols in each part of the star she’d outlined. At each symbol, the bricks shuddered again until they dissolved to expose the closed cellar door.
She stood up, brushed herself off, and snorted. “Weak ass magic user if you ask me.”
“Probably didn’t have to do it that often.”
“Probably not. His mistake.”
Lizzie opened the door and the hinges cried out with rust. It was dark down there and Helena shined the flashlight in. The steps were gone. Ripped out. The closed coffin waited for them many feet below. Shadows ran from the light at the corners of the cellar, the wine bottles on the left sparkling.
“How do we get down there?” Lizzie whispered.
“Gonna need some rope,” Helena replied.
“Rope?”
“If no rope, then sheets tied together.”
“Maybe we can just set fire to it…”
“Not from here.”
“We can burn the house down…”
“No way to be sure it worked. No, we have to go down there and stake the bastard. Only way to be sure.”
Her throat tight, Lizzie nodded and searched for sheets. She found the tarps in the library and gathered them over her arm. One of the chests lay open and she took a
look inside, suddenly curious.
His paintings.
In the low light, it was hard to tell what she was looking at. As her eyes adjusted, she realized it was a lovely oil rendition of Martin, this time with blood smeared across his mouth. The fangs were painted in high detail. He looked delighted, his hair long and dark, flowing down his shoulders in waves. His blue eyes shined like stars.
She set the painting down, unsettled, and brought the tarps back into the kitchen. Helena grabbed a few and they set to work tying them tightly together and testing the strength.
“I’m lighter, I’ll go first.”
Lizzie eyed Helena and shook her head. “No, it’s too dangerous. I should go first.”
“It’s the best way to test the rope.” She yanked on the ‘rope’, one end fastened securely to the refrigerator, wrapped around once and knotted.
“Helena…”
“Trust me. When I get down there, you can climb down after me. But I want to be the one to stake him. He killed my brother, Lizzie. He killed my father. I want to kill him.”
Lizzie nodded.
Helena slid the backpack over her shoulder and held tight to the rope of tarps. She placed her crucifix in her mouth, biting down, and neared the edge of the stairwell as Lizzie held the flashlight.
“Should have grabbed a flare from Bill’s truck…”
“Ooh ‘ate ‘ow.”
Lizzie shrugged. “Be careful.”
“O’ay.”
Helena carefully knelt and pushed off, sliding down the rope into the darkness below as Lizzie illuminated the floor under her as best she should. Shadows danced and loomed, curving in and around the girl as she dropped down lower and lower into the musty cellar toward the cement floor. Her arms shook from the effort, her legs wrapped around the rope as she slid down in short, quick bursts.
Her feet touched the ground, and she released the rope, gathering herself and getting her crucifix ready. Approaching the closed coffin, she walked with the cross bared until she stood a foot away. Helena reached into her bag, the top flopped open, and slid out a wooden stake. She placed it under one arm and reached back again, producing a thick mallet.
