by Clive Barker
“I’ve never been up on the roof.”
“There’s a door on the top landing. I’ll see you up there in a few minutes.”
“I’ll have to get my mask an’ coat an’ stuff.”
“You won’t need a mask tonight,” Jive said, “trust me. Now you hurry up. Time’s a-wastin’.”
It took Harvey only a minute or two to tell Wendell to go on ahead. He was sure Wendell suspected something, and was probably preparing some counterattack, but Harvey knew he and Jive had something up their sleeves even Wendell—expert on shock tactics though he was—couldn’t anticipate. With the first part of the plan laid he hurried upstairs again, found the door Jive had mentioned, and climbed up onto the roof.
Heights had never bothered him; he liked to be up above the world looking down on it.
“Over here!” Jive called to him, and Harvey took off along the narrow walkways and up the steep roofs to where his fellow conspirator stood.
“Sure-footed!” Jive observed.
“No problem.”
“How ‘bout flyin’?” said a third voice, as its owner stepped from the shadows of a chimney.
“This is Marr,” Jive said. “Another of our little family.”
Unlike Jive who looked nimble enough to walk on the eaves if the whim took him, Marr seemed to have slug blood in her somewhere. Harvey almost expected to see her fingers leave silver trails on the brick she touched, or see soft horns appear from her balding head. She was grossly fat, her flesh barely clinging to her bones. Wherever it could—around her mouth and eyes, at her neck and wrists—it collapsed in clammy folds. She reached out and poked Harvey.
“I said: what ‘bout flyin’?”
“What about it?” Harvey said, pushing her hand away.
“Done much?”
“I flew to Florida once.”
“She doesn’t mean in a plane,” Jive told him.
“Oh…”
“In dreams maybe?” said Mart.
“Oh yeah, I dream about flying.”
“That’s good,” Marr replied, grinning with satisfaction. She had not a single tooth in her mouth.
Harvey stared at the empty maw in disgust.
“You’re wondering where they’ve gone, aren’t you?” she said to Harvey. “Go on. Admit it.”
Harvey shrugged. “Well yes. I am.”
“Carna took them, the thieving brute. I had fine teeth. Beautiful teeth.”
“Who’s Carna?” Harvey wanted to know.
“Never mind,” Jive said, hushing Marr before she could reply. “Get to it or he’ll miss the moment.”
Marr muttered something beneath her breath, then said: “Come to me, boy,” extending her arms in Harvey’s direction. Her touch was icy.
“Feels weird, huh?” said Jive, as Mares fingers floated over his face, brushing it here and there. “Don’t worry. She knows what she’s doin’.”
“And what’s that?”
“Changin’ you.”
“Into what?”
“You tell her,” Jive said. “It won’t last long, so enjoy it. Go on, tell her about being a vampire.”
“That’s what I want Wendell to see,” Harvey said.
“A vampire…” Marr said softly, her fingers pressing harder against his skin.
“Yeah, I want to have fangs, like a wolf, and a red throat, and white skin, like I’ve been dead for a thousand years.”
“Two thousand!” said Jive.
“Ten thousand!” said Harvey, beginning to enjoy the game. “And crazy eyes, that can see in the dark, and pointy ears, like a bat’s ears—”
“Wait up!” Marr said. “I’ve got to get all this right.”
Her fingers were working hard upon him now, as though his flesh was clay, and she was molding it. His face was tingling, and he wanted to reach up and touch it, but he was afraid of spoiling her handiwork.
“And there’s got to be fur,” Jive observed. “Sleek, black fur on his neck—”
Mares hands dabbled at his throat, and he felt fur sprouting where she’d touched him.
“—and the wings!” Harvey said. “Don’t forget the wings!
“Never!” said Jive.
“Spread your arms, boy,” Marr told him.
He did so, and she ran her hands along them, smiling now.
“It’s good,” she said. “It’s good.”
He looked down at himself. To his astonishment he found his fingers were gnarled and sharp, and leathery flaps were hanging from his arms. The wind gusted against them, threatening to carry him off the roof then and there.
“You know you’re playin’ a dangerous game, don’t you?” Marr said as she stood back to admire her handiwork. “You’ll either break your head or scare the life out of your friend Wendell. Or both.”
“He won’t fall, woman!” Jive said. “He’s got the knack of this. I can tell just by looking at him.” He peered at Harvey with his squinty eyes. “Wouldn’t be surprised if you weren’t a vampire in another life, boy,” he said.
“Vampires don’t have other lives,” Harvey said, the words more difficult to say with a mouthful of fangs. “They live forever.”
“That’s right,” said Jive, snapping his fingers. “So they do! So they do!”
“Well, I’m finished,” said Marr. “You can get goin’, boy.”
The wind came gusting again, and if Jive hadn’t been holding onto him as they walked the edge of the roof, Harvey would surely have been carried away.
“There’s your friend,” Jive whispered, pointing down into the shadows.
Much to his amazement Harvey found that he could see Wendell quite clearly, even though it was pitch dark in the thicket. He could hear him too: every little breath, every beat of his heart.
“This is it,” Jive hissed, putting his hand on Harvey’s back.
“What do I do?” Harvey said. “Do I flap or what?”
“Jump!” Jive said. “The wind’ll take care of the rest. Either the wind or gravity.”
And with that, he shoved Harvey off the edge of the roof and into the empty air.
X. Falling from Grace
The wind wasn’t there to bear him up. He plummeted like a slate tossed from the gables, a cry of sheer terror escaping his throat. He saw Wendell turn; saw a look of mortal fear come onto his face; then the wind came out of nowhere, cold and strong, and just as his legs brushed the bushes he felt himself lifted up and up, toward the sky.
His cry became a whoop; his terror, joy. The moon was larger than he’d ever seen it, and its vast white face filled his sight, like the face of his mother, bending to kiss him goodnight.
Except that he needed no sleep tonight, no, nor a mother to wish him sweet dreams. This was better than any dream, flying with the wind in his wings, and the world shuddering below in fear of his shadow.
He looked for Wendell again, and saw him fleeing for the safety of the House.
No you don’t, he thought, and fuming his wings like leathery sails he swooped down on his prey. A bloodcurdling shriek filled his ears, and for a moment he thought it was the wind. Then he realized it was his own throat that was uttering this inhuman din, and the shriek became laughter; wild, lunatic laughter.
“Don’t…please…don’t!” Wendell was sobbing as he ran, “Somebody help me! Somebody help me!”
Harvey knew he’d already had his revenge: Wendell was frightened out of his wits. But it was too much fun to stop now. He liked the feel. of the wind beneath him, and the cold moon on his back. He liked the sharpness of his eyes, and the strength of his claws. But mast of all he liked the fear he was causing; liked the look on Wendell’s upturned face, and the sound of panic in his chest.
The wind was carrying him down into the thicket, and as he landed Wendell dropped to his knees, begging for merry.
“Don’t kill me! Please, please, I beg you—don’t kill me!”
Harvey had seen and heard enough. He’d had his revenge. It was time to put an end to the game, be
fore the fun soured.
He opened his mouth to announce himself, but Wendell-seeing the red throat and the wolfish fangs, and thinking this meant certain death-began a new round of supplications. This time, however, he wasn’t simply begging.
“I’m too fat to eat,” he said. “But there’s another kid around here somewhere—”
Harvey growled at this.
“There is!” Wendell said. “I swear. And there’s more meat on him than on me!”
“Listen to the child,” said a voice in the bushes at Harvey’s side. He glanced around. There was Jive, his wiry form barely visible among the barbs. “He’d see you dead, young Harvey.”
Wendell heard none of this. He was still advertising the edibility of his friend, hoisting up his shirt and shaking his blubbery belly to prove how unpalatable he was.
“You don’t want me…” he sobbed. “Take Harvey! Take Harvey!”
“Bite him,” said Jive. “Go on. Drink a little of his blood. Why not? The fat’s no good, but the blood’s hot, the blood’s tasty.” He was doing a little dance as he spoke, stamping his feet to the rhythm of his chant. “Don’t waste the taste! Go eat the meat!”
And still Wendell whined, all snot and tears. “You don’t want me. Find Harvey! Find Harvey!”
And the more he sobbed, the more Jive’s chant made sense to Harvey. Who was this ridiculous boy Wendell anyway? He was too eager to serve Harvey up as dinner to be called a friend. He was just a tasty morsel. Any vampire worth his wings would chew off his head as soon as look at him. And yet…
“What are you waiting for?” Jive wanted to know. “We’ve gone to all this trouble to make a monster of you—”
“Yes, but it’s a game,” Harvey said.
“A game?” said Jive. “No, no, boy. It’s more than that. It’s an education.”
Harvey didn’t know what he meant by this, and he wasn’t altogether certain he wanted to know.
“If you don’t pounce soon,” Jive hissed, “you’re going to lose him.”
It was true. Wendell’s tears were clearing, and he was staring at his attacker with a puzzled look.
“Are you…going to let me…go?” he murmured.
Harvey felt Jive’s hand on his back.
“Do it!” Jive said.
Harvey looked at Wendell’s tear-stained face and trembling hands. If the situation had been reversed, he thought to himself, would I have been much braver? The answer, he knew, was no.
“It’s now or never,” said Jive.
“Then it’s never,” Harvey said. “Never!”
The word came out as a guttural roar, and Wendell fled before it, yelling at the top of his voice. Harvey didn’t give chase.
“You disappoint me, boy,” Jive said. “I thought you had the killer instinct.”
“Well, I don’t,” said Harvey, a little ashamed of himself. He felt like a coward, even though he knew he’d done the right thing.
“That was a waste of magic,” said another voice, and Marr appeared from out of the bushes, her arms filled with enormous fungi.
“Where’d you find those?” Jive said.
“Usual place,” Marr replied. She gave Harvey a contemptuous look. “I suppose you want your old body back,” she said.
“Yes, please.”
“We should leave him like this,” said Jive. “He’d get around to sucking blood sooner or later.”
“Nah,” said Marr. “There’s only so much magic to go around, you know that. Why waste it on a miserable little punk like this?”
She waved her hand casually in Harvey’s direction, and he felt the power that had filled his limbs and transformed his face drain out of him. It was a relief, of course, to feel the magic unmade, but a little part of him mourned the loss. In a matter of moments he was once again an earthbound boy, wingless and weak.
With the spell removed, Marr turned her back on him and waddled off into the darkness. Jive, however, lingered long enough to have one last dig at Harvey.
“You missed your chance there, kiddo,” he said. “You could have been one of the greats.”
“It was a trick, that’s all,” Harvey said, concealing the strange unhappiness he felt. “A Halloween trick. It meant nothing.”
“There are those who’d disagree,” Jive said darkly. “Those who’d say that all the great powers in the world are bloodsuckers and soul-stealers at heart. And we must serve them. All of us. Serve them to our dying day”
He stared hard at Harvey all the way through this peculiar little speech, and then, with a nimble step, retreated into the shadows and was gone.
Harvey found Wendell in the kitchen, a hot dog in one hand and a cookie in the other, telling Mrs. Griffin about what he’d seen. He dropped his food when Harvey came in, and yelped with relief: “You’re alive! You’re alive!”
“Of course I’m alive,” said Harvey. “Why shouldn’t I be?”
“There was something out there. A terrible beast. It almost ate me. I thought maybe it had eaten you.”
Harvey looked down at his hands and legs.
“Nope,” he said. “Not a nibble.”
“I’m glad!” Wendell said. “I’m so, so glad. You’re my best friend, for always.”
I was vampire food five minutes ago, Harvey thought; but he said nothing. Maybe there’d come a time when he could tell Wendell about his transformation and temptation, but this wasn’t it. He simply said:
“I’m hungry,” and sat down at the table beside his fair-weather friend, to put something sweeter than blood in his belly.
XI. Turnabout
Neither Wendell nor Lulu was around the following day—Mrs. Griffin said she’d seen them both before breakfast, and then they’d disappeared—so Harvey was left to his own devices. He tried not to think about what had happened the night before, but he couldn’t help himself.
Snatches of conversation kept coming back, and he puzzled over them all day long. What had Jive meant, for instance, when he’d told Harvey that turning him into a vampire was not so much a game as an education? What kind of lesson had he learned by jumping off a roof and scaring Wendell?
And all that stuff about soul-stealers and how they had to be served; what had that meant? Was it Mr. Hood that Jive had been speaking of; that great power they all had to serve? If Hood was somewhere in the House, why hadn’t anyone—Lulu, Wendell or himself-encountered him? Harvey had quizzed his friends about Hood, and had the same story from them both: they’d heard no footfalls, no whispers, no laughter. If Mr. Hood was indeed here, where was he hiding, and why?
So many questions; so few answers.
And then, if these mysteries weren’t enough, another came along to vex him. In the late afternoon, lounging in the shade of the tree house, he heard a yell of frustration, and peered through the leaves to set Wendell racing across the lawn. He was dressed in a windbreaker and boots, even though it was swelteringly hot, and he was stamping around like a madman.
Harvey shouted to him, but his call went either unheard or ignored, so he climbed down and pursued Wendell around the side of the House. He found him in the orchard, red-faced and sweaty.
“What’s going on?” he said.
“I can’t get out!” Wendell said, grinding a half-rotted apple underfoot. “I want to leave, Harvey, but there’s no way out!”
“Of course there is!”
“I’ve been trying for hours and hours and I tell you the mist keeps sending me hack the way I came”
“Hey, calm down!”
“I want to go home, Harvey,” Wendell said, close to tears now. “Last night was too much for me. That thing came after my blood. I know you don’t believe me—”
“I do,” said Harvey, “honest I do.”
“You do?”
“For sure.”
“Well, then maybe you should leave too,’cause if I go it’ll come after you.”
“I don’t think so,” said Harvey.
“I’ve been kiddin’ myself about this p
lace,” Wendell said. “It’s dangerous. Oh, yeah, I know it seems like everything’s perfect, but—”
Harvey interrupted him. “Maybe you should keep your voice down,” he said. “We should talk about this quietly. In private.”
“Like where?” said Wendell, wild-eyed. “The whole place is watching us and listening to us. Don’t you feel it?”
“Why would it do that?”
“I don’t know!” Wendell snapped. “But last night I thought, if I don’t leave I’m going to die here. I’ll just disappear one night; or go crazy like Lulu.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “We’re not the first, you know. What about all the clothes upstairs? All the coats and shoes and hats. They belonged to kids like us.”
Harvey shuddered. Had he played trick-or-treat in a murdered boy’s shoes?
“I want to get out of here,” Wendell said, tears running down his face. “But there’s no way out.”
“If there’s a way in there must be a way out,” Harvey reasoned. “We’ll go to the wall.”
With that he marched off, Wendell in tow, around to the front of the House and down the gentle slope of the lawn. The mist-wall looked perfectly harmless as they approached it.
“Be careful—” Wendell warned. “It’s got some tricks up its sleeve.”
Harvey slowed his step, expecting the wall to twitch, or even reach for him. But it did nothing. Bolder now, he strode into the mist, fully expecting to emerge on the other side. But by some trick or other he was turned around without even being aware of it, and delivered out of the wall with the House in front of him.
“What happened?” he said to himself. Puzzled, he stepped back into the mist.
The same thing occurred. In he went, and out he came again, facing the opposite direction. He tried again, and again, and again, but the same trick was worked upon him every time, until Harvey was as frustrated as Wendell had been a half hour before.
“Now do you believe me?” Wendell said.
“Yep.”
“So what do we do?”
“Well, we don’t yell about it,” Harvey whispered. “We just get on with the day. Pretend we’ve given up leaving. I’m going to do a little looking around.”