She closed her eyes. She imagined Xavier’s rust colored eyes, two circular magnets drawing her near. His touch had caused her long-dead skin to crawl with new and amazing sensations. Her flesh, so numb and leathery with age, had turned to mush beneath his fingertips. She fantasized about running her hands through his hair, so lush and soft and full.
Anastacia, still aware of the policeman’s presence, forced herself to stifle a smile.
She thought of Xavier’s manhood awakening the woman within her, ripping… plunging deep inside the part of herself that she had abandoned so many years ago. In the days of her youth, before this immortal curse, she would have run from a man of such girth. But a vampire cannot feel things the same as a human. A vampire, she thought, considers it a blessing to feel alive again… if only for a fleeting moment.
She felt the weight of the officer’s gaze as she remembered her night with Xavier. Barrett was fuming with rage, she was certain of that, but it made no difference either way. She had to keep her family safe. Slowly, she opened her eyes, meeting his spiteful gaze dead-on.
Just then, another officer appeared at the door. “We’ve got him, sir. He’s right outside.”
Anastacia’s muscles tightened, though not a trace of panic showed on her stone-like face. What did they mean “We’ve got him”? Got who?
The officer turned away from the door, motioning to someone outside, then peered into the room once again. “Would you like us to bring him in?”
Barrett nodded.
Anastacia watched with curious eyes as a large wooden plank, on four metal wheels, was maneuvered into the room. The plank had been outfitted with steel ankle straps, metal chains at the midriff, and wrist straps near the top. Several more restraints were fastened to the wood, consuming every inch of the device. Imprisoned on the slat was an unruly vampire, throwing his weight from side to side. His erratic movements put stress on the wheels, which skidded and squeaked along the tile. He was wild. A rogue. That was clear.
Three officers emerged from behind the wooden plank. Each one kept their eyes steadily fixed on the male vampire, as if looking away might expose their true feelings—a fear of things that go bump in the night. One of the officers held a syringe. It was filled with something the color of spoiled blood. She sniffed the air. Yes… blood… a week old.
“Would you like another shot of this, Christopher?” The man wielding the syringe wiggled it in the air, a macabre baton, mocking the undead.
The mad vampire, suddenly aware of the needle, ceased his protest in less than a second. His pale flesh lost what little color it possessed, turning translucent at the sight of the syringe. His eyes widened, blue veins bulging beneath his skin. He looked sick, and despite his violent nature, Anastacia couldn’t help but sympathize. Spoiled blood was like poison to their kind.
Wooden stakes could render a vampire weak and useless, until the heart began to heal. Sunlight charred their flesh to a flaky, black tissue, but rarely did it kill them completely. But dead blood… one lethal dose of that stuff and it was good riddance. Sayonara, bloodsucker.
By the look on his face, she could tell that Christopher had been injected with the poison already. Most likely to sedate his defiant attitude. Her stomach curdled at the thought, a ball of dread.
Officer Barrett turned his gaze back to her. “This is Christoper,” he said, gesturing to the unfortunate monster. Christoper glared at Anastacia, malice written on his face, a fury that rivaled the ancient gods. He was mentally unstable; lunacy shined in the silver-blue circles of his eyes. His nostrils flared to the size of a dime. “He’ll be reading your mind for us.”
Anastacia was taken aback. Without meaning to, she spoke her first words. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me, bitch.”
Instinctively, Anastacia put up a mental block. It was a useful trick for warding off the invasion of mind-probing immortals. Yet, with sadness, she sensed it was too late. She’d been distracted by the sorry state of the vampire, unprepared for his psychic warfare. How much information had he gathered in this short time? How much did he already know?
A savage voice rose from his throat. It was husky and deep, like he’d been gargling shards of broken glass. “The offspring… is in a building with crumbling red brick. Number 1887. At the corner of Shepard Street and Ninth.”
**
Officer Barrett wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. It came away slick with perspiration. “Damn humidity,” he mumbled. He wouldn’t admit that his overactive pores were due, in part, to frazzled nerves.
The afternoon sun beat down on the city. Not a single cloud was present in the sky. Its reflected light bounced off cars as they passed, glinted off street signs and shop windows. If we’re in trouble, we’ll run outside… into the daylight, thought Barrett. We’ll always have that advantage.
Four policemen stood side by side on the curb, staring up at the ominous building. Its red clay bricks were riddled with cracks. The whole structure seemed to lean forward slightly, casting a gigantic shadow over everything below.
The men knew, from recent research, this had once been a successful theatre; but when ticket sales had dwindled to a two-man audience, Carman Brothers Productions was forced to shut its doors. There had been talk of renovation, of turning Carman Brothers into a common movie theatre, but no one wanted to sink money into a building that needed quite so many repairs. For two years it sat neglected… until, apparently, it caught the eye of a pregnant vampire.
The youngest man, Officer Daniel Gallow, rubbed the back of his neck with shaky fingers. “We need more back up,” he said nervously, glancing around at his colleagues. Everyone present seemed to nod or blink their eyes in approval, but not a single man would outwardly agree.
“Don’t worry, Danny,” a red-haired officer said. He hoisted a wooden stake across his chest, much like a soldier with his rifle. “This―” He touched his fingers to the surface of the wood, “and this,” he added, jangling his belt, “are all we need.” Danny eyed his own belt, which was equipped with several small bottles of reddish-brown goo. “Most vampires cower in fear if you so much as threaten them with dead blood.” The red-haired man kept his voice steady and confident, concerned for his young friend. “It burns their flesh, you know. Throw this shit in the face of any vampire who refuses to stand down.”
Officer Barrett cleared his throat from behind the three men. They turned around to find him kneeling on the ground. He was opening a large leather bag. “Put these on,” he instructed. With one hand, he dug through the contents of the sack, using the other hand to toss protective gear at his team.
“Arm guards,” he said, as an overweight cop caught the cast-like object in mid air. “They tend to hinder elbow movement, just a bit, so make sure you’ve got the right fit, big guy.” The arm guards resembled a bulletproof vest, made from the same thick material.
Barrett recovered all eight pieces from the bag. Then he started passing out a smaller item. “Neck guards. They’re known to cause a nasty chafe, but it sure as hell beats dealing with a bite wound. Arms and throats are their favorite spots to bite.” He saw Danny Gallow’s eyes begin to widen. “If you get bit, hurry back to the sunlight and smother the wound in dead blood. I know it’s disgusting, but all this blood has been tested. It’s 100% disease free.”
Gallow gulped, adorning his arms and neck with the gear. The overweight officer struggled to fasten his arm brace; the red-haired man stepped in to help. “And men, as you know, it’s not safe to assume that only the father and child are inside. But we are heavily armed, and this is our civic duty. We’ll make an example of these undead fucks…”
**
The air was musty. Dust swirled in the beams of light cast by each officer’s headlamp. The sound of foot steps and heavy breathing reverberated off the old, stone walls as they carefully scanned the ceiling and every corner of the room. Finding nothing, they inched past the ticket booth.
The main lobby was even darker than th
e first room. It smelled of rotting carpet and old wood. Barrett gave the signal for his team to split up, pointing first to the left, then to the right. They fanned out in groups of two, cautiously shedding light on every shadow. Gallow jumped when his partner accidentally grazed his back, knuckles white as he gripped the wooden stake.
“Sorry,” his partner mumbled. “Just me…” Danny loosened his grip, sighing with relief.
“So you’ve come to destroy my family!!” A booming voice broke through the silence. All four spines stiffened, ears ringing from the sudden change in volume. They whirled around.
A hulking figure stood at the entrance to the auditorium. His bulky frame nearly touched the door jamb on either side. The part of his eyes that should have been white glowed with an eerie shade of amber. He crossed his arms over his chest, and although it was dark, Barrett could see his massive head shake in disapproval.
The creature clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, like a parent scolding a naughty child. Tisk, tisk, tisk. The sound echoed―unnaturally loud.
“You just couldn’t leave us alone. You had to come here, threatening my children. We never hurt anybody! Not a single human! But now?”
Children? thought Barrett. More than one?
Xavier dropped to all fours, a growl building in his throat. Danny yanked a glass vile from his belt, hurling it across the room with trembling hands. The others quickly followed suit, unleashing a fury of ammo.
The bottles exploded against Xavier’s flesh in bursts of splintered glass, showering the floor where he crouched like an animal. Tiny shards littered his back and hair. His skin oozed with slimy, stale blood.
“Useful trick,” he said with a laugh. “If you’re dealing with vampires.”
His body rippled with energy. The men watched in awe as his muscles doubled in size. Patches of hair sprouted forth from under his skin. He smiled, his teeth sharpening to points.
The sound of gunfire made Danny’s heart skip a beat. His crotch was suddenly covered in a wet warmth, and he realized, with shame, that he’d urinated on himself. He looked around, and saw the gun in Barrett’s hand.
The men watched as a bullet sank into the creature. He didn’t so much as blink.
“Got any silver?” His voice was terrible now, a mix between human and beast. “Didn’t think so…” He threw his head back, letting loose an ungodly roar. It shook the framed pictures that hung on the walls. It rattled the concession stand.
And that’s when they appeared, out of nowhere it seemed. Furry monsters that looked like elementary school children crossed with German Sheperds―only these were no family pets. Thick fur covered their heads and chins, sprouted from the tops of their arms. Yet their faces were pale and as smooth as marble. Their movements were fluid―deathly quick, like that of a powerful vampire.
They burst from the darkness behind their father, from the auditorium entrance on the other side. They leaped from behind the concession counter, and from the hallway below the restroom sign.
Four, six, eight, ten. The men were suddenly outnumbered. A whole fucking litter of half-breeds, thought Barrett.
One of the wild creatures tackled Barrett to the ground, slicing his face with talons that were a perfect mix of wolf claw and human nail. Another pint-sized monster pinned his legs to the floor, and a third secured his arms in a bone-crushing grip. The wolf-child on top tore through the bulletproof vest. He treated it like a side of Sunday morning bacon, easily penetrating the material with rows of razor sharp fangs. Blood sprayed from the hole in Barrett’s gear as the thing tapped into his flesh. His gut burned with each savage bite.
The red-haired officer was pinned against the wall, trapped in a standing position. Blood leaked from the corner of his lips as two creatures tore into his neck guard from both sides. They quickly spat out the undesired material before diving into their meal.
Danny readied himself for an attack, using his stake as a bat. Pure adrenaline coursed through his veins as one of the small beasts lunged forward. With an overhead swing, he brought the wooden stick down over the skull of his ravenous aggressor. A crack echoed over the sounds of the monsters’ hungry slurping. He looked down at his hands. A mere fraction of the weapon remained, as the other half fell to the floor, jagged where the wood had split.
Danny glanced around the bloody scene for help. The overweight cop lay in the corner, not moving. His entrails had been ripped from his gut. Danny swallowed hard. Hurry back to the sunlight, Barrett’s words from earlier this day repeated in his mind.
Danny spun and sprinted for the door. e could feel the little demons at his heel. e could sense their yellow eyes on his back. Past the ticket booth, he ran, at full speed.
Lunging through the front entrance, he felt the warmth of the sun. His palms and cheeks burned with pain as he skidded across the sidewalk. He heard the children shriek, as if in sheer terror. He looked up to see them slinking away from the door, scurrying out of the light. I’ve made it, he thought. God bless the sun.
As he rested with his eyes shut, savoring the light that shone reddish-pink through his closed eyelids, a sudden darkness overtook his vision. He looked up. He was lying in Xavier’s shadow.
“Pure werewolf,” he said, pounding his chest with a fist. “Sunlight won’t be saving you today.”
Danny screamed as he was pulled back into the building, fingernails splitting as he clawed at the pavement. Not a single car seemed to notice. No one stopped to help.
In his cell at City Jail, Christopher cackled through a smile. He’d given the cops all the information they demanded. Nothing more. He laughed again. Nothing more…
Looking For Ghosts
I was the only student in the history of Crossgrove Elementary to bring a Ouija board for show and tell. At least that’s the impression I got from Ms. Lee. Her eyes narrowed, wrinkles forming between two neatly plucked eyebrows.
“Can we play with it?”
“Does it work?”
“Where’d you get it?”
I pushed a lock of ginger hair behind my ear, beaming from cheek to cheek. Ms. Lee clapped her hands, two loud slaps to command our attention. “That’s enough, children. Audrey, please take your seat.”
“But I-”
“Take your seat, Audrey. Now.”
I was sent home with a note for my mother that day. “Lacks goals, needs a hobby…” These are phrases I remember. What Ms. Lee failed to realize is that I already had a hobby. I spent most of my childhood looking for ghosts.
I could give you the same old story, the one shared by every kid labeled “different”. Red hair and freckles don’t get your name on every guest list. A flat chest won’t land you prom queen. But on the whole, things were okay in my world. I never wanted to be “that girl.”
At slumber parties, I brought the candles. I lit them one by one in a great circle, breathing deep the scent of burning wicks. I taught the girls to play Light As A Feather. With only our fingertips, we’d lift one girl in the air as she lay completely still in the middle. “Light as a feather, stiff as a board, light as a feather, stiff as a board…”
“The spirits have helped us!” I’d say in the end, five girls marveling at the strength in our fingertips.
I proved false the legend of Bloody Mary, time and time again. When the other girls couldn’t speak, their tongues silenced by a raging heart, I stood before the mirror. “Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary. Bloody Mary.” I pictured her: hair matted with gore, dark bags beneath her eyes from decades without rest. I wanted to hear her sobbing or shrieking, to feel her clammy hands on my wrist. Instead, all I saw was a freckle-faced girl, eyes wide with anticipation.
As the years went by, my obsession grew stronger. Friends became sparse, growing tired of my games. I was a “good buddy” to the boys, and a “freak” to the girls, spending most of my time in cemeteries. I begged for rides to abandoned houses—places miles away, lost in a jungle of weeds. I found my way inside, squeezing through moldy windows, forci
ng entry at rusty brass locks. The taste of dust often clung in my throat. No amount of swallowing could help. I took snap shots of empty hallways and dark stairs, keeping two fingers crossed for a ghost.
When I heard about Jenny Kaufman, she was calling to me. There was an aching in my heart, and I knew deep down, this little girl had a story to tell.
“You’re nuts!” David said. His brown eyes lingered on mine. He was waiting for my usual defense.
“Not nuts, David. Just curious. Jenny must have so much to say…”
“Shit Audrey, she aint got nothin’ to say! She’s dead; it’s too late for conversation.”
“Well, if you won’t go with me, I’m going alone. All by myself in a dark cemetery. I swear, chivalry is dead.”
He scrunched his brow. I get that a lot from people. “Chival-what?”
“Just forget it, but I’m going…”
It was cold after dusk. I could see my breath. David was fidgeting, peering through the iron bars. His long brown hair was tied away from his face, falling just past his neck in a bushy ponytail. This was strange. He always left it down in the cold, a kind of natural ear muff. I guess he didn’t want anything blocking his vision. Graveyards at night tend to frighten most people.
David had brought a mutual friend, Jason. No one said it out loud, but I knew Jason’s purpose. Another pair of eyes. Two more fists to fight the ghouls. It was back-up. Yeah, David was spooked.
“Hey,” I said to Jason. He only nodded in response. His eyes never wavered from the moonlit gate.
Jenny Kaufman’s funeral was earlier this day. She’d been missing for over a month. But not all of her was missing. A piece of evidence was left behind. A tiny finger, found lodged in a knothole on the floor. She’d been dragged away, gripping anything in her path. That finger got stuck, ripped off as she was pulled. Kept under lock and key, it was frozen in the morgue. That is, until her father confessed.
Respect For The Dead Page 5