Fright Night

by John Skipp

Charley was stifling a scream in the bushes when a shaft of light cut through the darkness behind him. He hunkered down, fearing the inevitable.

  “Charley? Char-ley?”

  Thanks, Mom.

  He was terrified. The man and the shadow froze. They wheeled around, searching the blackness for his presence. Dandrige actually took a couple of steps in his direction.

  Charley jumped up and ran for his life, back to Mom, apple pie and anything else he could pile in the way. He disappeared into the relative safety of his kitchen.

  “Little bastard,” hissed the handyman, starting after him. He was restrained by Dandrige, who held his other hand up in a gesture of patience.

  “Billy,” said the master with a gracious smile. “There’ll be plenty of time for that later.

  “Plenty of time.”

  Judy busied herself around the kitchen, more out of habit than anything else. She looked at her son. Poor baby. He’s been studying too much.

  “Here, honey. Have some cocoa.”

  “Mom, I don’t need any cocoa! I didn’t have a nightmare! I’m telling you those guys killed a girl tonight!”

  Judy felt his forehead, checking for fever. He was cool to the touch. Maybe something he ate?

  “MOM! I’m not sick!” Charley pushed her hand away. “The guy did have fangs! A bat did fly over my head! Dandrige did step out of the shadows!” He was pissed. “You know what that means, don’t you?”

  Judy stared at him worriedly. “What, dear?”

  “He’s a VAMPIRE!”

  SEVEN

  “A what?” Amy’s face, at that moment, looked an awful lot like his mother’s.

  “A vampire, dammit! Haven’t you listened to anything I said?”

  “Charley,” she said. Her voice was flat and slightly forlorn. “This is really childish, do you know that? This is a really dumb way to try and get me back.”

  “Forget it,” Charley fumed, turning for the door. “I’m going to the police.”

  They were in Amy’s kitchen, on a sunny and cheerful afternoon. The room was spacious and clean, brightly painted, flooded with light from the huge bay windows. It was an unlikely spot for a major confrontation, but that didn’t make a bit of difference.

  “Charley, this is crazy!”

  “Tell me about it.” His voice was blunt as a truncheon.

  Amy ran in front of him and blocked the door. Her expression had turned desperate. Her hands clamped onto his shoulders as she looked him straight in the eye.

  “Charley. Stop. Listen,” she said. He stopped and listened, but the expression on his face said that he wasn’t really hearing. “You can’t go to the police with a story like that,” she continued. “They’ll lock you up. I’m serious.”

  “All right, all right. I won’t say anything about a vampire. But I sure as hell am gonna tell ’em about those girls!”

  She started to say something, and he shrugged out of her grasp, then stormed around her and threw open the door. “Charley! . . .” she began, but he refused to acknowledge her.

  The door slammed shut behind him.

  Leaving Amy sick with fear of something nameless. The term “paranoid psychotic” was not an active part of her vocabulary.

  “You’re sure about this, now.” It was not so much a question as a pronouncement, with the unspoken context if you’re lying, I will screw you into the wall.

  The voice in question was deep and booming. It emanated from the massive form of Lieutenant Detective Lennox. He was a homicide cop from the Rancho Corvallis force, and he wasn’t used to being busy. He also wasn’t used to having his ass on the griddle: screaming from the populace, pressure from on high. And there had been a lot of cranks calling in on the case, a lot of wild geese that he’d grown tired of chasing.

  Lennox was one of the few black men on the Rancho Corvallis force; he was also the first. He had a short gray Afro that was rapidly turning white and a mustache that was black against his dark chocolate complexion. He wore a severe gray suit, gray vest, white shirt, striped tie pulled tight. He had no neck. He looked eminently capable of screwing Charley into a wall.

  It was not a pleasant thought for Charley. He nodded emphatically at the cop, prayed to God that he hadn’t been imagining things, and then the two of them started up the walk to the Dandrige house.

  Someone watched them from behind the curtains. Charley could see the shadowed silhouette in the window. It sent a shiver of dread through him that refused to go away, getting worse with every step he took.

  They reached the door, and Lennox knocked firmly with his slab of a hand. The sound echoed through the silent house, an effect distinctly audible from the outside. It was as if they’d knocked on the door of a cave.

  Footsteps followed, heavy and slow. Charley felt his fear grow nearly intolerable, prickling against the inside of his flesh.

  The door opened.

  It was the man who had caught him at the storm doors. He didn’t look any prettier than he had the day before. Even when he smiled, as he was doing right now, there was something cold and unpleasant about him. Something foul, Charley thought, and an image of maggots crawling through raw meat came unbidden.

  “Yes?” the man said, looking from Lennox to Charley and back again.

  “Mr. Dandrige?” the detective said.

  “No. I’m Billy Cole, his roommate. Why?”

  “Lieutenant Lennox. Homicide.” He flashed his badge. Billy’s eyes widened in what looked like genuine surprise. “Mind if we come in?”

  “Not at all.” Billy stepped aside, allowing them entrance. Lennox entered first, automatically pocketing the badge. Charley followed, forcing himself to make eye contact, forcing down his fear. The face of his host was inscrutable.

  Then he began to look around.

  The foyer was huge, with black and white checkerboard tiles in the floor, each tile roughly two feet square. Two black, foreboding statues framed the foot of a massive, Gothic-looking staircase. The place was as imposing as the inside of a cathedral, though somewhat more sinister in tone.

  The effect was mitigated slightly by the cardboard boxes stacked in the area, most of them not yet unpacked. There were also several pieces of heavy Victorian furniture, some of them covered with white dropcloths. They did not diminish the effect.

  Charley checked out some of the stuff in the boxes, making his investigation casual. Nothing out of the ordinary showed: towels, clothes, unexceptional knick-knacks and household goods. He wondered if vampires took showers and stuff. He wondered if they needed to brush their teeth, or woke up in the middle of the day because they needed to take a leak.

  Reaching no conclusions, he followed Billy and Detective Lennox into the living room, which was also full of unpacked boxes and crates. As they left the foyer, however, Charley noticed that one wall was completely lined with clocks.

  None of them working.

  All of them set for six o’clock.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” Billy asked when they had stopped walking.

  “There’ve been a couple of murders,” Lennox replied. He was, at this point, taking Charley seriously enough to keep his eye on Cole at all times. “This young man lives next door, and he claims to have seen two of the victims at your house in the last few days.”

  Cole looked shocked. “Oh, you’re kidding!” Lennox shook his head. Charley looked for a chink in Billy’s façade, didn’t find one. “This is ridiculous. Nobody’s come to visit since we got here. No Welcome Wagons, no nothing.” He grinned.

  “That’s a lie,” Charley blurted. The two men turned to him appraisingly. He felt himself blush as he continued. “I saw him carry a body out in a plastic bag last night.”

  Billy laughed. It didn’t sound phony. “That’s terrific,” he said. “I know exactly what he saw. Where he got this body business is something else again, but . . .” He shrugged disarmingly and took a couple of steps into the debris.

  “Here,” he concluded, stooping to p
ick up a large Hefty bag. It was stuffed with wrapping paper and mashed cardboard boxes. He brandished it like a trophy.

  “The bag I saw had a body in it,” Charley insisted, low.

  “Did you actually see a body?” Skepticism was beginning to reemerge on Lennox’s face.

  “Well . . . no, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “. . . but I saw two girls here; one of ’em coming in, the other one through the window. They were the two girls on the news, I swear to God.” The words came out in a flurry. He was afraid that he wouldn’t get to finish.

  “That’s completely ridiculous,” Billy insisted. He looked pissed now, and Charley had no doubt that it was genuine. “I think our young friend is lying through his teeth,” he continued, turning to Lennox. “That’s completely off the wall. Look, how about if I take you around back and show you what’s in all of our garbage bags?”

  “He didn’t take the bag I’m talking about out back,” Charley insisted. “He put it in the Jeep and drove it away.”

  Billy made a disgusted, impatient face. Lennox’s sympathy with Cole was obvious.

  “Look. I can prove he’s lying,” Charley said. “Let’s look in the basement instead.”

  “What’s in the basement, Charley?” Detective Lennox asked.

  “Yes,” Billy echoed, turning to lock his eyes with Charley. “What’s supposed to be in the basement, Charley?”

  Charley couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. There was something in Billy’s eyes that held him. Not hypnosis, not supernatural mind control, not anything heavier than basic mortal dread. Charley saw the menace that lurked behind the eyes, saw it clearly. He wished that Lennox would see it, too.

  But Lennox didn’t see. Lennox was getting impatient. Seconds ticked past with ruthless precision, and still Charley couldn’t speak. And still Billy bored into him with his eyes. And still Lennox waited, tapping his foot now, waiting for the moment to break.

  It did, at last, Billy turning to the detective and saying, “I think it’s pretty clear that the kid doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He was about to continue when something snapped inside Charley Brewster, forcing the words that he did not want to say out of his throat.

  “It’s a coffin!” he yelled. “That’s what’s down there: a coffin! I saw them carry it in!”

  “What?” Lieutenant Detective Lennox looked like he’d been knocked for a loop.

  “Yeah,” Charley continued. “And you’ll find Jerry Dandrige in it, sleeping the sleep of the undead!”

  “What are you talking about?” Lennox was utterly mystified now.

  “He’s a vampire!” Charley practically screamed. “I saw him last night, through the upstairs bedroom window! He had fangs, and I watched him bite into her neck!”

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake,” the detective muttered. He grimaced, the full weight of human stupidity pressing down on the corners of his mouth. Then he grabbed Charley roughly by the arm and said, “C’mon. We’re going outside.”

  “But . . .”

  “No buts.” Lennox didn’t shout, but he might as well have. Charley could feel his head being drilled into the wall already.

  They moved toward the front door: Lennox pulling, Charley dragging along, Billy following languidly behind. The cop wasn’t looking at Billy Cole’s face, but Charley was. It was not the face of an innocent man. He leered as they reached the door, which Lennox threw open. Then it softened as the detective turned and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Cole.”

  “Anytime.” Billy was smiling.

  Lennox virtually tossed Charley through the doorway and onto the porch, then followed after. Cole shut the door behind them. Lennox quickly grabbed Charley’s arm again and dragged him down the walkway to his car.

  “I oughtta take you in,” the cop hissed. “I oughtta take you in on a goddam charge of obstructing justice and nail your little ass to the floor. I could do that, you know? I could do that with ease.”

  “I wasn’t lying,” Charley insisted. He was scared and hurt and angry enough to piss himself and slug Lennox simultaneously. “Jerry Dandrige is a vampire! If you just woulda looked—”

  “Now listen, kid.” Lennox slammed Charley into the side of the police cruiser—not hard enough to damage, but enough to show that there was more where that came from. “And listen good. If I ever see you down at the station house again, I’m gonna throw you in jail. And I don’t mean overnight.”

  “But . . .”

  Lennox wasn’t listening. He pushed Charley aside, threw open the car door and slid inside. The door slammed shut.

  “Please, sir! I’m—”

  The cruiser’s engine kicked in with a murderous roar.

  “—I’m telling the truth! I’m—”

  Rubber and asphalt came together in a squeal of motion. The car fired away from the curb like a bottle rocket, tearing down the street.

  “THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME!” Charley screamed, and then Lennox and his vehicle screeched around the corner, disappearing from view forever.

  The front door of the Dandrige house creaked open. Billy Cole stood there.

  He was smiling.

  EIGHT

  The door went flying inward and Charley followed suit. There was a narrow flight of stairs directly before him. He took them two at a time.

  “EDDIE!” he hollered. “EDDIE!”

  Evil Ed’s room was at the end of the hall. Charley sprinted toward it, not thinking about the members of the Thompson household, not thinking about anything but the coppery taste of horror on his tongue. When he reached Ed’s door, he threw it open.

  Evil Ed was parked in front of his desk. He held a delicate paintbrush in his right hand and a hideous monster model in his left. It was The Ghoul, as advertised in the back pages of Famous Monsters of Filmland. Like the magazine, it was old, and had been out of distribution for many years. Ed had the whole set, treasured them enormously and periodically did touch-up work on their bloody jaws and pasty green complexions.

  He was doing so now, and he didn’t appear thrilled at the interruption. “And to what,” he said, cocking one eyebrow disdainfully, “do I owe this dubious pleasure?”

  “You gotta help me!” Charley gasped, out of breath.

  Eddie sneered. “That’s Amy’s department.”

  “No, no! You don’t understand! The vampire knows that I know about him.”

  “What?”

  “The vampire! He knows . . . or he will when he wakes up. Shit!” Charley glanced at his watch. It was four thirty-five.

  Eddie glanced at his own watch instinctively, then looked back at Charley, disgusted. “What vampire are you referring to? There are so many of them, you know.”

  He gestured snidely around the room. It was a virtual monster museum. Posters of old Karloff/Lugosi/Chaney, Jr. screamfests covered the walls. The rest of his models shared bookshelf space with half a ton of paperback horror novels, a boxed set of vintage Tales From the Crypt, complete collections of Creepy, Eerie and Vampirella and a vast assortment of creepy rubber monstrosities.

  Charley stamped his foot, gritted his teeth and tried to pull himself together. “Look, I’m not kidding. A vampire moved into the house next door, and it’s going to kill me if I don’t protect myself.”

  “Right.” Eddie snorted. “You’re a fruitcake, Brewster, I swear to God.”

  “You’ve got to believe me!”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “But—”

  “Listen.” Evil Ed gestured impatiently with his paintbrush. “I don’t know what your problem is, but it isn’t mine. Understand? Ever since you started hanging out with Amy, I’ve hardly seen you. You never have time, you never have anything nice to say. It seems to me like you sorta wrote me off. So I’m writing you off. Hit the road.”

  “Eddie, please.” Charley’s voice had gotten softer. The truth of his old friend’s words—his ex-friend, from the sound of it—hit home. “I’m sorry. You’re right. But I really need your he
lp. I’m scared.”

  “You’ve got a vampire living next door.” Evil Ed nodded his head condescendingly. “Okay. I can see why you’re scared. Fer sure.” He grinned at The Ghoul and said, dotingly, “You’d be scared, too, wouldn’t you, Punkin’?”

  “Don’t make fun of me!” The outburst of anger seemed sudden, but it had been building for a while. “I’m getting tired of everybody treating me like I’m crazy!”

  “Yeah, tell me about being treated like you’re crazy!” Ed roared back. “Tell me about everybody treating you like an asshole! You don’t think I know what that’s like? You don’t think people treat me like that every day of my life?

  “Well, think again, Brewster! and then think about dragging your tail out the door! You can’t treat me like shit for three months and then just barge in here, demanding that I drop everything and run off to hunt a stupid fucking vampire with you!”

  Tense silence. The two boys stared at each other. Evil Ed Thompson, surprised by his own fury, took a deep breath before continuing in a level, weary voice.

  “You got a vampire, Charley? Go hunt it yourself. You know what to do, right? Unless you’ve forgotten everything about the last four years.”

  Charley mutely shook his head.

  “Fantastic. If you kill it, I’d be thrilled to check out the moldering bones. If it kills you . . . well, I guess I’ll just have to keep my wood stakes handy, right?”

  Silence.

  “You’d like to put a stake through my heart, wouldn’t you?” Charley said softly. “It would make you feel better, right?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself.” Evil Ed turned back to his desk, dipped his paintbrush in the murky green liquid, started dabbing at The Ghoul’s face again. “Get lost.”

  Charley didn’t bother to close the door behind him.

  NINE

  All the way home, Charley couldn’t stop thinking about what Evil Ed had said. It hurt on so many levels, in so many different ways. You know what to do, right? was the phrase that kept ringing in his ears. Followed by unless you’ve forgotten everything about the last four years . . .