I Thought My Uncle Was A Vampire, But He Was Just A Creep

by Richard Cassone

  “Well, I suppose I should then.” Nicolai stood for a moment longer and then left the chapel.

  The hallway was full of many strange noises, grumbling and screaming and clanging, and the guard had not yet returned. There was no point in waiting any longer. They would call him if his visitor returned. He thought of going back into the chapel, but decided against it, he would have felt awkward. He turned to go back to his cell and noticed that the cell which he’d thought empty before was not. In the back, barely visible against the dark wall, sat two men, bound. This one must be for crazies, he thought because the men were dressed in funny costumes: one as a guard and the other as a priest, probably captured in an attempt to escape. They struggled when they saw him looking their way and he hurried on back to his cell. Nicolai thought about his conversation with the chaplain. He’d never taken the time to speak with a religious man before, but he thought this one did not typify churchmen as a class. He was unusual, more down to earth, but he supposed that was probably a necessity in an environment such as this. He made up his mind to find another opportunity to meet with him as soon as possible, there were many questions he had to ask and still he thought the man might have some influence. Tonight though I think it better to remain in my cell, all is not well.

  Shyster was waiting for him when he arrived, was in fact sitting on the toilet. For Christ’s sake. Nicolai turned his back to the foul man until he heard a gurgle and splash of water which alerted him to the fact that it was safe to look. “Well, well Mr. Vicoff, it seems we’ve been a curious little rat. I thought perhaps you’d slipped away again, but you see that I am a fair man giving you the benefit of the doubt as it were. Come sit, we have things to discuss, many things.” Nicolai sat on the edge of the bed, Shyster sat near him and hung his headthis day he wore no beard. “Ah, Nicolai, I don’t know about this business anymore. I’m tired of it. Too many disappointments. I’m thinking of taking an early retirement. I’ve come into some money rather suddenly you see anddon’t worry, I’m not abandoning your cause. I gave you my word to help as best as I could, but there’s very little left to do, don’t you know.” There was a gunshot in the corridor and Shyster stood suddenly. “What’s going on around here anyway? There was no guard in the waiting room. I almost gave up on you, fortunately I ran into the warden in the parking lot. He was screeching out of there like a bat in the wind. Took a hell of a lot of convincing, but he gave me the keys, said something about going to hell with the place, never liked the man, never liked him. Where were you? I really was about to get worried. Thought you slipped away again I did. We can’t have than now can we? Where were you?”

  “In the chapel.”

  “Ah, finding some religion, eh? Good for you, my boy, good for you. You’ll need it I’m afraid.”

  “Is this all you came for, to see how I am doing? Well I’m rotting in a bloody prison is how I’m doing. Incidentally, some really awful treatment has been put to me so far and I’d like it all brought up at the trial. I won’t go into details on how they’ve violated me, but I expect retribution.”

  Shyster laughed and washed his hands and face at the sink. As he continued to speak, water dripped off of his greasy face, “Please don’t get excited. Purely routine, I assure you. As to your legitimate question, no that is not my only reason for coming. I have news. The charges concerning your Aunt Rifka have been dropped, apparently the family was not enthusiastic about pursuing them and as they were the only witnesses and the coroner was unavailableseems he’s left the countryfor comment; a bit of luck for you then.” Oh yes, I’m terribly lucky. “You’re no doubt glad to have that off your mind. Yes, of course you are. I’ve got some good news for you concerning Rooka too. You’re not going to be held for trial in America. I never thought you would of course, not for the murder anyway. I thought maybe they might trump up some charges of illegal immigration, embezzling, that sort of thing, but they’ve decided not tooh, they wanted to but I managed to convince them that it was impossible. However, on the matter of extradition, things don’t look as good. Your visa had been temporary and there’s a Detectivewhat was his name nowFisticuffs that’s it, Detective Fisticuffs, late of The Yard as he calls himself, an Englishman. Don’t know what the hell he’s doing over there, but he’s very excited about getting a hold of you. There’s going to be a hearing next week and I’ve instructed Alabaster to do the best he can for you. I have to tell you though that it doesn’t look good.”

  “Alabaster? Crooke? I thought you were going to handle my case on your own? Personal attention you said.”

  “Yes, yes, but I’ve already done everything I can for youa lot more than for others you knowand as I said I’m looking to retirement now. You’ll be in good hands with Alabaster, he’s top rate when he’s not drinking and he doesn’t do that much anymore. However, there is one other little matter we should discuss. I’ve looked into your personal finances and I noticeI hope this isn’t news to youthat you’re flat broke and there is of course the matter of my fee.”

  “Fee? Nicolai jumped to his feet. “It’s your bloody fault I’m in this mess to begin with. First you convince me to come to America, then you play phone games, then you trap me, have me followedI’ve half a mind it was you who killed Rooka in the first place!”

  “Enough!” Shyster slapped Nicolai in the face causing, a moment later, a trickle of blood to seep over his lower lip and down his chin. Out of defiance, Nicolai did not wipe it clean. “Control yourself please. There’s no need for wild accusations or anything of the sort. I’ve done you a legitimate service and extended myself as far as possible. I am entitled, I believe, to my fair due. I’ve already taken the trouble of tracking down the little bit of money you had in your possession when interred, but that you will remember was mine to begin with. There must be something else, something you can give me. I can quite assure you that you will have no need for possessions for some time to come.”

  “There is nothing, absolutely nothing. Please go, you’ve done quite enough as you say.” Nicolai thought of his belt and felt and hoped Shyster did not see his last glowing ruby, but it was safely hidden beneath his shirt which had become untucked. “Nothing.” A red globe of blood dripped off of his chin and splashed on the floor.

  “You’d better clean yourself, you look perfectly diabolical.” Nicolai went to the sink to wash the blood off of his chin. A delicious taste, he thought, ones own blood. “I understand there were some jewels in your possession. Perhaps if they are valuable they might suffice.”

  “Lost.” He bent into the water and watched it drain red down the drain.

  “Pity. I suppose that is really all then. I would have expected more gratitude out of a Vicoff, but there you are. Remember me well, I am the last friend you shall meet for a long time.” He turned to go but just as he put his hand on the cell door there was a crisp tinkle-tinkle in the room behind. He looked and Nicolai looked and in the middle of the floor lay that third pretty stone. Nicolai had been touching it with his hand unconsciously and accidentally loosed it from its very poor setting.

  Shyster did not smile, but seemed upset at the deception. As he knelt to pick the ruby up, however, from the dark corner below the sink pesky Ricky Rat darted out and snatched the thing in his snout (a much more stable setting) and carried it as quickly back to his nest. Shyster jumped at the fright. A cackling sound came from the corridor. “Well, it seems it truly is lost now. Pity. I want you to know it’s not that I necessarily need the money, as I said I’ve rather unexpectedly come into a large fortune, I simply thought it proper that you pay your due. However, in the end it is the same. You have nothing. Good-bye then Nicolai and I wish you at least a better death than Rooka and that will not be difficult.” Shyster shivered from a chill draft which blew into the cell and then left.

  Nicolai felt the three empty sockets in his belt. Now, now finally, Rooka was truly gone. And so is Shyster, well thank God for that. Or would it do more harm than good, as unli
kely an advocate as ever he was, he had still been Nicolai’s only hope. So he was in all likelihood to be off to unknown tortures in an unknown country alone, but he would not submit to fear, not even now of that Ricky Rat. Nicolai turned again to the sink, but running his eye inadvertently across the toilet, he saw a little present Shyster had left for him, a deposit (rhymes with bird) floating in the water, black and long it was and apparently too large to fit through the pipe. He’d have to break it up, perhaps just in two, but later; disgusting. For now, he lay again on the ground and peered into the rat’s little cave. And there again he saw the three red eyes glaring back at him. No, no, he paused and thought, that’s wrong, not three, two. But there were three. Of course, he’s still got the jewel in his mouth, hope he chokes on it, the rodent. I’ll vivisect the thing and have it, if it comes to it. The lights dimmed again briefly and then brightened. He heard outside in the corridor a soft (though by no means gentle) rhythmic clanging begin, far away. He continued staring into the hole (I don’t think, Ricky, that you understand my conviction here) and the three eyes stared back and did not move, not even with the breaths the animal must (mustn’t he?) take.

  The blood began again to trickle. The clanging now was distinctly closer and it sounded now like a club being dragged along a series of chimes, each hitting a sour, untuned note. The eyes still glowed. Nicolai tried to distinguish which might be the jewel, but it was impossible for they lay three in a line across the night of the hole and in each he thought he saw imperfections, on each the precise cuts of the jeweler who fashioned them. They each glowed equally bright. The clanging had stopped for the momenthad gone cling-clang, cling-clang, clingand was replaced by a smattering of song, not constant, not whole, but a line here and there seemingly without cohesion. In the order he heard them they went:

  Chew, chomp, chittly-chat

  Flying, whip-whap

  Luscious lovely, little lair

  Sitting in her comfy chair

  Fireside, snick-snap

  Billy broke the baseball bat.

  But then those lines, that song was mixed somehow with one farther away and fainter, lines of which seeped into Nicolai’s ears as follows:

  Swimming swiftly through the air

  Delicious bird aloft. Raven or crow,

  Sparrow, narrow piece of hair

  Aware and watching safely the bird does go.

  Could he be lying on his side (Ricky Rat now), dead? Damn that clanging, clanging, clanging, clanging, singing, singing, singing. Knock it off! What is going on around here? Lunacy. Then Nicolai heard a squeal followed by two consecutive gunshots: Pow, pow! He turned away then to look (so he was submitting to fear a little bit, what of it?) and saw what he really did not expect: Ricky Rat skidding around the corner. He was breathing heavily, for a rat, and his tail was singed. He looked at Nicolai and Nicolai noticed two things about his eyes: one, they did not glow, neither red, nor yellow, nor any other primary color, and two, they looked sad. Ricky Rat then, after that brief connection, scurried up a pipe in the corner of the room and settling himself momentarily on a bracket near the ceiling, dove. It was a dive, not a fall, not a misstep, but an intentional leap through the airso softly he fell, Nicolai wondered when he might spread his wingsand to a flat death on the ground (I’m still expecting that bounce). Nicolai then looked again into the hole and he knew what he saw, what destiny, coincidence, God, fate, luck, what whatever, what something (coincidence) had brought together and he reached for them, but his hand would not fit. There they were, all three, nestled in a pack rat’s dusty lair, glowing red and he could not reach them. So he lay there and stared into them, two at a time. He tried again to grasp them, but to no avail. The blood from his lip had by now formed a small pool on the floor and without caring, he rested his chin in it, content to wait and to stare if need be until the little jewels sauntered out on their own. But then, without warning (well there had been, he’d ignored it), the lights went out permanently and Nicolai was engulfed in sudden night. The fluorescence of the rubies lasted a moment longer, and then as if a cloud passed over them, they too dimmed to black.

  The End

  ###

  About The Author

  Richard Cassone recently moved from Paris to Venice Beach, for reasons he can’t quite reconcile. He is the writer of the film Say I Love You, But Whisper. He lives in a small cottage near the beach, and is pestered by a squirrel named Spaggio while he writes.