A Vampire's Christmas Carol

by Karen McCullough

  His breathing was quick and harsh again. “Quickly. The chains.” He lay down in the snow in the midst of the poles.

  Carol opened the tote. In pulling them out, she discovered that what she had thought one long chain was actually four, all with clips on one end that slid open and closed and a heavy leather cuff on the other. She held one up, staring at it, not sure she really believed what she thought he wanted.

  “Hurry,” he urged. “Can’t hold on much longer.” The red flickered in his eyes faster. “On me.”

  “You want me to chain you to those posts.”

  He nodded, closing his eyes as though even the moonlight shining on the snow hurt.

  “I—“

  He knew what he was doing.

  She drew a deep breath and fastened the chain through an eyelet hole in the post and then circled his wrist with the cuff, pulling it tight to ensure his hand wouldn’t slide through, and buckled it closed. His wrists were almost pathetically thin, with only the barest layer of flesh covering bone and whatever wasted muscle remained. It was the first time she’d actually touched him, and it affected her oddly. Though his skin was cool, almost cold, it sent a jolt of tingly heat up her arm.

  No.

  The man would be dead in less than an hour.

  The realization sent tears coursing down her cheek as she fastened the second cuff to his wrist.

  He opened his eyes. Red flashed intermittently as he watched her. “No tears. This is what I want. Do my ankles too. I’m going to lose—“

  Before he could even finish the sentence, he did in fact lose control. His mouth opened wide and a ghastly, eerie howl emerged. The sound combined physical agony and frustrated anger. The blood red in his eyes turned almost black in the dim light.

  He began to thrash and writhe, trying to get loose and get to her. The chains rattled and clanked as he strained against them, wrestling to get free with all his remaining strength. When she grabbed his right angle, he kicked out at her. It took several minutes of struggle to get his ankles fastened to the poles as well, leaving him spread-eagled in the snow.

  It hurt watching him thrash helplessly, madly in the chains. He didn’t deserve this. The man had fought so heroically, resisting the urge to drink from her, and his reward was a miserable, painful death. Once she had him secure, she stood for a few minutes, praying for him as he continued to writhe and roar and raise his head, trying futilely to get close enough to bite.

  The thought of biting reminded her that Antoine still lay on the kitchen floor with a stake in him. They’d been in the processing of dragging him outside when Michael lost control. Best she finish that business now.

  It wasn’t easy dragging a dead vampire out the door, down the steps and into the yard. Antoine was lean, but tall, with more bulk than you’d guess by looking at him. She took care he remained face down to avoid accidentally dislodging the stake. By the time she got him ten feet away from the house, she was sweating, despite the cold.

  She stood over the vampire, struggling to catch her breath and wondering what to do next. “Drain him” Michael had said. What the heck did that mean? Unfortunately, Michael was in no condition to ask about it.

  He didn’t have the strength to keep up the struggle long, though, so she sat on the bottom step, waiting, hoping he had one more period of lucidity left in him. Ten minutes later, her patience was rewarded. Michael stopped straining against the bonds and quieted.

  She walked over to him. “What do I have to do to Antoine? You said something about ‘draining him’?”

  He nodded. “I’m sorry. Have to ask you…to do this. Get a knife and open a vein. Also, chip through the ice so the blood can hit the ground. Then leave him out here and the sun will finish him. Not an easy thing for you. Sorry.”

  “I’ll handle it.”

  She said it to make him feel better. In fact, she felt anything but confident or eager for the task he outlined. She had no desire even to touch the vampire’s body now that she’d dragged it outside. But she wouldn’t tolerate any remote possibility Antoine could revive as long as she could do something to prevent it.

  Carol went back inside and found the knife Antoine had dropped earlier, handling it with care, carrying it so the blade pointed down at the ground. In the mudroom off the hall by the back door, she found a pair of rubber boots. They were several sizes too big, but still better than wading around out there in her soaked tennis shoes. She also found a bin full of garden equipment. Rooting around in it produced a trowel with a pointed end. She took that out back along with the knife.

  Michael was thrashing around and howling in anguish again. Doing her best to ignore him, she chose a spot near Antoine’s neck and began to brush away snow, then she chipped through the ice until the trowel poked into actual dirt. Until yesterday, the weather hadn’t been all that cold, so the ground wasn’t frozen. After scraping away a bit more snow, ice and some old dead grass, she had a cleared patch a few inches in diameter. Despite the cold temperature, she had sweat running down the side of her face by the time she finished.

  That was the easy part, though.

  She really didn’t look forward to the next bit. But dawn was approaching and she dared not delay long. She shifted Antoine’s body a few inches so that his neck was right over the hole she’d dug.

  She dreaded the next move. Never in her life had she done anything remotely like this. Lifting the knife, she marked her target, but paused for a moment, confounded by squeamishness over what she was about to do. She reminded herself of how Antoine had destroyed Michael’s life and what he’d tried to do to her. It strengthened her to plunge the knife down into his neck.

  Unfortunately it apparently missed the major blood vessels. Her stab produced only a small trickle of blood that took several minutes even to drip down off his skin and onto the ground. He was dead. His heart wasn’t pumping, so there wouldn’t be much blood flowing, but still, if she hit a major vein or artery, there should be more than that. Especially since, by a stroke of unconsidered luck, she managed to leave him lying on a slight down-slope so that his head was lower than his feet.

  Reluctantly, very reluctantly, she pulled the knife out and brought it down again. This time she slashed laterally into his neck rather than stabbing, getting the knife as far under him as she could manage, given that he lay face down.

  A quick gush of blood poured out, running fast down his neck to drip into the hole. Fighting nausea, anger and depression, she watched it for a moment, then stood and turned her back on the body.

  She went over to Michael, who’d stopped howling and thrashing and lay quietly now. “It’s done,” she told him.

  He opened his eyes and looked at her. A small, weak smile curved his lips. “Thank God.” He took several pain-wracked breaths before he said, “You should go now. Done all you can. It’s starting to…light. Traffic on the road soon. Someone will see you and help.”

  She just stared at him, unable to say anything. “Goodbye” seemed so ridiculously weak and inadequate for the situation. What could she say? Tears mingled with the sweat pouring down her face. She shook her head and a few drops sprayed on him.

  “It’s all right,” he said, seeing her distress. “At last I’ll have…peace.” He shut his eyes for a moment, conserving his strength.

  “It’s not fair. It just totally sucks! You don’t deserve this.”

  He sighed and looked up at her. “Can’t…disagree. But this is better than…the other. Better than being a monster.” Melted snow soaked his hair and clothes, but he didn’t appear to feel the chill.

  “I wish… You did say there might be a way—“

  He shook his head. “No. Too dangerous. You’ve already risked…too much just staying here. Wouldn’t want that on my…conscience.”

  “Michael, I—“

  “No. Make me happy, if you go. Have a good life. Find that hero. He’s out there somewhere for you.”

  “I don’t… I can’t…”

  “You can.
Don’t want you to stay and watch. Please. Can’t bear that.”

  She drew a hard breath and tears rushed down her face even faster. “All right. God rest your soul and give you peace.” She knelt down beside one of the corner posts, where he couldn’t reach her, but she could take his hand. Measuring the distance to be sure he couldn’t touch her with his mouth, she raised his hand as far as the chain would allow, then she lowered her face and kissed his fingers. Tears ran onto them.

  After a moment, she backed away. She’d feared the touch would spark another round of frenzied struggle, but it didn’t. Possibly he was now too exhausted and drained to be capable of it.

  He watched her with that small, sad smile. “In another life…” He stopped and shook his head. “Go.”

  She rose and stepped back, preparing to go, but stopped when he called her name.

  “Carol?” His lips pressed together and his face screwed up in pain. He spent a few minutes fighting it before he could speak again. Then he said, “One…more favor?”

  “What?”

  “Can I have…your cross?”

  “My cross? Won’t it hurt you?”

  “Don’t think so. Not anymore.”

  She stared at him for a moment, wondering if this was some devious sort of trap. It wasn’t obvious how it could be. She reached up and unclasped the chain. Rehooking it after she’d taken it off, she bent down again and slipped it into his hand, winding the chain around his fingers. She was ready to pull it back if it caused him pain, but instead he closed his hand around it.

  He gave a small sigh and some of the tense lines in his face relaxed. “No pain. Comfort.” He looked at the sky for a second. She followed his gaze to where a soft pink glow lit the horizon.

  “Dawn,” he said. “Go now.” A spasm twisted his body, jerking his arms and legs against the chains. It didn’t appear to be blood lust this time, but pure, uncrazed agony. “Please,” he begged, the word a thin, stretched wire of sound.

  “God bless you.” She whirled, hurried to the steps and rushed up them. Tears all but blinded her and caused her to stumble on the second step. Steadying herself on the rail, she made it up and into the kitchen. She shut the door and didn’t look back. His death wasn’t going to be easy or pretty. She could at least grant him the dignity of privacy.

  As long as she lived, she’d never forget Michael Carpenter.

  She walked back through the house, feeling a bit lost, uncertain what to do next. On impulse she lifted the telephone handset. She almost dropped it again when the dial tone buzzed. She began dialing, but stopped after nine and one.

  “Find your hero,” he’d said. “He’s out there.”

  But he wasn’t. He was right behind her. In the backyard. She’d never met anyone more courageous and heroic than Michael Carpenter. She doubted she ever would.

  She set the phone back on the hook.

  It was dangerous. It was probably stupid. It might be futile and useless and that would break her heart.

  He’d asked her not to try to save him because he didn’t want her risking her life. She had to respect that to the point of asking seriously whether she should try it. At best, she might save his life, give him back the years of real human life he’d lost. She couldn’t give him back his family or his fiancée. Maybe he could find new versions, though

  At worst, she’d fail, he’d make her a vampire and they’d both die in the sunlight. Not a happy prospect, that. Because that was the one outcome he couldn’t stand, she’d have to be sure she erred on the side of caution if she did this.

  The most likely outcome, though, was that it wouldn’t work and he’d just die. As he planned to anyway.

  A glance at the window showed the sky definitely growing lighter. If she was going to do this, she needed to get started. She hurried into the living room and thumbed through the several pages of notes she’d made earlier while Michael told his story. Finally she found it and re-read the instructions he’d given.

  It wasn’t as specific as she would have liked, and he’d taken pains to say no one was sure it would work. It was just something he’d heard about.

  The risk… She hesitated, considering the dangers and how tricky the timing would be. Why should she even try it? She owed him nothing. Yesterday this time, she hadn’t known he existed. He’d done nothing for her… Okay, not quite true. He’d given her shelter even though he expected it to make his fight to stay human harder. He’d refrained from drinking her blood, at considerable cost to himself. He’d saved her from Antoine’s machinations.

  Still, he’d told her not to try it.

  But only because he didn’t want to endanger her. He admitted he would have liked to have a normal life back, that dying was his best option only because he didn’t believe any other was possible.

  “Go find your hero.”

  She closed her eyes against the sting of tears starting to flow again. Dammit. He did deserve better.

  Drawing a deep breath, she calmed herself. She’d need a knife. Not the one she’d used on Antoine. This one couldn’t be tainted with vampire blood. Another trowel or shovel too. God help her, this was going to be hard.

  It hadn’t been easy to take care of Antoine and this would be ten times worse.

  Get going. Every second of delay diminished the chances of success.

  Carol went back to the kitchen and riffled through several drawers before she found the knives. They all looked sharp, but she selected two that had serrated edges as well as wicked points. She got another shovel from the mud room.

  Before she went back out, she shed the coat. She’d be working hard enough to keep her warm.

  As she descended the steps to the yard, she scanned the horizon. The sun hadn’t risen past it yet, but it wouldn’t be long. It was light enough that she could see easily. Antoine lay where she left him. She made a wide berth around the body to get to Michael.

  He was still also, eyes closed. If he still breathed, she couldn’t see it. His features looked set, fixed, lifeless. Too late. She’d debated too long. Her eyes burned and tears ran down her face again. Damn. She hadn’t cried this much in years.

  Then she noticed that he still clutched the cross in his left hand, the fingers closed around it. A few moments later, his eyes opened. A startled expression crossed his face, followed rapidly by joy, alarm, anger and despair. He made no move, however. He might be too weak by now.

  He barely mouthed the word, “Go.”

  “No. I want to try to save you. But I need you to help me. I need you to tell me when the time is right.”

  “Can’t…trust me.” The words came out slowly, taking an effort to shape each one.

  “Yes, I can. You’ve fought it off this long. You’ll do it for the last few minutes to give us both a chance. You have to. I won’t go away. I’m going to try.”

  He licked his lips with a dry tongue. It took him a while to form the next words. “Carol. No.”

  “Yes.” The more he protested, the more convinced she became it was the right thing to do. “I trust you to give us both a chance. Tell me when the time is right. I’m going to do it, so if you care at all, you’ll make sure I do it at the right time. Meanwhile, I have to dig a hole.”

  His nod was the barest motion of his head. The words “not yet” weren’t even quite a whisper. She could see he didn’t want to hope. He couldn’t afford it. She didn’t blame him.

  He appeared to be aging right in front of her eyes. His hair had gone thin, his face even thinner. The little bit of flesh he had left seemed to evaporate.

  But he still had another raging frenzy left in him. The red glow flared in his eyes just as she turned away to pick up the shovel and begin digging. He started to writhe, twist and yank at his bonds. After a few short, sharp yells, his vocalizations settled down into more of a long groan.

  Carol stayed out of his reach as she used the shovel to brush away snow from a patch of ground near him. It took some hard work to crack through the ice and get enough of i
t cleared away.

  Michael’s raging didn’t last long. He didn’t have the strength to support it for more than a minute or so. The last spasm faded away well before she’d finished breaking through to the dirt.

  Carol was sweating by then, desperate to get it ready in time, and praying for the strength to do this properly.

  She was still clearing off ice when the first rays of the sun peeked above the horizon.

  Because of where he lay, the sunlight reached Antoine first. There was no big “poof” this time either. Instead he began to dissolve into a cloud of mist, just as he had when he left earlier, only the process was slower. And the mist began to settle onto the ground as particles of what looked like dust, rather than disappearing.

  Carol stopped to watch. Over the space of a few minutes, the body sort of came apart, dissolving and falling to pieces at the same time. When the process finished, it left only a man-shaped patch of dusty residue with a pair of shoes and a sprawl of clothes mixed in. The wooden stake lay on top.

  Michael groaned and it drew her attention back to him. His eyes were closed and his face screwed up in agony. The sunlight had touched his feet.

  He fought back the pain long enough to open his eyes and look at her. He just barely breathed the word, “Now.”

  She couldn’t remember when she’d last prayed so much or with such ragged, painful desperation. One last heave with the shovel loosed a big chunk of ice and revealed a circle of ground about six inches in diameter. It better be enough.

  She tossed the tool aside and picked up the knife.

  Michael moaned steadily, unable to bear quietly the pain that drew all his muscles tight. It rose steadily to be near a scream.

  “God help me, please,” she muttered over and over again as she picked up the knife. She had a moment’s hesitation, a bare second of doubt, before she knelt close to Michael and grabbed his hair, lifting his head to position his neck over the space she’d cleared.

  She held the knife near his throat. Nausea roiled her stomach so badly she had to swallow back against it to keep from throwing up.