The Late Night Horror Show

by Bryan Smith

  She let out a breath and took a step toward the line of trees. A sound somewhere behind her made her gasp. She whirled about and scanned the gloom-shrouded woods. She saw trees and the blackness between them. And nothing else. No sign of a masked man in dirty overalls. And yet she had heard something. A sharp, cracking sound. The kind of sound, say, that a booted foot might make when stepping on a fallen branch. And although she couldn’t see anyone out there in the gloom, it was possible her pursuer—if he was out there at all—might be lurking behind one of the big trees, waiting patiently for her to turn her back to him again.

  It was a creepy thing to think and she tried to dismiss it.

  But she couldn’t.

  Several moments passed.

  And then the sound came again, closer now, from somewhere off to her right.

  Fuck this, she thought.

  She spun around again and ran into the clearing.

  Chapter Twelve

  Kira stared blankly at the stone fireplace at the opposite end of the room and tried to think what she might do next. She didn’t like the idea of just sitting here and waiting for this “Master” person to show up and take another bite out of her neck, but she didn’t appear to have any other options.

  A significant block of time passed. Perhaps as much as a half hour. Long enough to start feeling bored. Lacking anything else to do, she stood up and walked over to one of the black-painted windows. Nailed shut. An inspection of the other windows showed they had all been secured in the same manner. Seeing this did nothing to calm her nerves. She was a prisoner and there was no way out.

  She could maybe try to smash through one of the windows and climb out to drop to the ground below. But that would make a lot of noise. The big blond guys would kick the door open and be on her long before she could get outside. She had locked the door from the inside, but the door was made of wood and the lock was hardly imposing. It wouldn’t delay the blond goons more than a second or two. Not nearly long enough. And the guards were far from the only complicating factor. She had no idea how high up this room was, whether it was on a second or third story. It could be quite a drop from the window to the ground below.

  It was hopeless. There truly was no way out.

  Kira wandered over to the full-length oval mirror mounted on a stand next to the wardrobe. She stared at the image of herself in the tiny blue nightie. She frowned. She hated to admit it, but she sort of liked the way she looked in it. The cut of the flimsy garment emphasized the jut of her breasts and the swell of her hips in a boldly erotic way. She turned a little for a side view of her figure, admiring the flatness of her belly and her slender, toned legs. She had taken up running at the beginning of the latest semester and it had shown some serious dividends in terms of her physical appearance. It was something she had known in a vague way for a while, but until now she had not fully appreciated the extent of the improvement. She really looked kind of…hot.

  She felt good about it for maybe five seconds.

  Then she frowned again.

  Awesome, she thought. Congratulations. You turned yourself into a hottie. And now you’ve attracted the attention of a vampire with a naughty nightie fetish.

  It was the stuff of kinky fantasy. Unfortunately, now it was also real life. Sort of. She still hadn’t worked out just how “real” this alternate world was. So much about it seemed too ridiculous, like things staged for a cheap movie. The room reminded her of sets from old European horror films she had seen on Netflix. The guards were caricatures of B-movie villain henchmen. And yet, it all looked and felt real enough. No matter how fantastical it all seemed, she was convinced this was no elaborate put-on. Nor was it a hallucination. No hallucination could ever be so finely detailed. All she really knew was that whatever had happened to bring her to this alternate world was beyond her understanding.

  She turned away from the mirror and returned to the bed, suddenly unable to bear looking any longer at her sleek and, yes, very lovely body. Just as she was about to sit, she heard the sound of a key being inserted in the bedroom door’s lock. She stared in sudden, wide-eyed terror as the knob rotated. She heard the click of the bolt as it retracted and then the door creaked open on hinges in dire need of oiling.

  The vampire strode into the room, pushing the door shut behind him.

  Kira’s heart slammed in her chest. She sucked in an involuntary breath and just stood there, shaking like a scared little kid in the presence of a hulking, abusive father. She was in the presence of a for-real fucking monster. Oh, he didn’t look like a monster. His physical appearance was that of an attractive man in his midthirties. He stood maybe a hair over six feet. He had penetrating dark eyes and a chiseled jaw line, as well as thick, wavy brown hair, a hank of which fell rakishly over his forehead.

  “You need not fear me.” His English was fluent, but he had an accent she couldn’t immediately identify. It was vaguely European. “I mean you no harm.”

  Kira at last managed to swallow the lump in her throat. “I…I don’t think I believe you.”

  The vampire peered at her in a quizzical way. “Oh? And why not?”

  Kira touched the marks on her neck. “This, for one thing. I do tend to fear men who take actual bites out of my flesh.” Her frightened expression shifted, hardening into a kind of fearful anger. “And then there’s the whole abduction thing. Really, I’ve got a whole list of reasons to be afraid of you. Also, what have you done with my friend?”

  The vampire laughed softly and took a step toward her.

  Kira took a matching step backward.

  The vampire ceased his advance and held up a placating hand. “Please. You must relax. I merely wish to talk to you and explain what’s happened and why you are here.”

  Kira couldn’t help it—she laughed. “Oh,yeah? That’s gonna take some serious explaining. Because I’ll tell you right now, there’s nothing you can say that’ll make me okay with this bullshit.”

  The vampire smiled. “That remains to be seen. All I ask is you reserve judgment and listen to what I have to say. I suspect your attitude toward me will change significantly once you understand the true reasons for your presence here.”

  Kira grunted.

  Not likely, you bloodsucking freak.

  “Whatever. It’s not like I really have a choice.”

  Another smile.

  But this time he didn’t dispute her assertion.

  “Hey, asshole. Another question for you.”

  His smile faltered.

  Good. Got to you. Finally.

  It was nice to see the smug bastard off-balance, if only for a moment.

  “Why am I dressed like a fucking whore? Seriously. This is another of those teensy little things that don’t do a whole lot to reassure me about your intentions.”

  There was an accompanying dark twinkle in his eyes as his smile returned, a hint of his true predatory nature. Instead of answering her question, he strode across the room to a waist-high cabinet set against the wall between two of the blacked-out windows. The cabinet’s top was comprised of two sliding panels. He pushed these apart and reached inside, pulling out a bottle filled with some type of brown liquor and two cocktail glasses.

  He waggled one of the glasses at her. “Drink?”

  Kira’s instinct was to decline, but she hesitated. She realized she was thirsty. And a drink of something strong did sound kind of nice right about now. She was trapped in a bizarre and inexplicable situation with no obvious way out. She stared at the bottle and the shimmering liquid within.

  She shrugged. “Sure. Fine. Whatever.”

  “I’m afraid we have no ice. I could have some brought in if you like.”

  “Just pour the fucking drink, please. Um, and some ice and water later would be nice. If you could arrange that.”

  He unscrewed the cap from the bottle and poured more than an inch of booze into each glass. After returning the bottle to the cabinet, he approached her again, holding out one of the glasses for her. “Of cou
rse I can arrange that. You can have whatever you want.” Yet another creepy smile. “Within reason.”

  Kira accepted the glass and took a tentative sip from it. “Um…wow. That’s really good. What is it?”

  “A very fine one-hundred-year-old bourbon.”

  Kira nearly gagged on her next sip of the delicious liquid. “Seriously?”

  The vampire peered at her in that vaguely amused, quizzical way of his. “Excuse me?”

  “Come on. You’re seriously telling me I just drank something a century old? You’re shitting me, right?”

  “It is the absolute truth, I assure you. I’m particularly fond of this batch. An extraordinarily limited quantity was produced especially for me. This is one of my last remaining bottles. I deem precious few of my guests worthy of it.”

  Kira mulled this over for a few moments, rather than instantly replying. Of course, she’d caught the implication that he had been alive a hundred years ago, despite possessing the physical appearance of a youngish man. It gibed with one of the most basic elements of vampire folklore, that of the immortal bloodsucker. She guessed many other clichés of vampiric literature and film would be rooted in reality in this world. Reality, again, being relative. Here, just as in many movies from her world, vampires might fry in the light of the sun, fear crosses, or cringe at the smell of garlic. Or be killed with a wooden stake through the heart or via decapitation. There was no good reason to believe any of this, other than the way things worked here conformed to the way things worked in the low-budget film Blood Lust and its countless antecedents. There were probably even actual vampire hunters in this world. Real Van Helsings. Real Buffys. Which, if true, would be sort of awesome.

  She found herself smiling at the thought.

  The vampire’s expression turned quizzical again. “Have I amused you in some way? I assure you I’m not exaggerating.”

  “Say what?”

  He nodded at the glass in her hand. “Regarding the bourbon. I truly do almost never share it with guests.”

  “Huh. So why did you have it stored in an unlocked cabinet?”

  “I had it stored here shortly after your arrival, while you were still unconscious. I knew even then I’d be sharing it with you.”

  Kira nodded. “Right. Because I’m special or something.”

  He smiled. “Indeed you are.”

  Another nod from Kira.

  Right. Of course I am. Because I’m the fucking star of this story.

  Another absurdity. But it happened to fit in smoothly with all the million other little absurdities coloring her current circumstances, so she could hardly dismiss the notion as nonsense.

  An idea occurred to her. It was sort of crazy, but such was the strength of the compulsion that she had no choice but to take the chance.

  She held out her glass. “Could you hold this a second?”

  The vampire’s expression was wary, but he took the glass. Despite the wariness, there was amusement in his eyes. He was indulging her because he was utterly unafraid of her. And why would he fear her? From his perspective, she was just a helpless human girl.

  Kira smiled. “Thanks. Just need to test a little something.”

  She extended her hands toward him and positioned her index fingers in the form of a cross. The vampire cringed away from her. The glasses slipped from his hands and shattered on the hardwood floor, spilling precious ounces of priceless aged bourbon. He hissed at her and bared his teeth. The incisors at the corners of his mouth instantly elongated into fangs. The hair on his head thickened and stiffened and his brown eyes turned a menacing shade of midnight black.

  Kira gulped.

  Uh-oh.

  The knowledge that she had fucked up in a very serious way hit her with breathtaking force. She had made the critical mistake of treating this like a game. The world she was in did seem strongly informed by the rules of fiction from her world, but this world was real. She was no actress in a corny stage play. Everything about this situation was ridiculous on the surface, but that in no way diminished the genuine danger she was in just by being here.

  She pulled her hands toward her chest and her expression turned apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean anything by that. Really. I just had to…to…” She was shaking and it was becoming harder to push the words out. “Had to…see…”

  She stopped.

  There was nothing she could say that would make any sense to him. And nothing to do but throw herself on his mercy.

  “Please don’t hurt me.”

  She pulled her fingers apart and dropped her hands.

  The vampire continued to regard her warily, perhaps gauging whether she might have any other nasty surprises for him. His fangs were still extended and his hair was still doing that strange fright-wig thing. But his posture was more relaxed and his eyes weren’t quite so black. For a long moment, Kira was almost able to believe there would be no serious consequences for her stupid stunt.

  Then he hissed at her again.

  Oh shit.

  She never had a real shot at defending herself. He was too fast. Blindingly fast. One second she was standing there and the next his hands were on her. Then she was flying backward, her feet leaving the ground for a moment before she began to descend. Her back hit the canopied bed’s plush mattress and then he was on her again, his unbelievably strong body pinning her to the bed and rendering her immobile. He snarled at her and bared his teeth again, rearing his head backward as his mouth opened impossibly wide.

  Kira’s eyes filled with tears. “Please. No.”

  His head snapped toward her neck and his fangs pierced the tender flesh of her throat, causing her to cry out in anguish and pain. She whimpered and trembled uncontrollably as he began to drink from her. But then a strange thing happened.

  As he continued to drink of her blood, the pain began to fade and then, finally, stopped altogether. Even stranger, the sensation of her blood being drawn into his mouth turned pleasurable, almost unbearably so. She was turned on. She was too overcome by the delicious sensations to puzzle much over the oddity of this development. Her nipples stiffened. She moaned. When she became aware of the massive erection straining the crotch of his jeans, the moans gave way to animal grunts, primal expressions of the most intense desire she had ever known.

  The vampire raised himself up and tore the flimsy nightie from her body with a single vicious swipe. She was screaming for him by then. And he obliged her. His clothes came off quickly and then he dove inside her, making her scream again. She screamed many more times before it was over.

  And then, after a while, she had occasion to scream yet again.

  When Monroe reached the bottom of the winding stone staircase, he arrived in a very small room with a dusty wooden floor and stone walls. There was a big door set in the middle of the wall directly facing him as he came off the final step and set foot on the floor. Wood planks creaked beneath his feet as he moved farther into the room. He approached the black door, but stopped short of it, frowning. The door was made of iron and had a closed port at approximate eye level. Torches mounted in sconces to either side of the door blazed brilliantly.

  His head swiveled this way and that as he took a look around the room in which he found himself. Except for the top half of an ancient human skull wedged into a corner, there wasn’t much to see. The skull was disturbing, sure, but he was unsurprised to discover someone had died down here. The only mystery on that count was what had happened to the rest of the poor bastard. The big iron door was the only way in or out of the room. Unless you counted the tall staircase he’d just descended. And given the dire warning he’d received about attempting a return journey, you couldn’t count that at all.

  So then…this door.

  He couldn’t stand here staring at it forever. The guards had told him precious little about what to expect once he reached the bottom of the staircase. He had expected some form of demented arrival party. A gaggle of capering, leering goons, some kind of old-time horror m
ovie shit like that. It was possible his imagination had run a little wild over the course of the long descent down the stone steps.

  Of course, he wasn’t too upset about the lack of capering goons. That would have been a whole lot of no fucking fun at all. But, coupled with his dearth of knowledge about how to proceed, the room’s emptiness was somehow more ominous. The moans and screams issuing from somewhere on the other side of the heavy iron door weren’t too reassuring either. He wondered whether he was expected to open the door himself and walk on through into whatever chamber of horrors awaited him on the other side.

  Probably.

  Monroe listened to the screams a while longer. After several minutes, he turned away from the door and walked back to the foot of the stone staircase, where he took a seat on the bottom step and crossed his arms over his knees. Because, fuck it, maybe there really was no way out of this shit. That didn’t mean he had to offer himself up on a goddamn platter for these assholes. They could damn well come out here and drag him inside themselves.

  Whoever “they” were.

  He didn’t have a clue on that point either. Could be there were more vampires on the other side of that door. Or maybe some skulking, Renfield-like servant goons. He didn’t know and he didn’t care. All that really mattered was that people were being tortured in there. And what he was hearing was the sound of his own future. As he sat there, his head filled with an array of medieval torture scenarios. Thumbscrews. Racks. Red-hot branding irons. And so on and so forth. The thought of enduring that level of agony, especially over a drawn-out period of time, was inconceivable. He would be begging for death, just like all those miserable bastards he was hearing now.

  After a while, it was too much. He clapped his hands over his ears to shut out the sickening sounds. He shut his eyes and tried to imagine he was somewhere, anywhere, else. Some tropical beach paradise, maybe, or front row center at a Led Zeppelin reunion concert. That would fucking rule. Man, he could just picture it. The crowd roaring, going wild. Jimmy Page ripping into some gargantuan riff. The air thick with the pungent odor of pot, like at all the wild ’70s shows he’d read about. It was so vivid, so crystal clear, it was almost like—