The Anti-Vampire a-1

by Lewis Aleman

  Maybe she just wanted to get me out here in the open to kill me in the shadows of the hallway—where no one can see, no one can hear me scream, and no one can save me now.

  She’s everywhere in my thoughts—behind me—at my sides—popping up out of the darkness in front of me, the black air swirling, gathering, and forming her body like a specter out of a fog.

  Tiny scampering ahead of me in the hallway—sounds like more fleeing rats. Suddenly, they don’t seem so eerie.

  The darkness appears more solid ahead of me. Wall. Quicken my pace toward it. Finally an end to this long hallway. Strain my eyes searching for the door.

  Blue eyes break through the darkness right in front of me, as if suddenly awakened, and pierce their way through the black air like midnight suns rising and birthing a wicked nocturnal dawn. Either I’ve lost my mind or a female vamp is reaching out to grab me.

  Too short to be Maxine—still little taller than me. Hair even blacker than the darkness. Eyes like Simon’s blue pools if they were drained of all that shimmers and shot full of murky, swamp-like, unholy pollution.

  She cocks her shoulder up and out—pointing it at me like a weapon, her chin aimed the same way to the tip of her shoulder, and she wrinkles her nose before opening her mouth. Her voice slithers through the dark air, smooth like Maxine’s but softer and more menacing, “Lost in the shadows, love?”

  Heart races erratically—mind full of fear and shock—terrified for Simon. Don’t know if I’ve lost my mind or am about to die.

  Raise my hands either way—to disperse the hallucination or to shove the beast to the side.

  She moves as otherworldly fast and frightening as an apparition, avoiding my hands with ease, but her grip is all too real as she grasps my neck, shoving me several feet back into the hallway, turning me sideways, and slamming me against the wall. I feel the sheetrock crack behind my shoulders, neck, and head.

  “You’re the one Roderick brought here earlier—Simon’s little princess. The one that got between us all—starting this little war.”

  Squirm—struggle to get free, but her hand keeps the back of my neck pinned to the wall. Know she could kill me at any second—crush my throat completely, but I’ve got to try. Got to try to make sure Simon and Ambrosia get out too. Try to fight to see him one more time. At least go out swinging.

  “The bad thing about starting your stupid war with them, princess, is that the little people like me go hungry. Right now Edgar’s trying to sneak something out for us little ones who don’t really matter but got caught up in the middle of all this somehow.”

  Drive my knee up hard into her thigh.

  Her fingers squeeze tighter—deeper into my neck, and she tosses me roughly onto the hardwood floor.

  My shoulder hits first, then the rest of me crashes down. Roll onto my back as fast as I can.

  In a flash, she’s atop me, knees crushing my shoulders against the floor, her poisoned eyes glaring into mine. Slowly she brings her hand over my face—stretching her fingers wide, flaunting her dangerous nails. Her scent of sweat and patchouli invades my senses.

  “I could kill you now. I could put a stop to all of this fighting you’ve started over your silly little friend. Should’ve just given her to Roderick—he’ll get her soon anyway—he always does. The more you keep her from him, the more he’ll destroy to get to her.”

  “She’s not anyone’s property to give away, especially not to give away to Roderick.”

  “We’re all disposable in the dark, princess. It’s not like your world—your world isn’t real. Your world is what you see when the sun’s bright in the sky—blinding you from seeing all the horrible things that are around you. They’re always there, princess—the daylight just keeps you too dazzled to see them—it lets you pretend we don’t exist.”

  “My nose won’t let me pretend you don’t exist. Sweaty patchouli smells worse than death.”

  She hisses, sliding her knees further down my torso so she can bend over farther, bringing her exposed fangs closer to my face.

  “Your mouth is faster than your little body. Words are all you have—you’re just not fast enough to back them up. I’ll rip your tongue out as soon as I don’t need you anymore.”

  “Simon’s fast—he’ll kill you.”

  Her knees slide a little lower—digging into my breasts terribly. My arms are free but I can’t move them—strain to breathe.

  She sees me wince and smiles, bringing her fangs closer to my face, “Just shut your mouth, and I’ll trade you for some of the new stuff if Edgar gets himself killed up there. Let you breathe—just a little—till then. After that, princess, we’ll see about shutting up that smart-little-mouth of yours for good.”

  A loud thud cracks through the air—coming from somewhere above us. A dark sound—something large broke.

  Simon! Hope he’s alright—God, let him be alright. My thoughts focus on Simon somewhere in the upper levels of this house that resembles a cavern. I push my chest up hard to catch a breath.

  She loves the panicked concern and struggle showing on my face, leaning down even closer—centimeters from diving her fangs into my face, “Maybe I’ll keep you alive just long enough to get the stuff…and…to let you watch just how fast Simon will die.”

  She sits up a little—her eyes grow wide and excited as the thought sinks in. The image of Simon dying while she laughs wildly burns inside me.

  Stick my right thumb out and jab it into her eye.

  She screams—immediately bringing both hands over her hurt eye.

  Quickly I jab my left thumb into her other eye.

  Her scream turns into a squeal.

  I shove both hands into her chest, and she falls backward onto the floor.

  My own chest hurts as if she were still kneeling on it.

  Her hands still cover her eyes, rocking back and forth on the floor. I give her a kick into her stomach.

  “Was that fast enough for you, stinky?” I ask.

  She kicks the air in my direction but misses me as I turn back toward the fire, away from where Maxine and Katrianna told me to go—away from where Simon told me to go—away from the only way out that I know that’s not engulfed in huge flames.

  Darkness must be eclipsing my sanity. Heart pounds with the thought of Simon upstairs and in danger. Run into the pitch black, much faster than before, hanging to the left to avoid the couch, hoping that’s the only unseen thing waiting to trip me in the hallway.

  Sprint into the darkness toward the fire.

  My nails rip through the bookcase that’s been shoved in front of the torn entrance to the large room on the third floor. Something unspeakable must be brewing behind the books for the room to be blocked off this way. Fling my arms out, tearing the bookcase apart further, knees and head slamming into it, breaking what remains in the way of my body.

  Crash into the room.

  Edgar has Ambrosia over his shoulder—she pounds her fists on his back, while he grabs at the closest of three other women backed into the far corner of the room—her arm scraped from his attempts. The two girls behind her try to push her forward into Edgar—keeping his claws further away from them and offering her to him to fill his other empty shoulder so he’ll hopefully go away and leave them alone.

  I shout, “Hey, big red, you can’t keep the one girl on your shoulder happy. What makes you think you can handle two?”

  His face is ugly with anger—twisted and snarling beneath his rust-colored beard.

  “Better run after your own girl before someone picks her up downstairs and does something nasty to her.”

  Rush across the room toward Edgar. He turns from the terrified three girls backed against the wall to face me, both his hands at Ambrosia’s waist. He tosses Ambrosia at my head—sending her flying toward me with her back facing me—leaving her unable to see where she’s going—her arms, legs, and blue ponytails flailing.

  Both of my hands catch her near her hips. Try to dump her on her feet to the side of
me as swiftly as I can. Know something’s coming at me fast.

  Before I can release her, Edgar’s boot kicks me in the temple. Ambrosia drops out of my hands—lands on her feet and stumbles till she finds her balance.

  Raise my arm—block Edgar’s fingernails from scraping my face. He kicks my leg at the knee—body buckles. He throws a right cross—aiming for the bridge of my nose—pull my head back—grazes me. Kicks at my stomach—I catch his foot, taking away most of its force as it pushes against me—holding onto his foot and calf I turn fast—twisting and falling toward the floor—pulling him over me by his leg—slamming him to the ground. The floorboards crack.

  The three girls run to the hole I tore through the bookcase that was blocking the exit. The girl, with the scratches on her arm who was being pushed toward Edgar, smacks her hands at the backs of the other two as they disappear into the hallway.

  Ambrosia’s backed herself against the wall, and from beneath smeared and runny blue mascara, she watches Edgar and I scramble to our feet.

  First one standing, I charge toward him—jumping—putting my entire body in the air—kicking him square in his shoulders with both of my feet, sending him off his feet and shooting into the wall near Ambrosia.

  She jumps back—getting far out of the way as Edgar crashes into the wall.

  He bounces back onto his feet, fist clenched and cocked back—looking square at my face where he wants to plant it.

  Kick him in the center of his chest. Solid—deep thud. He falls back into the wall again.

  Ambrosia squeals.

  Arch my back to land as hard of a punch as I can throw—sting pierces my neck—sharp.

  Turn to see the source of Ambrosia’s squeal and the hand that threw the needle lodged in the back of my neck. Roderick—his smile is content, but his eyes are hungry with rage—hungry for destruction but enjoying that all he lusts for has been delivered to him inside his own house.

  Grab the piercing needle—feathered at its end. Yank it out. It’s indeed a dart. Red feathers at its handle end—discolored at its tip—stained with something.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me, Roderick. Darts?”

  He raises his left hand, revealing three more of them held between his fingers.

  “Life gets boring, Simon, without new, little toys to play with.”

  “You’ve lost your mind, you crazy, old psycho. Might as well be throwing feathers at me after all we’ve been through.”

  “Feathers add up—eventually breaking any beast’s back.”

  “What do you know about beasts? All you’ve been doing is bullying young girls. You wanna break me, Roderick?” pausing while I turn and punch the blur of Edgar rushing toward me. Then as he drops back to the wall, I continue, “Come and break me, tough guy.”

  Roderick’s face stares at me—unmoved.

  Edgar’s on his feet again, hands slicing the air in noisy chops. Turn to face him with my hands covering my head. His first hand smacks my forearm, but his second goes to my ribs—scraping them. Finally went to the body—he’s learning. Guess he hasn’t fought too many people who know how to block him.

  Throw an elbow into Edgar’s forehead, and another dart digs into me—into the center of my back.

  Roderick moves toward me. Edgar shakes the remaining dizziness from my elbow shot to his head.

  Ambrosia is standing on her toes looking from the door to Roderick and back to the door.

  I charge at Roderick and shout, “Run, Ambrosia, get out of here! Now, now, now!”

  Roderick throws another dart that lands in my left biceps.

  Ambrosia runs over the books scattered on the floor before the bookshelf and then disappears out the hole.

  My head grows foggy—muscles feel heavy.

  Roderick throws a punch at my head. Dodge—sway my torso back. Too close—I’m moving too slow. Something’s wrong.

  Catch Edgar moving in the corner of my eye. Have to move fast—got to get both of them on the same side of me or this won’t last very long.

  Roderick swings wildly at me again.

  I duck down and with a leg scissors trip him face-first to the floor.

  Edgar’s footsteps are scrambling loudly on the wood floor, but they’re moving away from us.

  I jump onto Roderick’s back, pushing my knees into his spine and pulling up on his chin—tying him up and putting pressure on his lower back.

  We both look to Edgar who’s nearly out the hole in the bookshelf.

  Roderick shrieks, “I need you, you weasel!”

  Edgar puts a hand to the edge of the hole in the bookshelf and stops. Pointing with his other hand to the corner front window, “No, you don’t. Look to the window.”

  I drop my hold of Roderick’s chin as I see two vampires—Quint and Carvelli crouched on the ledge and lifting the window. Their faces are scratched harshly, but they’re ready to fight.

  Head’s sludgy—dizzy—breaths coming hard—balance is off. Darts must’ve been poisoned—same stuff as before.

  Quint and Carvelli drop down to the hardwood floor.

  I break a leg off a nearby lamp stand—lamp crashing and shattering on the floor.

  Two more figures have jumped up to the window sill—must be climbing to the edge of the balcony that is still standing and not completely in flames and then jumping to the sill.

  The two jump into the room. Desirée—one of Edgar’s little needle girls—her eyes look raw. Speaking of needles—my eyelids are getting heavy. Poison’s working fast. The other vamp is a guy—young one, short brown hair—long sideburns—don’t even know his name—must’ve been born in the last five decades when I was away.

  Footsteps pound their path up the stairs—a lot of them.

  Did Ambrosia have enough time to get downstairs? Hope so.

  The approaching horde stomp higher and higher up the stairs—some smacking their feet down this hallway—getting close to this room.

  Another dark figure jumps to the windowsill.

  Roderick, now up on his knees, throws the last dart—piercing its way into my thigh.

  Yank it out of my leg—yank the other out of my biceps. Put both of them between fingers in my left hand—going to need them—won’t be enough. Can’t reach the one still stuck in my back. Thoughts getting slow…heavy.

  Roderick smiles as the first of his lackeys reach the opening in the bookcase. Must be the horror shelf.

  I hate it because it’s his smile. Hate it because of the malice in it. Hate it because it’s smug. Hate it because I’m fading. Hate it even more because it’s the last thing I may see. Hate it worse ‘cause don’t know how far Ruby’s gotten away from all this.

  I’ll fight till my eyes shut for good, but looks like Roderick’s won. Fighting just to keep eyes open now, and it hasn’t even begun.

  Doesn’t look good.

  Run, Ruby, run.

  Hold them off as long as I can. Fangs and claws surround me—closing in at all sides.

  Dear God, Ruby, run.

  Pale, pointed-tooth creatures rush past.

  Their footsteps were close behind as soon as I started up the first set of stairs. Sprinted up to the second floor—ran down the hallway where I was imprisoned just a short while ago.

  That’s where I peer at them now, from behind the corner of the hallway—right where I ran into Katrianna earlier.

  At least a dozen of them—loud racket—running up to the third floor.

  Look back to the room where I was held captive—no guards—dead or alive. Door is shut but blood covers the floor in front of it.

  Maxine—hope she’s alright. Hope she struck the blood and didn’t do the bleeding herself. Have to check on her before we leave, but right now I have to follow after this unholy herd up the stairs to save Simon.

  The trampling feet are off the stairs and on the third floor now—where all the noise was coming from before they started stomping up the stairs—must be where Simon is, maybe Ambrosia too.

  “Aaa
aaah!” squeals from my old cell.

  Ambrosia—it’s her. Girl squeaks like no other. Run toward the door. Grab Ambrosia—go after Simon—get the hell out of here. Smile everyday that I wake up somewhere other than this hellish place.

  I slam Ambrosia’s wrists against the wall, and holding them between my thumb and fingers, I drive my fingernails into the wall, shackling her to the sheetrock with my flesh.

  Her eyes weep as she whimpers, spreading her overdone makeup down her face like she’s crying blue blood.

  Her blubbering almost makes my aching body feel better after fighting Simon. Thinking of the hell he’s going through now makes me feel better. And, looking down at Ambrosia’s stomach that squirms left and right with the rest of her body, trying to break free of my hold, my senses think of what they’ll be enjoying later on—the special fix like no other. That definitely makes me feel better.

  Was all too easy to grab her, stumbling clumsily down this hallway, running away from the clamor coming up the stairs toward her. Breathing on her neck, sliding my fangs across her thin skin before she knew there was anything in the darkness behind her but her fear. With a quick, “Hello, sweetheart,” a moment to enjoy the terror in her eyes, and a hand over her mouth, I pulled her in here. As easy as breathing—grabbing a scared, little thing in the dark.

  “Let me go, Edgar! I have a child now.”

  “You have a monster child, Ambrosia—an abomination. Something that would be better off never being born.”

  Her chest pumps up and down—sadness shuts her eyes that still leak.

  “What—what are you going to do?” she asks.

  “Nothing much, love. Just take away something that should never have been. Who knows—if you’re a good little blue thing, you might not even have to die.”

  “Share it with me,” she whimpers.

  “What?” I ask.