by T L Barrett
“Hey, Alan, what’s with that guy, huh?” Liz bent close and whispered in his ear. Alan followed her discreetly pointed finger to a striking gentleman near the bar. The man’s skin was pale, almost to luminescence, and the features on his delicate face looked effete. His wore his blonde hair slicked back and an outrageously old-fashioned cravat with waistcoat. Either someone had misinformed him that it was a costume party, or he was the biggest natural dandy Alan had ever laid eyes upon.
“What, do you think he’s cute?” Alan asked with a grin.
The way that Liz’s eyes flashed, he could see that it was true.
“No silly, but I mean…who does he think he is?”
“I’ll go ask him,” Alan said and slipped out of Liz’s arm.
“No, Alan, don’t,” she said. Alan waved her off and sauntered across the edge of the dance floor to the dandy by the bar. Alan felt powerful, too drunk to be accounted for the few sips he had taken of his mixed drink.
The most compelling eyes fell on Alan when the dandy turned with his regard. These sure and hungry eyes would demand service and loyalty to all that fell in their scope.
“Hi,” Alan managed.
“Hello,” the dandy purred.
“My girlfriend over there thinks you are cute,” Alan said the words before he knew he was going to say them. The dandy’s eyes swept across the room and fell on Liz. Alan swallowed when he saw the two lock eyes.
“Yes, she apparently does,” he said with a toothy smile.
“She thought that you might like to dance with her,” Alan said. The dandy smoothed his hair with a pale, perfect hand.
“I’m sure something can be arranged,” he said. He went over to her and introduced himself. It excited Alan to see Liz’s eyes widen as he approached, took her hand and kissed it. Keeping her hand, the dandy brought her back across the dance floor to Alan.
“Come this way, my friend,” the dandy said to Alan, still leading Liz by the hand. Liz gave a nervous questioning look to Alan. At that moment, Liz looked the college girl that she was, just two or three years past cheerleading for the home team. At that moment Alan wanted to drag her out of the dandy’s grasp and apologize to her. He wanted to take her back to the train station and tell her that he knew about what had happened and he forgave her, and that he would even be okay if that meant they could still be just friends. Then the moment passed, and Alan followed the two of them through the crowd to a red door.
In a wide hallway a bespectacled bald man in an accountant’s suit sat behind a laptop.
“Milord,” the accountant bowed his head.
“Hastings, how goes the Asian portfolio?”
“Lovely, milord, lovely. I wonder if it all pans through that we might talk again about that little thing…?”
“Patience, Hastings. We appreciate your efforts here.” He patted Hastings upon the shoulder. Hastings paled, looked down and nodded. Hastings patted some sweat from his brow with a handkerchief.
“And what esteemed guests do we have with us tonight? Could I please see your identification?” Hastings proffered his hand with the same routine aplomb of a DMV worker. Alan and Liz handed him their international student ID cards.
“Yes, these will do,” Hastings smiled and pocketed the cards in his suit.
“Hey, we, like, get those back, right?” Alan asked.
“Young man, this is just so we can cross our T’s and dot our I’s. There is nothing to worry about.” Hastings said.
“There is nothing to worry about,” the dandy soothed. Alan looked into the dandy’s eyes and felt a warm vertigo rising up inside him. It made him tipsy and forgetful.
The dandy led them around Hastings’s desk and further down the hallway to yet another red door.
“Have a good evening, milord,” Hastings called back.
“Oh, we will, Hastings. Rest assured,” the dandy said. He opened the red door and bowed gracefully to the side for Liz and Alan to enter.
Inside, the opulence astounded Alan. Huge red leather sofas faced each other. Between the sofas lay an ocean of red brocade pillows. Carved ivory dancers in bas relief frolicked under different phases of the moon between the gilded moldings on the walls. On a dais above them, a lonely teenager with a pained expression on his face played the most dulcet of melodies upon the violin.
But, most astounding by far were the occupants of this room. Two men and one woman, all pale and as painfully beautiful as the dandy, lounged about the room. One of the men wore no shirt. The other danced effetely before the dais and made lewd faces at the boy as he played. The woman, her hair cascading down her shoulders in golden ringlets, flipped the pages of a fashion magazine. They all turned to stare at the three new comers. For a brief moment, nobody moved, and Alan became painfully aware of the sound of the beating of his heart in his own ears.
“Well, its early, but good catch, Percy,” the shirtless man said.
“They came to me; I did nothing,” Percy, the dandy, answered and flopped down onto the sofa beside the shirtless man. “Come here, darling girl.” Liz, compelled by the sweep of the man’s fingers, drifted over to the sofa.
On the opposite sofa, the golden-haired beauty patted the sofa cushion beside her.
“Don’t be afraid, my sweet,” she said in a dulcet voice. Alan walked over and sat down. As soon as he sat down, his eyes fell on his girlfriend as she sat between the two men on the sofa. The shirtless man ran a hand like a spider down Liz’s thigh. She tensed and looked over at Alan in sudden realized shock.
“Look at me,” the shirtless man said to Liz. He reached up and steered her chin over to look at him. “Now kiss me, my darling.” Alan’s heart beat hard in his chest as a shiver ran through him.
Liz leaned over slowly and kissed the lips of the shirtless man. Percy leaned over and ran his hands over her back. He leaned forward and tore her blouse from her. Liz, enraptured with the other man’s kiss, did not seem to notice. Alan felt an aching pressure in his groin. The woman beside him, as if sensing it, put a feathery touch upon his thigh.
The shirtless man broke the kiss and lowered his face onto Liz’s neck and over her chest. Percy leaned in and kissed the side of her mouth. Liz moaned and opened her eyes, lidded with lust, and looked at Alan.
That’s right; he thought darkly, we both know who you are, really.
The shirtless man returned his attention to Liz’s neck. She closed her eyes and gasped. A line of blood ran down into the cup of her bra. She shuddered as if from a great pleasure. The shirtless man made slurping sounds as he suckled the new wound on her neck.
“No!" Alan said, and tried to rise, but one of his hands was held in an iron grip by the woman beside him. Alan felt a great pressure on his wrist and looked over to see that the beautiful woman had punctured the flesh there and was feeding hungrily on his blood. A great light-headed euphoria filled him.
“Well, you’ll go and take it all, you greedy monster!” Percy proclaimed from the other sofa and dove toward the opposite side of Liz’s neck.
The dancer had rolled up his sleeve and was approaching Liz from behind. He sliced his wrist and leaned over and squeezed some dark blood out upon her face. Some fell to her lips and her tongue. She moaned and looked up at him lovingly. He smiled grimly and lowered his wrist for her to suckle upon.
“What the hell are you doing?” Percy said through his extended fangs, his face coated in blood.
“I’m sick to death of always being the last. This bitch can be the omega for a while,” the dancer declared.
“I always wondered when you’d show some initiative,” Percy said with a smile. He lowered himself back upon the leaking wound at Liz’s neck. Soon, Liz swooned from the blood loss. Her eyes closed and she fell back against the cushions.
“Hey, Alice, leave some of the bloke for me,” the dancer called from across the room. At Alan’s wrist, Alice paused and looked up with eyes that blazed with awful evil. She spat blood out of her mouth in a great spray. A strange wheezin
g gurgling sound came out of her. She dropped Alan’s arm and stood up. She tore at her chest, her talons rending at the beautiful evening dress she wore.
Then she exploded. Gore spattered all present, the walls and the pillow-strewn floor. The three male vampires looked on in shock.
“What the hell?” the shirtless one hissed.
“What have you done to her?” Percy yelled, standing up.
Alan found himself standing, too, to face the vampire. A strange power coursed through his mind and body.
“I bear a warning from the Goblin Queen, she who resides in the grandest darkness under the most sacred earth. Honor the ancient truce between our peoples or suffer a wrath so terrible it will wipe you leeches off the face of the earth! Keep your activities south of the River Thames, and all will be well. Continue to abuse our good will at your destruction.” The vampires, their fanged mouths open, hissed at this warning and glared at him with eldritch eyes.
Suddenly, Alan returned to himself. He clutched at his wrist to staunch the bleeding. He tore a strip of dress that remained from the vampire’s explosion. He tied this around his wrist, with shaking gasps.
The dancer came around, snarling his claws out to strike.
“Stop, you fool! He has the right of all heralds. His blood is anathema to us! You will not touch him!” Percy declared.
“Liz?” Alan said and went to her. The vampires shrank away from him. He bent and shook her and called her name again and again. Finally, her eyes fluttered open. She reached her arms out, and he took her up. He led her to the door. He grabbed a coat that was hanging on a peg and put it over her shoulders.
She leaned heavily against him as he walked her into the hall. Hastings was nowhere to be seen. The music boomed from the club on his right. He turned left and wound around a small maze of halls until he found a fire escape.
The late night air filled his senses. The sounds of the world came back to him. He led Liz down the first alley he could find. After a block on a side street, Alan saw the rise of Hampstead Heath before him. He walked up into the heath and sat Liz down on the first bench he could find. She leaned against his shoulder. He held her cold hand.
After many hours, he was quite sure that she was dead. He wondered what he would tell the professor or the police.
“I’m very cold and thirsty, Alan,” Liz said suddenly. She lifted her head and looked at him with eyes lit by spectral evil. “Can’t you get me something to drink?”
“I’m sorry I can’t, Liz,” he said and began to cry.
“Don’t cry, funny boy, don’t cry.” She cooed between long teeth. She patted his head and leaned in close.
“Don’t!” he said, holding a hand before her face.
“I don’t blame you. I am such a bitch,” she said. “I’ve been such a slut, you know?”
“I forgive you,” Alan said. They sat that way for a long time, holding hands.
Near dawn, Liz woke Alan up from where he slept against her shoulder.
“Alan, I have to go, I have to get out of here!” she said, panic in her voice.
“No,” Alan said and gripped her arm. “Don’t leave. I forgive you!”
“Alan, please let go of me!” she cried and pulled away from him. He watched her run down the green sward of the Heath’s edge. The dawn light struck her just before she got to the park gate. Her body burst into a raging flame. She continued to run from him as she burned. In the end, dust flowed out over the air toward the center of town.
Alan watched it go with sleepy, tearful eyes. He wanted to go home. He wanted to wake up from this bad dream that was England.
Fair Time
From the dark distance on Route 7, the sounds of the Annual Essex County Fair could just be heard. Inside the Big Black Bear Truck Stop and Diner, Emmot sat at his usual Friday night counter seat beside his brother, Ernie, and groaned.
“Arthritis actin’ up again, Emmie?” Ernie asked and patted his bristled chin with a napkin.
“Yes, but it’s that damned music from the fair. Can’t eat my clam chowder in peace. I can’t. I hate the fair, always have. Brings in the flatlanders, flatheads, and weirdoes.”
“Brings in money, Emmie.”
“Well, that’s for sure, yes it does, Ernie. You got me there, I just…smell something on the wind tonight, you know?” Emmot rubbed his bald head nervously. Ernie sniffed and shrugged.
“Probably Will Boone over, there. He’s been belching and farting to beat the band,” Ernie remarked. Down by the door, Will Boone sat in his usual booth in his usual checked plaid jacket and shoveled cole-slaw into his open wound of a mouth.
“Jesus,” Emmot whispered. “Old Boone there must have put on over a hundred pounds in the past year. He’s taken his boy’s death pretty hard, I guess. Not that I blame him. How was the boy killed again?”
“He was killed in a hunting trip up to Maine. Some bastard shot him; and keep your voice down, Emmie. He ain’t been right since, poor man. That kid never did know when to keep his head down.”
The bell rang over the door. A teenage girl with a boy entered quickly, tears in their eyes, their faces painted gray with fear. The boy, probably the girl’s younger brother by a few years, clutched onto the sister’s hoodie. The girl struggled to catch her breath.
“Can somebody help us?” The girl’s voice shook. Behind the counter, Gail motioned for the girl to take the far booth.
“Have a seat. We’ll get you something warm. It’ll be all right, hon.” The girl hurried her brother to the booth where they hunkered down out of sight.
Two pale young men in baggy pants and sweatshirts entered and scanned the diner with haunted eyes. Their eyes fell on the seemingly empty booth and began their approach with lurching bravado.
“They’ve invented a thing called a belt, boy. You should look into it,” Ernie said. The young man turned his head and bared long and wicked fangs in a hiss. Ernie’s eyes looked comically huge.
A mother and two boys got out of a booth and blocked the vampires’ way.
“Looks like we’ve got Chilled City Special tonight, people!” Gail cried.
The vampires stopped. Hair covered the woman, the child, the waitress, and the stupid old men. The vampires turned to the door. A three-hundred-and-fifty pound beast blocked the way.
“You think you got room for desert, Boone?” Gail asked.
“I think I can manage,” Boone said around fangs of his own.
The regulars of the Big Black Bear leapt. Emmot, for all his arthritis, claimed first blood.
Number Seven was Empty
Later, when the parents questioned him about their wayward girl, Gray Spaulding admitted he had seen her, but, for the life of him, he couldn’t explain what had become of her.
She leaned against the entrance gate to the Tilt-O-Whirl. Gray maneuvered the control box in his orange carnie jump suit, trying not to stare. It wasn’t easy. Looking a lean seventeen in a loose linen shirt, she was the most quietly beautiful girl upon whom Gray had ever laid eyes. Her hair was dyed a raven black, and a silver pentacle sparkled in the late day sun on her tanned chest.
“Hey,” she caught his eyes with her big, dark ones. Gray looked down at the controls, aware he had been gawking. When he looked back, she smiled, shy and sweet. She moved close and leaned over the fence.
“Do you travel all around with the carnival?” she asked.
“Yeah,” Gray said. The girl’s eyes bore into his.
“I wish I could go with you,” she said. Gray’s heart did a leap, and he almost swallowed his own tongue. Her smile broadened, and he, unable to resist, smiled back.
“It really isn’t a very glamorous life,” he said. Which was true, but he had chosen it. His mind went back to the moment he made the decision, almost a year before. As a freshman at his father’s university, he had found himself being taught Intro to Lit by the very woman whom he suspected was sleeping with his father. Gray had looked out the window as the woman droned on about the wonders o
f realism. On the next building, a colorful poster announced:
Hart’s Happy Carnival
Rides and Amusements
Gray had stood up abruptly and walked from the classroom, leaving behind his gymnastic scholarship, his parent’s expectations, the sleepy-eyed girl with the habit of showing up at his dorm room, drunk at two in the morning, and a used copy of The Sun Also Rises.
“So, do I get a turn?” she asked. Gray snapped out of starry-eyed reverie and turned to slow down the Tilt-O-Whirl. She reached out and caught his arm.