The Vampire Underground

by Brian Rowe

  Brin stared back, annoyed.

  “How about this,” Anaya said. “If we don’t get an A, I’ll pay you fifty bucks.”

  “Fifty bucks?”

  “Mmm hmm. And you can use the money to fund your own movie.”

  Brin shrugged in defeat. “All right. Fine.”

  Working less, with the possibility of cash, suddenly sounds like a better gig after all.

  Brin could feel her phone buzzing. She figured it was Ash. She ignored the call. “So what cinema masterpiece are you gonna come up with? Do you even have a story yet?”

  “Not in detail,” she said, “but I have a general idea.”

  “I mean, it’s not gonna be easy. Mixing western and horror? We’re probably gonna have to make it a period piece.”

  “Not probably. We have to make it a period piece.”

  “Hi,” a male voice said from behind. “Brin, right?”

  She turned around to see Mr. Barker sipping from a giant bottled water. “Oh, hi.”

  “And Ms. Frost,” he said. “Everything all right over here?”

  “We’re just talking about what we want to do for the movie,” Brin said.

  “I see. Which one of you is directing?”

  “I am,” Anaya said, raising her hand high.

  “OK. And what’s your job going to be, Brin?”

  She pouted and scratched the back of her head. “Writing the script, I guess.”

  “Sounds great,” he said. “I look forward to what you guys come up with.”

  He walked away and out of the building, before Anaya said, “You’re so not writing a word of this script.”

  Brin glared at the maniacal beast, but then replaced her sour attitude with a phony positive one. “Fine. Write and direct the movie. Less for me to do, anyway.”

  “So you agree to be my production assistant?”

  She wanted to rip the girl’s throat out, but she kept her hands at her sides. “If you swear you’ll give me the fifty bucks.”

  Anaya nodded. “Sure thing.”

  “Now tell me Miss Director,” Brin said. “Just how are you gonna make Grisly look period? I imagine you don’t have the money in the budget to dress up downtown like it’s 1886.”

  “No, I don’t. So we’re not gonna film the movie here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a ghost town a few hours south of here. I’ve been there once with my parents. It’s a town literally in the middle of nowhere. It’s super old and super creepy. It’ll be the perfect setting for the film.”

  Brin had no idea what she was talking about. “Did you say… a ghost town?”

  Chapter Five

  The security guard was grateful for the miniscule amount of snowfall on Route 270. On this cold day in mid-January, roaring down the icy freeway at a respectively fast fifteen miles per hour, he was stoked knowing that he’d be able to make his rounds and be back to Bridgeport in time for dinner.

  Ned Talon—small in stature but big on enthusiasm—only had to make the trip out to Bodie Ghost Town once a week, but it was an arduous sixteen-mile jaunt, especially when the snow was piled high and he had to man a snowmobile. He preferred his four-wheel-drive suburban, and he crossed his fingers, hoping he could get through the entire winter without having to resort to a snowmobile, or even his snowshoes.

  It was a thankless part-time job—he was expected to peruse the vacant ghost town for illegal squatters and non-paying tourists, yet this winter he hadn’t stumbled upon a single human being—and he knew now why the security guard position became newly available every year. The job required hours of time and determination, most annoyingly the drive to and from, yet all he received at the end of his efforts was a lousy paycheck, big enough only to pay for gas and a few groceries.

  Ned made a right turn before climbing the long, steep hill. When he reached the top, he looked out over the white winter valley.

  “Bodie Ghost Town,” he said, running his finger along his thickening mustache, “you always fail to take my breath away.”

  He reached speeds of twenty miles per hour as he sped down the mountain, eventually passing the entrance and taking his vehicle all the way to the front of the Wheaton & Hollis hotel, where the two main roads—Green Street and Main Street—merged.

  Ned started whistling as he put the car in park and stepped out into the numbing cold, so brutal that the wind cut through all five layers of his clothing. He rubbed his hands together, which were freezing even though he had a pair of gloves on, and he started making his way through the town.

  All he could hear was the fierce wind, the whistling coming from his mouth, and the subtle but noticeable moaning coming from all the ghosts surrounding him. At least, Ned liked to think that he could hear ghosts—this was known as a ghost town after all, and he wanted to feel a part of the ominous community.

  “Anyone out there?” he shouted, stepping toward the decrepit church at the end of the street. “Can anyone hear me? I’m feeling a little lonely out here, and I’d love some company!”

  Alas, no answer. He chuckled to himself, reached down into his pocket, and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and took two puffs, enjoying the sensation of the smoke and heat hitting his cold lungs.

  “Guess I’m the only one here,” he whispered to himself before taking another puff.

  When he heard the loud noise behind him, his first instinct was to scream. But he didn’t. He turned around, his gaze meeting the Miller House, which sat on the opposite side of the church. One of the few homes available for public walkthroughs, the Miller House had been prone to strange noises over the years.

  But this noise had been different. This one hadn’t been his imagination; the sound of something heavy falling against the floorboards had been loud enough to echo across the town.

  “Is someone in there?” Ned tiptoed toward the home and set his thumb against the tiny pistol in his right pocket. He’d never had to pull it out before. But part of him thought this could be the first time. “Hello?”

  He entered the ancient home and raised up his gun. The floorboards beneath him squeaked so loud that part of him wanted to start shooting downward.

  “I have a gun!”

  He made his way past the broken bed and the spiky bedsprings, past the little green kitchen table and the bottles of spoiled wine.

  When he reached the darkened bedroom, he heard it. A tap-tap-tap sound, like a child’s footsteps.

  He turned to his right to see the cradle, still standing after one hundred and fifty years. A tiny figure was pushing it back and forth.

  Ned lowered his gun. Before him was a four-year-old child.

  “What the…”

  The boy turned around. His eyes were bright red; his face, pasty white. He wore a dirtied black suit, with a pink bow tie, like was on his way to a funeral.

  “What… who…”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” the boy whispered.

  The creak of the floorboards echoed behind him. Ned turned around and tried to fire, but the safety was still on.

  “Damn it! Who’s there?”

  He swung back around to the bedroom. The child was gone.

  Ned turned the safety off and charged toward the front of the Miller House.

  But he didn’t get far.

  A hand broke through the floorboards beneath him and grabbed hold of his left leg.

  “Noooo!” Ned screamed as the hand dragged him back. He turned around and fired a shot, the bullet striking not the assailant’s hand, but his own left foot.

  Ned screamed again, this time in agonizing pain. He watched in terror as a second and third and fourth hand crashed through the floorboards and started pulling him down.

  “I shouldn’t be here,” he whispered to himself as four hands became eight. It was over. There was no way out. “I shouldn’t be here!”

  Ned surrendered.

  He lost his grip on the gun as a giant six-fingered hand grabbed the back of his head and pulle
d him down into blackness.

  Chapter Six

  The neighborhood of Diablo Shadows lies at the northeast end of Grisly, Nevada, close to the 395 freeway. As Brin drove through the neighborhood, toward her home on Diablo Drive, she noticed how deathly and decaying the surroundings appeared. January was a dismal time in Nevada, particularly when snow didn’t cover all the dead trees and shrubs, when snow didn’t paint a picture of a magical winter wonderland.

  She pulled up to her driveway and grabbed her phone from her purse. It had been vibrating for nearly thirty seconds.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey,” Ash said. “What happened?”

  “What happened where?”

  “With that Anaya girl? Did she eat your face for an afternoon snack?”

  Brin stepped out of the car and headed toward her house, which looked old and depressing among the other more modern two-story homes that lined the street.

  “No, doofus,” Brin said. “We talked it out. I gave in. I’m gonna let her direct the movie.”

  “What? Why?”

  “She gave me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”

  “Yeah? A horse head in your bed?”

  “Very funny, Mr. Corleone.”

  Brin went to unlock the front door, but it was already open. Making matters more unusual, her mom was never home at this hour. She shut the door, shrugged off the oddity, and moseyed on up toward her bedroom.

  “So guess what?” Ash said.

  “What?”

  “The group designated me the star of our horror movie musical.”

  Brin shut her door and lay down on her bed. The giggles started as she entered the room, and they intensified by the time her head struck her soft green pillow.

  “You’re joking,” she said.

  She didn’t hear a response. She glanced down at her phone to see if the call had been dropped.

  “Ash? Are you there?” She still couldn’t control her laughing. “I’m sorry, did I offend you? Don’t cry. You’ll make a great singer. You’re gonna make John Travolta proud.”

  Still no answer.

  “Ash? Did I lose you? I’m sorry I laughed. Call me back.”

  She threw the phone down at her feet and turned over on her stomach, her face now buried in her pillow. She knew she had tons of homework to do, and that procrastination would only fuel her irritability later on in the night. She had two worksheets in algebra, three worksheets in French, and a new book to read in English—Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.

  Gee, something else that’s got the horror theme going for it, she thought. I guess every creative project this semester will have the horror bent.

  She sat up and blinked. Her eyes were dry. She started to rub them, when a scratching noise made her bring her hands down to her side. She turned to her left, toward the closet door. The scratching continued.

  “Cleo? Did you get in the closet?” she whispered, chuckling to herself as she stood back up and walked over to her closet. She opened the door and looked into the black abyss.

  “Brinnnn…” The whisper came from the back of the closet. “Oh Brinnnn…”

  “What the—”

  A figure charged out of the closet, slamming into Brin, sporting the same vampire mask that had scared her earlier in Film class.

  Brin screamed and crashed back against her bed. “Oh my God! Oh my God!”

  Ash started laughing uncontrollably as he removed the vampire mask from his face. “I got you! Oh my God, I got you so bad!”

  “Asshole!” Brin jumped up and punched Ash in the shoulder. “Pervert!”

  “Oww! Hey!”

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” She slugged him again.

  “I just thought I’d scare you, that’s all. Calm down! What’s the big deal?”

  “What’s the big deal?” Brin punched him a third time, this time in the chest, sending him back against the closet door. “The big deal is that we’re not eight years old anymore! You can’t just come barging into my house and hiding in my closet anytime you want!”

  “Jesus, sorry,” he said, taking a step forward. “It was just a joke.”

  “We’re juniors in high school, Ash. Come on. We’re not kids anymore.”

  A few seconds of silence passed. Ash caught the glimpse of a smile on Brin’s face, and he smiled back. “I did scare you. I mean, a lot.”

  “You didn’t scare me.” Brin snatched the vampire mask away from Ash. “Give me that. What did you do? Steal this from the teacher?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “So? Is that how you want to make a first impression? Theft?”

  “I’ll bring it back tomorrow. It’s a vampire mask, Brin. I can’t imagine it means all that much to him.”

  “This mask could cost a hundred dollars, you don’t know. His older brother could be a make-up effects wizard in L.A. and this mask could be his creation. Again, you don’t know.”

  “Yeah, right,” he said, sitting down on the bed, looking comfortable and not at all scared that she was going to punch him again. “You should be using that imagination of yours to good use. Like writing and directing your little western horror movie.”

  Brin sat down next to him. She wasn’t upset anymore. “She really, really wanted the job. It meant the world to her. Who am I to stop her?”

  “This is Anaya we’re talking about, right? The fat chick?”

  Brin glared at him. “Classy, Ash. You know… fat people are people, too.”

  “I agree. But she’s not fat. She’s enormous. She’s Eddie Murphy in The Nutty Professor times infinity.”

  “Classy and a retard. You’re gonna make an unlucky girl very miserable some day, you know that?”

  He brushed off her remark. “Anyway. Continue.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Brin said. “She just… she wants the responsibility of the movie, so I say, let her have it. Less for me to do.”

  “So what are you gonna do on the movie?”

  “She wants me to be her production assistant.”

  “A P.A.? For her?”

  “It’ll be fine.”

  “You’ve been wanting to flex your creative muscles for a long time, Brin. I’m telling you. You need to take the reigns on this thing. You need to show that fat slob who’s boss.”

  She shoved Ash away again, this time not to hurt him but to move her legs to the center of the bed. “I don’t know. I already accepted her proposal.”

  Ash stood up. “I have an idea.”

  “What?”

  “You should write an outline and bring it to class tomorrow. I bet you a million dollars she won’t have a thing written down yet. Show it to Mr. Barker and tell him you deserve to be the director. At the end of the day, it’s up to him.”

  She scratched her cheek and nodded. “I guess you’re right. I mean… it couldn’t hurt.”

  “Say, listen,” he said, standing up from the bed. “I gotta pick up my brother from school, but think about what I’ve said, OK?”

  She laughed. “I love that you fit scaring the shit out of me into your busy afternoon schedule.”

  “What are best friends for?” he said, sporting a giant grin as he stepped out of her bedroom. “Later.”

  “Yeah, later.”

  She heard the front door slam, as she looked forward to see the creepy vampire mask sitting at the edge of her bed.

  “What? No! Ash! Come back!”

  Brin grabbed the mask, raced down the stairs, and opened the front door. Her friend had vanished.

  “Damn you, Ash,” she said, looking down at the mask that had now made her scream twice today.

  She shook her head and chuckled before pulling the mask over her face.

  She stood outside for a few minutes, hoping to confuse a soccer mom driving by or scare some children on a school bus. But the street was empty.

  Brin walked back to her room and sat down at her computer. She still had the mask on. She was astonished by how easy it was to breathe ins
ide of it.

  She opened Microsoft Word. It was time to write. It was time to create an outline for her western horror movie.

  The blinking cursor mocked her, especially after five minutes had passed. Brin rubbed her hands together and readied herself to start typing. But she couldn’t do it. She wrote a sentence, then erased it. She created a spooky title, then erased that, too.

  She sat back in her chair, pursed her lips, and sighed. She turned to her right. Her closet door mirror showed her a different reflection than her own face.

  Brin screamed. A third time.

  She pulled the mask off, screamed one more time—this time out of frustration—and started typing.

  Chapter Seven

  “OK. I want you all to pay attention. This is very important.”

  The students stared at Mr. Barker with undivided attention as he stood at the front of Film class, a medium-sized poster of the movie Twilight in his hands.

  “We’re not watching that, are we?” Brin said.

  “We’re going to begin the class by looking at the vampire movie genre, reflecting on its history and analyzing its merit, so…”

  Mr. Barker ripped the Twilight poster in two. The class applauded!

  “…we’re definitely not going to be looking at Edward and Bella. Who here has heard of a movie called Nosferatu?”

  Almost half of the students raised their hands, surprising the teacher. A big smile appeared on his face. When the students lowered their hands, Ash still had his up high in the air.

  The teacher said, rather frustratingly, “Yes… did you have a question, Ashley?”

  A couple of students snickered. Ash shook his head. “Please, Mr. Barker, for the love of God, call me Ash.”

  “Yes, of course. Ash.”

  “I was wondering if we could talk about the short films for a moment?”

  “What?” He looked out at all the students. “You guys want to talk about your movies?”

  “YES!” everyone shouted.

  “OK, but real quick, guys. We have a lot of material to get through today.” He turned back to Ash. “What’s your question?”