by Anthology
The building was medium sized, made of concrete block and glass, and several cars were in the lot. A playground—being enjoyed by several children—was off to the side, surrounded by a low chain-link fence. A sign on the fence read: The Goins-Outhe Community Center. He made sure to lock the car before heading into the cool, dark interior of the building. There was a water fountain, restrooms, and pay phone with a phone book. Perfect!
He took care of the fluid needs first, before tackling the phone book. He had just flipped it open to the yellow pages, when a voice spoke behind him, “Can I help you, son?”
Gersh turned to find a soft, stooped, and kindly-looking man of about seventy standing a few feet away.
“Uh, no, thanks. I’m just trying to find a gas station.”
“Oh,” the man said, his smile faltering. “The nearest gas is thirty miles from here.”
“Thirty? Crap! I’m running on fumes!”
“Relax, son, we’ll figure something out,” the man said and smiled again, his yellowed tombstones flashing in the dim light. “My name is Louis Outhe... yes, I helped pay for this building, so they named it after me. I like to volunteer here and work with the kids. Helps keep my hands and mind busy. We don’t get many strangers here. You are...?”
Louis offered his hand. His skin was like dry paper—the dusty vellum from some ancient book, but his grip was firm.
“Uh, Joe Harrigan,” Gersh said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m just passing through.”
“Oh? Where to?”
“Uh, to, uh, Salt Lake City,” he lied.
Louis finally released Gershwin’s hand. “Kinda uptight place for a young man such as yourself, don’t you think?”
“Um, no...” Gersh replied, unsure of Louis’ meaning. A shaft of late-afternoon sun escaped the oppressive clouds and speared the floor at their feet, starkly illuminating the gray concrete and Louis’ black, tooled cowboy boots.
“Well your destination is your choice. Let’s see if we can get you some gasoline to help speed you on your way.”
Louis led Gersh on a search of several storage rooms, talking the entire time. His boot heels thumping against the floor with each step. Thump, thump. Dark shapes scuttled along the baseboards—roaches. Gersh realized that he had misjudged the size of the building, as it was evidently much bigger than he had thought at first. They saw other people in the building, but Louis never talked to anyone else.
“So tell me about yourself, Joe. What’s got you driving to SLC?”
“Uh, family... they’re expecting me,” he lied again.
Slips of buzzing black circled his head and crashed against the window—flies.
“Family’s all that’s important. My dad kicked me out when I was fairly young. He went on and had another family—treated his new son much better, most of the time.” He paused, his face a map of sadness. “I always wished that I’d have had a son so I could raise him like a son deserved to be raised—be the daddy to him that I wish I’d’ve had.”
The air stilled, stiffling—almost suffocating—and Gersh felt twin pangs of sympathy and longing.
“I guess,” Louis continued, “that’s why I helped build this place and volunteer here... to try to be the father, for some of these kids, that I never had myself. I bet that your dad is a fine man, to give you such a fine car!” He smiled at Gersh.
Gersh felt a hard place in his chest tear—painfully; the heart scar he never realized he had. His mouth opened and his bleeding heart spoke.
“Uh, no, actually he’s pretty much a jerk. He was dating my mom—while he was married to another woman—and got her pregnant. I barely saw him when I was growing up. He never came to my T-ball games or school performances, he never tucked me in or read a bedtime story to me... all I ever wanted was a dad, but he wasn’t man enough to live up to his obligations. His other son got a dad… mine!”
Louis looked sadder than before. “I’m really sorry, Joe. I had no idea. You seem like a fine young man... you deserve a dad who loves you and is there for you.”
“Oh, geez! No, I’m sorry. My name’s not Joe, it’s Gersh—Gershwin Lovell. I stole my father’s car because he treated me like crap when I went to see him in Illinois. He hadn’t been to visit me in five years, and my mom’s boyfriend was giving me crap. I didn’t know what else to do but go see my dad, and he told me to get the hell out. I stole his car on a drop and now I’m on the run, I guess. You probably hate me too, now,” Gersh said and looked up.
Instead of condemnation, Louis’ face held sadness and his eyes were wet. “Oh, son, no!” he said, reaching out to put his hand on Gershwin’s shoulder, “I don’t judge you. I understand. Life’s not easy when your father abandons you. Do you have family in Salt Lake, really?”
Gersh hesitated. “Not really… no. I guess I was heading for California... Los Angeles, maybe, but I didn’t want to tell you, in case the police came here.”
“I understand, really. Listen, I want to be the help you’ve never had. I want to help you get to Los Angeles, where you can become a man on your terms, like I became a man on my terms. I have a car with a full tank of gas, and I will give it to you—sign the title over to you and everything. It’ll be yours. Take it to California, with my blessing.”
Gersh was taken aback. “Um, what do I need to do...” he asked hesitantly.
“Nothing, Gersh! I'm not asking for anything. And, it’s not a crappy car. It's a ’68 Mustang in cherry condition. I would have given it to my son, but I never had any children of my own. Let me do this for you and you can be my son, if only for a moment. Okay? I'll even take care of the Lexus for you... I know a guy who can make it disappear. No evidence equals no crime, right?”
Gersh understood now. The Lexus was worth at least five times what the Mustang was, so this was not exactly altruism. However, Gersh second guessed himself when he saw Louis’ expression. It was so freaking sincere.
“What do you get out of this?” Gersh asked.
“Well, obviously I can make some money from your dad’s car, but I hardly need it,” he pointed around himself. “I’m doing this because you touched a nerve in me... you remind me of how I was at your age. No strings, Gersh, I just want to help. Come on! The sooner we get you out of here, the sooner you can get on with your life.”
The Mustang turned out to be just as cherry as Louis had said—glossy black with a red leather interior. Louis got in, turned the key and the big engine rumbled to life. “She’s got the 390 in her, so be careful. Lots of power with a solid rear axle can be unpredictable.” He got out and handed Gershwin the car’s title. “I signed it over to you already. Go ahead, get in.”
Gersh was at a loss for what to say. “Um,” he stammered and stuck out his hand. “I... thanks!”
They shook hands and Louis clapped Gersh on the back.
“Go. Go!” Louis said smiling.
“Oh, the key,” Gersh said, digging the key to the Lexus out of his pocket and handing it to Louis. “Thank you, Louis. I’ll come back—to visit—after I get things sorted out in LA.”
“I hope that you do come back to see me. That would be great.”
Gersh got in the car and pulled out of the parking lot, waving at Louis the entire time. Louis dropped the Lexus key on the ground as he watched Gersh drive through the crossroads and away.
It felt good to him to have done all of this for Gershwin.
The asphalt beneath his feet turned to dust and the chain-link straightened out to barbed wire. The children on the playground became grouse, roosting on some discarded oil drums. The community center slumped into a ramshackle wooden barn.
Louis chuckled.
The Mustang was cherry, but it was also a drug mule. In a panic, the former owner had pulled the car into the barn and had the decency to close the barn doors before he died of the gunshot wound to his abdomen. Drug deals so often go south. Louis had been waiting for him in the barn and had stood over him after he died to ask, “Going South?” before takin
g the dealer away to his new home. Because the cocaine laden car was just too good an opportunity to pass on, Louis had hung around a few minutes until Gershwin Lovell had chanced upon the cross-road. Louis did love crossroads.
His smile broadened as a silver Crown Victoria of the Colorado State Patrol pulled up. The trooper did not need to run the plates on the Lexus to know that it was the one being looked for. He saw the open barn door and something that looked suspiciously like a body inside. Tire tracks led from the barn right out to the road. With his gaze, he followed the tire tracks up the road just as a flash of light from the setting sun caught his eye. He could see the light glinting off the Mustang in the distance. Louis sat, unseen and unheard, beside the trooper as they both said to the distant car, “Got ya!”
Young Adult vampire romance is a seething genre, but how does the older set figure into courting the undead? Let’s find out…
The Reason Why Grandmothers Should Never Be Allowed to Read Vampire Stories
Chip Putnam
“Good evening ladies,” Thomas said as they passed in the worn hallway of their old apartment building.
Thomas was the epitome of the proverbial tall, dark, and handsome. Even though they were well-advanced in years, the two elderly sisters were not immune to his attractiveness.
Amid giggles, Ethel, the younger of the two, replied,
“Good evening to you too, Thomas. Going out for a night on the town?”
“My dearest,” he replied with a bow. “No night would be complete without the companionship of two such ladies as yourselves. Alas, I work the night shift.”
“Well, I hope you have a pleasant night,” Betsy, the elder of the two, replied.
“Lordy, Ethel,” Betsy giggled after they had entered their nicely decorated, but obviously low-rent apartment. “Did you hear that young man call us ‘ladies’?”
“Betsy, you old coot,” her sister replied, swelling with pride. “He was clearly talking to me. He wouldn’t be caught dead with a dried-up old bag of beans like you.”
Raising her cane menacingly, Betsy retorted, “Who are you calling old? At 91, you’re hardly a young girl yourself. Just because I was born first, that doesn’t make me old. I’m just more mature, that’s all. I’m like a fine wine that gets better with age.”
Ethel muttered under her breath, “Then you’re about near-perfect.”
Betsy adjusted her hearing aid as her sister brushed past her, “What was that?”
Sighing, Ethel replied, “Nothing Betsy, nothing at all.
Now help me get these groceries inside. You would think your Janice would want to help out her tired, old auntie, now wouldn’t you?”
“So, now you’re old and tired?” Betsy snorted. “She helped us with our shopping, and you know she had to take Emma to that movie. I most heartily disapprove! I still can’t believe she’s going to that thing with all the vampires and werewolves it has. Who ever heard of such foolishness?”
Ethel laughed, “Oh, you know Janice. She’d do anything for that grandbaby of hers. Besides, you were quite the fan of horror stories in your day.”
“That grandbaby is thirteen years old,” Betsy replied. “Can you believe the little darling still calls me Great-Great Mommy? And what’s her mother doing letting her read those books anyway? They used to give me the willies.”
Ethel snorted, “Don’t get started on that again. Anyway, it’s not like the vampires these girls today are swooning over are all that scary. Janice told me that the books are more like love stories. Can you believe it? Who would want to fall in love with a man with fangs? Lordy, you couldn’t even go to the beach without your boyfriend bursting into flames. Think about what your hickies would be like, too.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Betsy replied before lapsing into a thoughtful silence. “Although, they are supposed to know a thing-or-two about women, if you know what I mean.”
With the small supply of groceries safely stored in their pantry, Ethel replied from the sofa where she had collapsed after her exertion, “You don’t say? I wonder if they would be as good as old Burt? You remember him, don’t you?”
Betsy watched a smile creep over her sister’s face. Burt, with the blue eyes, was Ethel’s first true love. Those blue eyes had won him quite a few women, Betsy included. But, she would never tell Betsy her little secret. Ethel and Burt had seen each other frequently over the years, even after both had married other people.
“Oh, I remember Burt,” Betsy said breathlessly. “If a vampire is that good, then I can see why all the girls are gaga over them.”
“What did you say, Betsy?” Ethel asked suspiciously.
“Nothing Ethel. Nothing at all,” Betsy replied with a smile.
Two nights later, Betsy was startled awake from her nap on the sofa by Ethel screaming.
“A bat is at my window!” she cried. “Get up, you old fool, and help!”
“Ethel,” Betsy said and sighed as she pulled herself off the couch. “Have you taken your pills today? There’s no bats in the... Holy Mother of Jesus! There’s a bat looking in your window!”
“I told you that,” Ethel replied snidely. “I was about to change my clothes, and I saw this bat just staring in at me. I tried to close the blinds but that stupid twisty, thingy fell down again. So, I can’t close the darn things.”
The bat calmly watched the two women before it swooped away into the night. Betsy was almost certain that it had winked at them, but convinced herself that she had been mistaken. A little shaken, Betsy retrieved the wayward device, and proceeded to close the blinds, cutting off the cold, winter air that managed to seep through the poorly sealed seams in the window.
“Did that thing just wink at us?” Ethel asked. “Cheeky little devil. Probably wanted to get a look at me in my undies. Lots of guys have peeked in my window, you know.”
“Yeah,” her sister snorted, recovering her composure. “Seventy years ago. Ethel, there ain’t a thing alive that wants to see either one of us in our underwear. Besides, it’s a bat, you ninny. Why would a bat want to see you undress?”
“You know vampires can turn into bats,” Ethel said softly.
“Are you daft, Ethel?” Betsy replied. “Everyone knows that. The vampire turns into a bat, and terrorizes some poor maiden. Most common thing about vampires, terrorizing the maiden they’re hunting. Although, nowadays, the vampire is more likely to seduce the girl.”
“I’m just saying that maybe, we may have a vampire living here. You know, someone young, handsome. Does it ring any bells?”
“Thomas!” Betsy said. “Now I know you’ve lost your mind. If Mamma was alive she’d skin your hide, spreading rumors like that. You know, that’s crazy talk.”
Betsy looked at her sister critically before continuing, “Dr. Friedman didn’t mention anything about dementia during your last visit, did he?”
“Would you just shut-up and listen?” Ethel retorted. “There ain’t a thing wrong with my brain. What do we know about Thomas? Have you ever seen him outside during the day since he moved in last month? What’s he do for a living? Does he have a girlfriend?”
“What’s a girlfriend have to do with being a vampire?” Betsy asked.
“Everything,” Ethel replied. “Just look at him. If he doesn’t have a lady friend, it’s by choice. Like you said, vampires have to woo their victims. That would be a might bit inconvenient if you had a girlfriend. I mean, could you imagine Thomas saying to his girlfriend, ‘Excuse me while I romance Ethel, so I can bite her neck.’ She’d dump him for sure. Although, I have to admit, I wouldn’t mind if Thomas did a little biting on me.”
“Ethel, you’ve done lost your marbles,” Betsy said. “Maybe he had a fight with his last girlfriend, and isn’t ready to go steady with someone right now. For your information, he has a job—”
“Working third shift,” Ethel finished with a triumphal flare. “That’s mighty convenient for a vampire.”
“He is polite, almost suave,” Betsy m
used. “You have to admit, that bat was acting mighty peculiar.”
“That’s what I’m saying, Betsy,” Ethel said. “I bet he’s got his eye on us, just waiting for his moment to pounce.”
“But, you said they woo you first,” Betsy said hesitantly. “I haven’t been wooed since Harvey died.”
“I know,” Ethel said quietly. “It’s been a long time since Bur... uh, Frank passed away, too. It might be nice to be courted again.”
Both sisters sat in silence, lost in memories. Finally Betsy broke the solitude.
“Do you think Thomas would be open to a supper invitation on his next night off?” she asked.
Thomas was indeed agreeable to a dinner, and plans were made for later in the week. Both sisters anxiously awaited the appointed night, each weaving fantasies of how a possible vampire would actually go about the business of wooing his victims. The days seemed to last an eternity.
Betsy had just put the finishing touches on the table – set with their best china – and had taken a moment to rest on the couch as she waited for Thomas’ arrival. Lost in her thoughts, Betsy jumped at the sudden knocking at the door. Running from the bathroom where she had just finished applying her make-up and adjusting her finest wig, Ethel felt a tremor of excitement run up her spine. She quickly moved toward the door, only to be cut off by Betsy. Betsy reached for the door, and Ethel smacked her hand away so she could be the one to allow their guest entry into their abode. They had spent all day cleaning and their apartment positively sparkled.
“Ah, fair lady,” Thomas said with a bow. “You honor one so lowly with your radiant smile. May I enter?”
Like girls of fifteen meeting a suitor for the first time, both women giggled as they motioned Thomas into their apartment. Movement in the hallway caught the corner of Ethel’s eye, but she quickly discounted it when a wave of jealously rose within her chest as she spied Thomas kissing Betsy’s hand. Seeing the angry look in Ethel’s eye, the would-be suitor quickly moved to her side and gingerly took her hand. Ethel’s feet started to move of their own accord when Nat King Cole began playing from the old radio on the shelf. Only a fleeting thought entered her mind that the radio had been busted for years; a thought she left by the wayside as Thomas expertly led her in a dance Ethel had forgotten long ago. As Thomas spun her in his arms, Ethel glimpsed her sister sitting on the couch staring dreamily off into the distance. Ethel smiled herself, lost in Thomas’ expert hands.