The Vampire of Plainfield

by Kristopher Rufty

  “Much,” she said, turning away from him. She entered the condensed room, walked over to the small table in the corner, and turned the candle sideways. Wax dribbled onto the table. There were blotches in the wood where wax had already left marks from other times. Fresh wax covered the table’s old burns in gloppy goo. She stuck the candlestick into the puddle. When she took her hand away, the candle remained standing.

  A guttering dimness filtered through the small room. She heard the bed hinges squeak and bounce. Heart pounding, Mary spun around.

  Jenkins was on the bed, on his side. Head propped on his hand, he rubbed the mattress with the other, as if showing her she was meant to occupy that spot.

  Not what she’d expected to find.

  Damn. Thought he’d already jumped the gun…

  Should’ve known better. Mary had to work them over a bit, get them ready.

  “Coming to bed, Lover?” Jenkins asked.

  Hearing him say ‘lover’ was almost enough to make Mary never use the frisky epithet again. Made it sound nasty coming from his mouth.

  “Lay back and I will,” she said.

  Jenkins scooted upward, grinning like a child about to open presents on Christmas morning. He rested on the pillows, arms folded under his head. “Like this?”

  Mary smiled. “Perfect.”

  Almost feel sorry for the shmuck.

  Mary stepped to the edge of the bed. She gazed down at Jenkins. He was in the middle of the mattress, with equal amounts of space on either side. Usually she had to somehow chaperone them to the middle. Jenkins was making her work easier.

  “See those metal bars on the head frame?”

  Jenkins turned his head to look above him. “Yeah?”

  “Grab them, please.”

  He looked at her. His eyes were round and eager. “Really? You’re going to tie me up?”

  “Why do you think I asked you to leave on the tie?”

  Jenkins laughed. “Finally!” He did as she wanted. “I’ve wanted to be tied up ever since I read about it in a magazine at the cigar shop!”

  “Your dream's coming true today, Lover.”

  “Hot damn!”

  Mary climbed onto the mattress, crawling over Jenkins's excited legs. She could hear his animated squeaks as she made her way up. Straddling his stomach, she reached up and worked at the knot of his tie. When it was loose, she slid it out from under his neck. Then she fed the tie between the bars. First, she coiled it around one wrist, looped it between the bars, and tied the other wrist. When she was done, she leaned back.

  “There you are,” she said.

  Jenkins tested the durability. Though the tie moved, his hands remained where they were. The knot was tight, and the tie was now too short for him to do anything.

  “I’m all yours,” he said.

  “Yes,” she said, smiling. “You are.”

  Jenkins’s smile faltered. She saw something in his eyes that showed he realized he might have made a mistake. It went away when she reached behind her, found his pecker, and started stroking.

  “Want this in my mouth?” she asked.

  “Oh…” He nodded vigorously, moaned. “Please!”

  “Want me to suck it?”

  “PLEASE!”

  Laughing, Mary gripped a nipple and twisted. Jenkins cried out in alarm, but it turned to moaning when Mary leaned over him, flicking his swelling nipple with her tongue. Her hand slid up the mattress, going under the pillow. Her fingers brushed the cold slickness she had hidden there.

  Got it.

  With Jenkins moaning, she pulled her hand out from under the pillow. She gave Jenkins a quick glance. His face pointed at the ceiling, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide.

  Sitting up, Mary kept her right arm behind her as she moved back on her knees. Jenkins looked at her. Sweat dotted his brow. His moustache was wet with drool and fluttered as he panted.

  “I’ll make sure it’s really good,” she said. She rubbed the thin hairs on his stomach.

  “I bet you will,” he said in a winded voice.

  Mary made her way back, getting on her stomach between his legs. Her face was a short distance from the pruned head of his pecker.

  “It’s the least I could do,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  Mary sucked him inside. She felt his body stiffen as her mouth slid up and down the short length of his manhood. Jenkins’s moans were nearly screams when her tongue licked the underside. She felt him quickly swell. She knew it was about to happen.

  Mary brought the knife up to her face.

  Jenkins burst in her mouth, shooting the back of her throat. Letting out a relieved moan, Jenkins’s jerked and quaked. His feet dug into the mattress. Mary swallowed as he pumped. For such a small thing, it certainly was loaded.

  Mary swallowed the last of it. Jenkins began to relax.

  Then she used the knife to slice his pecker off.

  Jenkins jerked and let out a quick grunt, but hardly noticed what had happened. Sitting up, Mary smiled as the spurting blood painted red stripes on her breasts and stomach. Jenkins turned, opened his eyes, and smiled.

  The smile fell away when he saw her holding out his penis on the flat of her hand.

  Jenkins screamed.

  “Sorry, Lover,” she said. She crawled backwards off the bed. Standing on the floor, she let his pecker drop into the materializing mist at her ankles. “I know it’s awful, but it’s not really that painful and I can’t kill you right away. Made that mistake once already.”

  She’d used the knife on the first one’s throat. He’d bled out before the vampire could feed. That night she’d learned the victims needed to be alive. Jenkins was number four, so she’d almost become an expert.

  “You have to be bleeding,” said Mary. “A lot. He’s not quite strong enough to feed on his own, yet. And I have to make sure you don’t die before he has a chance to get his fixings.”

  Screaming, Jenkins thrashed his head on the pillows. He jerked his arms, but the tie kept them above his head.

  "I promised to make it good for you," she told Jenkins. "And I did. Think of it as your last hoorah before the end." She smiled as the smoke rose in front of her, making her view of Jenkins hazy.

  Mary doubted Jenkins had heard anything she'd said. Blood spurted from the flat knob between his legs, coating his stomach and thighs in tacky crimson. But he wasn't even focused on that.

  His eyes were glued to the swirling clouds filling the room.

  They changed from gray to purple as plumes augmented from under the bed, swirling through the room. Though Jenkins hadn't stopped screaming, he watched the gaudy fog pull together, take shape.

  Mary had witnessed this enactment a few times now, and it aroused her to see him awaken, to watch the thin haze solidify into tendons and tissue. The skin stretched, firming. She could tell its color had improved significantly since she brought him here. The blue was darker, healthier. Hair sprouted from its face. Its nose twitched, nostrils widening like knife slits, with sounds like crushed crackers. Two boils appeared on its back ad grew, distending as wings developed inside the yolk-like bubbles. Soon the wings were too big for the translucent cocoons and burst through, spattering Mary's naked flesh in the warm goop.

  As the vampire stalked toward the bed, she smeared the yolk over her skin with her hands, smothering her breasts in the warm slime. It left her nipples hard and tingly. She moaned as an orgasm shook her body and stole the strength in her legs. Dropping to her knees, she stared at the bed, still painting her body in the vampire's paste.

  The vampire climbed up the edge of the bed, to the spurting nub that had been Jenkins's pecker. Its mouth stretched, dropping wide, flaunting its massive fangs. Then its mouth lowered over the hole, jaws clamping, teeth puncturing Jenkins's hairy mound.

  Suckling sounds drowned out Jenkins's cries as the vampire fed like a calf on a teat.

  -11-

  Dorothy Clark peered out the car window. On the sidewalk, kids from her cla
ss spotted her, and stopped to stare. She gave them a haughty smile that she hoped told them how special she was. After all, they hadn’t been asked to stay over and help Ms. Packer clean up the classroom. That was a treat only the most extraordinary students were given.

  Besides, Dorothy knew she was Ms. Packer’s favorite. None of the other kids came close.

  “Aren’t you going to wave at your friends?” asked Ms. Packer as she stopped at a crosswalk. Her brownish hair was pushed back by a hairband. The sun coming through the glass reflected off her pale face, making her red lipstick shine like fire. She was very pretty and Dorothy hoped she’d grow up to be just as pretty. Better yet, she hoped to grow up to look like her cousin, Robin. People told her she could pass for Robin’s sister.

  Dorothy saw herself in the mirror every day. She knew she was already pretty, and would probably get even prettier as she got older.

  Dorothy watched a different pack of kids scurry across the road. Mr. Hollister, the crossing guard, ushered them along with his hand. He bit down on a whistle that twinkled in the bright light.

  “Okay,” Dorothy said. She threw her hand up and quickly shook it. Heads turned. Eyes narrowed. A couple kids stopped, leaned close, whispered.

  Dorothy imagined what they were saying.

  What’s she doing in Ms. Packer’s car?

  She got to stay after and help?

  She’s so lucky!

  I wish I was Dorothy Clark!

  Smiling, Dorothy continued to wave. The kids kept watching until Mr. Hollister made them move. When they were across the road, Dorothy let her hand drop into her lap. Ms. Packer drove forward, giving the portly Mr. Hollister a quick wave by rolling her fingers. Dorothy liked how her teacher waved—fingers straight, wiggling them. Something about the gesture just seemed so grown up to Dorothy.

  I should start waving at boys like that.

  She felt a nervous flutter in her stomach.

  Dorothy was the oldest in Ms. Packer’s class, by a couple months. She was the first in the class to turn ten, so she was often granted more privileges and didn’t mind bragging about it. Sometimes Ms. Packer called her a Teacher’s Assistant, whatever that meant.

  Though most of the kids didn’t seem to really care, others were overly outraged and made it a point to voice their frustrations with name-calling.

  Teacher’s pet!

  Brown-noser!

  Bitch!

  The last one had actually made her cry. Not in front of anybody, of course. She’d run off to the restroom to do it. Couldn’t let them see how much their vicious teasing had hurt her.

  “Thank you for staying after class,” said Ms. Packer.

  “You’re welcome,” said Dorothy.

  “What a mess!” Ms. Packer chuckled. “Guess it’s my fault for letting you all mess around with paint.”

  “I didn’t make a mess,” said Dorothy. She covered the paint stain on her dress with her hand, hiding the evidence that she’d made quite a mess herself. Hopefully Mama wouldn’t be mad. “It was everybody else.”

  “Of course it was,” said Ms. Packer, smiling. Something about her tone suggested she wasn’t being serious. “But if I didn’t have your help, I would still be there cleaning it up.”

  Dorothy felt heat in her cheeks from a blush. “Golly…”

  “Are you sure your mama won’t be upset that you’re getting home a few minutes late?”

  It was Tuesday, so Mama wouldn’t be back from Grammy’s yet. She wouldn’t even know Dorothy had come home late. Grammy liked to have the adults over for lunch on Tuesdays and usually Mama stayed later to talk with Dorothy’s aunts and uncles for a long time. Daddy made deliveries on Tuesdays, usually not getting home until late. They owned one of the biggest dairy farms around and it kept Daddy busy most of the time. He’d probably just get home in time for supper.

  About time you got home, Mama would say. Supper’s nearly dead-cold!

  Sometimes Mama yelled at Daddy too much. When he wasn’t around she sometimes said things about him that made Dorothy

  uncomfortable. Especially if Mama was mad at him. Dorothy mostly disagreed with Mama’s sneering comments. To Dorothy, Daddy was great and she loved him very much.

  Dorothy also understood Mama said a lot of things to hide how lonely she was when Daddy wasn’t around.

  From the corner of her eye, Dorothy noticed Ms. Packer give her a quick glance. She realized she hadn’t answered the question. “No,” she said. “Mama won’t be mad.”

  “You’re sure? You don’t sound sure.”

  “I promise.”

  Dorothy turned, offering a smile she hoped would settle her teacher’s unease. Ms. Packer gave her a quick smile back, then faced the road. She seemed fine with the answer.

  As she drove, Ms. Packer talked about activities she’d planned for the remaining school year. All of them sounded fun. She asked Dorothy what she wanted to do over summer break. Dorothy told her about all the books she wanted to read. Some of them weren’t at the library, so she’d have to beg her parents to order them for her.

  “I have most of those,” said Ms. Packer. “I’ll bring them to school and you can keep them over the summer.”

  “Honest?” said Dorothy.

  “Cross my heart,” said Ms. Packer. “Just don’t tell any of the other kids. They might not like it.”

  Dorothy’s shoulders slumped. “Okay,” she mumbled. Soon as Ms. Packer had made the offer, Dorothy was already planning how she would boast about it to everybody. Now she had to keep it to herself. If she crowed about the books, somebody would surely tell Ms. Packer. And Dorothy would no longer be the favorite.

  Gazing out the window, Dorothy recognized the houses. She watched the spaces between them grow. Fields replaced yards. Patches of woods appeared, parting the fields into sections.

  Dorothy spotted the black and white hair of her father’s cows, grazing in the pastures. She felt the car slow down. When she faced forward, she saw the car was turning onto the dirt driveway that led to her house. The stretch of road continued beyond the house, to the barn and the stalls Daddy milked the cows in. Sometimes he asked her to help and she liked to do it whenever Mama allowed it.

  Not a job for a little girl! Mama would say.

  But she had fun working with Daddy.

  Her house came into view, a three-story structure with a basement. The driveway was empty. The trees in the yard were thickening with green. Higher up, the limbs were still bare, as if skinny brown tails were reaching up from the green patches. She loved how the leaves coated the ground during the fall. Sometimes she’d play hide-and-seek with her cousins in the leaves, burying themselves under the dropped foliage while whoever was It counted to twenty.

  Her eyes turned to the house. The windows were dark, reflecting the scenery on the glass like mirrors. Dorothy felt something stir inside of her. A noodle of coldness wiggled in her stomach, but she didn’t know why.

  The car thumped when it was put into Park. She heard shuffling sounds on the seat as Ms. Packer turned to face her.

  “Are you feeling all right?” asked Ms. Packer.

  “Huh?”

  Dorothy turned. Ms. Packer frowned at her.

  “You suddenly look pale,” said Ms. Packer. “Feeling sick?”

  “No.” Dorothy shook her head. She noticed how it felt a little light and prickly. “No.”

  Ms. Packer’s frown deepened. “If you’re worried about your mama being mad…”

  “I’m not,” said Dorothy. “I promise.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to come in and explain things to her?”

  “No. It’s fine.”

  Dorothy almost told her that Mama wasn’t home. The carless driveway should have told Ms. Packer that. Maybe she thought Mama didn’t drive and was inside waiting for Dorothy to come in.

  If she confessed Mama was at Grammy’s, then Ms. Packer might want to come in and wait with her until she came home. Dorothy was rarely left alone in the house, and
she treasured each uncommon occasion as a blessing. It made her feel as if she were an adult in her own house, doing whatever she wanted.

  “Fine,” said Ms. Packer. “But if you get into any kind of trouble, tell me tomorrow, and I’ll talk to her.”

  “I will.”

  “Promise?”

  “I promise.”

  “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye-bye!”

  Dorothy groaned as she pushed the heavy car door open. She made sure it would stay that way before sticking out her legs. Too many times a car door had swung back and bashed her shins as she was climbing out.

  Standing next to the car, Dorothy reached back in and picked up her school books from the floorboard. She hugged them to her chest.

  “Have a good afternoon,” said Ms. Packer.

  “Okay. Bye!”

  Dorothy walked around the door, leaned against it, and hobbled backwards. The door banged shut, jostling her. She nearly dropped her books.

  She ran to the house, feeling her dress float out around her legs. She hurried up the steps, opened the door, and ran inside. She kicked the door shut behind her.

  Two quick honks from Ms. Packer’s horn made Dorothy jump. A little gasp escaped her. Walking back to the door, she pulled back the flimsy curtain over the narrow window beside it. She peeked out. The car was already turned around and heading down the driveway. Ms. Packer must have been telling her bye one last time. Dorothy watched until the car rounded the curve and trees blocked her view. She let the curtain fall back into place and turned around.

  The short hallway before her was dark. Rectangles of pale light from the doorways on either side spilled on the floor, a wider splash at the end led into the kitchen. The stairs off to the side led up into a shelter of black.

  It was very quiet, somehow quieter than normal. She could feel the silence, heavy and scary on her shoulders.

  Dorothy shoved those feelings away. She wouldn’t let this short stint of time be ruined. It would be another week before it happened again. And what if Mama decided to stay home next time? She didn’t go to Grammy’s every week.