The Mammoth Book of Vampire Stories by Women

by Stephen Jones

  “The spirit of the lake came up on land, Ms. Joseph?”

  She nodded, apparently unconcerned with the contradiction. “There were a lot of fires being lit around the lake that year. Between the wars this area got popular for a while and fires were the easiest way to clear land for summer homes. The spirit of the lake couldn’t allow that, hence its appearance as a burned log.”

  “And Thomas Stebbing had done what to disturb its peace?”

  “Nothing specifically. I think the poor boy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. It is a vengeful spirit, you understand.”

  Only a few short years earlier, he’d have understood that Mary Joseph was a total nutcase. But that was before he’d willing thrown himself into the darkness that lurked behind a pair of silvered eyes. He sighed and stood, the afternoon had nearly ended. It wouldn’t be long now until sunset.

  “Thank you for your help, Ms. Joesph. I … what?”

  She was staring at him, nodding. “You’ve seen it, haven’t you? You have that look.”

  “I’ve seen something,” he admitted reluctantly and turned toward the water. “I’ve seen a lot thi …”

  A pair of jet skis roared around the point and drowned him out. As they passed the house, blanketing it in noise, one of the adolescent operators waved a cheery hello.

  Never a vengeful lake spirit around when you really need one, he thought.

  “He knew about the sinkholes in the marsh and he sent those surveyors out anyway.” Vicki tossed a pebble off the end of the dock and watched it disappear into the liquid darkness.

  “You’re sure?”

  “The information was all there on his laptop and the file was dated back in March. Now, although evidence that I just happened to have found in his computer will be inadmissible in court, I can go to the Department of Lands and Forests and get the dates he requested the geological surveys.”

  Celluci shook his head. “You’re not going to be able to get him charged with anything. Sure, he should’ve told them, but they were both professionals, they should’ve been more careful.” He thought of the crocodile tears Stuart had cried that morning over the death, and his hands formed fists by his side. Being an irresponsible asshole was one thing, being a manipulative, irresponsible asshole was on another level entirely. “It’s an ethical failure,” he growled, “not a legal one.”

  “Maybe I should take care of him myself then.” The second pebble hit the water with considerably more force.

  “He’s your client, Vicki. You’re supposed to be working for him, not against him.”

  She snorted. “So I’ll wait until his check clears.”

  “He’s planning on acquiring the rest of the land around the lake.” Pulling the paper he’d retrieved from the garbage out of his pocket, Celluci handed it over.

  “The rest of the land around the lake isn’t for sale.”

  “Neither was this lodge until he decided he wanted it.”

  Crushing the paper in one hand, Vicki’s eyes silvered. “There’s got to be something we can … Shit!” Tossing the paper aside, she grabbed Celluci’s arm as the end of the dock bucked up into the air and leapt back one section, dragging him with her. “What the fuck was that?” she demanded as they turned to watch the place they’d just been standing rock violently back and forth. The paper she’d dropped into the water was nowhere to be seen.

  “Wave from a passing boat?”

  “There hasn’t been a boat past here in hours.”

  “Sometimes these long narrow lakes build up a standing wave. It’s called a seiche.”

  “A seiche?” When he nodded, she rolled her eyes. “I’ve got to start watching more PBS. In the meantime …”

  The sound of an approaching car drew their attention up to the lodge in time to see Stuart slowly and carefully pull into the parking lot, barely disturbing the gravel.

  “Are you going to tell him who vandalized his car?” Celluci asked as they started up the hill.

  “Who? Probably not. I can’t prove it after all, but I will tell him it wasn’t some vengeful spirit and it definitely won’t happen again.” At least not if Pete Wegler had anything to say about it. The spirit of the lake might be hypothetical, but she wasn’t.

  “A group of villagers, Vicki? You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  “They actually thought I’d believe it was an angry spirit manifesting all over the side of my vehicle?”

  “Apparently.” Actually, they hadn’t cared if he believed it or not. They were all just so angry they needed to do something and since the spirit was handy … She offered none of that to call-me-Stuart.

  “I want their names, Vicki.” His tone made it an ultimatum.

  Vicki had never responded well to ultimatums. Celluci watched her masks begin to fall and wondered just how far his dislike of the developer would let her go. He could stop her with a word, he just wondered if he’d say it. Or when.

  To his surprise, she regained control. “Check the census lists then. You haven’t exactly endeared yourself to your neighbors.”

  For a moment, it seemed that Stuart realized how close he’d just come to seeing the definition of his own mortality but then he smiled and said, “You’re right, Vicki, I haven’t endeared myself to my neighbors. And do you know what; I’m going to do something about that. Tomorrow’s Victoria Day, I’ll invite them all to a big picnic supper with great food and fireworks out over the lake. We’ll kiss and make up.”

  “It’s Sunday evening and tomorrow’s a holiday. Where are you going to find food and fireworks?”

  “Not a problem, Mike. I’ll e-mail my caterers in Toronto. I’m sure they can be here by tomorrow afternoon. I’ll pay through the nose but hey, developing a good relationship with the locals is worth it. You two will stay, of course.”

  Vicki’s lips drew back off her teeth, but Celluci answered for them both. “Of course.”

  “He’s up to something,” he explained later, “and I want to know what that is.”

  “He’s going to confront the villagers with what he knows, see who reacts and make their lives a living hell. He’ll find a way to make them the first part of his expansion.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “I’m always right.” Head pillowed on his shoulder, she stirred his chest hair with one finger. “He’s an unethical, immoral, unscrupulous little asshole.”

  “You missed annoying, irritating, and just generally unlikable.”

  “I could convince him he was a combination of Mother Theresa and Lady Di. I could rip his mind out, use it for unnatural purposes, and stuff it back into his skull in any shape I damn well chose, but I can’t.”

  Once you start down the dark side, forever will it dominate your destiny? But he didn’t say it aloud because he didn’t want to know how far down the dark side she’d been. He was grateful that she’d drawn any personal boundaries at all, that she’d chosen to remain someone who couldn’t use terror for the sake of terror. “So what are we going to do about him?”

  “I can’t think of a damned thing. You?”

  Suddenly he smiled. “Could you convince him that you were the spirit of the lake and that he’d better haul his ass back to Toronto unless he wants it dissolved off?”

  She was off the bed in one fluid movement. “I knew there was a reason I dragged you out here this weekend.” She turned on one bare heel then turned again and was suddenly back in the bed. “But I think I’ll wait until tomorrow night. He hasn’t paid me yet.”

  “Morning, Mike. Where’s Vicki?”

  “Sleeping.”

  “Well, since you’re up, why don’t you help out by carrying the barbecue down to the beach. I may be willing to make amends but I’m not sure they are, and since they’ve already damaged my car, I’d just as soon keep them away from anything valuable. Particularly when in combination with propane and open flames.”

  “Isn’t Vicki joining us for lunch, Mike?”

  “She say
s she isn’t hungry. She went for a walk in the woods.”

  “Must be how she keeps her girlish figure. I’ve got to hand it to you, Mike, there aren’t many men your age who could hold on to such a woman. I mean, she’s really got that independent thing going, doesn’t she?” He accepted a tuna sandwich with effusive thanks, took a bite and winced. “Not light mayo?”

  “No.”

  “Never mind, Mike. I’m sure you meant well. Now, then, as it’s just the two of us, have you ever considered investing in a time share …”

  Mike Celluci had never been so glad to see anyone as he was to see a van full of bleary-eyed and stiff caterers arrive at four that afternoon. As Vicki had discovered during that initial phone call, Stuart Gordon was not a man who took “no” for an answer. He might have accepted “Fuck off and die!” followed by a fast exit, but since Vicki expected to wake up on the shores of Lake Nepeakea, Celluci held his tongue. Besides, it would be a little difficult for her to chase the developer away if they were halfway back to Toronto.

  Sunset.

  Vicki could feel maybe two dozen lives around her when she woke, and she laid there for a moment reveling in them. The last two evenings she’d had to fight the urge to climb into the driver’s seat and speed toward civilization.

  “Fast food.”

  She snickered, dressed, and stepped out into the parking lot.

  Celluci was down on the beach talking to Frank Patton. She made her way over to them, the crowd opening to let her pass without really being aware she was there at all. Both men nodded as she approached, and Patton gestured toward the barbecue.

  “Burger?”

  “No thanks, I’m not hungry.” She glanced around. “No one seems to have brought their kids.”

  “No one wants to expose their kids to Stuart Gordon.”

  “Afraid they’ll catch something,” Celluci added.

  “Mike here says you’ve solved your case and you’re just waiting for Mr. Congeniality over there to pay you.”

  Wondering what Mike had been up to, Vicki nodded.

  “He also says you didn’t mention any names. Thank you.” He sighed. “We didn’t really expect the spirit of the lake thing to work but …”

  Vicki raised both hands. “Hey, you never know. He could be suppressing.”

  “Yeah, right. The only thing that clown suppresses is everyone around him. If you’ll excuse me, I’d better go rescue Anne before she rips out his tongue and strangles him with it.”

  “I’m surprised she came,” Vicki admitted.

  “She thinks he’s up to something and she wants to know what it is.”

  “Don’t we all,” Celluci murmured as he walked away.

  The combined smell of cooked meat and fresh blood making her a little light-headed, Vicki started Mike moving toward the floating dock. “Have I missed anything?”

  “No, I think you’re just in time.”

  As Frank Patton approached, Stuart broke off the conversation he’d been having with Anne Kellough—or more precisely, Vicki amended, at Anne Kellough—and walked out to the end of the dock where a number of large rockets had been set up.

  “He’s got a permit for the damned things,” Celluci muttered. “The son of a bitch knows how to cover his ass.”

  “But not his id.” Vicki’s fingers curved cool around Mike’s forearm. “He’ll get his, don’t worry.”

  The first rocket went up, exploding red over the lake, the colors muted against the evening gray of sky and water. The developer turned toward the shore and raised both hands above his head. “Now that I’ve got your attention, there’s a few things I’d like to share with you all before the festivities continue. First of all, I’ve decided not to press charges concerning the damage to my vehicle although I’m aware that …”

  The dock began to rock. Behind him, one of the rockets fell into the water.

  “Mr. Gordon.” The voice was Mary Joseph’s. “Get to shore, now.”

  Pointing a finger toward her, he shook his head. “Oh no, old woman, I’m Stuart Gordon …”

  Not call-me-Stuart, tonight, Celluci noted.

  “… and you don’t tell me what to do, I tell …”

  Arms windmilling, he stepped back, once, twice, and hit the water. Arms and legs stretched out, he looked as though he was sitting on something just below the surface. “I have had enough of this,” he began …

  … and disappeared.

  Vicki reached the end of the dock in time to see the pale oval of his face engulfed by dark water. To her astonishment, he seemed to have gotten his cell phone out of his pocket and all she could think of was that old movie cut line, Who you gonna call?

  One heartbeat, two. She thought about going in after him. The fingertips on her reaching hand were actually damp when Celluci grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. She wouldn’t have done it, but it was nice that he thought she would.

  Back on the shore, two dozen identical wide-eyed stares were locked on the flat, black surface of the lake, too astounded by what had happened to their mutual enemy, Vicki realized, to notice how fast she’d made it to the end of the dock.

  Mary Joseph broke the silence first. “Thus acts the vengeful spirit of Lake Nepeakea,” she declared. Then as heads began to nod, she added dryly, “Can’t say I didn’t warn him.”

  Mike looked over at Vicki, who shrugged.

  “Works for me,” she said.

  LA DIENTE

  Nancy Kilpatrick

  Nancy Kilpatrick has been described by Fangoria as “Canada’s answer to Anne Rice.” Best known for her vampire-themed fiction, she is the award-winning author of nineteen novels, more than two hundred short stories, six collections, and one nonfiction book. She has also edited fifteen anthologies, including Danse Macabre: Close Encounters with the Reaper, Expiration Date, and nEvermore! Tales of Murder, Mystery and the Macabre. Her most recent novel is Revenge of the Vampire King, the first in the six-volume Thrones of Blood cycle, while under her “Amarantha Knight” pseudonym she wrote the erotic novels Dracula and Carmilla in The Darker Passions series.

  “I met a man from Ecuador who showed me four of his baby teeth,” recalls the author, “which his mother had made into jewelry—a custom in his homeland. The vampire is very popular with Spanish-speaking people, and they have their own variation, el Chupa-cabra.

  “Combining these images inspired ‘La Diente.’”

  SUDDENLY, THE VAMPIRE appeared in the doorway! Tall, cadaverous, eyes glowing with the fires of Hell. His fingers curled around the doorframe, spider-like.

  Remedios trembled. Her heart beat wildly, as if it wanted to explode inside her chest.

  He inched forward, movements ratlike. He focused on his victim, his prey.

  She clutched the wooden arm of the chair and squeezed her body into a tighter ball. “Diosito! Mio Diosito! Protect me Santa Marianita de Jesus!” she cried, but he kept coming.

  “Submit to me!” he insisted, his voice low and seductive, the tone not one that could be argued with. “I am stronger. I will have what I want!”

  “No!” She shook her head. Her sweaty hand slipped off the chair arm where she had gripped it so tightly.

  His face came close, ungodly close, and then his blood-red lips turned upward into a sinister smile. A smile that split apart to reveal two long, sharp teeth. Teeth that glistened with saliva. Teeth that wanted her neck. Demanded the vein, plumped with her life’s blood, pulsing in terror. Teeth that would bite and rend and take what they needed in order to survive.

  A loud, harsh buzzer caused Remedios to jolt.

  She leapt from the chair and hurried into the kitchen to turn off the oven timer. Quickly she opened the door and lifted the lid of the clay pot—the meat looked and smelled delicious, just the way the Richviews liked it—rare. It had taken her almost three months to be able to prepare it the way her employers preferred. She wanted to please them, but something about that red color when she cut into it, all the blood, made her feel nauseous,
and she found herself frequently overcooking. Remedios had never eaten rare meat. At home in Ecuador, everyone overcooked meat, to be safe. She preferred it well done, so that it did not resemble anymore the poor helpless animal that it had been.

  With a deft hand, she switched the oven knob to WARM, and turned on the element under the pot on the stovetop that would steam the summer squash. The salad and dessert had been prepared in advance, the table set, all was well. She headed back to the living room for the end of the movie, only to find a commercial on the TV for feminine hygiene products, as they liked to call them in North America. It had taken her most of the six months she had been in San Diego to make sense of this new language, but finally she was beginning to feel as if she had mastered at least the basics. Now she could shop and take the bus without incident, mostly, and the Richviews seemed more comfortable around her. At least as comfortable as they could be.

  Just as the commercial finished and the movie resumed, she heard a car pull into the driveway. Well, that was that. She switched off the television and returned to the kitchen. She would never know how the movie ended, but of course the vampire would be staked. He always was, or at least most of the time. She preferred movies where the vampire was destroyed. The ones where he escaped caused her nightmares.

  It was a peculiar thing, that she watched these movies so fervently. Even back in San Francisco de Quito where she was born, vampire movies were her favorite films, even though they terrified her. She hated the vampire, always taking advantage of those weaker than himself for his own satisfaction, yet she could not stop watching. Her mother—may the saints intercede with the Holy Father on behalf of her eternal soul!—preferred the soaps, and in Ecuador there were many. “Why do you want to watch those awful movies? Why frighten yourself? Turn them off!” her mother had said so often when she was alive. “My soap operas are much better, like real life.”