by Billy Wells
“What specifically have you been doing for the slimy bastard?”
“Simple stuff like firebombing a few mom-and-pop convenience stores, contaminating a few villages in East Africa with smallpox. Nothing earth shattering.”
”And you thought he was your guardian angel even after he made you do those terrible things?”
“Bringing me back from the dead was no piece of cake, Mom.”
“Listen to me for once in your life. Keep as far away from him as you can. If you have done his bidding, and your arrangement is over, he doesn't need you anymore. Tomorrow morning, you'll probably be back at the pearly gates, but if you contaminated the African village with small box, you might be burning in Hell for all eternity.”
“You're wrong. Both of you. Harvey is a swell guy. Look at me. I'm whole again. I’m ready to resume my life again.”
“Have you looked in the mirror lately?”
“That’s the third time you’ve asked me that. I’m whole. I've been restored. I look the same as I did before the accident. Tomorrow, I will go to an employment agency and fill out an application for a new job. Now that I have fulfilled my contract with my guardian angel, I'm ready to begin my new life. You both should be happy for me.”
“Look in the mirror, son.”
Jaden saw a floor-to-ceiling mirror in the foyer and moved quickly toward it.
Stepping in front of it, he recoiled in horror at his deformed skull like face with dark recesses around his dead eyes. The flesh on one side of his face had been torn away showing his broken, rotten teeth.
Jaden couldn't believe Harvey, his guardian angel, had misled him all these years. He had hoped to marry Sophia and have children. He was excited about getting a new job and starting a successful new career of promise and fulfillment. Now, looking at the monster in the mirror, he knew this could never be. Sophia would never have given him a second look with his eyeball hanging from its socket. He would not be able to get his old job back at the bowling alley either.
Jaden took the keys from the kitchen counter and headed outside where his father's car was parked. He got in, started the engine, and drove away.
* * *
When Harvey Beelzebub awoke from a wild night of drinking and whoring, he saw Jaden sitting in a chair facing him. “Hey, Jaden,” he groaned. “You sure are here bright and early. It's your big day. You’re about to be a free man. Ready to take the world by the balls.”
“Something has happened to my face, Harvey. It’s decomposing back to what it was after my accident.”
Harvey reached for the buzzer on the night table and in doing so, woke up a voluptuous teenager with a brand-new 60-inch bust buried under the sheets.
Two muscle-bound monsters with green skin grabbed Jaden and dragged him away screaming.
“Harvey! You promised me!”
“Sorry, kid. They're waiting for you at the pearly gates.”
“Will they let me in with my face looking like this?”
“Of course. You look good compared to a lot of them who’ll want to welcome you.”
“There is a welcoming committee?”
“A real horde.”
“Who are they?”
“Some of the victims of the village you contaminated with smallpox in Africa, and a few of the geezers from the fire bombings may stop by for old times.”
“But Harvey, I only did what you told me to do.”
“Be sure to tell them that. I'm not sure it will make a difference, but you never know.”
VAMPIRE
Detective Ralph Rafferty pulled back the sheet someone had placed on top of the body. He winced when he saw the young woman's dead eyes glaring back at him. Her face was ashen, and like the other four recent victims, he saw the two deep puncture wounds in her neck.
His partner, Sid Ripley, was standing on the street talking to the Looky Lous milling about, hoping he might recognize one of them from the previous murders. Rafferty watched the crime scene crew moving in and out of the house collecting forensic evidence as he walked over for a consult. If they found any evidence here, it would be the first time. The other four murder scenes were completely clean. The real mystery was no DNA in the puncture wounds, which made no sense since the perp had somehow drained the last drop of blood from all five victims.
Rafferty approached Ripley, who had stepped away from the others and to make a note on his phone, and asked, “Did anyone see anything out of the ordinary?”
“Nope. Not a thing.”
“It’s the same M.O.?”
“Yeah. She was a little younger, but it's sure to be the same psycho who did the others.”
“Five young women dead, and we don’t have a clue,” Rafferty said, shaking his head in disgust. “Did you have a chance to check with the local realtors yesterday afternoon?”
“Yes. I checked. A young lady and her son are the only new residents in the last four months.”
“Where do they live?”
“The old Ramsey house down by the cemetery.”
“Now that is strange,” Rafferty muttered, as they headed to their Crown Vic parked across the street. They got in, Ripley at the wheel. Rafferty continued, “Who in their right mind would buy that old falling down place, particularly next to the graveyard?”
“Either a very poor or a very warped individual. There are too many ghosts hanging around graveyards.”
“Not everyone believes in ghosts like you, Sid.”
“Did I ever tell you about the time my mom saw a ghost?”
“Only ten or twenty times,” Rafferty said rolling his eyes.
“Are you calling my mom a liar?” Ripley said jokingly.
“Didn’t you tell me she hit the bottle pretty heavy from time to time?”
“Who doesn't have a few too many once in a while. I feel sorry for people who don’t drink. When they get up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day.”
“You stole that line from Frank Sinatra. Or was it Dean Martin?”
“It was Frank. So what part of the story didn't you buy?”
“Just about all of it,” Rafferty chuckled. “As I recall, your mother saw your next door neighbor walking her dog when she went by in her car. When she came home later, your father told her he read in the paper that neighbor had died the night before.”
“That's right! You do remember. So, how do you explain it?”
“She dreamed it. She had too much to drink. She saw her the day before and was confused. There could be a lot of reasons.”
“What about the night my grandma died?”
“Did someone see a ghost that time, too?”
“No. It was more of a supernatural thing,” Ripley cupped his hands and made a high pitched scary sound.”
“I don't remember that story.”
“My mom and dad and a whole roomful of people were paying their respects at the old homestead the night she died. The lights were dim, but it wasn't dark. The doctor had told everyone Granny wouldn't make it through the night. It was as quiet as a tomb with everyone sitting around waiting for the end.”
“I can't believe your grandmother would want all those people watching her die. I certainly wouldn't.”
“It's a family tradition. Most of the relatives were from out of town. What did you expect them to do, mourn in their motel room?”
“So what happened?”
Ripley lowered his voice to almost a whisper. “I was only ten years old. I think my mom forgot I was there,” Ripley sighed eerily. “Suddenly everyone in the room heard the sound of a rubber ball hitting the ceiling and the floor over and over and over again.”
“You and the others were all sitting in the room when it happened, and no one saw a thing. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Right. I saw it with my own eyes... I mean I heard with my own ears. When the ball stopped bouncing, she was dead. It was the scariest thing I ever witnessed, and I'll never forget it.” Ripley made the scary sound again. “
Ghosts and the supernatural are real. There’s no doubt about it. I’m an eyewitness or an ear witness. You know what I mean.”
“Does this mean you believe in vampires and werewolves?”
“No, those things are only folklore.”
Rafferty thought about debating the logic of deciding which bogeymen were real, but knew it would be pointless. “So, the young woman and her son moved into the Ramsey house in the last four months?”
“Correct. And she moved in right before the murders started.”
“The only one… huh? What do you say we drop in on her?”
“What else do we have to do? We’re desperate for a clue.”
Fifteen minutes later Rafferty and Ripley pulled up at the last house on the secluded street in the small town of Busby. Rafferty shook his head in bewilderment. "I can’t believe a young woman would want to live in a dark, dismal place like this.”
They got out of their Crown Vic, walked to the front door, and Ripley knocked.
In a few moments, a young woman opened the door and glared suspiciously at the two detectives. Rafferty and Ripley showed her their badges and asked to speak with her inside since it was a cold day in December.
The strange woman with her hair in an old-fashioned, tightly wound bun peered at the sun going down in the distance through the gnarled trees. Reluctantly she led them into the parlor and they took a seat in some very old stuffed armchairs. Even after she turned on the lamp on a corner table, the room was uncomfortably dark and gloomy. Several faded family portraits of people they assumed were long dead glared at them from the shadows. The wind whined in the eaves, and the roof creaked.
The woman's penetrating eyes that seemed much larger than normal unnerved Rafferty, but he finally started with the first question, “Your name is Shadow Montague?”
“Yes, it is,” she said in a whispery, seductive voice. “My father had a rather warped sense of humor.”
Ripley didn’t understand why Rafferty kept avoiding the woman’s gaze, but it was obvious he was.
“And you have a son?” Rafferty continued.
“Yes.”
“His name is Nigel Montague?”
“Yes.”
“Does he attend Woodlawn Elementary?”
“No. He has a private tutor.” Montague rose, and. stepping into Rafferty’s line of sight, she asked, “Could you tell me why you’re here? Am I suspected of a crime?”
“No, Mrs. Montague,” he replied. “We’re speaking with everyone in the area about the five mysterious murders committed by the fiend the media calls ‘The Vampire Killer.’ And since you are the most recent resident of Busby, we wanted to warn you to keep your doors and windows locked at all times, particularly since you live on one of the town's most secluded streets. Are you aware of the murders?”
“Yes, as I understand it from the news accounts, the victims have been drained of their blood, and all have puncture wounds on their necks. I assume you suspect it is the work of a vampire?”
Both detectives were stunned by Montague’s indifference to the existence of such a creature at large in the community. Rafferty explained, “Although the draining of blood and the puncture wounds to the jugular do suggest a vampire, we believe the murders were committed by a deranged psychopath who either believes he is a vampire or is pretending to be one. After all, such creatures only exist in the movies and in folklore.”
“In my part of the world, vampires are not considered folklore,” Montague said in a wistful tone.
“Where are you from, may I ask?”
“I'm from Transylvania, a region in Romania, commonly associated with vampires because of a number of popular novels and movies. Some people consider it the vampire capital of the world.
“Do you believe they exist?” Ripley asked, completely entranced by the mystic aura of the strange woman.
“Absolutely. There are many documented cases in my country.”
“Hmmm.” Rafferty mused, "I wonder why we don't have one documented case in the states?”
“What about the ones here in Busby?” Montague asked.
“As I said, we're looking for a psychopath who thinks he's a vampire.”
“Ah, yes.”
“You don't seem to be at all threatened that someone is lurking about murdering people,” Ripley remarked.
“In Romania, vampires have roamed the countryside for centuries. Vampire hunters are always on their trail. I'm sure you must have heard of Van Helsing.”
Rafferty immediately assumed Montague was a screwball and completely delusional. “Van Helsing is a fictional character in Bram Stoker's classic novel, Dracula,” he said flatly.
“The characters in Stoker's book are not fictional but the names had been changed to protect the innocent as Jack Webb aptly put it in his old TV show. Much of that book was taken from actual accounts.”
“Have you ever met a real life vampire hunter?”
“Actually, I’ve met a real life vampire, and my father was a vampire hunter.”
Rafferty winked at Ripley. “So what can the citizens of Busby do to ward off such a creature?”
“Certainly you've seen a vampire film before. There are plenty of them. Crucifixes, garlic, and mirrors are common combatants until the vampire hunter intervenes.”
“Mrs. Montague, what will we do for a vampire hunter here in Busby? I've never seen an ad in the paper for one.”
“Why Detective Rafferty, I thought you and your partner were vampire hunters. Certainly, you must have a wooden stake and a mallet in your possession at all times.” She smiled showing very pronounced canines and a blood red tongue.
That remark was the final straw and all the detectives could tolerate for one afternoon. They stood and Rafferty said, "Thank you so much for your time, Mrs. Montague. We will do our best to bring the killer to justice.”
“I'm sorry Detective Rafferty, your job is not to bring him to justice. It's to drive a stake through his heart. That's the only way you can stop him.”
“I'll talk to the Captain about requisitioning some stakes to all the members of the local police force. Thanks again for your time. Keep your doors locked.”
“Doors won't keep a vampire out,” she shouted as they headed for their car.
The detectives didn't respond to this last remark. They just got into the car and drove away.
“Man, that lady is looney iunes. Do you think we should call social services to find a suitable home for her son? There's no telling what that bitch might do next,” Ripley ranted.
“When we get back to the station, I'll call Penelope and get someone out here.”
* * *
Two days later, Rafferty received a call from Penelope at social services, “Ralph, we sent Maggie Tyler to the Montague residence yesterday. She interviewed the mother and the child and except for the dark atmosphere and a few idiosyncrasies of Mrs. Montague, she found nothing to warrant further intervention by our department.”
“That's hard for me to understand,” Rafferty said in disbelief, “My partner and I thought the woman must have escaped from the looney bin. She seemed completely psychotic to us. I certainly wouldn't want her to raise my children.”
“Was she violent or abusive? Slovenly? All drugged up?”
“No. It's what she said about vampires. She not only believes they exist; she said she’d met one personally. She told us emphatically to get a wooden stake and a mallet if we wanted to stop the psychopath.”
“Mrs. Montague is from a Romanian culture. Ghosts, goblins, and vampires have been part of their heritage for centuries. You wouldn't believe all the ogres they have in their bedtime stories.”
“Do you believe in ghosts and goblins, Penelope?” Rafferty asked with a hint of sarcasm.
“My beliefs have nothing to do with Mrs. Montague and raising her child. Miss Tyler indicated in her report the boy is smart, happy, well groomed, and well cared for. He displayed great affection for his mother. Miss Tyler found nothing to suggest
we should intervene.”
“Well, thanks for looking into the matter. I'm glad Miss Tyler escaped in one piece. I wouldn't want to go to that place by myself without my 44 Magnum on my hip... or without my wooden stake and mallet.” Rafferty chuckled and winked at Ripley.
“Detective Rafferty!”
“Sorry. Just blowing off steam. These murders have me on edge.”
* * *
Three days later, someone found another victim in the town park. A boy walking his dog discovered a woman’s body. She was drained of blood and had the same puncture wounds on her neck.
Later that day after they returned to headquarters from the crime scene, Ripley in reviewing the murder books, discovered the murders occurred every twenty-eight days like clockwork.
“It seems like the perp needs a fix every four weeks,” Ripley remarked.
“If that’s true, she won't strike again until February fifteenth. I guess we can go on vacation until then.”
“Fat chance. Why did you say she wouldn’t strike?”
“I think this bitch, Montague, is the vampire. Delusional or authentic. We know everyone else in this hick town. I checked with the doc, and he says not one of his patients have shown signs of going wacko lately.”
“Well… I've been thinking,“ Ripley said, staring into space, “Remember when we talked to her on the porch when we first arrived?”
“Do I? I'll never forget it.”
“The sun was going down. I remember her looking at it in the sky. She had an odd expression on her face.”
“Yeah,” Rafferty said. “I do remember that.”
“Under vampire rules, how could she be outside in the daylight? If she were a real vampire, she would have burned up when she answered the door, and the sun hit her. She should have been in a coffin in the basement until the sun went completely down, and not come to the door at all. How do you explain that?”
Rafferty nodded. “You're right, but… not all movies have the same vampire rules Bram Stoker had in his book. Sometimes vampires can go outside during the day. Sometimes they turn into bats, sometimes into wolves. Sometimes they show their reflection in the mirror. It all depends on the plot of the story.”
“So, you're saying some vampires may not be affected by these things.”