Herb closed the door in Dallas’s face, and snapped the deadbolt back into place. Seconds later, a rock shattered Herb’s front window, followed by Dallas’s angry yelling, “You’re damn right nothings gonna happen to her, you bastard! This ain’t over! There’s a storm coming Herb, or whatever the hell you are now! And it’s gonna send you straight back to hell!”
Herb’s sensitive ears clearly heard Dallas’s heavy tread as he stomped back to his truck, fired up the V8 engine and roared back down the dirt driveway. Herb yanked and pulled a number of heavy thoughts around as he made his way back toward his earthen bed. Frustrated, exhausted and saddened at the realization that his oldest and best friend wanted to kill him, Herb curled up in his hole. Eventually, he passed into a troubled, fitful sleep.
Chapter 43
The sun had set and Herb was awake. He’d showered, dressed and was doing his best to tame his unruly mane of hair with an uncooperative mirror. It was already close to nine, and he knew he’d have to push the Pinto to its 4-cylinder limit if he was going to be on time for his date with Lois. Thoughts of the evening ahead were anxious things that were one second cart-wheeling with excitement and the next cowering with dread. His earlier encounter with Dallas had left him badly shaken. Now that Dallas knew, truly knew what Herb was, it was only a matter of time before he convinced more people. Despite Herb’s new-found celebrity in Trappersville, Dallas was still the big man on campus for a lot of the townsfolk. While they might not believe him if he just walked up and said, “Hey! Remember Herb Knudsen? That kind-of a nobody who turned rock star bowler extraordinaire? He’s a vampire,” he could certainly start to raise some uncomfortable questions. The more Herb thought about it, the more he felt that going to Bay City Bowlers and mingling with the crowd might not be the best idea. Maybe Lois would rather rent a movie, stay at her place. With a final hopeful swipe of the comb across his scalp, he nodded to his non-existent reflection. That was the perfect idea. Something romantic, like Sleepless in Seattle or You’ve Got Mail, would be perfect.
Checking his watch, he wished he’d left enough time to stop by Patt’s to pick up a video. Instead, he rummaged through his own collection quickly to see if there was an acceptable substitute for Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks. Tossing aside a video recap of the best Superbowls in history and rifling through his complete collection of Ernest movies, Herb was made painfully aware of his lack of romantical cinema. Settling on Slam Dunk Ernest, he grabbed the wildflowers he’d quickly picked from his backyard, jumped in his car and headed out for his date.
The walk up to Lois’s apartment reminded Herb of the moonwalk from Stevie Jackowski’s 8th birthday party. Herb was not the most welcome addition to the score of romping second-graders. The kids at school didn’t like him much in general, and Stevie hated his guts. When the adults weren’t listening, Stevie even told him pointedly that he could only have a half-piece of cake. In an act of sullen rebellion, Herb waited until all the other kids had eaten their fill of the large sheet-cake and run off to play lawn darts and bean bags and bounce in the moonwalk Stevie’s parents had rented. Herb slipped over to where the remainder of the cake sat, sugary frosting melting slow in the afternoon sun. Pushing first one, then another, then a third and fourth slice of cake into his mouth, Herb preceded to eat most of what was left on the platter, gulping down huge chunks of frosted batter as quickly as he could. Satisfied that he’d taken the appropriate revenge for Stevie’s earlier slight, Herb headed for the moonwalk. Climbing inside the hot, sticky enclosure, smothered by the smell of sunbaked rubber and the dirty feet of eight or ten other boys, sugary cake distending his belly, Herb bounced across the undulating surface. The sudden explosion of vomit caught everyone by unpleasant surprise, Herb most of all. Needless to say, he didn’t get any pity-invites to other birthday parties that year.
Now, moving determinedly toward Lois’s door, he felt much like he did then. The ground seemed to warp and roil under his feet, and a large and unruly population of butterflies had taken up residence in his stomach. If Herb was still able to eat solid food, he was certain he would’ve lost it all well before reaching her steps. Instead, a low belch escaped right as Lois opened her front door.
“Huh. You sure have a way with words, don’t you Herb?”
Face flushed, he held out the bundle of weeds that had been wildflowers when he’d left his house. To his surprise, Lois’s face lit up immediately.
“Oh my god! You are so sweet!” She exclaimed. Noticing his self-conscious grimace, she added, “Seriously Herb. It’s been, well, like forever since someone’s brought me flowers. They’re beautiful. Let’s get them in some water. There’s a pitcher in the kitchen. Could you grab the scissors? I think they’re on the coffee table.”
Lois turned, headed toward the kitchen. Still speechless following his ill-timed belch, Herb moved to follow her instructions. At least he tried to. His feet managed to get him up the two shallow steps to the front stoop, where he caught the screen door before it swung shut. But when he tried to take a third step forward, he couldn’t. Looking down in confusion, he lifted his right foot again and moved it forward, only that didn’t happen. His foot remained exactly where it was. Glancing up quickly to see if Lois had noticed his predicament, he looked back down, grabbed his pants leg with his free hand and gave it a tug. The fabric of his jeans moved willingly enough, but pulled taut against the back of his completely immobile leg. Panting with exertion, Herb willed his body forward, willed his leg to move like a normal, well-behaved leg should, and remained exactly where he was.
“Hey slowpoke! I need those scissors. What’s the hold-up?” Lois asked, poking her head back into the entryway from the kitchen.
“Oh. Ah. Sorry. Shoes on? Shoes off?” Herb asked.
“Such a gentleman. On’s fine,” she added with a smile and headed back to the sink. Herb heard the running of a faucet and splash of water as she filled a pitcher. He took a step back and almost fell over when his legs responded so easily. Before the screen door could close, he quickly leaped forward again, catching the door and hoping his momentum would carry him across the threshold. But as before, once he reached the top step he simply stopped, feet awkwardly planted on the concrete, hand holding the screen door. Try as he might, he simply couldn’t walk through the door.
Cursing himself for an idiot, he suddenly remembered one of the many rules he’d learned in his vampire research. Panic setting in, he started to twist to and fro, an animal suddenly discovering its cage.
“Geez Herb, would you get in here? You’ll be covered in mosquitoes if you stay out there any longer!” Mid-twist, whatever forces had been preventing Herb from just walking through the door evaporated. His ears popped and the momentum of his frantic twist pulled his feet from the ground and launched him into a mid-air, sideways somersault. Lois had just returned from the kitchen, her admonition about uninvited mosquitoes replaced with a surprised smile as Herb acrobatically flipped into her living room, landed in a deep lunge with his knees crossed and arms splayed gracefully out to either side. Standing slowly, Herb felt his cheeks flush again as Lois started to clap.
“Wow! Where’d you learn to do that?” Lois exclaimed with delight. “I guess there’s a lot I don’t know about you. So you can flip around like a circus acrobat, but getting the scissors was a little too much of a stretch?” With a good natured punch in his shoulder, Lois passed Herb, grabbed the scissors from the coffee table and sauntered back toward the kitchen.
“Well, not to ruin any surprises,” she said over her shoulder, “but I’m pretty agile, too.” With a wink, she disappeared around the corner. While Herb’s libido tried to sensibly sort through all the possible implications of her comment, Lois returned with a decorative pitcher full of blooming wildflowers. Setting them on the coffee table and giving them a quick sprucing, she said, “Wow. These really are lovely. So. Are we ready for some karaoke?”
“Oh! Well, sure. I mean, no. I mean. Well, I was kinda thinking, you know. It’s gon
na be busy. And. Um. There’s singing and stuff. So I was thinking, maybe we’d like, you know. We could just watch something here.”
“Oh. Well, I suppose. Did you have something in mind? To watch, I mean?” Lois asked. Herb could tell right away she was disappointed about not going out. He felt rotten for trying to cancel her plans, but was still unsure if a public appearance was the best thing for him right now. He turned and ran out to his Pinto, grabbed Slam Dunk Ernest and raced back to her door, holding it up with a proud grin.
Lois laughed, shaking her head. “Oh my god, Herb. Chef extraordinaire, professional bowler, acrobat and comedian! What else have you been hiding all this time?” Hooking her arm through his, she drew him back outside, closing her front door behind them. Out of options, Herb helped her into the Pinto and set out for the Bay City Bowlers.
Chapter 44
Bay City was busy. Herb supposed there was something strange about so many people wanting to be inside a dark space without windows on what was a beautiful late summer evening. But after more thought, he couldn’t really pin down just what was so strange about the notion. After all, you couldn’t bowl outside, or sing karaoke outside, and there certainly wasn’t a bar outside. Yep, he thought. Inside has way more going on than outside.
As he and Lois walked through the bowling alley toward the bar, he was pleasantly aware of the nearness of her. She hadn’t taken his hand, not yet at any rate. But she was walking close enough that her shoulder sometimes brushed his, sending schools of electric minnows through his skin. They talked about little things as they walked, pleasant things that made her smile. It was perfect. He was on a date, a real date in the real world, with Lois, and it was absolutely perfect.
Walking past the alleys, he saw the faces he’d seen for so much of his life. Slow Johnson lorded over his domain from the lane and shoe rental counter. Fancy Dan, in a riotous blend of colors as usual, was a puffed up polyester peacock patrolling his territory, Two-Shirt Bert and Dozer were in the midst of an arm-wrestling match while Dillon collected dollars from a group of onlookers. Cheryl and Jimmy, apparently still an item, were mid-game on lane four. As Herb and Lois passed various groups of locals, they all paused for a second to smile, wave and offer a friendly, “Hey there, Herby!” It was surreal, but he knew it must’ve actually been happening because Lois commented on it, too.
“Gosh, I guess I didn’t know that you knew everyone in town.” As they neared the bowling counter, she stopped suddenly, eyes wide with excitement.
“There’s your name! On the winner’s board! Herb, that’s so cool! It’s like I’m walking with a celebrity!” Fingers intertwining with his, she smiled and swung their arms. “C’mon, you big superstar, and buy me a drink.”
Moving through the doors to the bar, Herb felt the usual sense of traveling through universes as he passed over the threshold. The music in the bar was never the same as the music in the bowling alley, the lighting was different, even the carpet and walls were different. The result was an odd transition. Tonight, Herb walked from Whitesnake into Johnny Cash, and for a few steps was lost in a strange blend of “Here I Go Again on My Own” and “Folsom Prison Blues”. Lois continued drawing him into the bar and he bounced along behind like a balloon on a string. When they reached the bar, Rhonda dropped the dishrag she’d been using to dry some pints and headed their way.
“Herb! And it’s Lois, ain’t it? Yeah, sure it is! Seen you in here before once or twice.” Watery ice cubes clinked as she cleared a few empty glasses out of the way and tossed down a pair of cocktail napkins. “Herb, you want a bloody? I’ll whip that right up. And how ‘bout you sweetheart? Oh, you know what? Pretty thing like you, you should try a Cos-mo-pol-itan, like my Jasper drinks. It’s fancy.” As Lois nodded her consent, Rhonda waved at her full-grown son up on the little stage, disco light fully engaged and karaoke screens ready to go. “She’s drinkin’ a Cosmo too, sweetie! Ain’t that something?” Rhonda yelled up. Eyes wide at the newly discovered kindred spirit, Jasper gave an enthusiastic two-thumbs up, panicked for a moment when he couldn’t find his own drink, and quickly recovered his aplomb when he lifted a pink-filled martini glass. Lois laughed and returned the double-thumbs up as Jasper busied himself with final touches. Tea light candles, song books in two stacks, the first sorted by artist, the other sorted by song title, a little plastic basket full of golf pencils and sign-up slips.
While the bar still had about half of its tables open at present, Herb knew they would fill up quick enough. People loved their karaoke. He’d always been a bowler, just a bowler, not a singer or performer. It wasn’t from a lack of appreciation of music. Herb had a ton of cassettes and often sang in the shower, but karaoke... The thought of him, Dallas, even Stanley taking turns singing at one another was so absurd he almost started to laugh. But then Dallas stuck in his brain like gum in a lock of hair, and the humor was gone.
Don’t think about him. Don’t worry about him. You’re here, he’s not. You’re with Lois, he’s not. So just don’t think about him and have a good time. Herb’s self-admonition helped squeeze the whispers back into their dark corners, helped tighten the chains holding himself together. Carrying his red-filled pint and Lois’s pink martini, they made their way through the bar toward an open table near the stage.
Chapter 45
“I can’t believe you’re not going to sing,” Lois admonished him again. “I’ve already been up their twice! You owe me,” she threatened.
She wasn’t kidding either. Lois had sung twice, and both times, Herb just about fell off his stool in shock. The girl could sing. She stunned the slowly growing crowd with a sultry rendition of “Black Velvet.” A lot of people in the room knew Lois, either from Ronnie’s or from around town. When she took the stage, she got plenty of claps and whistles, which made Herb immensely proud to be her date. Then she started to sing. Herb watched in rapt fascination as her hips swayed and her lips almost touched the microphone. A sudden snick caught him completely off guard, and he quickly shut his mouth. Unsure of what to do, he fished an ice cube out of his mostly untouched bloody Mary, popped it in his mouth and studiously watched a spot on the wall just over Lois’s left shoulder until his fangs returned to normal. Lois was crooning out the final verse of the song by the time Herb felt he had himself under control enough to actually look at her again.
Lois’s first song definitely set the hook, but it was her next number that completely reeled him in. When the opening guitar riff for Heart’s “Magic Man” came through the speakers, the whole crowd started to cheer. Before Lois had even sung a note, Herb’s fangs had snicked back into place, but he was too enthralled to care. By the end of the song, Herb felt like he’d been whammied. There was nothing that he wouldn’t do if Lois asked. He was hers completely.
So when she insisted that he sing, he really had no choice. After leafing through the book a few times, he’d finally settled on something he thought he could pull off. Scribbling on the white slip with a tiny pencil, he coyly avoided sharing his choice with Lois, despite her appeals.
“Nope,” he replied to her entreaties. “I’m scared enough already. So you’re just gonna have to live with the suspense, ‘cause if I tell you the song, I’m gonna lose my nerve.”
That had been about fifteen minutes ago. Desperately needing some liquid courage, Herb had followed a patron into the men’s room, whammied him in a stall and quickly spiked his bloody Mary. Heading back to their table, he and Lois watched familiar faces from around town get up on stage. The old saying was apparently true. You may not be able to carry a tune, but you can always karaoke. Despite the liberal interpretation of keys and melodies, there was a lot of love in the room. People clapped and cheered for all the singers, but the intensity of the applause would ramp up if you were really, really good, or really, really bad. Jimbo Waczkowski was one such embodiment of really, really bad. His version of “Friends in Low Places” had the crowd on its feet, shouting along in a cacophony of keys and tempos while Rhonda poured wh
iskey shots for every refrain. It was fine entertainment indeed, but even Jimbo’s drunken antics couldn’t fully distract Herb from the knowledge that every time someone sang, there was one less person before it was his turn.
“OK den everybody! We gotta treat for you now. A real celebrity and first-time karaoke’r, this year’s bowling champion, Herb!” Suddenly Lois had his hand and was pulling him off his stool, blowing him a kiss for luck with her free hand. Like a piece of driftwood carried to shore by the relentless waves, Herb washed up on the small, elevated stage, tripping on the first step despite his vampire grace, and almost face-planting on the dingy grey and red carpet. Some good natured laughs and a, “More whiskey for this guy!” followed his less than eloquent entrance.
Herb took a look at the microphone, momentarily confused by what exactly was supposed to happen next. Uncertainty latched deep inside his chest and squeezed. Herb stood in the headlights of a hundred charging semis, completely transfixed by first fear, then a sudden urge to survive. Fangs snicked, one hand gripped the mic tighter causing tiny fractures to appear in the plastic casing while the other hand reflexively curled claw-like at his side. The good natured cheers from the crowd had soured and curdled in his ears, pouring into the cracks in his mind, feeding the whispers that boiled their way to the surface.
Hungry eyes glinted in the reflected light bouncing off Jasper’s absurd little disco ball. He scanned the pulsing bags of blood, the sounds of the bar reduced to the seductive thu-thump thu-thump of scores of hearts waiting to be ripped from shattered ribcages, rent and torn by his fangs. Herb’s legs started to crouch, pistons readying to unleash his lust and fury upon the cattle below and a low growl started to rise up from deep within, from a dark, primal place.
Monsters in the Midwest ( Book 1): Wisconsin Vamp Page 23