The Stake

by Richard Laymon

  “I don’t know, Dad. You’ve always warned me not to mess with weird stuff like Ouija boards and fortune telling...”

  “Yeah.”

  “Remember when I bought that voodoo doll in New Orleans?”

  “It still holds,” he said.

  “ ‘You don’t want to monkey with the supernatural.’ That’s what you always told me. And now you’re planning to pull a stake out of a dead person to see if she’s a vampire?”

  “No good can come of it,” he said, sounding like the voice of caution from an old mad-scientist movie.

  “So why do it?” Lane asked.

  His smile came back. “Because it’s there?”

  “Try again, Pops.”

  “You don’t sound so sick to me.”

  “Maybe you shouldforget it. I’m serious. Make up your mind not to pull out the stake, and you’ll be amazed how much better you suddenly feel.”

  “Will it make you feel better?”

  “Maybe. I don’t really care. I can always stay in my room when you do it, but you’ll have to be out there. You know? This isn’t my thing, it’s yours. I’ve got my own problems.”

  “What kind?..”

  “I’m just saying,” she hurried on, “you shouldn’t let Pete or anyone else push you into doing something that you’re against. You’re the one who’ll have to live with it.”

  “You think it’s morally wrong to pull the stake?”

  “It is if she’s a vampire.”

  “Of course, we know she isn’t.”

  “ ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than you’ve dreamt of in your philosophies.’ ”

  “Hey, pretty good!”

  She smiled. “I’m off to bed.”

  “ ‘Good night, sweet princess. And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.’ ”

  “Oh, thanks. I’m not dying, I’m just going to take another nap. I hope.”

  She left the room, wrote down the addresses of her friends, gave them to her mother in the kitchen, thanked her again for taking care of the matter, then returned to her bedroom.

  Propped up against pillows, she tried to read. Though her eyes moved over the sentences, her mind kept straying, tormenting her with thoughts of Kramer. After a while she set the book aside. She snuggled down beneath the covers.

  She wishedshe had her father’s problems. He doesn’t know how lucky he is, she thought. How nice it would be if the biggest worry in her life was whether or not to pull a piece of wood out of a corpse.

  Dad had said the girl — Bonnie? — was the Homecoming queen. She must’ve been beautiful. Maybe just Kramer’s type.

  Drifting toward sleep, Lane imagined getting all her friends together: Betty and Henry and George and Riley. I need your help, she told them. She explained her plan, and they all seemed eager to join in. So they crept into the garage and sneaked out with the corpse. They tied the coffin to the roof of her Mustang. They drove through the night across town to Kramer’s house. His station wagon wasn’t there. He was still out on his boat. While her friends waited on the front stoop, she broke a back window and entered the house. She opened the door for them, and they brought the coffin inside. They took it to Kramer’s bedroom. They lifted the body onto his bed and hid the empty coffin in a closet.

  Lane volunteered to pull the stake. I’m not scared, she said. And she wasn’t. Not of Bonnie. Bonnie was not the enemy. Bonnie was her ally, her weapon. She drew the stake out of the girl’s chest. The hole melted shut. The cadaver began to expand like an inflatable rubber doll with air being blown in. Its dry, leathery skin uncrinkled, took on a healthy glow of life. Except for the bruised places.

  Lane was startled when she realized that Bonnie looked like her own twin. No, she thought, she’s not a twin. She’s me. This is even better than I hoped. Kramer’ll think I came to him.

  The Lane on Kramer’s bed opened her eyes. Don’t worry, she said. I’ll take care of him.

  * * *

  Lane woke up feeling as if a terrible burden had been removed. She didn’t know why, but she felt good. Then she remembered the weird plan of her daydream. It had only been a fantasy. Nothing was changed. Her spirits sank and dread returned to its nesting place in the pit of her stomach.

  She looked at the clock beside her bed. Almost one.

  She’d been asleep for a long time, and she was glad. If only she could just stayasleep.

  But she was hungry. So she got out of bed, put on her robe and slippers, and left the room.

  The house seemed deserted.

  But the door to her father’s office was shut. She knocked. Opening it, she glimpsed a page of black and white photos as Dad swept a folder shut. He smiled at her, but he looked startled and his face was red.

  She wondered what he’d been looking at. Whatever it might be, he seemed ashamed of it. She decided not to ask. “Sorry to bother you,” she said.

  “No problem. Feeling any better?”

  “A little. Hungry, though. Have you already eaten?”

  “Yeah. We had lunch an hour ago. Do you want me to make you something?”

  “No, that’s okay. I can manage. Where’s Mom?”

  “She went to the store. We decided to ask Pete and Barbara over for dinner, so she had to pick up a few things.”

  “Barbara’s recovered?”

  “Apparently. Your mother dropped in on her. Sounds as if she’s a little embarrassed about her accident, but she’s eager to resume the adventure. Pete’s already picked up a new video camera.”

  “Let’s hope Barbara doesn’t break this one.”

  “She probably won’t get her hands on it.”

  “If Pete’s smart. What time are they coming over?”

  “Around six.”

  “If I’m not around, make sure you get me up. I wouldn’t want to miss anything.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Absolutely. See you later.” She pulled the door shut and went to the kitchen.

  While she made herself a grilled cheese sandwich, she thought back to the folder that Dad had shut so quickly. She tried to remember the look of the paper inside. Glossy, with two or three pictures on it.

  Like a page out of Buford Memories.

  “Oh, boy,” she muttered. He must’ve torn it from the 1968 annual. And there had appeared to be more than one in that folder.

  Pictures of Bonnie. He’d been studying pictures of Bonnie. God, if ol‘ lady Swanson ever found out... I would’ve been in such deep shit... How could he do that to me?

  Pete had called him “obsessed.” Right here in the kitchen, when Dad was talking about his weird dreams.

  Obsessed, all right.

  Lane slid her sandwich onto a paper plate. She took it to the table and sat down.

  Dad just wanted the pictures for his book, she told herself as she started to eat. Nothing weird about that. He looked so guilty in there because he stole them from the yearbook, doesn’t want me to find out. That’s all.

  Maybe that isn’t all. He’s been dreaming about her. Walking in his sleep. He went out there to pay her a visit.

  Lane remembered the way she’d found him staring at the naked corpse. What if he isobsessed with her? Maybe he wants her to be a vampire, wants to see her change back into a beautiful girl, wants to...

  Come on. This is Dad, not Kramer. Dad wouldn’t...

  The things he was saying to her. But he was asleep. He was talking to her in his dream. Awake, he wouldn’t...

  Awake, ten minutes ago, he was staring at her pictures. What was he thinking? Was he wondering what it might be like if she comes back to life tonight?

  He’s just a man.

  No, he’s not. He’s Dad. He’s doing this for his book, not because he’s horny over a high school girl.

  Lane couldn’t finish her sandwich. She threw the remains away, took a drink of water, and hurried back to her bedroom. She shut the door. She tossed her robe across a chair. She kicked her slippers off. She drew the covers
up around her neck, curled on her side and hugged her belly.

  Dad isn’t like that, she told herself. He’s not a pervert. He loves me and Mom.

  He even told Bonnie that he loves us.

  The way someone might say it to his mistress.

  He claimed he loved us, but he went ahead and started to pull the stake.

  He was asleep, for godsake!

  But what if I hadn’t been up there?

  The girl is dead, Lane told herself. She’s dead. She’s not a vampire. She wouldn’t have come back to life. That’s bullshit, and Dad knows it.

  That’s the end of it.

  But maybe...

  She started to recite an “Our Father,” softly mumbling the words. To stop herself from thinking. To calm herself down. She did another “Our Father,” not speaking this time, going through it in her mind. And then another.

  A gentle rapping on the door woke her up. She rolled onto her back as the door eased open. Dad looked in. “Are Pete and Barbara here?” she asked.

  “Not yet. But you have a visitor.”

  “Was she asleep?” came a voice from the hallway behind Dad.

  Lane lost her breath.

  “She’s awake now,” Dad said.

  “Really,” Kramer said, “there was no need to disturb her.”

  “That’s all right,” Dad said over his shoulder as he entered the room. “It was time to get her up, anyway. We’re having some other guests pretty soon.” He gestured for Kramer to come in.

  “Daaaad.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I’m in bed.”

  I’m dreaming this.

  “If she’d rather...”

  “It’s fine. She’s just doing her shy routine.”

  Kramer came into the room.

  He’s in my bedroom. The bastard’s in my bedroom.

  Lane tried to force herself to smile.

  Kramer’s smile looked tentative and concerned. “I just dropped by to see how you were doing. I hope you didn’t catch a bug, or something, while we were at the play Saturday night.”

  Wasn’t a bug, she thought.

  He stepped around Dad and approached the bed. He had a manila folder in one hand. Like the one in which Dad kept his pictures of Bonnie. “Just in case you might be down for a while,” he said, “I thought I’d bring you this week’s assignments.”

  “Thank you,” she muttered.

  “That’s very nice of you, Hal,” Dad told him.

  Kramer smiled back at him. “Wouldn’t want my ace student to fall behind.” He set the folder down on her nightstand. “How are you feeling?” he asked her.

  “Not very swift.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you think you’ll be up and around?..”

  Far away, the telephone rang.

  “I’d better get that,” Dad said. “Jean’s taking a bath.”

  He left the room.

  I don’t believe this, Lane thought. It’s a nightmare.

  Kramer sat on the edge of the bed and smiled down at her. “Obviously, you’ve kept our little secret.”

  She nodded. She didn’t think she couldtalk.

  “That’s very good, darling. But I’m not happy about you staying home today. I missed you.” He slipped a hand beneath the covers. Staring into her eyes, he gently squeezed her right breast. “You missed me, too, didn’t you?”

  Lane gasped for breath. She shuddered.

  Kramer laughed softly. He glanced toward the open door, then fixed his gaze on her face and moved his hand down the front of her nightshirt.

  She choked out, “Don’t.”

  “Shhhh. I’ve got a sharp friend in my pocket.” His hand found her bare skin below the rumpled jersey. Lane pressed her legs together. But his hand pressed between them. She started to whimper. “I could easily slash your throat in an instant. And then do the same to your father. And your mother. She’s taking a bath. That might be fun.”

  Kramer took his hand away.

  “See you later,” he said. He went out to the hallway and shut the door.

  Forty-five

  After hanging up the kitchen phone, Larry went into the living room and found Hal in front of the bookshelves, looking at the collection of his works.

  “You’ve got quite an output,” Hal said.

  “Seventeen novels, so far.”

  “That’s fantastic.”

  “Well, things have been going okay. I’m not as successful as I’d like to be, but who is?”

  “What are you working on now? Or is that a secret?”

  “No big secret, I guess. Would you like a drink?”

  “Oh, I don’t want to impose. I just came by to check on Lane and...”

  “You don’t have to rush off. I was about to fix myself a vodka tonic. What can I get you?”

  “Sounds good to me,” Hal said, and followed him into the kitchen.

  “That was a friend who called,” Larry said as he started to prepare the drinks. “Another writer. Quite a coincidence. He’s putting together an anthology of vampire stories, and asked me to contribute.”

  “Well, congratulations.”

  “Thanks. It’s nice to be at the point where they’re askingfor stories. I don’t even write short stories anymore unless I’m asked for one. That’s a big step from the old days when I used to send them out to magazines and collect rejection slips.”

  “Must be very gratifying. You mentioned something about a coincidence?”

  “Oh, yeah. Pretty weird. He wants a vampire story, and I’ve been up to my neck in vampire stuff for the past few weeks.”

  “So, you’re working on a vampire novel?”

  “Not exactly.” He handed a cocktail to Hal, picked up his own and led the way back to the living room. He sank into his easy chair. Hal sat across from him at the end of the sofa. “Here’s how,” he said.

  They drank. Hal smiled and said, “Hits the spot.”

  “I’m doing a book about vampires, but it’s not a novel. Nonfiction.”

  “A study of some kind?”

  “Actually, it deals with personal experiences.”

  Hal shook his head, smiling as if he thought Larry was putting him on. “You’ve had personal experiences with vampires?”

  “Yep.”

  I’d better quit talking about it, he thought. Then he thought, why? The guy’s certainly in no position to steal my story. And it might be worthwhile to get an outsider’s reaction.

  Everybody will know about it anyway, after tonight, when we turn Bonnie over to the police.

  “Want to hear about it?” Larry asked.

  “Sure!” He took a sip of his drink and leaned forward like a kid eager for a spooky tale.

  “Well, it all started a few weeks ago when Jean and I went out in the desert to explore a ghost town with some friends. Peter and Barbara. They’ll be coming over for dinner in a little while, so you’ll have a chance to meet them.”

  “Great.”

  “In fact,” Larry said, “how would you like to join us for dinner?”

  He hoped Jean wouldn’t object. Probably not. She had a roast in the oven. There was undoubtedly more than enough to feed an extra guest.

  We’ll get him to stay for the big event, if he wants. Have an objective observer.

  “I hate to impose,” Hal said.

  “We’d be glad to have you. This is a rather special occasion. You’ll see why, once you’ve heard the whole story.”

  “Well, I’d be delighted to stay. If it’s all right with Jean.”

  “She’ll be happy to have you.”

  Hal shrugged. “If it’s okay with her...”

  “Great. Okay.” Larry took another drink. “So, the four of us went to this ghost town about an hour’s drive from here. It’s called Sagebrush Flat.”

  As he told the story, Hal watched him and drank. Sometimes the teacher shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his ears. A few times he murmured his astonishment. After finishing the part about
bringing the body home, Larry left the room briefly to refresh the drinks. Then he sat down again and resumed his tale. Carefully leaving out the details of his infatuation with Bonnie. Concentrating on the facts. He enjoyed Hal’s reactions. The man was clearly fascinated.

  “And so,” he finished, “tonight’s the night we finally pull out the stake. Right after dinner.”

  “Holy shit,” Hal muttered.

  “You’re welcome to stick around for it. You can play the role of the disinterested observer.”

  “Get myself killed?” He laughed. It sounded a trifle nervous.

  “I don’t imagine it’ll come to that.”

  “No, I don’t, either. I may be superstitious, but I don’t think I’m ready to believe in the existence of vampires.”

  Grinning, Larry nodded. “If she comes to life, I guess we’ll all be in for a shock.”

  “I’d certainly hate to miss it, though.”

  “No reason you should.”

  Excusing himself, Larry went down the hall to his bedroom. He found Jean putting on makeup. She wore her jumpsuit, boots, and scarf.

  “Are they here?”

  “Not yet. But Hal Kramer is. He came by to see Lane and bring her some assignments.”

  “That’s certainly above and beyond the call of duty.”

  “I think he felt a little guilty. He was afraid her absence might have something to do with Saturday night.”

  “He did keep her out awfully late.”

  “Maybe he thought she got sick on the pizza. Anyway, it was nice of him. I’ve asked him to stay for dinner.”

  Jean frowned in the mirror. “Won’t that kind of put a damper on things?”

  “I told him all about it.”

  “You told him about the vampire?”

  “Sure. Why not? It’s no big secret. Or it won’t be, once we’ve called the police.”

  “Still, you shouldn’t have... You’re always blabbing, Larry. God.”

  “What’s the big deal?”

  “I’m not saying it’s a big deal, just that I wish you’d be more careful about what you say to people. Everybody doesn’t need to know our business.”

  “I just wanted to get his reactions.”

  “Now he’ll probably think we’re all nut cases.”

  “Hardly. He was blown away.”

  Jean sighed. She glanced at her wristwatch. “Well, what’s done is done. I just wish you’d...”