The Vampire Club

by Scott Nicholson

  “And as we discussed so often, there are undoubtedly many vampires buried in unmarked graves around the world,” Juan said. “Indeed, we have quite by chance come across an incredible find.”

  I was beginning to understand the professor’s grandfather to the fifth generation a little better. “Edward Royce must have heard of the report of demon possession, and after getting more details, he must have realized they were actually dealing with a vampire.”

  “Which scared the hell out of him,” said Buddy.

  “So what did he do?” I asked.

  “He faced his fears,” said Janice. “He sought the vampire.”

  “And where others have failed, for the article clearly states he’d been shot before, Edward Royce didn’t. He shot the vampire with a silver bullet, and the town was saved from its demon.”

  “And he knew otherwise,” said Juan.

  “Exactly.”

  “And the demon-possessed man, our vampire, was buried in their town cemetery.” Janice’s eyes held either a gleam of hope or a tear of sympathetic pain. “Left there for us to free him.”

  Would he be there still after all these years? Had somebody else read the article and dug him up? Had perhaps another vampire sought out his comatose companion?

  Something scraped across the wooden floor, and I looked up at the podium where the professor still stood. And I realized he’d been clearing his throat.

  “Another bit o’ fact that you folks might find interesting is that, according to my family’s lore, Ed was even killed by a vampire. When I looked up his official death notice, I discovered the official cause of death was multiple dart wounds to the neck. I’m afraid my ancestor was both the hunter and the hunted. Perhaps it had been a darting accident, or perhaps it was a very ironic and appropriate death. Who can ever know?”

  “Perhaps the vampire,” said Juan, standing. “He could tell us.”

  “Indeed he could.”

  “But, sir,” said Buddy, looking a bit confused, “Colonial America was not a haven for vampires. The hot spot was Europe. If a vampire was any vampire with self-respect, he was found in Southeastern Europe. You think maybe it was demon possession after all?”

  “You are advocating for the devil himself,” I said, standing. “There are multitudes of reason why a vampire could have been in Colonial America. Janice, one reason.”

  “He was fleeing other vampires. On the run.”

  “Juan, give another.”

  “He was looking for someone.”

  “Professor, a third.”

  “Fresh kill, where vampires would never be suspected.”

  “Colonial Americans were certainly not the first to come to the Land of Opportunity, nor the last. And as far as demon possession, we can only go with what’s given, obviously. A stranger comes to a small town and people start dying. Being overly superstitious and quite religious in those days, folks figured he was the cause. And one thing led to another and he was shot eleven times for God knows what reason. Except he didn’t die. From this evidence alone, the stranger could have indeed been possessed by a demon, or whatever. But there’s one reason and one reason alone I believe he was a vampire—he was killed with a single bullet by Ed Royce, just after eleven had failed. This evidence, I believe, warrants a formal investigation by the Vampire Club.”

  “Jesus, Andy,” said Buddy. “It was just a question.”

  The professor sat down and I once again stood behind the podium. “We must put this to the vote, for democracy reigns in The Vampire Club. The question: Do we search for the vampire, Yea or Nay?”

  All: “Yea!”

  I wouldn’t have expected anything less.

  Chapter Three

  After setting a tentative departure date to Pennsylvania to search for our vampire the next weekend, we all left the meeting in rather high spirits.

  “Hey, Juan, let’s go get drunker than your mom usually is at any given moment of the day,” shouted Buddy, whose voice boomed down the long hall of the student union, causing heads to turn, and no doubt minds to wonder: His own mother? What a shame. I wonder what she drinks? And is she hot?

  “Sure, but not too much. I have a test tomorrow in my Legal Rights and Customs/Historic Finger-Paintings of Ancient Chad.”

  “Finger-painting and legal rights in the same class?” I asked.

  “The legal rights are in finger paint.”

  “Absolute children,” said absolutely the sweetest voice my ears had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

  “I agree, Janice.” And her expression told me I somehow was not grasping the whole meaning.

  “I was talking about you, too.”

  Ouch!

  “Can I walk you to your dorm?” I asked.

  She was already two steps in front of me. All I saw was the back of her head when she said, “If you must.”

  I must!

  We walked and talked mostly of the coming trip and how she thought I needed to cut my black hair. Yes, I, too, was slightly taken aback by her last comment. Then I remembered something she had told our small group in a meeting a year ago. She had wanted to be a hair stylist and had gone to a trade school until she had heard about the college starting its Vampire Studies major. And of course, she abandoned all plans for hair management. Who wouldn’t?

  “How do you think I should cut it?”

  She went into an elaborate demonstration of how this front section of my hair needed to be a tad shorter and this side section needed to be cut to about right there, and the back—Jesus Christ, the back just had to go!

  But through all this chastising, I saw a gleam in her eye. Wow! She really liked this hairstyling stuff. And all I could think of was to have her gentle fingers running through my locks.

  And, when we finally reached her dorm, we had arranged a time when she would style it for me. It was a start, and I couldn’t have asked for more.

  Well, except maybe to see her dressed as Vampirella.

  Chapter Four

  The week, as you could imagine, inched by. But that was the least of our problems. Somehow, from someone in the club, the word had leaked of our trip to the burial site. First the school newspaper, The Paper News, printed the article, in which they stated they wished us the best of luck; the last line of the column, however, was what made me doubt they seriously meant it. It read something like this: “Yeah, right! Ha Ha! Maybe you won’t need an airplane on your way back, if you know what I mean!”

  The nerve of the reporter. I mean, very few people believed in the shape-changing vampires nowadays—especially changing to bats!

  But the absolute last thing we needed was the location of the vampire’s burial site to leak, and so far word of that had not spread. He might be dug up and gone before we had a chance to get there.

  From there, our city newspaper got hold of our story, and I was approached by a reporter. The interview, which took place in our school cafeteria, went as follows:

  “So what’s your major, Mr. Barthamoo?”

  “Vampire Studies.”

  “And, this being the only known college that has a vampire major, you’ve obviously made the correct choice?”

  “Obviously.”

  “So what’s the deal with this vampire you guys are looking for?”

  “We’re merely going on, as you may recall from elementary school,” which I firmly believe the reporter had flunked numerous times, “a field trip. We’ve received word of a possible burial site of a previously unknown vampire. It’s merely an investigation.”

  And hopefully a revival, but I didn’t say that part.

  The reporter, looking as smug as a pop-culture critic, asked, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t vampires supposed to, er, live forever?”

  I had faced many a doubter and knew how to handle them. “That is the legend, sir. Our class’s chief concern, however, is how the vampire affects our society and our culture. As for the legends of the sucking of blood and immortality, they are of no concern.”
<
br />   I lied and I would do it again. People don’t like the truth, which is why they dress it up as a legend.

  “I didn’t know it did affect our society,” the reporter said, glancing at his iPhone to show he wasn’t making a big deal of the story.

  “Well, it does. We are going through a sort of vampire revolution. It has come to be the favorite hero of literature and of movies. A lot of people look to the mythic vampire as the crowning achievement in life.”

  “To suck blood?”

  “No. To escape the world, by being the ultimate rebel. To take life—and death—to the very edge, and always, always survive.”

  “But do people believe this could actually happen?”

  “Some. But for most, it is a fantasy. And as a result, books by the millions are being sold.”

  “But why vampires, of all monsters? I mean, why not the werewolf or something else?”

  “A question,” I said, thinking of my own desires and wants, “that’s easily answered. The vampire is suave and cool. He is perfect in the flesh, though his flesh is dead. And the vampire has uncanny, and desirable, superhuman abilities, and those vary from account to account.

  “Folks see the vampire as a sort of dead James Bond. Mr. Cool wherever he goes, able to handle any situation. He’s also able to mesmerize with just a gaze, and impose his will upon the innocent. He’s the ultimate control freak, because he holds the power of life and death. And that’s what a lot of people lack in their lives. The vampire is an escape.”

  Needless to say, when the article appeared the next morning, I quite simply looked the idiot. The article’s title read Deceiving the Unsuspecting, with a subhead of Local Vampire Studies is Actually Cult.

  I especially liked the part where we supposedly steal young maidens and fly off into the night.

  Someday...someday....I would show them all.

  Chapter Five

  Like I said, the week passed slowly, and when Thursday limped around, we held one final meeting, which would hopefully tie up any loose ends. But to everyone’s surprise, we had a new member join our club. Actually, he was a new student who had enrolled just the day before. Our numbers in both the class and the club rose from four to five. A twenty-percent increase. I wasn’t sure where we’d all be able to get jobs in the field when this was all over.

  We had him stand in front of the class, and he introduced himself. “My name is Dial Toen, and I’m a vampire at heart.”

  Music to my ears. He was already, I could tell, one of us.

  “All my life I’ve dreamed of being a vampire. I’ve read all the books, seen all the movies, even Bordello of Blood. I’ve searched for possible vampires, hoping they would make me one of their own, but all my searches were fruitless.”

  He held up a copy of the aforementioned newspaper. “I’ve never heard of a college having this major, but when my aunt, who loves me and respects my own love for vampires, sent me this article, I quit my job and moved here to Virginia, enrolling immediately. I believe this to be my wisest decision ever.”

  And I couldn’t have agreed more. I stood as he sat down. “We welcome you, Dial. There is only the small matter of initiation and you are officially one of us.”

  I showed our newest member-elect what to do, and without a moment’s hesitation, he jumped from his seat, hooked his two index fingers like fangs in front of his mouth, burst through the meeting-room door, and proceeded to run through the entire student union, all the while singing, “I wish we all could be vampires now!” to the tune of a popular Beach Boys hit.

  Outside, I heard a student grumble: “Damned vampire lovers.”

  He came back minutes later, gasping for breath. “Congratulations,” we all said together, Professor L included. “You are now a Vampire Club member!”

  Did I mention that he was also the most physically fit guy I’ve ever seen in my life? No? Then did I mention that Janice was staring at him like he was Apollo incarnate? No? It now appeared I had some very sizable competition.

  Maybe my welcome had been a little too warm.

  Chapter Six

  Professor L had somehow managed to scrape up the money from the university to finance our plane tickets, tapping some obscure fund designed to promote undergrad experiential education. Whatever that means, it probably wasn’t established for vampire hunting.

  But as for lodgings, we were on our own. That’s when the new guy, Dial, came through for us. He had some relatives in Pennsylvania—he apparently had lots of relatives everywhere—and they were located in the exact city where we were headed. Believe me, I wasn’t the only one with my mouth hanging open and attracting flies. The house was even supposed to be large enough to house the six of us.

  Janice took the seat next to Dial’s. I sat behind her in case they lowered their voices and got all cozy. The plane touched down and Dial’s relatives were waiting for us in two rather large Ford Bronco SUVs.

  There were six relatives, in their early-to-mid twenties. Four were bronzed males with muscles that would have made the pre-political Schwarzenneger jealous, and two were Mayan goddesses, stony but stacked.

  Juan spoke for all of us. “These are your relatives?”

  Dial looked at them. “Yes, mostly cousins.”

  Buddy whispered in my ear, “They all look like your mom.”

  “That big?”

  I studied them. Naw, they weren’t that big.

  Two walked over and scooped up our luggage in their python-like arms. They literally threw them in the backs of their oversized Broncos.

  I swore under my breath. If they dent or tear one of my Anne Rice books....

  I blinked and looked at his relatives again, and my anger gave way to acceptance. I just wouldn’t look upon them too favorably. I would definitely look up to them, just not favorably, you see. Besides, they were being hospitable.

  They split us up between the two war wagons, and my sweetie-to-be, Janice, ended up in the other truck. If one of those gorillas laid one finger on her honey flesh...I’d just...I’d go right up to the perpetrator and...kick the gorilla in the balls and run like hell, even if I needed a stepladder.

  I’d satisfied myself that Corey Haim would have conducted himself in the same manner. I’d even bid on the molar Corey Haim had tried to sell on eBay, during one of those many periods when drug addiction had left him homeless. I’d run around with my jar of allowance, yelling “I want the tooth and nothing but the tooth!”

  Silly boys. Lost boys.

  The small town of Dissolution, Pennsylvania was not very lively. Hard to believe that the town actually mustered enough energy to combat our buried vampire over one hundred and eighty years ago.

  One of the she-warriors was sitting next to me. She smiled and rubbed me with her elbow. I think the gesture was supposed to be under the category of flirtation, but she almost rubbed me out the door.

  What’s a guy to do? “Er, hi. What company you serve under?”

  Her eyes lit up. “Navy SEALS, recon, ballistics.” She fluttered her hairy eyes. “And you?”

  “I go to Western Virginia University.”

  “In West Virginia?”

  “No, Virginia. The western part of plain Virginia.”

  “That’s confusing. What’s your major?”

  And with every ounce of pride I could muster, I said, “Vampire Studies.”

  She shrank away from me as if I had tooted. “And why do you study them?” She gave me the old “Jeez, what a geek” squint.

  “The importance they have on our society,” I said.

  “I see.” And she turned a meaty shoulder and stared ahead. Her nostrils flared once and I got a most unpleasant view into the depths of her nasal passage.

  We plowed through a rather dense forest. We had left behind what little civilization there had been. And then, to my right, I saw a cemetery. The sign was pretty trashed with graffiti. One line of red spray paint said “No loitering. Ha ha!”

  Finally, after the final bend in what mig
ht have been a road had there not been bushes and trees in the way, a white mansion slid into view. It was three stories, with peeling paint, loose shutters, and a creepy little cupola on top, and the whole thing was leaning about three degrees to the west. I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. There were also two more Broncos parked in the front. I could tell the motto in this family was: The family that eats herds of bison together drives Broncos together.

  We parked and a couple of the warriors grabbed our luggage, and once inside, we were all grouped into the living room like stray sheep. Dial came over to us with one of his cousins.

  “This is Perch. He will show you to your rooms.” Dial leaned into our circular huddle and whispered, “Perch is mute.”

  Buddy shot a glance at Perch, who was waiting at the foot of some stairs. “He’s tall and rather muscular and does posses a rather powerful personage, but I definitely wouldn’t say he’s cute.”

  “Not ‘cute.’ Mute,” said Dial. “As in the button at the bottom of your remote control.”

  “Mine’s at the top.”

  “Same here,” I said.

  “Could never find mine,” Janice said. “But I think he’s cute.”

  Dial breathed deeply and let it out in a long swoosh, causing a strand of Janice’s dark hair to scrape across her berry-like lips. I wasn’t sure if Perch could read her lips, but I was starting to get a little bit jealous. Everybody seemed to be cute and charming and studly except for me.

  But Dial didn’t like the goofing around. “I just wanted to let you know that you won’t get much of a response from him. He hasn’t talked since he saw his father killed as a boy.”

  Bummer.

  And I thought Corey Haim had had it rough....

  Dial left us with Perch, who then proceeded to lead us up a flight of stairs to our rooms. He stopped at the first door. He pointed to Janice, then to the room. She looked at him quizzically. His one eyebrow which stretched from eye to eye, working its way up into confusion. He again pointed to the room and Janice, but this time he rested his cheek on his hands like a slumbering baby, of sorts. Janice, who usually ended up on the negative side when our club played charades, shrugged again.