by Darren Shan
The worst thing was knowing what was going on around me. I wished that I'd asked Mr. Crepsley to give me another potion, which could have put me to sleep. It was terrible, hearing Mom and Dad crying, Annie screaming for me to come back.
Friends of the family began arriving after a couple of hours, the cue for more sobbing and moans.
I'd have loved to avoid this. I would have rather run away with Mr. Crepsley in the middle of the night, but he'd told me that wasn't possible.
"If you run away," he'd said, "they would follow. There would be posters up everywhere, pictures in the papers and with the police. We would know no peace."
Faking my death was the only way. If they thought I was dead, I'd be free. Nobody comes searching for a dead person.
Now, as I heard the sadness, I cursed both Mr. Crepsley and myself. I shouldn't have done it. I shouldn't have put them through this.
Still, looking on the bright side, at least this would be the end of it. They were sad, and would be for some time, but they would get over it eventually (I hoped). If I'd run away, the misery could have lasted forever: they might have lived the rest of their lives hoping I'd come back, searching, believing I would one day return.
The undertaker arrived and cleared the room of visitors. He and a nurse undressed me and examined my body. Some of my senses were returning and I could feel his cold hands prodding and poking me.
"He's in excellent condition," he said softly to the nurse. "Firm, fresh, and unmarked. I'll have very little to do with this one. Just some rouge to make him look a little redder around the cheeks."
He rolled up my eyelids. He was a chubby, happy-looking man. I was afraid he'd spot life in my eyes but he didn't. All he did was roll my head gently from side to side, which made the broken bones in my neck creak.
"So fragile a creature is man," he sighed, then went ahead with the rest of the examination.
They took me back home that night and laid me in the living room on a long table with a large cloth spread across it, so people could come and say goodbye.
It was weird, hearing all those people discussing me as though I weren't there, talking about my life and what I'd been like as a baby and how fine a boy I was and what a good man I would have grown up to be if I'd lived.
What a shock they'd have gotten if I leaped up and shouted: "Boo!"
Time dragged. I don't think I can explain how boring it was to lie still for hours on end, unable to move or laugh or scratch my nose. I couldn't even stare at the ceiling because my eyes were shut!
I had to be careful as feelings returned to my body. Mr. Crepsley had told me this would happen, that tingles and itches would start, long before I fully recovered. I couldn't move, but if I'd made a real effort, I could have twitched a little, which might have given me away.
The itches nearly drove me crazy. I tried ignoring them but it was impossible. They were everywhere, scampering up and down my body like tiny spiders. They were worst around my head and neck, where the bones had snapped.
People finally began leaving. It must have been late, because soon the room was empty and totally silent. I lay there by myself for a time, enjoying the quiet.
And then I heard a noise.
The door to the room was opening, very slowly and very quietly.
Footsteps crossed the room and stopped by the table. My insides went cold, and it wasn't because of the potion. Who was here? For a moment I thought it might be Mr. Crepsley but he had no reason to come creeping into the house. We were set to meet at a later date.
Whoever it was, he or she was keeping very quiet. For a couple of minutes there was no sound at all.
Then I felt hands on my face.
He raised my eyelids and shined a small flashlight onto my pupils. The room was too dark for me to see who he was. He grunted, lowered the lids, then pried open my mouth and laid something on my tongue: it felt like a piece of thin paper but it had a strange, bitter taste.
After removing the object from my mouth, he picked up my hands and examined the fingertips. Next there was the sound of a camera taking photos.
Finally he stuck a sharp object it felt like a needle into me. He was careful not to prick me in places where I would bleed, and stayed away from my vital organs. My senses had partially returned, but not fully, so the needle didn't cause much pain.
After that, he left. I heard his footsteps crossing the room, as quietly as before, then the door opening and closing, and that was that. The visitor, whoever it had been, was gone, leaving me puzzled and a little bit scared.
Early the next morning, Dad came in and sat with me. He spoke for a long time, telling me all the things he'd had planned for me, the college I would have gone to, the job he'd wanted for me. He cried a lot.
Toward the end, Mom came in and sat with him. They cried on each other's shoulders and tried to comfort themselves. They said they still had Annie and could maybe have another child or adopt one. At least it had been quick and I hadn't been in pain. And they would always have their memories.
I hated being the cause of so much hurt. I would have given anything in the world to spare them this.
There was a lot of activity later that day. A coffin was brought in and I was laid inside. A priest came and sat with the family and their friends. People streamed in and out of the room.
I heard Annie crying, begging me to stop fooling and sit up. It would have been much easier if they'd taken her away, but I guess they didn't want her to grow up feeling they'd robbed her of her chance to say good-bye to her brother.
Finally, the lid was placed on the coffin and screwed into place. I was lifted off the table and led out to the hearse. We drove slowly to church, where I couldn't hear much of what was being said. Then, with Mass out of the way, they carried me to the graveyard, where I could hear every word of the priest's speech and the sobs and moans of the mourners.
And then they buried me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
ALL SOUNDS FADED AWAY AS they lowered me down the dark, dank hole. There was a jolt when the coffin hit bottom, then the rainlike sound of the first hand-fuls of soil being tossed upon the lid.
There was a long silence after that, until the grave diggers began shoveling the earth back into the grave.
The first few shovelfuls fell like bricks. The heavy dull thuds shook the coffin. As the grave filled and earth piled up between me and the topside world, the sounds of the living grew softer, until finally they were only faraway muffles.
At the end there were faint pounding noises, as they patted the mound of earth flat.
And then complete silence.
I lay in the quiet darkness, listening to the earth settle, imagining the sound of worms crawling toward me through the dirt. I'd thought it would be scary but it was actually quite peaceful. I felt safe down here, protected from the world.
I spent the time thinking about the last few weeks, the flyer for the freak show, the strange force that had made me close my eyes and reach blindly for the ticket, my first glimpse of the dark theater, the cool balcony where I had watched Steve talking with Mr. Crepsley.
There were so many important moments. If I'd missed the ticket, I wouldn't be here. If I hadn't gone to the show, I wouldn't be here. If I hadn't stuck around to see what Steve was up to, I wouldn't be here. If I hadn't stolen Madam Octa, I wouldn't be here. If I'd said no to Mr. Crepsley's offer, I wouldn't be here.
A world of "ifs," but it made no difference. What was done was done. If I could go back in time…
But I couldn't. The past was behind me. The best thing now would be to stop looking over my shoulder. It was time to forget the past and look to the present and future.
As the hours passed, movement returned. It came to my fingers first, which curled into fists, then slipped from my chest, where they had been crossed by the undertaker. I flexed them several times, slowly, working the itches out of my palms.
My eyes opened next but that wasn't much good. Open or closed, it was all the
same down here: perfect darkness.
The feelings brought pain. My back ached from where I'd fallen out of the window. My lungs, and heart having been out of the habit of beating hurt. My legs were cramped, my neck was stiff. The only part of me that escaped the pain was my right big toe!
It was when I started breathing that I began to worry about the air in the coffin. Mr. Crepsley had said I could survive for up to a week in my coma-like state. I didn't need to eat or use the toilet or breathe. But now that my breath was back, I became aware of the small amount of air and how quickly I was using it up.
I didn't panic. Panic would make me gasp and use more air. I remained calm and breathed softly. Lay as still as I could: movement makes you breathe more.
I had no way of knowing the time. I tried counting inside my head but kept losing track of the numbers and having to go back and start over.
I sang silent songs to myself and told stories beneath my breath. I wished they'd buried me with a TV or a radio, but I guess there's not much call for such items among the dead.
Finally, after what seemed like several centuries stacked one on top of the other, the sounds of digging reached my ears.
He dug quicker than any human, so fast it seemed he wasn't digging at all, but rather sucking the soil out. He reached me in what must have been record time, less than fifteen minutes. As far as I was concerned, it wasn't a moment too soon.
He knocked three times on the coffin lid, then started unscrewing it. It took a couple of minutes, then he threw the lid wide open and I found myself staring up at the most beautiful night sky I had ever seen.
I took a deep breath and sat up, coughing. It was a fairly dark night but after spending so much time underground it seemed bright as day to me.
"Are you all right?" Mr. Crepsley asked.
"I feel dead tired." I grinned weakly.
He smiled at the joke. "Stand up so I can examine you," he said. I winced as I stood: I had pins and needles all over. He ran his fingers lightly up my back, then over my front. "You were lucky," he said. "No broken bones. Just a bit of bruising, which will die down after a couple of days."
He pulled himself up out of the grave, then reached down and gave me a hand up. I was still pretty stiff and sore.
"I feel like a pincushion that's been squashed," I complained.
"It will take a few days for the aftereffects to pass," he said. "But do not worry: you are in good shape. We are lucky they buried you today. If they had waited another day to put you under, you would be feeling much worse."
He hopped back into the grave and closed the coffin lid. When he emerged, he picked up his shovel and began tossing the earth back in.
"Do you want me to help?" I asked.
"No," he said. "You would slow me down. Go for a stroll and walk some of the stiffness out of your bones. I will call when I am ready to move on."
"Did you bring my bag?" I asked.
He nodded at a nearby headstone, from which the bag was hanging.
I got the bag and checked to see if he'd searched it. There was no sign of his having invaded my privacy, but I couldn't tell for sure. I'd just have to take him at his word. Anyway, it didn't matter much: there was nothing in my diary he didn't already know.
I went for a walk among the graves, testing my limbs, shaking my legs and arms, enjoying it. Any feeling, even pins and needles, was better than none at all.
My eyes were stronger than ever before. I was able to read names and dates on headstones from several yards away. It was the vampire blood in me. After all, didn't vampires spend their whole lives in the dark? I knew I was only a half-vampire, but all the suddenly, as I was thinking about my new powers, a hand reached out from behind one of the graves, wrapped itself around my mouth, then dragged me down to the ground and out of sight of Mr. Crepsley!
I shook my head and opened my mouth to scream, but then saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks. My attacker, whoever he was, had a hammer and a large wooden stake, the tip of which was pointing directly at my heart!
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
IF YOU MOVE EVEN A fraction," my attacker warned, "I'll drive this right through you without blinking!"
The chilling words didn't have half as much impact on me as the familiar voice that uttered them.
"Steve!" I gasped, glancing up from the tip of the stake to find his face. It was him, sure enough, trying to look brave, but obviously terrified. "Steve, what the…" I began but he cut me short with a poke of the stake.
"Not a word!" he hissed, crouching down behind the stone pillar. "I don't want your friend overhearing."
"My…? Oh, you mean Mr. Crepsley," I said.
"Larten Crepsley, Vur Horston," Steve sneered. "I don't care what you call him. He's a vampire. That's all that bothers me."
"What are you doing here?" I whispered.
"Vampire hunting," he growled, prodding me again with the stake. "And lookee here: seems like I found me a pair!"
"Listen," I said, more annoyed than worried (if he was going to kill me, he would have done it immediately, not sat around talking first, like they do in the movies), "if you're going to stick that thing in me, do it. If you want to talk, put it away. I'm sore enough as it is without you making new holes in me."
He stared, then pulled the stake back a few centimeters.
"Why are you here?" I asked. "How did you know to come?"
"I was following you," he said. "I followed you all weekend after seeing what you did to Alan. I saw Crepsley going into your house. I saw him toss you out the window."
"You're the one who sneaked into the living room!" I gasped, remembering the mysterious late-night visitor.
"Yes." He nodded. "The doctors were very quick to sign your death certificate. I wanted to check for myself, to see if you were still ticking."
"The piece of paper in my mouth?" I asked.
"Litmus paper," he said. "It changes color when you stick it on a damp surface. When you stick it on a living body. That and the marks on the fingers tipped me off."
"You know about the marks on the fingers?" I asked, amazed.
"I read about it in a very old book," he said. "The same one, in fact, that I found Vur Horston's portrait in. There was no mention of it anywhere else, so I thought it was just another vampire myth. But then I studied your fingers and…"
He stopped and cocked his head. I realized I could no longer hear digging sounds. For a moment there was silence. Then Mr. Crepsley's voice hissed across the graveyard.
"Darren, where are you?" he called. "Darren?"
Steve's face collapsed with fear. I could hear his heart beating and see the beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks. He didn't know what to do. He hadn't thought this through.
"I'm fine," I shouted, causing Steve to jump.
"Where are you?" Mr. Crepsley asked.
"Over here," I replied, standing, ignoring Steve's stake. "My legs were weak, so I lay down for a minute."
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"I'm fine," I said. "I'll rest a little longer, then try them again. Give me a shout when you're ready."
I squatted back down so I was face to face with Steve. He didn't look so brave anymore. The tip of the stake was pointing down at the ground, a threat no more, and his whole body sagged miserably. I felt sorry for him.
"Why did you come here, Steve?" I asked.
"To kill you," he said.
"To kill me? For heaven's sake, why?" I asked.
"You're a vampire," he said. "What other reason do I need?"
"But you've got nothing against vampires," I reminded him. "You wanted to become one."
"Yes," he snarled. "I wanted to, but you're the one who did. You planned this all along, didn't you? You told him I was evil. You made him reject me so that you could…"
"You're talking nonsense." I sighed. "I never wanted to become a vampire. I only agreed to join him in order to save your life. You would have died if I hadn't become his assistant."
> "A likely story," he snorted. "To think I used to believe you were my friend. Ha!"
"I am your friend!" I cried. "Steve, you don't understand. I would never do anything to harm you. I hate what's happened to me. I only did it to…"
"Spare me the sob story," he sniffed. "How long were you planning this? You must have gone to him that night of the freak show. That's how you got Madam Octa, wasn't it? He gave her to you in return for your becoming his assistant."
"No, Steve, that's not true. You mustn't believe that." But he did believe it. I could see it in his eyes. Nothing I said was going to change his opinion. As far as he was concerned, I'd betrayed him. I had stolen the life he felt should have been his. He would never forgive me.
"I'm going now," he said, starting to crawl away. "I thought I'd be able to kill you tonight, but I was wrong. I'm too young. I'm not strong enough or brave enough.
"But heed this, Darren Shan," he said. "I'll grow. I'll get older and stronger and braver. I'm going to devote my entire life to developing my body and my mind, and when the day comes…when I'm ready…when I'm fully equipped and properly prepared…
"I'm going to hunt you down and kill you" he vowed. "I'm going to become the world's best vampire hunter and there won't be a single hole you can find that I won't be able to find, too. Not a hole or a rock or a cellar.
"I'll track you to the ends of the Earth if I have to." he said, his face glowing madly. "You and your mentor. And when I find you, I'll drive steel-tipped stakes through your hearts, then chop off your heads and fill them with garlic. Then I'll burn you to ashes and scatter you across running water. I won't take any chances. I'll make sure you never come back from the grave again!"
He paused, produced a knife, and cut a small cross into the flesh of his left palm. He held it up so I could see the blood dripping from the wound.
"On this blood, I swear it!" he declared, then turned and ran, disappearing in seconds into the shadows of the night.