“Melvin?” His mouth was suddenly void of saliva. “Melvin Brown?”
“I’m surprised you remember him,” Tom said. “Most of the teachers were too busy ignoring him, too busy letting those bullies ruin his life. Too busy turning their heads when they could’ve helped him. Now it’s our turn. Except we’re not turning our heads.”
What the hell was he going on about? Were they somehow connected to Melvin Brown? He remembered the student now after many years, like the boy had been erased from his mind. He recalled the odd drawings Melvin always had in his notebooks. There had been something off about the boy and perhaps he wouldn’t have done himself in if he’d had help. But it wasn’t Murray’s job to make sure everyone was of a sane mind. He needed to get back to his feet and get out of here and—
And what? Limp to the police station? Hadn’t they said the cops were dead or was that simply implied? Was anything they were spewing true?
One thing was at least. He turned his head and again listened to the screaming and pleading from all around his neighborhood.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Tom said. “All of the children are out tonight and we’ve been fasting.”
As if in response, Vickie’s stomach grumbled loudly. She held a hand to her abdomen. “Can we get this over with, already? I’m starving.”
Tom looked at her and back to Murray, shrugging his shoulders. “My old man used to tell me you can’t argue with a woman. That’s probably why my mom left his ass. It doesn’t matter, though. For a guy who used to beat his kid, he didn’t put up much of a fight when I slit his throat. I imagine you won’t either.” He moved closer.
Murray jumped up, screamed at the agony in his ankle, and began to limp toward the street. The fog made things distorted. It was almost better not seeing the other vamps as they took large bites of what appeared to be raw meat.
He had a feeling it wasn’t steak or poultry.
They seemed too busy on their meals to notice him. For a moment, no matter how miniscule, Murray believed he was going to get away.
Until the mist parted enough for him to see he was surrounded by them, horrid pale faces observing, their snake-like tongues dripping with blood and spit. They formed a circle around him, with Tom and Vickie in the front. He thought about begging again or falling to the ground and crawling through their legs, but his thoughts were cut short.
He heard a sound nearby, some poor old soul screaming for help as one of the vamps—or whatever they had become—fed on their flesh.
Moments later, as his nerve endings came alive with pain, he realized that poor, old soul was him.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Someone in the kitchen, perhaps the one dressed as a banana or maybe the ghost, turned the music up even louder. The bass and the keyboard went straight into Justin’s ears. The melody bored a hole into his skull. The room spun and he thought he was going to be sick.
He waved Art down but his friend was still too busy trying to score with Dorothy. He had a hand on the girl’s backside and she was whispering something into his ear. It looked like Art might actually get lucky. These truly were desperate times.
The camera around Justin’s neck grew too heavy, weighing him down. His temples began to pulse with pain, something like a migraine. The trench coat offered no ventilation and his body was lined with sweat. He felt ready to pass out. All because his ex-girlfriend was at the same party as him.
It doesn’t get more pathetic than that.
He took one last look through the patio door. The sexy cat and mummy—Abby and Maggie—were still there but Alyssa was nowhere to be found. If he left now, he could avoid the awkwardness that was sure to ensue. He’d tell Art he mingled for a while and headed home. His friend would understand, though he’d offer up plenty of grief.
Justin spun around and walked directly into a guy dressed as Aladdin. His pupils were dilated beyond return and he smelled like bad weed. “Watch where you’re going,” he said, pushing Justin aside and spilling most of his beer onto him in the process.
The liquid stained Justin’s shirt and coat but the camera remained dry. Not that it mattered. Justin wasn’t in the business of taking pictures and his dad wasn’t going to need the thing anytime soon. Maybe he could pawn it off and make some money.
He apologized to Aladdin, who flipped him off in response, and hurried outside, thankful for the cool breeze that met him at the front steps. For the first time in the last ten minutes he was able to breathe freely.
If he started walking now, he’d be home in ten minutes at the most. Then he could lock himself in his room and forget all about tonight and perhaps the entire semester.
And whatever the vamps had planned.
He took two steps down the stairs when he saw a shadow separate itself from the darkness of the front lawn. It moved quickly toward him and he was certain it was one of them, come to take him to the old high school and tear him apart. After all, wasn’t that what the voice at the cemetery had warned him of? The shadow grabbed onto him, shook his shoulder, and instead of a vamp, he saw a French maid standing before him.
“Are you okay?” Alyssa said.
He’d never had a panic attack, though he’d felt close several times these last few months. This may have been the tipping point. His chest grew heavy and his lungs worked overtime to draw in air.
“Do you need to sit down or something? You don’t look good at all.”
He stared anywhere but into her eyes, studied the grass and his feet and, eventually, her breasts. Though his pulse still raced, the attack passed in time.
“Getting yourself a good look?” she said, releasing him.
“I didn’t mean… I was just spacing out.”
She patted his arm. “Relax. I was only kidding.”
He wiped away sweat from his forehead. His hand came back soaked. “I don’t have a sense of humor lately. In case you hadn’t noticed.”
She nodded. “I might’ve noticed. When was the last time you slept? You look like a zombie.”
“Thanks. You look great too.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know. Better a zombie than a vamp, I guess. I haven’t been sleeping that well.”
“Watching through your window too much, I take it?”
He shrugged and felt pain in his arms, remembered how hard he’d lifted last night. “Just stress is all.”
“I didn’t mean you look bad or anything. You look…you look good.” She squeezed his left arm and he tried not to wince. “You really did bulk up, huh? You must be getting all the girls with muscles like that.”
“Maybe I am.”
She nodded. “Good for you. Girls eat that kind of thing up. They see a boy who’s jacked and they think, ‘he could take care of me.’ He could pick me up and carry me around like I’m just a pet. Me? I never got the whole body builder thing. Comes off as trying too hard.”
He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t do it to get girls. I did it because it takes my mind off things, off you and my dad and this fucking vampocalypse that’s taking over the school. Oh, and sometimes it actually helps me get a few hours of sleep. Speaking of which, where’s your boyfriend tonight? Too busy sucking someone’s blood?”
“I wouldn’t know. We broke up.”
His eyes widened with shock and confusion and a bit of hope. “You what?”
She nodded. “I’ve been ignoring him. I texted him earlier, said we weren’t right for each other. How’s that for generic?”
“And is that the truth?”
“The truth is that it felt like he was getting in my head, like he was changing me somehow. Sounds stupid, I know.”
He thought back to the graveyard, to the voice in his mind, the one that claimed to be Busty’s brother as it crawled through his thoughts and memories like a parasite. “It doesn’t sound as stupid as you think.”
She smiled. “Good. Anyway, you don’t have to leave just because I’m here, okay? You can come back in and enjoy
yourself. I’ll stay out of your way.”
He paused and looked into her eyes. It was the first time they’d spoken in months without an argument forming. “That’s the problem.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t want you to stay out of my way.”
They looked at each other for a long time, standing in the thick fog, and he thought, no matter how stupid it seemed, that they might actually kiss.
But the moment was soured when someone from inside screamed and several others followed suit.
●●●
For a while, Frank felt like he was in a bomb shelter, waiting out a nuclear holocaust. He locked every door, checked them each several times, pulled down every curtain in the house.
“Don’t you think you’re being a bit obsessive?” Mona asked.
“You’ll thank me when those bastards come knocking on the door.”
She rolled her eyes and went back to reading her romance novel. Though she pretended to dismiss his actions, he could tell she was on edge too. She was just better at hiding it. He hadn’t liked his own choice of words either.
He noted the use of when instead of if.
He found things to keep him busy, cleaned for a while, checked his fantasy football stats, even caught up on grading his papers. Earlier in the evening, after dinner, he’d checked on Alyssa three separate times. Each time, she’d been texting on her bed, one ear bud in her ear, another hanging by its cord. “Still here,” she’d said, sounding more annoyed with each intrusion. It was better than an argument or a cold shoulder. Perhaps she was coming around. He had a hunch she’d followed his orders and cut Busty loose but he wasn’t about to bring it up.
She was grounded of course, so he needn’t have checked on her so much. She wouldn’t be dumb enough to sneak out on a night like this. She must have known as well as him that the vamps had something up their sleeves. You could feel it in the air, which was so shrouded in fog, it was like looking into a dark chasm. The few times he stole glances through the blinds, he struggled to see across the street let alone the front yard.
When he ran out of things to keep him busy, he decided to complete two tasks he’d been avoiding, the first for months and the second for much longer.
He stepped into his office for the first time in days. He closed the door behind him, turned the dimmer all the way up, and stared at the yearbook. It was in the same spot as last time, when he’d had his episode or vision or perhaps he’d just nodded off and had dreamt the whole thing.
You don’t sound so sure. Maybe you don’t want to admit you actually heard Melvin’s voice.
He lifted it up, opened it, and looked at the picture of Melvin, preparing to hear the voice but instead he was greeted with a silent image of a dead boy.
Melvin Brown. The poor troubled kid who had been bullied and ignored until he’d chosen to end his life. Frank had tried hard to forget the incident, though it hadn’t been easy. The blood had landed dangerously close to his feet that day. In a sick way, Jeremy’s death had been somewhat of a blessing. It had allowed him to overshadow one tragedy with another, though no matter how awful it would sound aloud, he would’ve much preferred Melvin being the only one dead if he’d had the choice.
He remembered all of the odd drawings Melvin kept with him, the same ones that were popping up around school the last month. He recalled the way that boy’s eyes were vacant half the time, like he saw something the rest of them couldn’t. And how could he forget the jocks who treated the boy like scum?
Now, many of the descendants of those same jocks were part of the town cult. Somehow, Melvin had inspired them all. Maybe they’d heard one too many rumors about his ghost walking the halls of the old school.
Frank shut the book and tossed it into a cardboard box. Then he went about his second task for the night, opening the bottom left drawer of his desk and removing the stockpile of Jeremy’s photos. He tossed them into the box and was shocked to see how quickly it filled up. He had enough memories for a dozen albums.
Alyssa was right. He wasn’t just grieving. He was obsessing and now he was ready to let go. It wasn’t like there weren’t twenty more pictures downstairs, including the one damaged during the argument. Jeremy wouldn’t have wanted his death to latch onto Frank like a disease.
He closed the box and taped the top flaps down so that the pictures were sealed. When the time came, if he wanted access to the stockpile, he could slice the tape and have at it but tonight he was locking away some of his grief.
He walked downstairs. In the kitchen, he noticed what appeared to be a gift on the table, a small rectangle that was wrapped in bright pink paper. He picked it up, studied it. “Hun,” he called to Mona. “What’s this?”
“What’s what, dear?” He could tell she was barely paying attention, too intent on the book.
“This present on the table.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
He tore off the wrapping. Inside was a new frame that held the picture of Jeremy that had been tossed during the argument. Though the top corners of the photo had been bent, it looked almost new, like it had just been taken moments ago.
A drop of moisture fell onto the glass and he looked up, sure there was a leak, though he didn’t hear any rain. The ceiling was dry. He wiped at the tears and stepped into the living room, raising the frame. “Did you do this?”
“Do what?” Mona closed her book and pushed her glasses up to the crown of her nose, her eyes widening as she saw the photo. She shook her head. “Can’t say that I did.”
“I found it on the table. I must’ve walked by it twenty times without noticing. If I didn’t do it and neither did you…”
She smiled. “Maybe it’s her way of apologizing. Didn’t I tell you she’d come around?”
He wiped at his eyes once more. “I guess you did.” He leaned down and kissed his wife. It was not a peck on the cheek but something deeper. They had not made love for a week now but he hoped to change that, hoped things would get back to normal soon. “I’m going to thank her,” he said.
“I think she’d like that.”
He walked upstairs and knocked on the door. “Alyssa? You decent?”
No response. He listened for her voice or music but there was nothing. Damn headphones. What if there had been a fire? He knocked again, louder this time, but was greeted with more silence. “Alyssa? I don’t want to bug you again. I just wanted to ask you something.
Nothing. He turned the knob, opened the door, and saw an empty bed. Her headphones lay on the blanket, along with her laptop and iPod. The window was open, a chilly breeze wafting through the room that sent his skin into a fit of prickles, though not just from the temperature. He made his way to the window and looked outside but it was too misty to see much of anything.
He was about to call out to Mona when he heard her scream from downstairs. He tossed the frame onto Alyssa’s bed and ran downstairs so quickly he nearly tripped on the last step. “What’s wrong?” he said.
Mona was standing up from her chair. The romance novel had landed on the floor along with her cup of tea, staining the carpet and pages. She held one hand to her heart and the other over her mouth as if she’d just received the worst news of her life. She stared at something outside the living room window.
“Honey, what is it?” Frank reached out to console her but she batted him away. “Listen, Alyssa’s not in her room. I think she may have snuck out when we weren’t looking. You don’t think she’d be dumb enough to go to a party or something, do you?”
Mona didn’t answer. She was catatonic. He finally followed her line of vision and saw the source of her terror.
Through the window, Frank saw a pale face staring in at him. It was almost the same shade as the mist, blended in just enough so that he questioned his sanity. The face resembled Melvin, as if he’d risen from the grave, but Frank knew it was Busty out there, inches away from them. He also knew that something terrible had happened to the guy. The bad
boy who’d dated his daughter and pretended to be something he wasn’t had been replaced by this… thing. His features were off, his eyes and nose lopsided, like his face had turned to plastic and was slowly melting.
He looks like a…
Frank shook his head.
Don’t say it.
Like a…
Another voice invaded his thoughts. Like a vampire?
The new voice giggled, sending shivers up Frank’s spine. No, not new. He’d heard it once before, when he’d last looked at the yearbook. Perhaps he wasn’t as crazy as he’d thought.
Busty was close to the glass so that his breath should’ve fogged the pane but it stayed perfectly clear, as if no breath came from his nostrils or mouth. He raised a hand with elongated fingers, then tapped the glass. “You mind if I come in, Frank? It’s cold as hell out here.” He pretended to shiver.
Frank stepped in front of Mona.
“Frank, I asked nicely, didn’t I?” Busty knocked harder on the window. Frank winced at the sound of his voice. It was raspy beyond description, like he’d drank a lifetime supply of whiskey and smoked a thousand cigarettes since the last time they’d spoken.
Frank gritted his teeth. “Where is she?”
“Whoever do you mean?” Busty scratched his chin with his new claws. A small laceration opened along his skin but he didn’t seem to notice. “Oh, how silly of me. You mean Alyssa, your only daughter. Why, she’s with us, Frank. She’s back at the school.”
“You’re lying.” He felt Mona’s hands grip his shoulders, squeezing.
“I can see why you’d say that. I’ve lied about a lot of things but it was out of my hands. This much is the truth, though. Your daughter is at the old school and I want you to come for her within the hour. If not, we’re going to tear her apart and deliver her in a sopping paper bag. Then you’ll be down two kids. Imagine that? One dies in a car accident while you’re driving and the other gets abducted by the infamous Lynnwood Vampires, only to be dismembered. All because of you. Sounds like a bad horror movie if you ask me. But it’s all real.”
We Came Back Page 20