“If you even lay a finger on her…”
Busty waved his hand. “You’re not in the position to make demands. Do as I say or I’ll make you watch. Would you like to see another kid die? You do have a knack for that sort of thing.”
“You bastard!” Frank broke from Mona’s grip, threw the front door open, and stepped outside into the thick mist. There were shadows everywhere. The house was surrounded by hundreds of them, countless vamps that held their fingers to their temples, pretending to blow their brains out like Melvin Brown.
In the center of them stood Busty. “We’ll be waiting.”
Before Frank could make a move, they ran much too quickly into the fog, disappearing from his view.
“What are you going to do?” Mona said from inside.
“There’s a lockbox in the garage, under my bench. It’s filled with pictures of Jeremy. I need you to get it for me.” He didn’t dare take his eyes of the dense fog, lest one of them dove at him.
“What for?” Mona said, her voice quivering now.
“Because there are more than just photos inside. Remember when I used to go target shooting and you made me get rid of the gun when the kids were born?”
She sniffled from behind. “Yes.”
“I might have lied.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“What is that?” Justin said, staring in the direction of Art’s house.
Alyssa shook her head. “Sounds like screaming to me.”
He listened closely but the synth and bass were too loud. Above the rhythm and melody, he heard something like high-pitched shrieks and the occasional sound of something being smashed. He must have been hearing things. Maybe it was part of the song.
The fog obscured their view so that everything beyond the front steps was a blur. Every so often, the mist would clear and he’d see the living room window. There were shapes on the other side but he couldn’t quite make them out. He told himself they were the same people he’d just seen inside, the mummy and Dorothy and Aladdin, who was probably still looking to kick his ass. He told himself this because in the back of his mind, he believed something bad was happening.
As if to confirm his suspicions, the music suddenly stopped.
“They’re here,” he said. He grabbed onto Alyssa’s hand and tried to pull her toward the street.
“Who is?” she said, breaking free from his grip.
“I think you know.”
From inside there came a shattering sound, like glass breaking, followed by someone calling for help.
Alyssa charged forward. “I’m going inside.”
“You can’t. Just listen.”
They grew silent. More crashing and more screaming.
“Abby and Maggie are in there,” she said. “And so is Art.”
“We won’t be of any help if we’re dead. We should get the cops or something.”
She sighed. “You just want to protect me so that you aren’t so scared yourself but I can handle myself in case you haven’t noticed. You’re just like my dad.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before she could answer, the front door burst open. Aladdin stepped outside and for a moment Justin thought he was going to get his teeth kicked in. Then he saw the kid at close range and understood there would be no fight. Aladdin’s face was broken. The skin was bruised and bloody. A hint of cheekbone peeked out from within. His lips were shredded, like he’d been chewing on glass, and as he opened them, perhaps to ask for an ambulance, a stream of blood leaked out. He collapsed face down onto the lawn.
Justin heard a shriek in response, thought it was Alyssa, but realized it was his own voice.
“My god,” she said. “We have to go in.” She didn’t wait for his approval, nor did she need it. She’d always been the braver of the two, the dominant one in their short-lived relationship. Truthfully, he looked up to her, wished he could’ve been a fraction as strong.
“Wait,” he said as he finished yelping. He followed her, stepping over Aladdin who had stopped moving altogether.
Alyssa entered the front door first. It was her turn to scream, though it sounded more like a war cry. When Justin entered the house, he saw why. There was blood everywhere. Bodies lined the floor. He saw Dorothy a few feet to his left. Her head lay at a crooked angle, eyes staring lifelessly at the ceiling. Her mouth was open and it was obvious she’d died screaming.
Alyssa pointed toward the kitchen. “Maggie!” She ran for the island.
Maggie lay on the countertop, next to the ruined stereo and the cutlery divider, which was empty now. The handles of each knife were pointed upward, the blades buried deep within Maggie’s stomach and chest. The white bandages of her costume had been soaked through, sopping up some of the blood before it overflowed onto the floor.
“No,” Alyssa. “No, no, no. You’re fine, girl. Don’t worry. Everything’s fine. We’ll call an ambulance and we’ll get you to a hospital and…”
Maggie, her eyes mostly closed, raised a limp hand and pointed at something in the living room, shaking her head and mouthing something they couldn’t make out.
Justin sensed movement. He spun around and saw a pale face inches away from his own.
It was Sylvie Platt, the girl who had once written for the school newspaper. They’d shared several English classes and she’d always had great insight into their required reading, sometimes more so than the teachers. But this wasn’t the same Sylvie. This Sylvie had hollowed out cheeks and a pointed chin and crimson eyes that resembled the blood beneath Justin’s feet. This Sylvie had fingernails that were more like miniature knives. This Sylvie had elongated teeth that couldn’t be contained within her small, thin lips.
She hissed at him, reached out and clutched his neck with her long fingers. His breath caught in his throat and his air supply was cut off. He saw stars and spots and felt unconsciousness coming at him. Her grip was impossible. She was perhaps half his size and a third his weight, yet she squeezed his windpipe like a body builder. He wound back, feeling ashamed for a moment that he was actually going to hit a girl, then swung with what little strength he had left.
His knuckles swelled in response, the bones bruising before his eyes. He would’ve screamed had he been able to find the air to do so. Alyssa entered his periphery. She held a large frying pan above her head. She brought it down. The metal collided with Sylvie’s face hard enough to cave her eye socket in. Dark blood oozed out of the new wound but she didn’t seem to be in pain. If anything, the girl looked annoyed.
She tossed Justin across the room. He collided with the coffee table, his back splintering the wood in two. The sudden onset of air made him even dizzier, his lungs not used to the freedom. From the kitchen, he heard Alyssa call for help.
He stood, swaying as his equilibrium struggled to catch up, holding onto the ruined furniture for balance. He squinted, his vision still blurry. Alyssa was pinned to the floor while Sylvie clutched her jaw with her talon fingers.
“You were supposed to be the bait,” Sylvie said. Her voice was far from human, more like a witch’s cackle. “But it doesn’t matter anymore. We’ve got your father right where we need him. He’ll be dead soon. Which means you’re officially disposable.”
Justin wasn’t sure what she meant but he didn’t have time to ponder. He ran for the island, winced as he pulled a chef’s knife from Maggie’s chest, and charged Sylvie. The blade entered her throat deep enough so the tip came out the other side.
She laughed in response. “If you haven’t noticed,” she said, pulling out the blade and tossing it to the floor. “We don’t feel pain anymore. Pain is for the living.” Bloodied sludge dripped from her throat, mixing with that from her eye.
They can’t be stopped, he thought. There’s no point in fighting.
But then he thought of his father and Jeremy and Frank, the latter of which might’ve been dead this very moment, but most of all he thought about how much he loved the girl on the floor, who was presently su
ffocating, no matter how little she loved him back.
He held out his arm like he was a quarterback and pushed Sylvie with all the force he could muster. She lost her balance and fell off of Alyssa. He struggled with her on the floor, certain she would overpower him in seconds.
He moved his head left and right, trying to dodge her nails, knowing full well they were sharper than the knife he’d rammed into her neck. Her left index finger aimed toward his eyes and he lifted the camera to shield himself. Her jagged nail pushed the device against his face so that the flash went off and a picture was snapped.
Sylvie screamed, brought her hands to her face, where fresh blood poured out of her wounds. Her skin steamed as if she’d just been dipped into boiling water, bubbles forming in the flesh and popping like cysts.
He held the camera, looked at the digital screen, which was now cracked, and back to the writhing vamp on the floor. His mind worked overtime, couldn’t keep up, but he knew one thing for sure.
This Sylvie was not photogenic.
She turned over and began to crawl away but stopped short when he took another picture. She hissed in response, her skin like the tide before a storm, getting ready to open up in several places. He flashed again. And again.
Then she stopped screaming and started spasming. Her skin liquefied, pouring away from bones and revealing what lay beneath. He didn’t stop pressing the button until Sylvie was no more than a steaming skeleton.
Someone touched his shoulder. He spun around and snapped another photo. Alyssa smacked him, covering her eyes and leaning against the island for support. “It’s me.”
“Sorry,” he said, catching his breath. “Are you okay?”
She touched her jaw and moved it around. “I think I’ll be fine. What the hell did you do to her?” She nodded toward the mess on the living room carpet.
He shook his head. “I have no idea. She started convulsing when I took her picture.”
“What do you think it means?”
He shrugged. “Hell if I know, but if it works on her, who’s to say it won’t work on the others?”
She nodded. “Good point. Which means we need more.”
To their left, in the pantry near the back door, something moved. The wood shook in its frame. Alyssa’s eyes widened. She told him to shut up and point the camera in the direction of the sound.
He nodded and walked slowly toward the small wooden door, certain there was a stockpile of vamps inside. Would one camera be enough for all of them?
Listen to yourself. You sound crazy as shit. Vampires and cameras and claws, oh my.
He almost giggled from exhaustion and adrenaline but instead he kicked open the door and prepared for an onslaught. Instead of vamps inside, there were two huddled shapes, both human and both crying. The first was Abby and the second was Art.
“Are… are they gone?” Art said. His eyes were bloodshot.
“I think so,” Justin said. “I got one of them.”
“We heard,” Abby said. Her cat ears lay crooked on her head. Her mascara had run, leaving trails along her cheeks. “And Maggie…” She pointed to the mummy, who had stopped moving altogether.
Alyssa nodded but did not cry. There would be time for that later, when the shock wore off and her mind was able to process what had occurred at the Halloween party that should’ve never been held.
“I’m just glad you’re alive.” She stood and hugged Alyssa.
“Don’t expect one from me.” Art exited the pantry and whistled when he saw what was left of Sylvie. “What the hell happened?”
“All I know is that these things hate cameras,” Justin said. “Do you have any?”
Art nodded. “Yeah, I have one or two upstairs.”
“Good. You and the girls lock yourselves in your bedroom and don’t come out until I call you.”
Alyssa broke away from Abby. “And where are you going?”
He was about to answer when her phone rang. It had landed behind the television during their struggle with Sylvie. She picked it up and answered. Her eyes flew open in shock. “What? Are you okay? He went where? Why would he do that? Busty? He was there? Yes, I snuck out. Oh, God. Oh, God. I’ll be right there. Call the police.”
“What’s wrong?” Justin said when she hung up.
She grabbed the blood-soaked knife on the floor and ran outside into the misty front yard without an explanation.
●●●
Mona was sobbing when they got there. She cowered in the kitchen corner, a knife in one hand, a broom in the other. Both of which, as Justin had just learned, were equally useless.
“I’m so sorry,” Alyssa said as she approached her mother. “I shouldn’t have left. It’s my fault.”
Mona dropped the weapons and embraced her daughter. They cried together for a long time. Justin felt awkward standing in the doorway so he turned around and entered the living room. He hadn’t been inside the house in months unless you counted his conversation with Frank in the garage. He felt as if he’d entered a stranger’s home, despite the memories that flooded him: late night movie marathons, family dinners, and sneaking into Alyssa’s room after her parents had turned in for the night.
He understood now what she’d said back at Art’s house, before they went inside.
You just want to protect me so that you aren’t so scared yourself but I can handle myself in case you haven’t noticed.
So that was it. The reason she’d broken up with him. It wasn’t because they’d grown apart or were arguing any more than a normal couple.
To Alyssa, she’d become Justin’s band-aid, just as she was to her own father. She thought Justin had clung to her, used her as a distraction while his dad was sick. In her mind, it was Jeremy all over again. Instead of Frank treating her like a specimen, being as overprotective as you could get, her boyfriend was suffocating her, never allowing for a moment of peace, while his father rotted away in the living room next door, face full of tubes and hacking up fluid from his lungs so as not to drown.
But that wasn’t true, of course. He’d had his eyes on Alyssa since her family moved next door. He’d been six at the time and had been obsessed with watching the pretty girl next door play with her hula hoop.
Not much has changed.
He had to show her she wasn’t just a distraction and that she meant more to him than she’d ever know. That she’d gotten him through his dad’s death instead of taking his mind off of it. But tonight, as evident by the screams and sirens in the distance, there were more pressing issues.
“Justin?” Alyssa said in the kitchen.
“Yeah?” He stepped back into the room. They’d stopped hugging but they were still sniffling.
“These were all I could find,” she said, holding up one digital camera and an ancient instant model, the exterior covered in a cheap-looking cardboard case. “You think they’ll work?”
“I’m not exactly an expert.” He held up his own camera and realized for the first time that he was still dressed as a vintage reporter. He must have looked ridiculous. He remembered what Alyssa was wearing, looking at her French maid costume, and tried not to redden. “If mine worked, I don’t see why another one wouldn’t.”
“Good point.” She handed both cameras to her mother. “Here, take these. You said the cops were on their way?”
“That’s what they said.” Mona looked at the cameras in her hands and shook her head. “And what exactly are these for?”
“I couldn’t tell you why,” Alyssa said. “But for some reason it hurts them.”
“That’s an understatement,” Justin said. “Melts is a better word.”
Mona’s eyes narrowed. “You’re telling me if one of those creeps comes in here, I just point and click and they’ll fall to the ground.”
“It sounds crazy, Mrs. Tanner,” Justin said, “but it’s true.”
“How many times have I told you to stop calling me that? I’m Mona. I’m Alyssa’s mother. We’ve been neighbors for over a decade. Spe
aking of which, are you two…”
“Mom!” Alyssa shook her head. “We don’t have time for this. We have to go.”
“Go where?” Mona said.
“Busty lured Dad back to the old high school, right?”
Her mother nodded; her eyes bloodshot. She looked exhausted. “Yes but I told the cops. They said they’d send someone over.”
“That’s going to be awhile.” Alyssa pointed outside the kitchen window. The sirens had grown in number and they sounded closer. Justin tried to imagine what was happening out there. Were the vamps going door to door? Were they nailing humans up now?
“Look,” Justin said. “I’ll go. I’m the one that got him into this mess.”
“How do you mean?” Alyssa said.
He sighed, knowing the truth would bring about an argument they couldn’t afford right now. “This is going to sound pretty crazy.”
“Try me.” She looked down at her outfit, most of which had been stained with blood. She’d lost one of her best friends moments ago. She could handle the truth.
“Here’s the short version. Your dad asked me to keep tabs on Busty when you guys started dating, maybe find something he could use against him. The more I saw that bastard, the more I knew there was something off about him. I found out where his mother lived and pretended to be a reporter.”
“How fitting,” Alyssa said through gritted teeth and nodded toward his costume. “Did you find anything interesting?”
“I found out he was supposedly gay.”
“My dad told me the same thing. I thought he was being pathetic, trying to get me to dump Busty.”
“That’s not all,” Justin said. “It turns out Busty is Melvin Brown’s younger brother.”
“The boy who killed himself in the cafeteria?” Mona said.
“Exactly. About a year ago, Busty started acting strange, dressing like his brother, talking about him like he was still alive. I could tell you this is all just a big coincidence or I could tell you I think all of this is connected somehow. I think the vamps got sucked into their cult by Busty but I think the real leader is Melvin. I know he’s dead, and I know it sounds nuts, but if you haven’t noticed, sanity isn’t exactly common these days.”
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