Vampire Cabbie

by Fred Schepartz

  “‘My hand pulled the shade until it was taut, then let go, sending it flying, leaving me face to face, eyeball to eyeball with those blank eyes.

  “‘What do you want from me? I shouted. Why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you?

  “‘A shrieking exploded inside my head. Stomach muscles contracted, then convulsed. I fell backward. After that, I don’t know. All I remember was waking up lying on my back, my legs bent underneath me, dizzy, head pounding like a motherfucker. I reached back, touched the back of my head and winced with pain. Vomit was everywhere. On the window, the molding, all over me.

  “‘And through the vomit-splattered window, I could still see the bowling ball head, the coal eyes staring at me.

  “‘I struggled to stand on wobbly legs and stared right back at the creature. What the hell did I ever do to you? I shouted. Before the creature could respond, I charged, my arms outstretched, hands reaching right for its throat.

  “‘I crashed through the window, felt fangs of glass bite into my arms. But I was going to get that thing. I was going to get that thing. My hands inches away from the creature’s throat, right there, right there....

  “‘And that’s all I remember. They say Kern found me on the front lawn. Covered with blood and vomit, a few broken bones, but otherwise none too worse for wear.

  “‘No, I didn’t feel the impact, only the shrieking inside my head, the constant echo of the creature’s reply:

  “‘You invaded my privacy, so I invade yours.

  “‘And that was that. Now, I sleep in a room with no windows, but I still see the creature. See it in my dreams, but this time it’s different. I don’t find the creature in my dreams, it finds me. Comes to me in my dreams and just stares at me.

  “‘Dreams are windows, I guess. I guess I’m just kind of screwed.’”

  Is it scared of civilization or does it use civilization as camouflage?

  I rubbed my eyes after completing that long entry. When my eyes focused, Nicole was staring at me.

  “This mean anything, Al?”

  “Nothing, just ramblings.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit.” She played with her empty tea cup. “You’re like totally engrossed. What’s it all about?”

  “I cannot be certain.”

  “But there’s something, isn’t there?”

  The woman certainly was perceptive. I was not sure whether I wanted to share it with her, but it seemed she would not allow any option other than total disclosure.

  “Mortals,” I began, “see their world as an aggregation of three-dimensional objects and fail to see anything outside of that limited spatial concept. They see not a fourth dimension. For them, time is a strictly linear construct, hopelessly rooted in the present, where past and future exist merely as states relative to the present.”

  “Uh, huh,” Nicole said. “I presume this has something to do with the topic at hand?”

  I nodded. “Yes. You see, mortals fail to see the dimensions between dimensions, the three-dimensional worlds not very different from their own that exist quite literally right in front of their eyes.”

  “And that’s what Frank saw?” Nicole walked into the kitchen. “Go on, I’m listening. If I drink any more tea, I’ll float away, but I wanna hear this, and I think I’m gonna need some more caffeine. Besides, I don’t think I’m gonna want to sleep tonight. So, what does this have to do with Frank?”

  “Frank’s ‘creature’ was real. It exists in the realities of many civilizations all over the world and has been called many names. Perhaps, Western Civilization would call it a gremlin, which oddly, in your lexicon, is defined as a ‘mythical creature’ simply because this industrialized, technology-based society is too mired in empirical thought to believe what the eyes do not always see.”

  “Gremlins? Jesus Christ, you gotta be kidding. How did he get to see one of those?”

  “A moment of shared consciousness—”

  “Shared consciousness? You’re talking about when you bit him. Is that what happens? People go off their nut?”

  “No. I feel what they feel, and they feel what I feel. It goes both ways, but the effect is short-lived, and normally they do not remember any of it.”

  “But Frank did.”

  “My senses are more acute than yours, Nicole. I see things you cannot. Frank got a glimpse of this creature as a direct by-product of my actions. Mere remote coincidence let Frank be in the right place at the right time to glimpse a creature that is really quite harmless. They just tend to be a bit puckish sometimes.”

  The sound of boiling water emanated from the kitchen. Nicole, empty cup in hand, looked at me from across the threshold, eyebrows scrunched downward. “Not harmless, Al. Obviously, not harmless. Don’t think for a second that it was harmless.”

  “The creature itself is harmless—”

  “Bullshit, just look at—”

  “Please listen and try to control the histrionics. Frank only glimpsed the creature briefly, but imagine it like this: You are in a dark room with a closed door separating you from the bright light on the other side. The door is opened a mere crack, allowing the tiniest sliver of light to pass the threshold. But imagine how bright that tiny sliver of light would seem from within that dark room. Yet, it is still a mere sliver of reality, folded as it were, but you unfold it, and there is an entire dimension. Frank only saw a tiny sliver of the creature’s being, but it was enough to crash through his perceptual limitations.”

  Nicole gasped, almost dropping the cup, not even noticing the whistling of the teapot. “Christ, that’d be enough to make a person crazy.”

  “Indeed. It would.”

  “It’d be like dropping acid without knowing it. Everything looks different, but you don’t know why. You just think you’ve lost your mind. Christ, how would anyone deal with it?” She poured herself another cup of tea. “Shit, oughta make a whole pot. I really don’t think I want to sleep tonight.”

  “Under the circumstances, I would not blame you.”

  She returned to the table. “Christ, the therapists tried to help him, but there wasn’t a damn thing they could do for him.”

  “No, not while operating under such a materialistic paradigm.”

  “But he needs help, Al. Maybe you could talk to him. Help him.”

  “If he’s not so far gone that he wouldn’t accept help.”

  “You gotta do something. This is your fault. You do know that don’t you?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “You better understand.” Nicole picked up the diary and fondled it between sips of tea. “He resisted the therapy at first, thought he might fool them by cooperating with their efforts. Even willingly took part in occupational therapy. That’s where the flowers come in. Finally, they convinced him he’d only been having delusions. Probably, by then, the dreams had stopped. Your creature must’ve gotten bored. They let him out of Mendota, and he came back to work at Co-op Cab. He was fine until he saw you again. He talks about some altercation between you and him in the bathroom where he saw you in the mirror, but didn’t really see you. From the way he rambles after that, it seems that incident started to push him over the edge, but he still wasn’t sure. He talks about not really believing what he’d seen, that it wasn’t real, that he was creating alternative realities to act out an unwillingness to take responsibility for his own failings. He almost believed it, but then the dreams came back. Listen to this entry. It’s dated March fifteenth, not even two weeks ago:

  “‘Goddamned asshole psychotherapists!

  “‘They said I was having delusions. They said I had to let go of these delusions, and then the dreams would stop. Well, the dreams stopped, but that creature is still out there, only it’s taken a different form. Fucking psychotherapists. Don’t know shit.

  “‘I know this because the truth came in a dream.

  “‘I’m sitting in my cab, in the cab stand at the east-side Greyhound depot, waiting for the call that’ll give me t
he late-shift clean sweep. I’d drawn a four o’clock end-time, as opposed to knocking off at two—bar-time. But I’ve got experience. I’d been in the right cab stand for the guy who goes from the near south-side to the Hill Farms Office Building , which set me up for the woman from the deep southwest-side to the state office building off the Square. Then, I slide a few blocks east to post up at the Skinny Dog for Cletus. He’ll get in the cab and say work and nothing more. The meter’ll run nine bucks, he’ll hand me a ten, and I can call it night.

  “‘It’s deadly quiet, as if a neutron bomb exploded.

  “‘Out of the corner of my eye, a yellow blur flashes past. I ignore it. It’s late, and my imagination is getting the better of me. The creature has left me alone. It no longer invades my dreams.

  “‘There’s a rap at the window. I feel a jolt from the base of my spine to the top of my head. I turn and see a face. It’s familiar, a fellow driver. It’s that guy, fucking Euro-faggot named Al Ludinsky or Raminsky or something Eurofagopean like that. Has this real stupid accent.’”

  Nicole laughed loudly. “Just like Maggie said. You sure you’re not gay?”

  I frowned. “Please continue.”

  “‘What’s he doing here? It’s three-fucking-thirty in the goddamned morning. He’s not driving. Why isn’t he home asleep?

  “‘I roll down the window. His face glows bright yellow in the halogen lights outside the bus depot. He asks if I have any money for a cash advance. Sure, no problem, I say. We do that all the time.

  “‘I reach for a charge slip to record the advance. I face him again. He’s smiling, showing lots of teeth. I see a pair of sharp fangs. I see two black eyes staring at me. Then, nothing but black. There’s a sharp sting against my neck, a pair of sharp stings piecing my flesh. I hear a soft sucking sound. I feel my strength draining from me. I feel my life draining—

  “‘Just a dream? No way. No fuckin’ way.

  “‘I’ve been haunted by faces staring through clear panes of glass: An alien face, bright yellow, round like a bowling ball, with round lumps of coal for eyes, no nose and no mouth; and a human face that’s not human, whose skin is too white, whose teeth are too sharp, whose image cannot be seen in a mirror.

  “‘Mirror! Glass!

  “‘Windows! Illusion!

  “‘The faces aren’t important. One is a true form. One is a clever disguise that so carelessly reveals its true nature.

  “‘Glass, that’s what’s important—the window between the implied and the inferred. It can be shattered!

  “‘They all said I was crazy, but I’ll show them. Just have to get the evidence. I’ve got a special camera, with special film and special infra-red gadgets, gizmos, thingamabobs and thingeegiggees.

  “‘I was the hunter, then became the hunted. Now, the hunted will become the hunter once again.’”

  Nicole shut the diary and slid it across the table. “There’s one more entry. It’s real short. He must’ve written it after the membership meeting. He’s raving at that point, about how we’re all fools not to heed his warning, but he would show us all.”

  “This is all my fault.”

  “Damn right—”

  There was a loud thud just outside my apartment door which literally jolted Nicole out of her chair.

  Then, there was an insistent rapping at the door.

  Chapter 10

  The Responsibility of Dishonor

  Gliding, almost as if dematerializing then rematerializing, Nicole suddenly gripped the doorknob.

  A shout belched from my throat. I leaped across the room, knocked Nicole to the floor, just as the door flew open.

  A white-hot dagger seared through my chest cavity. The room swirled before my eyes momentarily before coming into focus. Frank stood above me, a burlap sack slung over one shoulder, corneas a spider web lattice-work of crimson, pupils dilated, breath hot and fetid, heart pounding like the hammer blows struck by a yeoman blacksmith. He dropped the sack and reached downward toward the stake protruding from my chest, which pierced flesh, but had been stopped mercifully by sturdy breast bone.

  I scurried out of the range of his grasp. Nicole jumped to her feet and gave Frank a shove. Staggered only slightly, he steadied and threw a punch, connecting loudly with her jaw, more a slap then a crack. Nicole landed hard on the floor.

  Frank laughed loudly, then grabbed the sack, held it upside down and let the contents fall. It was the black boy who had ridden in my cab a mere few days previous. He was stripped of his clothes, stripped of his life, his flesh more gray than chocolate, face bruised, abrasions and contusions livid on his chest, stomach and legs, one arm bent at a cockeyed angle. Crusts of dried blood delineated a pair of puncture marks on his neck.

  Rising to my knees, I tore the stake from my chest. Jagged shards of pain ripped through my being, quickly replaced by a sharp tingling as tissue knitted itself back together.

  In the momentary haziness, as my body repaired itself, Frank kicked hard at the wound. An angry red wave washed over me. I toppled to the floor, then rolled over to see Frank grabbing Nicole under both arms, effortlessly lifting her in the air, then flinging her toward the boy. His strength was unfathomable, surely augmented by adrenalin and madness.

  “Look at that!” he shouted, as he moved to her side, bits of spittle splattering her face. He pointed at the boy. “Look at that! I warned you. All of you! He’s a monster, but you wouldn’t believe me and now look what he’s done!”

  Nicole’s face twisted into a dark scowl as she kicked him in the groin. I jumped to my feet, pulled him away from Nicole and backhanded him across the face, sending him sprawling across the apartment. “You’re the monster,” she yelled. “Al’s been with me all night.”

  Frank’s mad, grinning countenance remained unchanged. I stepped between him and Nicole. He pointed an accusing finger at the boy.

  “I showed them,” he said. “Showed them all just what kind of bloodsucking monster you are.”

  “You killed him!” I shouted. “It was you. You killed him. You took his blood. His blood! What have you done with his blood?”

  Frank laughed, then reached for a rucksack that lay next to the empty sack. He lifted a large jar full of blood from the rucksack. “Oh, you weren’t very hungry, so you only drank a little bit, then drained the rest and put it in a jar. The police’ll find this in your fridge.”

  “Idiot! If I only needed a little bit, why kill? Why? Tell me why! Tell me!”

  I stepped toward him. Frank stood his ground, then reached for a silver crucifix and held it before my eyes. His laughter turned hysterical. I slapped the crucifix from his hands. The cross struck the wall loudly. “Fool,” I said. “You have watched too many Hollywood movies.”

  “His mind,” Nicole shouted. “Try touching his mind.”

  Frank stood motionless, his face a hardened mask except for rapidly shifting eyes. I focused on the movement, let my consciousness adjust to the movement until it slowed to almost a complete stop, allowing me entrance through the dark openings—

  —Only to be staggered by an impact against solid granite. My consciousness reeled, then pulled back and focused upon a curving stone wall. I followed the wall as it curved in one direction, then another, then back again as the line of stone seemed to fall back into infinity, curving back and forth—

  —Before finally opening to a dark, dense forest surrounded by swamp. My consciousness began tromping through the swamp toward the forest. The muck grew thicker, holding tighter. Each step took a greater and greater effort while the forest seemed to grow no closer—

  —Until no more steps were possible, the muck enclosing around my legs, holding me fast as—

  —The forest turned to fire, foliage burned away in an instant, all the trees stripped to mere glowing stalks, collapsing, falling toward me—

  —Flying toward me. Thousands of burning stakes flying toward me, striking my consciousness, ripping, tearing until something pulled me away from the dying embers of th
e burnt forest, away from the stagnant pools of fetid water, back and forth along the curving granite wall—

  —Frank’s grinning personage filled my sight, his hands wrapped around a stake, its sharp point impaling the flesh covering my heart. Hands on my shoulders pulled desperately from behind, preventing the stake from finding its mark.

  In full focus, ignoring the pain, I grabbed the stake with both hands, pushed against the opposing force until it came free, then twisted it out of Frank’s grasp, turned and swung the blunt end at his head. He crumpled to the floor, but quickly rose, blood dribbling from his ear, the grin wider still, the sound of his pounding heart almost deafening.

  In the long, swollen moment that followed, numerous images from the past flew across my sight: the Grand Inquisitor passing sentence on myself and Julianne; the burgermeister listening so attentively to brigands who had tried to rob me, then accused me of consorting with the devil; and all those Nazis, those who I killed and those who I imagined as they murdered my dear Anya.

  All the faces of those true believers—different faces, yet always the expression never changed and was just the same as the countenance which charged at me with no weapon save his bare hands.

  No more battering. No more pain. I let him charge at me, at the last moment opening my arms for him to fall within my embrace.

  “No!” I heard Nicole scream.

  Our flesh collided, and though the force was great, Frank moved me not a whit as I reached for his chin, twisted sharply until a loud crack filled the room, and Frank crumpled to the floor.

  I turned toward Nicole. She stood against the wall, palms pressed against the paneling as if to brace herself from falling. Her face was flushed, eyes darting back and forth, from one corpse to another.

  “Nicole?”

  No response for a moment, then her gaze met mine. “You killed him,” she said dryly, almost matter-of-fact.

  Yes, a mortal was dead at my hand, and a boy was dead because of me as well. My fault, my responsibility. Her tone was so dry, and it seemed I wanted to hear anger, wanted to hear accusation, blame. See her point a sharp finger at me like a stiletto of truth stabbing at the lies and deception that punctuates every day spent among mortals. Yes, I had killed Frank, and maybe it could be called self-defense, or in the language of their judicial system, justifiable homicide, but since when had their laws applied to me? Usually their wrath superseded their own laws, affording me none of their protection.