He floated through the room, his bare feet six inches off the ground, eyes burning with fire, and reached for me with pale, waxy hands. When he opened his mouth, the smell was awful. It was dirt, death, decay, and something familiar, something that made me think of my own great grandfather who farted every time he took a tottering step down the hall.
It was denture breath.
I sprang out of bed, scrabbling and clawing at the wall, trembling fingers groping for the light switch.
“Get away from me!” I jumped up and down as Mr. Carpenter sailed through the air, fingers curled into hooks, his noxious, undead scent filling the room.
Just as one bony, ice-cold finger brushed against the nape of my neck, I found the switch and shoved it toward the ceiling with all my might. Brilliant light flooded the bedroom, and I flattened myself against the wall, watching in horror as Mr. Carpenter recoiled, arms flung across his twisted face, mouth open to emit a deep, serpent-like hiss of revulsion.
And then he was gone.
I was pretty shaken up. My heart was pounding in my chest and I had the sudden urge to pee, so I left my bedroom and used the bathroom with the door standing wide open, not caring whether my parents walked in on me. As I was washing my hands, my eyes lit on my mother’s extra-hold hairspray and I tucked the can beneath my arm and crept out of the bathroom, looking left and right to be sure that Mr. Carpenter wasn’t lurking in the hallway. The coast was clear, so I fled to my bedroom and closed the door behind me.
I looked in my closet and knelt to peer under my bed, but there was no sign of Mr. Carpenter, so I cranked the window shut and locked it before pulling my curtains tightly over the glass. Not a beam of moonlight was able to seep into my room.
Once I grabbed the flashlight from my dresser drawer and adjusted my earflap cap more securely on my head, I began to feel better. I switched off the overhead light and jumped into bed. I straightened the blankets and plumped up my pillow. I had just settled back when Mr. Carpenter appeared at the foot of my bed.
He was really pissed off by that point, and he wasted no time playing ridiculous Dracula-Meets-the-Helpless-Victim games. He snarled, dead eyes glassy and marble-like, and flew through the air. Saliva dripped from his fangs in long, silvery threads as his steely, cold hands closed roughly over my shoulders.
I squealed, legs kicking furiously, arms flailing, and finally wrenched free of his clutches, my trembling hands going for the only thing I could think to use as a repellent. I lifted the shiny can of extra-hold hairspray, turned it so the nozzle pointed directly at Mr. Carpenter, and used one finger to depress the aerosol trigger.
Clouds of hairspray jetted from the nozzle, spraying Mr. Carpenter in the face. He gasped, clawing at his eyes, head thrown back, and moaned. I blasted him again, and he began to tremble, head convulsively rolling from side to side. Smoke rose from his undead body in thin, swirling ribbons, and with a snap and a pop, Mr. Carpenter was gone, leaving behind a small pile of gray ashes and one ivory fang.
And that, my friends, is how I discovered that extra-hold Aqua Net hairspray, friend to gum-chewing, teenage valley girls and thirty-something, Bingo-playing, chain-smoking, blue eye shadow-wearing, Dallas-watching mothers, is pure poison to vampires.
***
Thomas came to my house right after school the next day. We found my mother in the kitchen with a big purple purse slung over her shoulder.
“Hi, Mrs. McCoy.”
Mom smiled. “Hello, Thomas. Did you boys have a good day at school?”
I opened the fridge and took out a pitcher of red Kool-Aid. “It was okay,” I said. “Are you going somewhere?”
“I have to run to the market to pick up a few things for dinner and a can of Aqua Net. Mine is missing,” she said. “You boys be good. I won’t be gone long, and if you need something, Dad will be back soon. He had to make a pick up.”
Thomas’s eyes glowed with interest. “Who croaked?”
“Thomas Horr, that is a terrible thing to say! We do not, under any circumstance, use the word croak when referring to death in this house.”
“Sorry. Who died?”
“Julie Johnson.” My mother’s face grew troubled. “Such a shock and a terrible tragedy.”
“What happened to her?” I asked.
My mother brushed my question aside with a wave of her hand. “Not now, Brian.” She picked up her car keys, slid on her huge tortoiseshell sunglasses, and headed for the door. “Behave yourselves. See you later.”
Julie Johnson had been Pleasant Valley High’s head cheerleader, a lovely dyed-blond bombshell who wore hot pink earrings and huge neon hair bows wound around her high-swept, side ponytail. She always smelled like Love’s Baby Soft perfume and peach-flavored lip gloss. She had worked at Pleasant Valley Putt Putt on the weekends and Thomas and I used to go there on Saturday afternoons when we had a buck to blow. Julie always wore little tight red shorts with white piping and yellow leg warmers while she handed out miniature putters and fluorescent golf balls, and Thomas used to lose his golf ball in the sand trap on purpose just so he could watch Julie bend over and pick it up for him.
No sooner had my mother’s brown and white station wagon with its I Shot J.R. bumper sticker pulled out of the drive did Thomas turn his head and whistle. “Wow, can you believe that old Hot Pants Johnson is actually dead, Bri?”
It was pretty shocking news all right.
“And she’s actually gonna be here. Right here in your house. Naked. I’ll bet those butt wipes at school wouldn’t get so cute if we told ‘em about this.”
“Sure they would,” I said glumly. “They’d beat us up even if Heather Thomas was here.”
With a nod of agreement, Thomas lifted the plastic pitcher, spilling red Kool-Aid on the counter. As he used the tail of his Michael Jackson Thriller t-shirt to wipe up the mess, I grabbed a handful of cookies from the bread box and said, “Hurry up. I need to show you something before my parents get home.”
Thomas followed me to my room. While he sat on the edge of the bed, cramming his mouth full of cookies, I took a plastic sandwich bag from my dresser drawer and waved it under his nose.
“What the hell is that?”
“It’s what’s left of Mr. Carpenter.”
***
Thomas listened with growing excitement as I told him about my encounter with the undead the night before. He plucked the fang from the plastic bag, wiped the ashes from it, and held it up to the light. After carefully scrutinizing it beneath my magnifying glass, he turned to look at me. “It’s fake.”
“Because Mr. Carpenter wore dentures,” I pointed out. “It makes sense that the fang wouldn’t be real because his teeth weren’t real.”
“Hey, yeah!” Thomas’s face instantly brightened. “Holy crow, Bri, what if Pleasant Valley is full of vampires? Like, what if Old Man Carpenter wasn’t the only one?”
I hadn’t thought of that, but the idea made perfect sense to me. Who had ever heard of a town inhabited by just one vampire?
“Look, Brian, we hafta make a plan. We can’t just sit around and wait to get our necks bit. We hafta get some weapons, and—” He paused. “How did you get rid of Mr. Carpenter?”
I pulled the hairspray can from under my bed. “I used this. My mom’s Aqua Net. I blasted him right in the face with it, and he sort of…I don’t know…exploded, I guess.”
“Awesome!” Thomas laughed as he pumped his fist in the air. Then he grew serious once more. “The Aqua Net’s good, but I think we should have some backup weapons, ya know? Like maybe some garlic and holy water and stuff.”
“Where are we going to get holy water?”
“My uncle’s a priest,” Thomas said. “He could get us some. Only he lives in California.”
“That’s three thousand miles away.”
“All right, forget the holy water. We’ll think of something.”
And, of course, we did.
***
We worked until dinner time, building our sm
all arsenal, and by the time we were called into the kitchen to eat my mother’s rubbery spaghetti with watered-down tomato sauce, Julie Johnson was parked in the prep room. Thomas and I had constructed two lethal weapons: a cross we’d formed by gluing two yellow Number 2 Ticonderoga pencils together, and a sharpened wooden ruler that would serve as a stake.
“Think this stuff will work?” I said.
“Sure,” Thomas said. Because he had a collection of dusty, antique Tales from the Crypt comic books as well as a subscription to Fangoria magazine, he felt that he was an expert on the subject of vampire slaying. “Trust me. I know about these things, Bri. Now, don’t forget, later tonight we need to steal some garlic out of the kitchen and get your mom’s Aqua Net from the bathroom.”
“Roger.” I saluted smartly from beneath the brim of my earflap cap.
“Boys!” my mother screamed. “Get in here! Your dinner’s getting cold! It won’t be fit to eat!”
Like it mattered. It would have tasted just as bad if it had been piping hot.
***
My parents retired early, leaving me and Thomas to fend for ourselves. We popped a couple of tin pans of Jiffy Pop and watched the Friday night Creature Feature on UHF 49. I’d been pestering my mom about getting ON TV, but she refused because of all the “trash” it played. I silently disagreed with her opinion. The Horr house had ON TV, and I hadn’t thought that either The Incredible Shrinking Woman or Swamp Thing had been trash. In my estimation, they’d been damn fine flicks.
We managed to get through The Creature from the Black Lagoon before Thomas started yawning. We decided to call it a night. I turned off the TV while Thomas hit the lights. Because my mom didn’t have any whole garlic cloves in the house, I’d stuffed a plastic bottle of garlic powder down the front of my pajamas.
Thomas swiped the Aqua Net from the bathroom after he took a before-bed pee, and once we were closed away in my bedroom and Thomas had spread his sleeping bag on the floor, we arranged our arsenal.
Thomas took off his glasses and laid them carefully aside. He gave the bottle of garlic powder an affectionate pat, and said, “Now, if any blood suckers try to diddle with us tonight, we’ll be ready!” He snapped his fingers. “Cut the lights, Bri.”
I did. Thomas yawned and said, “Night, butt-face. See you in the morning.”
I grinned. “Night, Thomas.”
***
“Safety Boy…Oh, Safety Boyyy…”
The soft, lilting, singsong taunt filled my dreams, and I brushed it away, irritated that I was being bullied even in my sleep. You’d think a cat could cut a break between the hours of ten and six, am I right?
I rolled over and opened my eyes.
Standing by the side of my bed was Julie Johnson.
She wore a pale-pink taffeta prom dress with big, puffed-up, ruffled sleeves and her permed hair stood out in a wild halo around her head. In her undead condition, she looked like hell. Her hardening snow-white skin was pulled taut over her stony bones, and although her mouth smiled mockingly, her blue eyes remained expressionless and flat.
“Hello, Safety Boy,” she said softly, the tip of her purple tongue flicking against her gleaming canine incisors. “Remember me?”
I reached down and grabbed the collar of Thomas’s pajama top and shook him. “Wake up, Thomas! Thomas? Wake up!”
“Huh? What?” He sat up, body as stiff as a board, his red hair standing on end, and looked blindly around the room. Without the magnification of his glasses, Thomas’s hazel eyes were much smaller. “What is it, Brian? What’s wrong?”
Because I couldn’t speak, I pointed. Thomas squinted as he fumbled for his glasses, found them, put them on, then followed my trembling finger with his magnified gaze. His mouth fell open in an expression of exaggerated surprise. “Holy poop!” he screamed. “It’s Hot Pants Johnson!”
She threw her head back and laughed wildly, the sound shrill and hideous in the dark of night. Thomas fumbled for the bottle of garlic power, fingers trembling—the dead cheerleader stopped laughing. She turned her head slowly, neck creaking with a rusty squeal, and gazed down at Thomas. Her lip curled in a feral snarl, teeth glistening, and she flew through the air, full skirt rustling in the breeze, and swooped down on him.
He screamed and began to kick his stick-thin legs as he worked to unscrew the lid of the garlic bottle. As she grabbed Thomas’s bare foot, I saw the gold Pleasant Valley High class ring set with the small, oval, imitation amethyst stone she wore on her right hand. Her fingers became claws as they guided the foot toward her open, drooling mouth.
Thomas screamed again. Louder this time. Apparently, the thought of being manhandled by the PV Putt Putt Queen had lost its appeal for him. “Help me, Bri, help me! Get the Aqua Net! Hurry!”
My hands shook as I popped the white plastic cap from the metal hairspray can and aimed the nozzle directly at Hot Pants Johnson’s creeped-out, undead face.
She guided Thomas’s big toe into her gaping mouth, preparing to sink a fang or two into the tender white flesh when I let go with a jet of extra-hold poison.
With a growl, she released him, and he leapt to the center of my bed, cowering behind me and shouting imprecations at Julie Johnson over my shoulder. “Yeah! Take that! Give it to her again, Bri.”
I raised the can, prepared to blast her once more. She stood at the edge of my bed, swiping blindly at her face, shaking her head back and forth, her hands still groping for us in her mildly injured state.
That was when my mother began to bang on my door and call my name.
The dead cheerleader’s head spun and she opened her mouth with a hiss. She didn’t seem to appreciate the unexpected interruption, and as the doorknob rattled beneath my mother’s hand, Julie Johnson vanished into thin air.
We got a big lecture about clowning around after lights out, and when my mother finally left the room, Thomas gazed up at me from his sleeping bag and whispered, “Did you get her good, Brian?”
I whispered back, “No. I think I just hurt her a little. I definitely didn’t kill her.”
“Then we gotta finish the job. Right after the sun comes up. We can’t let her keep flying around Pleasant Valley. We hafta slay her.”
He was right, of course, and that’s exactly what we did.
***
Thomas didn’t have any problem going back to sleep, but I was restless, tossing and turning as my friend snored asthmatically in the dark—my brain swirled with bad thoughts. My hope that Mr. Carpenter had been the only vampire in our quiet provincial town dissipated as soon as I’d seen Hot Pants standing in my bedroom. She had been transformed after I’d obliterated Carpenter with the Aqua Net, which also ruled out the idea that he had been the head vampire.
My alarm went off two hours later. I reached down and shook Thomas awake. He came to pretty quickly, yawning and scratching. He put his glasses on, went to the window, and peered through a gap in the curtains. Glancing over his shoulder, he gave me a quick nod, and whispered, “It’s starting to get light. Hot Pants oughtta be asleep pretty soon.”
I gathered up our crude weapons. Thomas grabbed the Ticonderoga cross and I tucked the bottle of garlic powder and the can of Aqua Net in the waistband of my pajama pants. I carried the sharpened ruler in my hand.
We left the quiet safety of my bedroom, scanning the shadowy hallway for signs of either Julie Johnson or my parents. My dad was snoring from the bedroom at the end of the hall. Thomas and I crept toward the living room, wincing when a floorboard squeaked, and then hurried onward, taking the curving staircase steps two at a time in pursuit of our unsuspecting prey.
The viewing room was cold and empty, filled with the gloom of gray, pre-dawn light. A cask mounted to rolling castors had been parked in front of the picture window, but no casket rested on its risers. I slid the pocket doors at the end of the room to one side and led Thomas through them.
A terrible racket was coming from the basement, and we froze. Thomas’s eyes were the size of poached e
ggs behind the magnified lenses of his specs, and his hand, ice-cold and clammy, latched onto my wrist.
“It’s her,” he whispered. “Isn’t it?”
I nodded.
“What do you think she’s doing down there?”
“I dunno,” I said in a low voice. “Sounds like she’s wrecking the prep room.” I took a step toward the top landing and said, “Come on, Thomas. We have to finish the job, remember?”
He nodded, enormous eyes lit with fear. “I…I…remember. You better get the Aqua Net ready, Bri. She sounds really mad.”
We crept down the stairs on the balls of our bare feet, standing so close together we resembled a pair of fraternal, Siamese twins. I was afraid that Thomas’s heavy, labored breathing would catch Julie Johnson’s deadly attention, but by the time we’d reached the bottom riser, everything had grown disconcertingly quiet.
The basement was much eerier in the dim shadows of dawn than it was during daylight hours. The air was hazy and gray. Water dripped into a basin. There were no windows to allow any light in, so Thomas and I moved cautiously onward, the blind leading the blind, hands held out before our faces to guide our way through the maze of shadows.
We finally made it to the prep room. By this time, my eyes had adjusted to the dark, and I could see that it was a mess. Chrome basins had been thrown everywhere, drawers yanked open. Rubber gloves littered the floor. The little padded envelopes where my father stored the deceased’s jewelry and the plastic turquoise cups where he put their dentures were strewn about the room. An entire roll of disposable, paper bed sheeting had been unrolled and snaked across the tile floor.
Julie Johnson was sitting on the edge of the padded prep table. As Thomas and I watched silently from the doorway, the undead cheerleader swung her legs onto the table and fell back, her head thumping softly against the thickly padded neck rest. Her bare toes pointed toward the ceiling as her body flexed and trembled. She folded her hands primly at the waist, elbows jutting from either side of the table. Her body stiffened and her eyes snapped shut.
It Was a Dark and Stormy Night... Page 6