Peter And The Vampires (Volume One)

by Darren Pillsbury

  wrecking a state park rangers’ station, they had to work for the rangers until they paid off a broken lock, smashed window, and a stolen raft and scuba tank. And at less than minimum wage, it was going to take about a hundred and fifty years.

  Of course, nobody cared that they had done all of that to save two schoolmates from certain death, because nobody believed their story about the giant swamp monster in the town lake.

  This was Peter’s first experience with telling adults about the strange events that had started when he moved to Duskerville two months ago. The week he moved in, he had to fight thirteen dead men who lived in the woods outside his grandfather’s crumbling mansion. Two weeks after that he had to deal with a girl who died and came back as a vampire. Then there was the fairie changeling that had swapped places with his two–and–a–half–year–old sister Beth. And the swamp monster after that.

  All in all, it had been a busy eight weeks.

  No adults other than Grandfather knew about his strange adventures, not even Peter’s mom. Grandfather knew because he had been dealing with the same problems all his life. In fact, Peter’s whole family had been dealing with horrible supernatural disasters for at least 200 years. Peter still didn’t know why; he had found mention of a centuries–old curse among Grandfather’s private papers, but the old man wouldn’t talk about it. In fact, Grandfather wouldn’t talk about much of anything unless a monster was beating down the door and trying to kill them. Most of the time he just kept to his study and read his thousands and thousands of ancient books.

  In Peter’s opinion, the old man’s reaction was far better than the one he got from everybody else. When the swamp monster’s remains disappeared and the victims developed amnesia, Peter and Dill had been doubted by the adults, threatened by a sheriff’s deputy, and sentenced to community service.

  At the moment, they were dusting trees in the sitting area outside a couple of clothing stores. Well, Peter was; Dill just gazed jealously at what was taking place a hundred feet away.

  The area around the Way Mo’ Toys store was roped off, and workers at the shop were demonstrating the newest toy SUV to a crowd of kids. It was one of those miniature plastic cars with an electric engine, the kind five–year–olds played with in the driveways of their homes. Peter had never had one, and had always associated them with rich kids.

  This particular SUV had a lot of pep. It could go really fast, brake on a dime, and turn in tight circles. It was the kind of thing that parents hated because it was dangerous, and kids loved for the exact same reason.

  “I gotta get me one of those,” Dill sighed longingly.

  Peter sprayed another plant and wiped it down. “First you gotta help me clean.”

  Dill grumbled as he went back to work. “If this is the way they treat heroes, man, I’m turnin’ into a supervillain. I’ll bet the Joker or Lex Luthor tried to save somebody from a giant frog, too, and that’s what turned them bad.”

  “Um…I kind of doubt it.”

  “Fine, then I’ll be the first bad guy who gets P.O.’d about having to clean plants cuz he saved somebody.”

  “Less talking and more cleaning,” an adult voice said behind them.

  Eric Hartwell was the head of the park rangers. He was really old — 28 or 29 — but cool. He had refused to press charges against Peter and Dill, which meant they wouldn’t go to juvenile detention. But he was also making them clean plants, so he wasn’t that cool.

  “Why do we hafta do this?” Dill complained.

  “Westland Mall sponsors the Park Rangers. As part of that deal, we maintain all the indoor foliage they’ve planted in the common areas. So every other weekend we clean and water the plants for them.”

  “Or get your slaves to do it,” Dill muttered.

  The mall was really quite nice: there were sitting areas between a lot of the shops, with brick islands where trees and bushes grew. For such a little town, Duskerville had a pretty big shopping center. If a person stood at one end of the mall, the other end was too far away to see. And there were two floors, all of them full of sitting areas and brick islands.

  That was a lot of plants to clean. Peter, Dill, and six other rangers had been working since 10AM. As it approached five, they were finally getting close to finishing.

  “Why don’t you use fake plants instead?” Dill demanded.

  “Live plants look better,” Eric said.

  “Yeah, but fake ones don’t die,” Dill pointed out as he picked up a handful of dead leaves and put them in the canvas bag draped over his side.

  “We’d still have to dust them.”

  “But we wouldn’t have to water them.”

  Eric was clearly getting exasperated. “You know what? Why don’t we just rip out all the trees in the forest, and replace them with plastic ones? How about that, would that make you happy?”

  “Heck yeah, I wouldn’t have to rake the lawn anymore in the fall. And you wouldn’t have forest fires anymore — everything’d just melt instead of burn. And when trees fell down, you’d just stand them back up again.” Dill sighed wistfully. “The world would be a better place.”

  “You’re wasting your time,” Peter warned Eric, but the ranger still plowed ahead.

  “You wouldn’t have any more apples,” he argued.

  “So? Just drink more grape soda.”

  “There wouldn’t be any more grapes to put in the soda.”

  “They don’t put it in now,” Dill said, a scornful look on his face. “It’s all arty fishy.”

  “Artificial,” Eric corrected him.

  “That’s what I said.”

  “But trees convert carbon dioxide to oxygen — if we didn’t have trees, we’d suffocate and die.”

  Dill put out one hand as though to ward off Eric’s stupidity. “Whatever, witch doctor. I’m a scientist man, and I know if they can make grape soda without any grapes, they can do whatever the heck you’re talking about.”

  “You seriously would rather have plastic trees everywhere than beautiful, green, natural oaks and pines?”

  “I wouldn’t have to WATER them.”

  “You wouldn’t have to water these, either, if you hadn’t broken the law,” said an angry voice that made both Peter and Dill jump.

  Deputy Jenkins walked up, mirrored aviator sunglasses on his nose and a scowl on his face. He wore a wide–brimmed hat and a leather bomber jacket over his tan Sheriff’s Department uniform.

  The last time Peter had seen him, Jenkins had been trying to get him and Dill thrown in jail. Grandfather and Eric had been the only obstacles to stand in his way.

  “Deputy Jenkins,” Eric greeted him coolly.

  “These boys payin’ their debt to society?”

  “They’re doing just fine.”

  Jenkins stared Peter down. “You boys got off easy this time. Watering daisies ain’t my idea of punishment. Next time you screw up, you aren’t gonna have namby pamby wet nurses around to save your sorry hides.” Jenkins looked over at Eric. “No offense, Ranger.”

  Eric just gave him a tight, humorless smile.

  “What’s a wet nurse?” Dill asked innocently.

  “Boy, you sassin’ me?” Jenkins snarled.

  Dill shrank back in fear behind Eric’s legs.

  “Why don’t you move on, Deputy. I’ve got it from here,” Eric said.

  “I’ll move on when I’m good and ready.”

  Eric just folded his arms and waited. Peter and Dill didn’t move an inch, out of the fear of doing something wrong.

  “Aren’t you going to make them work?” Jenkins barked.

  Eric smiled. “Sure, after our visitor leaves.”

  Jenkins muttered something under his breath and started to walk away. As soon as Peter relaxed, though, Jenkins whipped back around and pointed at him.

  “I’ll be watching you,” he said with a mirthless grin, then turned and stalked off. Eric muttered something under his breath, too. Peter didn’t catch it, but apparently Dill did. His ey
es got big.

  “Did you just say — ”

  “Back to work,” Eric commanded.

  “That was a bad word.”

  Eric snapped his fingers. “I mean it, you two, get back to work or I’ll have Deputy Jenkins order you around for the rest of the day.”

  Dill immediately bent over the nearest plant and started dusting. Peter joined him, and Eric left.

  “What did he say?” Peter asked.

  “I don’t know exactly, but I’ve only heard it on HBO, so you know it’s gotta be bad,” Dill whispered. “Dude, we gotta get outta here.”

  “How are we gonna do that?”

  “One of us could slip and fall and bust our head open. I think they’d let both of us go for that.”

  “I don’t want to bust my head open.”

  “What’re you lookin’ at me for? I don’t either.”

  Peter rolled his eyes. “What else have you got?”

  For the next ten minutes as they watered and dusted plants, Dill came up with one bad idea after another. It helped the time go faster.

  2

  They were finally saved when Peter’s mom showed up. She was pushing a stroller even though she was carrying Beth in her arms. Beth was like that: after two minutes of riding in the stroller, she wanted to be carried. After two minutes of being carried, she wanted back in the stroller again.

  Normally that made Mom very cross. But right now she didn’t seem to mind, because she had a big grin on her face as she walked up.

  “Hi, guys. How’s it going?”

  “Hi guys, hi guys, hi guys!” Beth screeched.

  “How does it look like it’s going?” Dill sulked. “I’m cleaning plants.”

  “I’m sure you’re an expert at it by now. Don’t let me stop you.”

  Eric suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “Melissa!”

  “Oh, Eric — I didn’t know you would be here!”

  Peter frowned. “But Mom, I told you Eric was going to be here all day — ”

  “So how’s it going supervising the outlaws?” Mom interrupted, and stepped in front of Peter to block him out.

  Whenever his mom got around Eric, it made him feel kind of weird. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t sure he liked the way she looked at him, or the way he looked back at her. Each of them was fine by themselves, but put them together and it got a little too gooshy.

  Dill must have felt exactly the same way, because he crossed his eyes, puckered his lips like a goldfish, and made silent kissing noises. Peter put his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. Luckily, nobody else noticed Dill’s little show.

  “Oh, you know, had to crack the whip a few times,” Eric grinned. “What’s new with you?”

  Mom laughed. She sounded a little too happy. “Well, remember I told you I got that job as a legal secretary at Charterton University?”

  They proceeded to chat about how Mom had started work on Wednesday and was really enjoying it, but didn’t have a thing to wear, that’s why she was here shopping, and blah blah blah.

  Meanwhile, Dill had turned around, put his hands around his sides, and started moving them up and down. From Peter’s viewpoint it looked like Dill was kissing somebody who was running their fingers up and down his back.

  Peter snorted. Unfortunately, that drew Beth’s attention. She looked over Mom’s shoulder at the lovey–dovey show Dill was putting on — and just as he started wiggling his butt, too.

  “MOOOOM! Diwl’s makin’ kissy kissy fun of you!” Beth hollered.

  Dill froze with his butt poked out midair, and looked over his shoulder.

  Mom whipped around, her face redder than Peter had ever seen before. At first he thought it was anger — and then he realized she was blushing.

  “Uh…why don’t you guys go take a break?” Eric suggested quickly. “You’ve been working a long time, go sit on that bench over there. WAAAAY over there.”

  Mom, still Cherry Kool–Aid red, glared at Dill and Peter as they trudged off. Dill snarled at Beth, who was the only one with a smile on her face.

  3

  As they slumped down on the bench about thirty feet away, Peter pointed out, “At least we’re not dusting plants anymore.”

  “Hey, you’re right! Your bratty sister actually helped us out!”

  “Don’t call her a brat.”

  “But she is.”

  “Yeah, but only I can call her a brat.”

  “My brothers would never say that about me. They’d let anybody call me names.”

  “Yeah, well, your brothers are kind of jerks.”

  “See, I don’t mind you saying that at all. Mostly cuz it’s true. So I should be able to call your sister a brat, cuz that’s true, too. MAN is that true.”

  “Dill…” Peter warned.

  “Whatever. Let’s figure out how to get out of the rest of work, too.”

  As Dill rattled off another series of bad ideas, Peter’s eyes wandered over the nearby shops. The toy store people had ended the demonstration and taken the SUV back inside, so there was nothing to see there.

  A cooking store had a bunch of wicked knives on display in the window. They looked like the ones on TV that could cut through a soda can. He imagined a bunch of ninjas breaking in and stealing a set, then throwing them and pinning each other to trees. Or maybe they could just buy the knives. Although he doubted if ninjas walked into stores and bought knives; it just didn’t seem right.

  Then Peter’s eyes drifted to the women’s clothing store next door and he shuddered.

  There was a mannequin in the window.

  Her skin was bone white. Lifeless blue eyes stared out from her face. She had blood–red lips and eyebrows thin as a razor blade. Her dark brown hair cascaded in curls down her back, and a blue evening gown hugged her body while baring her ivory shoulders and neck.

  She was pretty, for a mannequin. But Peter hated mannequins.

  They had always creeped him out. He remembered the first mannequins he ever saw as a little kid, and how he’d been convinced they were following him through Macy’s.

  At least the woman in the window looked human. It was the freaky ones that really got to him: headless. Armless. Heads only. No upper body, just the legs and the waist.

  There was some commercial he’d seen years ago that featured a pair of blue jeans walking around without anybody in them. That gave him nightmares for awhile, the thought of empty pairs of jeans creeping up and down the dark sidewalks outside his house. And there were always a couple of those dummies in any department store — legs in jeans or sweatpants, but nothing above the waist.

  People didn’t get born like that. They died if they did — no heart, no brain, no face. It was way too freaky.

  Which is what made the woman in the blue evening gown more comforting than the usual mannequin. Even though she was plastic, all the parts were there. Her hands and arms had joints, so they bent at different angles. Her neck could move, too, and her head was slightly cocked to one side. One arm was positioned in a ‘V’, and a black beaded purse hung from her elbow. She was a fancy woman on her way to a plastic limousine, which would take her to a restaurant with plastic food, where a hundred other mannequins would stiffly dance all night in each others’ inflexible arms.

  That image started to creep him out again.

  She looked elegant and beautiful, even though her skin was ghostly and her eyes were cold and dead. Peter followed her gaze and tried to find the exact spot where she was looking. It seemed to be the glass doors to the parking lot, and he wondered if that was intentional or an accident. Was she tired of being stuck here, never moving? Did she look all day at those doors so she could watch the freedom just outside? Or had some store clerk just stuck her up there and arranged her any which way?

  Dill’s voice interrupted his daydream. “Are you listening to me?”

  “What? Uh, yeah.”

  “What’d I say?”

  “Uhhhh…an amazing idea for getting us out of work for the rest o
f the day.”

  Dill perked up and beamed. “That last one was pretty good, wasn’t it? I — heyyyy, you’re lying to me! What’s so interesting that you can’t pay attention for one single minute?”

  “You sound like Mrs. Cashew.”

  Mrs. Cashew was their teacher at school. Their very old, very squat, very un–fun teacher.

  “That’s not cool, man.” Dill swung his eyes around the mall. “What’re you looking at?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Come on, what were you looking at?”

  Peter couldn’t admit to looking at the mannequin, because Dill would make fun of him about something stupid like wanting to buy a dress. Worse, he couldn’t admit to being afraid of mannequins, because then Dill would make fun of him for being a wimp in addition to wanting to buy a dress.

  “The knives in the window of the cooking store. I was thinking of a bunch of ninjas breaking in and throwing them everywhere.”

  “Those are pretty cool,” Dill admitted.

  “They could probably cut through a coke can.”

  Dill turned to him in excitement. “You saw that on TV, too? Wicked, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Peter agreed, relieved that he had escaped endless mockery with his quick thinking. He let his eyes dart back to the mannequin, for no real reason other than he was thinking of how lucky he was to have dodged a bullet —

  Her head had moved.

  She wasn’t looking out at the glass doors anymore.

  She was looking right at Peter.

  His heart thudded against his ribcage so hard he thought it might break through.

  Peter’s mom walked over to the bench with Beth in her arms and a big smile on her face. “Okay, guys, time to go.”

  Dill slumped back onto his feet. “Man, I hate watering these dang plants.”

  “Well then, you owe me, because I got you out of doing it for the rest of the day.”

  Dill’s jaw dropped in surprise. “What?!”

  “Mr. Hartwell said you’ve only got half an hour left, so you can come with me — if you promise to behave yourself.”

  “ALRIGHT!” Dill whooped, and joined in with Mom as she waved goodbye to Eric, who waved back happily in return.

  Peter didn’t notice any of that. He was still staring at the clothing store window and the mannequin in the blue dress. His knees had gone weak, and the palms of his hands felt cold and clammy. Had someone moved her head, and he just hadn’t seen them? Or…had something else happened?