by Billy Wells
“Relax, bub,” Herman said. “You can tell me all about it later over a burger and a cold beer.”
“I’m so weak, please hurry. I fear that my next breath could be my last.”
“Hang on. I’m gonna have to go back to my house to get what I need to take down enough wall so you can climb out. I’ll be gone a while, and then it’ll take some more time and a lot of hard work, but I can get you out.”
Behind the wall the vampire smiled, revealing his long pointed canines. Finally, after years of waiting, someone had found the note he had left under the refrigerator the day Van Helsing and his son had caught him and then proceeded to wall him up in this loathsome place. The vampire had almost laughed out loud when he came to and saw the empty spot where the Kenmore used to be.
Only a vampire who can live for all eternity could have survived all these years on rats, spiders, worms, and other disgusting creepy crawlies. He grimaced at the thought. He couldn’t explain to his rescuer how he had survived when no human being could have without making up the story about the bomb shelter. He couldn’t let this man see his corpselike skeletal frame until he could pounce on him. He couldn’t wait to feast on the blood of this hapless human in order for his superhuman powers to be restored. He longed to find Van Helsing’s brood and make them pay for what their father had put him through.
An hour later, Herman returned and the pounding began.
“Please hurry!” the vampire cried. “It’s a matter of life and death.”
“Hold your britches, fella. I’m doing the best I can with what I have. This is damned hard work. You waited five years to be free. I guess you can tolerate another few hours.”
The vampire said no more. He stood and watched as each brick loosened, then dislodged from its position in the wall, and eventually toppled to the floor inside. He pitched each one off the landing onto the basement floor to clear the way to freedom and to the ecstasy that awaited him.
Finally the pounding stopped. It took a while for the mortar dust of Herman’s labor to settle. The vampire saw a rectangular section about half as big as a normal door become visible before him in the wall. He waited for the perfect moment to spring from the shadows upon the unsuspecting human.
“I believe you should be able to crawl through the opening now,” Herman shouted.
“I can't come out,” the vampire lied. “My feet are bound by chains to a block of stone. Can you come and break the chain with your chisel and hammer?” It was dark inside the house and the vampire couldn’t see Herman clearly through the opening. He waited in the shadows, not wanting to be seen himself.
“Please hurry,” the vampire cried, as if he were in mortal pain. The anticipation of feeling the man's warm blood coursing through his veins was almost orgasmic. In seconds he would sink his teeth into his savior’s jugular and suck the life out of him. After this puny human, the world would be his feeding ground for all eternity.
The vampire saw the shadow of the man he would have for dinner step ever closer. Then, like a nightmare, a bright light lit up the opening, allowing both Herman and the bloodsucker to see each other’s face clearly for the first time. The vampire saw the look of recognition in Herman’s eyes and the cruel smile on his lips. The bloodsucker also recognized Herman all too well. He was much younger, but, without any doubt, he was a descendant of his archenemy, Van Helsing. He could even be the son who’d helped his captor build the wall.
“Curses,” the vampire shrieked, as a bucket of holy water drenched him, sapping every ounce of strength from his body.
Herman Van Helsing rushed into the opening, wrapped a rope around the vampire’s upper torso, and dragged him into the kitchen, writhing in agony. Herman quickly produced a crucifix and held it in the middle of the vampire's forehead.
The bloodsucker twisted his head from side to side in a desperate attempt to shake it off, but the excruciating pain and the stench of burning skin confirmed the cross was already deeply embedded in his flesh.
Herman wasted no time plunging a wooden stake into the vampire’s black heart. After a slight pause to admire his handiwork, he dragged the vampire kicking and screaming out the front door and splayed the helpless creature on a broken slab of concrete in the full sun.
Like dry kindling drenched in gasoline and ignited by a blowtorch, the vampire’s body exploded into flame and blackened like a side of overcooked bacon, shriveling into carbon before Herman’s eyes.
Herman’s belly was heaving in and out under his low-slung Texas belt buckle when he sat down on the first step of the porch. He wanted a cold beer badly and knew he had a cooler full in the truck, but he needed to catch his breath first. He wasn’t used to so much exertion all at once; too many beers had taken their toll.
He thought about how close he’d come to death at the hands of the vampire. If he had not regained his memory in time and had blundered into the basement without remembering what would really be down there, he’d have been a goner. Instead of going home for his tools, like he had told the bloodsucker, he went for his father’s vampire-fighting paraphernalia and had also stopped at the church for some holy water.
Was coming here today a coincidence or an uncanny twist of fate? He knew some people believed in predestination, but he never did. Answering an ad on craigslist.com for a refrigerator that was in this very house years ago was mind-boggling enough. But suddenly remembering what had happened in that eighteen hours that was erased from his mind on that fateful day was probably more improbable than winning the Powerball lottery. From the moment that Herman had seen the Benson house, the memories lost so many years ago became clearer as the day wore on.
He’d been helping his father build a brick wall to seal off the inside access to the basement so it could be used as a temporary prison to store vampires for an upcoming BB&B—beer, barbeque, and burning—party. This was an extravaganza that all the vampire hunters from miles around looked forward to every few months. Each of them would bring a covered dish, plus something to get wasted on, and have a high old time.
Long ago the Benson house had been initially condemned by the town council, which his father had chaired at the time, and subsequently had been scheduled for demolition the following month. However, during the final inspection, his father had realized that the downtrodden neighborhood with so many vacant houses would be the perfect location for a long-term vampire storage facility.
Once they had bricked-in the inside stairway to the basement and had installed a steel door on the outside access, the vampire hunters could herd in the bloodsuckers like cattle and lock the door so they couldn’t get out.
Sometimes for laughs, Henry Jacobs and some of the boys would come during the day when the bloodsuckers slept in their coffins and take turns pulling out their incisors with pliers. Henry said a toothless vampire was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
Henry also made a necklace out of their canines, which he sold for $100. Each time the teeth grew back, the boys would have fun pulling them out again and making new necklaces. It must have hurt, because the vampires used to howl something awful.
Herman remembered his father had asked him to mix mortar and carry bricks that day while his father had built the wall. Herman remembered seeing the Kenmore refrigerator sitting in the corner of the basement, but, instead of beer, the vampires who had lived here after Benson had died only stored blood in it to tide them over while his father was hunting and closing in on them. It was their food supply when they dared not venture out to seek fresh blood for fear his father and his followers would find their lair.
Herman also remembered the three embalming tables in the corner of the basement where the vampires had collected blood from derelicts they had found passed out in the alleys along Shantytown. The basement of the Benson home was the very place where the vampires had strapped their victims to a table, severed an artery, and collected their blood in plastic bags that was then stored in the refrigerator. Afterward the vampires had carted the bodies of the homel
ess people to the landfill and had let the rats do the rest.
Herman vaguely remembered his dad telling him that the small refrigerator would be great to have in their garage to store beer. He asked Herman to remind him to take it with them when they left. The vampire Herman just found must have hidden the note underneath the refrigerator after they had captured him.
The last thing Herman remembered was mixing mortar in the front yard. The doctor at the hospital said Herman had apparently stepped on a rake and whacked himself upside the head. When he regained consciousness almost a day later in the emergency room, he had no memory of what had happened at the Benson house until today. He never got to speak with his father again since he had died from a massive heart attack in the waiting room.
Herman wondered what had happened to the other vampire hunters after his father had died. Was the vampire he just killed the same one his father had locked in the basement? Had this bloodsucker stored human blood in the refrigerator Herman had just bought? Herman heard the faint refrain of the Disney song he hadn't heard for more than twenty years. He started to sing, “It's a small world after all. It's a small world after all.…
He went to his truck and lifted a cooler from the bed, set it on the front porch, and sat next to it. He felt proud he’d rid the world of a vampire just like his father had done so long ago. Herman could still smell the burnt, putrid stench of the bloodsucker’s charred corpse in the yard as he grabbed an Old Milwaukee from the ice, pried off the top, and took a long pull.
During the course of the afternoon, ten more beers took their toll on Herman, who almost achieved his goal of unconsciousness as the sun faded on the horizon. Finally he laid his head against the post holding up the porch and fell dead asleep.
When he awoke, the sun had disappeared completely. He felt a little woozy when he opened his bleary eyes. He tried to stand but fell backward on his butt. The night was as quiet as a tomb. The half-moon was high in the sky.
He looked at the houses across the street that appeared as vacant as they had all those years ago. There was not one light on in any of them. He remembered his father had said that this whole neighborhood was crawling with vampires.
Even in his current state, he knew vampires prowled for blood when the sun goes down. He wondered where he’d stashed his wooden stakes and other vampire-combating paraphernalia as the feeling of that big furry spider crept up the back of his neck again.
Then he noticed the shadows around him moving closer. The pale faces of at least ten bloodsuckers surrounded him like a giant web. Their ravenous eyes and their pointed teeth glistened in the moonlight.
Was buying that refrigerator from craigslist.com a weird coincidence or a twist of fate? He saw a gangly young vampire who reminded him of the asshole who had sold him the refrigerator, but he thought it must be just his imagination.
One of his father's favorite sayings, which Herman now modified slightly, crossed his inebriated mind. "Sometimes you get the vampire, and sometimes the vampire gets you.”
FINE PRINT
Brad Plimpton had been surfing the web for hours. The clock read 3:00 a.m. He’d been searching for a new game for several days that interested him without success. Could it be that just like CGI effects in the movies, he'd seen it all, and there was nothing left to get excited about?
He was about to go to bed when “VIGILANTE” appeared in the list of games in the search engine. He couldn’t believe it. He had never seen this game in the list before. It had to be new since he searched the web daily. He went to site and quickly registered. As usual, he ignored the ton of fine print that would've taken an hour to read and simply agreed to it, verified his email address, and finally, signed in.
He selected clownatmidnight, one of his story titles for his user ID. He thought it would make the other players sit up and take notice. When he entered the chat room, he found five other players already there. He was surprised that except for benny383, the other participants had really neat user names. There was rockhardDick, velvetcage, moonwolf, and pardonmydrool.
Benny383 typed, “Clownatmidnight, thanks for the join. We just finished game. About to start another. Want to pick next victim?”
Clownatmidnight: “No,” Brad typed immediately, “Want to lurk first. Test waters.”
Benny 383: “Everyone in chat room must participate when we play a game. Even newbies. Need six active players. U are six.”
Brad thought the game looked interesting and wanted to know how the participants selected a victim, so he reluctantly responded, “Ok. I’ll wing it. Remember, I’m new.”
RockhardDick: “Clown, What asshole needs elimination from gene pool?”
Brad pondered for a moment and to clarify wrote: "A real person?”
Velvetcage: “Always real people. Virtual sucks. Real is more fun when J J E.”
Clownatmidnight: “J J E?”
Velvetcage: “Judge, jury, executioner!”
A lot of questions arose in his mind from this post. Brad knew then he should have read the fine print. However, he didn’t have to think very long about whom he would nominate as the most hated person he’d ever known. He didn’t know where this game was heading, but what the hell, he knew one scum of the earth asshole if there ever was one. He wrote: “The world would be better without Bill Williams.”
RockhardDick: “Why so?”
Clownatmidnight: “Born with silver spoon. Lazy. Kisses PM asses always, smoke breaks often, blackballs competition, tries to fuck every gorgeous woman he meets.”
Benny383: “Sounds like most people I know. So what?”
Velvetcage: “Was Bill Williams, President of Richcore when it went belly up?” Lives at Watergate? Drives new Porsche?”
Clownatmidnight: “Yes, that’s him. He sold out to competition.”
RockhardDick: “Sounds like shrewd businessman. Why should he die?”
Clownatmidnight: “Was with boss when killed in boating accident. Got his job.”
Benny383: “He caused death?”
Clownatmidnight: “Has history of amoral conduct and removing competition to advance.”
Benny383: “Examples?”
Clownatmidnight: “Lied on Richcore application about education at UCLA and Harvard Bus. Sch. Girl he got pregnant in college died by carbon monoxide poisoning in car after heavy dose of sleeping pills. Hired at Richcore when first choice fell from platform into subway train.
Pardonmydrool: “Cool. How do U know?”
Brad felt nervous in proceeding with the accusation, but blundered ahead.
Clownatmidnight: “Hired PI to follow him.”
Pardonmydrool: “Why?”
Clownatmidnight: “Fucked my wife, the bosses wife, and three VPs’ wives, stole my job, torpedoed the company after he got control.”
Velvetcage: “Fucker beat rap for selling crystal meth to minors.”
Clownatmidnight: “How do U know?”
Velvetcage: “Have my sources. Also, booked for child porn, drug possession. No convictions. Told reporter Brad Plimpton framed him.”
RockhardDick: “Clown, Do U know Plimpton?”
Clownatmidnight: “I’m Plimpton, but he lied. I didn’t frame him.”
Benny383. “U want him dead for fucking your wife. Right?”
Clownatmidnight: “No, Bastard is evil. Kills people. Always escapes blame with charisma and crazy white teeth.”
Moonwolf: “Clown. U violated fundamental principle of VIGILANTE. U must be removed from game. Punished severely.”
Clownatmidnight. “What principle did I violate?”
Moonwolf: “U have conflict of interest with selection. Testimony not admissible.”
Velvetcage: “Will evaluate hard evidence independently. Arrive at verdict. If U lied, and Williams innocent. You die!”
Clownatmidnight: “What? U are psychos. Game insane. I quit.”
RockhardDick: “U know penalty for quitting?”
Clownatmidnight: “No. I just signed up.”
Brad glared at the words on the screen in disbelief. Then, signed off. What in hell had he gotten himself into? These gamers were playing god. He apparently had stumbled into a group of lunatics. He shut off his computer and sat in the dark trembling.
Suddenly, the phone rang. Who else would be calling him at 3:30 in the morning, but those fruitcakes? Seeing no point in not confronting the situation head on, he picked up the phone and shouted, “Look, you people need to have yourselves committed to the nuthouse. I’m through with your game, and if you keep bothering me, I'll be calling the police.” He slammed down the phone, hoping his threat would end the nightmare.
The phone rang in a heartbeat.
Brad thought he gave his name when he registered, but no address. He didn’t remember giving his phone number, but somehow they had it. He tried to remember if he gave them the number for his cell phone. Was this some kind of joke or…?
The phone rang until the answering machine picked up. A weird voice from what sounded like an echo chamber resonated in the earpiece.
“This is RockhardDick giving you the heads-up. We sent the recording of what you said in the chat room to Bill Williams. He was easy to find. You were right about the blinding white teeth.”
Brad grabbed the phone and tried to control his fear and his anger, “What do you want from me, asshole?”
“Let's hope for your sake what you said about Williams is the truth, and we convict him and subsequently eliminate him from the gene pool as unworthy of living on this planet. In this case, once we receive your cashiers check for $50,000 at the PO Box stipulated in the boilerplate, you are free to quit. However, if you gave false testimony about Bill Williams, which could have led to his wrongful death, no amount of money can save you. We will proceed with severe retaliatory action.”
“Rest assured, the police and my lawyers will be contacting you about your threats and your practice of taking the law into your own hands,” Brad ranted. “I have this tape as evidence on my answering machine.”