“It’s haunted,” said Bryan Matthews.
“Hel-lo, welcome to Broken Heart,” said Wilson Donovan. “Everything’s haunted. Just ask my mom.”
Wilson’s mother, Patsy, would know. Both of their moms were vampires, but Patsy could see and talk to ghosts. She saw them everywhere; worse, they saw her. Plus, she’d once raised a zombie army, which Bryan thought was so beast.
“Well, this house was haunted before the town got freak-a-fied,” he said.
They left the cracked sidewalk and walked through the yard, which was filled with itchy, knee-high grass. Bryan aimed his flashlight across the front of the tiny house. The beam revealed peeling gray paint, broken windows, and a sagging porch. This section of the neighborhood had long been abandoned. The streetlights didn’t work, the sidewalks were crumbling, and all the houses in the cul de sac looked like movie sets for horror movies.
“You know the story, right?” asked Bryan. He approached the porch, stopping at the broken steps and peering at the front door. It was half-opened, offering a diagonal glimpse into the darkened room beyond it.
“Lemme guess,” said Wilson, sounding bored. “Some dude killed his wife. With an ax. Then he buried her in the basement.”
Bryan rolled his eyes. “What is this? The Goosebumps hour?” He laughed, mostly to cover how nervous he felt. For all the weird crap he’d seen since vampires and werewolves had moved into town, Bryan was still creeped out by this place.
Earlier, they’d been hanging out at Wilson’s house, talking about Halloween and trying to top each other’s scary stories. Then Bryan had mentioned the haunted house, and now they were on a ghost field trip.
“What are you waiting for, dude?” Wilson punched his shoulder. “C’mon.” He jumped over the steps and crossed the porch, which didn’t look too steady.
No way would he let think Wilson he was a coward. He followed him into the house. They stood in the small living room, and Bryan flashed the light around.
“It smells like ass in here,” said Wilson. The beam revealed a ratty couch and a broken coffee table.
Obviously, they weren’t the first trespassers to venture here. Graffiti covered the walls and trash littered the nasty, hole-ridden carpet.
“So what’s the story?” asked Wilson. He turned on his own flashlight and flicked it over the wall to examine the graffiti.
“It was 1954. A widower and his two little girls move from Tulsa to Broken Heart. One day, the girls disappeared—somewhere between the bus stop and this house. Nobody ever knew what happened to them.” Bryan paused for dramatic effect.
Wilson snorted and rolled his eyes. “Wow. Exciting.”
“I’m not done,” said Bryan. “The father went crazy with grief and shot himself. Some people think he killed his daughters.”
Now Wilson’s expression suggested minor interest.
“And buried them in the basement?”
“Uh, yeah.”
“Lame.” Wilson panned the light into the hallway. “Where do you think the basement door is?”
“Probably in the kitchen,” said Bryan.
“Let’s go.”
Bryan reluctantly followed his friend into the kitchen, and there was the door that led to the basement. He had to admit he was feeling uneasy. The place smelled bad, like rotting meat. And he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him. Goosebumps pimpled his skin and the hair on the back of his neck felt electrified. But he couldn’t wimp out. Wilson would never let him live it down if he refused to check out the basement.
“That’s weird,” said Wilson. “This whole place is falling apart, but this door is nailed shut.” He ran his fingers along the doorjamb. “We can’t get in this way.”
Relief flooded Bryan. Any excuse not to go down to the basement was okay by him. “I’m bored,” he said. “Let’s roll.”
“Don’t be a chickenshit. We’ll go outside. Maybe there’s a window or a ground entry.”
BANG! Both boys nearly jumped out of their skins.
“What the hell was that?” asked Bryan. He spun around the dilapidated kitchen. The light bounced from ceiling to floor.
“Ooooooooooooooo.” Bryan’s heart kicked into overdrive and sweat iced his palms. He looked at Wilson. His friend was as white as a sheet, his eyes as wide as dinner plates.
“It’s nothing,” said Wilson, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“Ooooooooooooooo!” Knock, bang, knock, bang!
“I’m out!” cried Wilson. They bolted from the house, sprinting over the steps, and kept on running all the way down the street.
A minute later, Tamara LeRoy and Jenny Matthews popped out from their hiding places in the cabinets.
“Boys are stupid,” said Jenny.
Tamara smiled. “Eh. They have other uses.”
“Yuck.” Jenny turned on her flashlight and moved it around the kitchen.
“You really think that guy killed his kids?”
“No,” said Tamara. “I think it’s a dumb story. There’s nothing in the newspaper archives about a dad killing his kids.”
Tamara’s mother ran the town library and was the unofficial historian of Broken Heart. If she hadn’t any archival proof of the story, then it wasn’t true.
“Hey look.” Jenny picked up a battered business card. “Larry Stotten.” Her eyes went wide. “That’s my zombie!”
“Do not tell me that dead creeper hanging out in your tree house is named Larry.”
“Well, that is his name.”
“Jenny, you can’t keep a pet zombie. Your mom doesn’t even like cats.”
“Don’t tell her.”
Tamara sighed. “I won’t have to tell her. No matter how many bottles of body spray you use on him, you won’t be able to cover up his stench. Believe me, your mom will notice.”
Jenny shrugged, unconcerned. “Maybe he’s looking for his daughters. And that’s why he keeps digging himself up from the grave. We should help him.”
“It’s been more than fifty years,” said Tamara. “I don’t think that’s a mystery we can solve.”
“Patrick says you can figure out anything if you’re clever and patient.”Jenny crossed the kitchen and examined the basement door. “That was smart of you to nail the door shut. It freaked out the boys.”
“I didn’t nail it shut.”
Tamara and Jenny shared a look of disbelief. Why would anyone bother to nail the door shut in a house that had been abandoned for more than half a century?
“Time to go,” whispered Tamara.
Jenny nodded, and together, they hurriedly left the house of Larry Stotten.
Chapter Four
“It’s an eyeball,” said Patsy Marchand. She glanced at her son, Wilson. He looked a little green around the gills. He nodded. He was trying very hard not to look at it.
The eyeball was centered on the lid of a pickle jar. The lid lay on the kitchen island, nestled among the bowls of candy she’d prepared for the Halloween party.
“Where’d you find it?” she asked. She’d never been the squeamish sort, and ever since she’d become loup de sang, aka lycan-vampire, very little wigged her out.
“I came in to get some Kit Kats,” said Wilson. “And saw it. And I think it saw me, too.”
“I told you to leave the candy alone.”
“It’s not like I can eat anything now,” he said. “There’s a freaking eyeball in our kitchen!”
Patsy raised a finger and aimed for the eye.
“Oh, my God. Mom, if you poke it, I’m gonna puke.”
“What’s going on?” Gabriel strode into the kitchen looking like his usual fine self, and Patsy was instantly distracted by her husband. Was it bad to have the constant urge to lick him? He was her Halloween treat—way better than a Kit Kat.
“I thought you were setting up the decorations.” She accepted his kiss, enjoying the tiny thrill the small contact initiated.
“Eva kicked all the men out. She accused us of not helping.�
� He studied the bowls of candy. “I figured I’d grab some Kit Kats.”
“I told you guys to keep your paws off the candy.” She pointed down. “Look what Wilson found.”
Gabriel leaned over. “It’s an eyeball. Nice touch.”
“It’s real,” she said. “See all the red, stringy parts?”
Wilson made a gagging sound, and ran toward the sink. “Gross, gross, gross!”
“Really? Really?” asked Patsy. “I thought I raised you to be less girly.”
“I don’t apologize for finding someone’s ripped out eye hurl-worthy.” He leaned over the sink and took in deep breaths. “I’m reacting like a normal person. You’re the freak.”
“Thanks, son.”
“Whose do you think it is?” asked Gabriel.
“Well, did you see anyone with only one eye, possibly screaming and clutching their face, wandering around our house?”
Gabriel actually took a minute to think about it. “Nope. How about that Kit Kat?”
“Dude!” Wilson sucked in half the room’s oxygen. Then he turned around and marched out muttering about his parents, the mental patients.
“What do we do about it?” asked Patsy.
“We could ask Eva if she wants to use it for decorations.”
“I see why you got kicked out.” Patsy grabbed a handful of Kit Kats and pushed them into her husband’s hand. “C’mon. The eyeball isn’t going anywhere. Let’s check out how the haunted house.”
Holding hands, they left the kitchen.
A few minutes later, Jenny Matthews skipped into the kitchen. She paused, then turned and gestured to her companion. “C’mere. Told you I found it!”
The man paused in the doorway. He was dressed in a dark suit with shiny black shoes. His hair was wispy, and his skin tinged gray. “Uuuuhhh.”
Jenny dug in one of the drawers and took out a small, metal tube. Then she squeezed the substance over the back of the eyeball. Carefully she picked up the lid and walked very slowly to her friend. “Here you go, Larry. Put it in quick. I put Super Glue on it, so it should stay in now.”
“Uuuuhhh.”
“You’re welcome.”
The man plucked the eyeball from the lid. He tried to stick it into his socket, but missed and the orb landed on his forehead. The glue must’ve gotten onto his finger, too, because now his hand and his eye were stuck to his forehead.
Oops.
Jenny pulled on his arm as hard as she could, his hand popped free. Too bad his finger’s skin stayed put. It hung off the side of the eyeball like a little bat wing.
Jenny cocked her head and considered the zombie’s face. “Um. It doesn’t look that bad.”
“Uuuuhhh.”
“Well, at least you’ll never lose that eye again.” She grabbed a Kit Kat and handed it to him. “C’mon. I want you to scare my brother.”
The zombie stuffed the entire candy bar, wrapper and all, into his mouth.
Jenny laughed. “Happy Halloween, Larry.”
Chapter Five
“No. Hell, no,” Jessica Matthews said as she accepted the object from Patsy. She looked around the cemetery, and shuddered. She thrust the shovel back at her friend who refused to accept it.
“Godiva will be yours,” said Patsy, “but only after you do me this one little favor.” She plucked her own shovel from the trunk of her white Mercedes. “It won’t take long.”
Jessica glared at Patsy, who ignored her and walked down the nearest row of tombstones.
“Fine!” said Jessica stomping after her, “but I want two boxes of Godiva.”
Patsy stopped at a grave and peered down at the piles of dirt. Jessica squatted next to her and examined the hole. It was easy to make out the destroyed coffin. “Are those chains?”
“Well, yeah. I didn’t know what else to do,” said Patsy. “He keeps getting out.”
“Who?”
“Larry Stotten.”
“And he is…?”
“I don’t know. Some guy who died in 1954.”
Jessica stood up and looked around the graveyard. It was quiet. The full moon hung in the sky like a white chocolate truffle nestled against a sky of dark chocolate. Mmm. Chocolate.
“There he is!” yelled Patsy. The vampire queen took off and Jessica raced after her. It was only after they reached the zombie that she remembered as a vampire of the Family Ruadan, she could fly. She looked down at her muddied shoes and sighed.
“Hey, Larry,” said Patsy. “Time to go night-night.”
“Noooooo.”
“Holy crap. He talked. Zombies can’t talk. Most of them don’t even have lips!” said Jessica.
Patsy tossed Jessica a glare. “I don’t care if he sings opera. He can’t wander around the freaking town.” She aimed the shovel at his knees and WHAM.
Larry the zombie went down howling.
“Grab his head!” shouted Patsy as she sat on his squirming legs.
“How about no?”
“Three boxes of Godiva, okay? Just hold on to his damned head so I can drain his juju.”
“That sounds perverted.”
“Jessica!”
“All right, already. Sheesh.” Jess dropped her shovel and knelt next to Larry. He had wispy hair and gray skin and for some reason, his left eyeball was attached to his forehead. “Ew. What up with that?”
Patsy spared a glance and grimaced. “Every time he gets out something weird happens to him.”
Jessica grabbed Larry’s head and the filmy eye still in its socket rolled up to look at her. “Sorry, dude.”
His arms stretched toward her, but his coordination sucked and he didn’t do much other than wiggle his fingers at her.
Jessica felt sorry for him. What was wrong with having a zombie for the town mascot? It wasn’t like it would be strange or anything.
“Noooooo,” protested the zombie.
“Whew. His breath is rank, but I swear I can smell Kit Kat.”
“You can detect Kit Kat taint on zombie breath?”
“It’s a talent.”
Patsy shook her head and started muttering the spell that would turn poor Larry from zombie to corpse. A minute later, he stopped moving and lay still. Then she said, “I think we should chop him up.”
“Not for all the Godiva in the world,” said Jessica. “Let’s just get him back into the grave. And you know what? If he rises again, just leave him alone. He was kinda nice for a zombie.”
Patsy scooped up Larry and carried him to the grave. After getting him tucked in, her and Jess piled on the dirt until the hole was filled.
“I need a shower,” said Jessica.
“Me, too. Let’s get outta here.” They walked to Patsy’s white Mercedes, dumped the shovels into the trunk, and left.
Almost three hours passed before two gray hands popped out of the freshly turned earth like big ugly flowers.
A few minutes later, Larry crawled out of his grave and leaned against his marble headstone. He straightened his damaged knees, checked to make sure his forehead eye was still affixed, then slowly rose to his feet and shuffled toward town.
Chapter Six
Libby Genessa stood in her front yard and stared at the object sticking up from the snow. She blinked a couple of times. Backed away. Scooted closer. Closed one eye and waved her hands. Nope. It was still there.
“Ralph!” Her husband—on the porch hanging up a Thanksgiving wreath—waved at her to wait. She hadn’t quite gotten over hanging up a Turkey Day wreath. Christmas wreaths, she could understand. But Thanksgiving? What was appropriate for one of those? Heaps of stuffing dotted with cranberries with turkey legs hanging off?
Alas, her husband’s version of a Thanksgiving wreath was merely a circle of twined limbs with fall leaves on it. And in the middle hung a little wooden sign saying “Happy Thanksgiving.” Still. Turkey legs. Nom, nom, baby. The dragon inside her snorted with approval. She had been a vegan for a very, very long time. Then she got … um, gifted with a dragon soul, and
she married a vampire. Her views on consumption of meat had changed drastically.
Libby suffered tremendous guilt when giving in her to her carnivorous cravings … she did. But, her daughter, who was all dragon, had to eat meat. While pregnant, Libby had slowly introduced meat into her own diet and in no time at all became a bacon whore.
Since she’d grown up on the road, raised by parents who were seriously devoted paranormal investigators, she hadn’t experienced the insanity of holiday celebrations. They hadn’t really celebrated anything, unless it was a successful investigation. Then her dad would spring for a trip to IHOP.
“That’s a leg,” said Ralph as he joined her. He slid his arm around her and placed a kiss on her temple. She still got giddy when he did stuff like that. She loved him deeply, and it was a good thing, too, since they were pretty much married for the next five-hundred years. Vampires who did the wild thing were hitched for a century, but dragons were committed for a half a millennium.
She hugged Ralph, and then together, they stared at the leg. It was clothed in black pants, and a shiny black shoe.
“Should we dig under the snow drift and see if it’s attached to anything?” she asked. Only in Broken Heart could two people find a freaking leg in their front yard and think it was normal.
“Zombies,” muttered Ralph as he crouched down and used his vampire speed to dust away the snow. “They’re always dropping their parts everywhere. And they smell like garbage dumps.”
“I still like Jessica’s idea that all zombies should be issued cans of Axe Body Spray,” said Libby.
“Then they’ll smell worse.” He paused. “The leg is attached to a body.”
Libby squatted next to him, and looked down at the man they’d uncovered. “It’s Larry.”
“Nah,” said Ralph. “The last time we saw Zombie Larry, his eyeball was glued to his forehead. And Patsy said she put him back into his grave.”
Libby examined the man intently, frowning. His eyes were open, staring sightlessly ahead. “I swear it’s Larry. Only he’s looking a little less dead.”
“Other than that blue tinge, I think you’re right,” said Ralph. “No more flaking skin, no more slack mouth, and his hair had definitely grown back. What’s that in his hand?”
Broken Heart Tails (Broken Heart Vampires) Page 2