Like an animal, Debbie pounced on Naomi, pinning her down on the stairs and snapping at her throat in a terrifying clicking and clacking as Naomi screamed in horror. Jackson was kicking at Debbie with the pointed toe of his boots, but the vampire didn’t even appear to notice. I remembered the knife in my hand and with a scream of my own stabbed the girl in the back once, it slipped in easily and right up to the handle. She stopped her attack immediately. I removed the blade and struck her again as she rolled over, and her body began convulsing like she’d been hooked up to an electrical panel.
“Mom! Mommy! Mommy!” she began to scream as the body began to smoke. Without waiting, I plunged the knife in again as near as I could get to the heart over and over like a sharp fruit knife penetrating an overly ripe melon in a maniacal frenzy.
“No! Debbie! Please, leave her alone!” Naomi screamed as Jackson dragged her to the top of the stairs. “Please!”
Debbie stopped moving, and she let out a strange sigh like an evacuation of poisonous air, as a trickle of blood leaked out of her mouth in the color of the blackest tar. She was dead. But then again, she’d been dead when she got here.
“I’m sorry,” I said to both Debbie and Naomi as I drove the knife into the girl’s heart squarely once more, it was now so deep that I could feel the wooden floorboards beneath her resisting the blade “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”
Her flickering eyes fell on mine, and then there was no more shine. No more pseudo life in the corpse of Debbie Wallace.
I pulled my arm out of her carcass and a sticky congealed residue of pitch-like body fluid glued the hairs on my arm together and the sickening sweetness stench of rotting meat.
This time she was truly dead.
Chapter Eighteen--Levi
I had to tell Myron and Jimmy about Debs and the strange paranormal circumstances of her demise. Maybe they already knew but I had no idea.
Crush wouldn’t be open until tonight, and I also thought I might enlist their help in some way. I ran from the church and took the familiar route from my block to Myron’s house, a journey I’d made a thousand times—but this time without my schoolbooks, twenty dollars in dollar bills, and a deck of playing cards.
I cut across the grass in the front yard and bypassed the concrete path to save myself ten yards. The boys and their dad ran a grow house from this location and knocking on the heavily bolted front door would result in a shotgun blast up my nose. I made my way around the property to tap the beat of a Black Knight’s song on the kitchen window. Unfortunately, this was our prearranged code.
“Up here!” I heard, as I paced across the lawn. “Levi!” A familiar voice shouted again. I looked in the direction of the caller and saw Jimmy waving from the height of their treehouse, wedged in the branches of a white oak.
“Come up here, man!”
He beckoned me from over the top of the random planks cursorily nailed together. It didn’t look safe, and I wondered if my tetanus shot was up to date. I climbed the rough four by two timbers nailed at intervals up the trunk to ascend into the vertigo inducing crate. I saw Myron sitting next to Jimmy cross-legged as I poked my head through the hatch.
“Aren’t you two a bit old for tree houses?” I complained as I completed my perilous ascension. Naturally they were smoking a blunt. The treehouse smelled like skunkweed.
“The old man can’t get up the ladder when he’s drunk! You know that, asshole.”
“Is he drunk again?” I asked not that I really cared.
“It’s Saturday afternoon. Of course he’s drunk. Get in here!”
Yeah, their father was a real piece of work. Once he got a little booze in him, he was intolerable, like the devil was living inside him. Myron threw me a cushion to sit on. I looked around at their oasis of degeneration. Half-a-bottle of Jack D sat on its side in a sea of empty cigarette packets next to a stack of well-fingered porno mags.
It came as no surprise, based on my previous thoughts of Jimmy that he was in the tree bopping his baloney every other night. I looked again to see if I could see any banana skins.
“I am not getting back to the band until you apologize. If that’s why you’re here. You’re always riding my ass, Levi. I’m sick of it.”
“Jimmy,” I frowned at him. “Debs is dead…” I spat to shut him up.
“What?” They said in unison as if they were ignorant twins.
I shook my head. “Debbie is gone. Murdered. I just came back from the mortuary.”
“What?” They asked again like Cheech and Chong.
“Stop saying what. My sister has been killed. I just identified her body.”
“Bro… what the hell? What happened? Who would want to harm Debs? I’m so sorry!” Myron said his voice breaking as he stubbed out the foul-smelling joint.
Jimmy just sat with his mouth going up and down like a goldfish. He barely had the emotional capacity to eat his cereal in the morning, let alone empathize with the recently bereaved.
“How Levi?” Myron continued.
“She died from blood loss.”
“Was it a car crash? You said it was murder.” I assumed he thought it involved the Vega.
“Can we discuss this somewhere else?” I pressed. I didn’t feel safe perched in the tree. It was a strange sensation, but in recent days my inner voice had not let me down. Well, not completely.
“Let’s go to PJs!” Jimmy finally said, and we clamored down the ladder and jumped into his camper van quickly, as not to risk bumping into their old man.
Jimmy’s driving was often erratic and lacking a care for self-preservation at the best of times… this was the worst of times. He was clearly emotional, and I had no doubt as to where the majority of the Jack D disappeared to.
Like father like son, I thought as I held on tightly to the door handle. I believe the feeling of speed came from the way the vehicle rattled and banged about. The pots and pans in the cupboards behind me clanked together like the contents of a kitchen during an earthquake. And the flimsy vertical layer of steel in front of my legs had a zero-crumple zone. Meaning anything Jimmy might hit would have cut my legs straight off at the knees. Jimmy then swerved and the vehicle swayed uncomfortably in a top-heavy stagger.
“What the fuck Jimmy!” Myron shouted from the back.
I looked back to check on him. He looked like a stick insect playing a giant game of twister with a couple of cymbals and a microphone stand. He was stumbling around the equipment and trying to stay upright.
“Do you want me to drive?” I politely inquired.
“I saw a tree coming toward me, I had to get out of the way!”
“Dude… that is the pine air freshener hanging from the mirror!”
He blinked his eyes and tried to regain focus—I wondered if he was crying. We were nearly in the parking lot, so I just prayed with my newly found faith and held my breath.
As we approached PJ’s I noticed a strange bird perched on one of the telegraph poles by the side of the road. They dug the poles decades ago and the town rejoiced as they improved the landscape. They were now a little off-center and poked into the sky like a handful of straws in a glass.
Yet, on one of the straighter columns, I spied the oddest bird I’d ever seen. It looked like some sort of bird of prey. It was huge, like a condor or a giant golden eagle… but there’s nothing like that around here. I only had the briefest moment to look as Jimmy sped by, but I could see its talons gripping into the wood, and its face looked pale and lacking feathers, like a kind of vulture. It might have mange or something. Do birds even get that? It made me shiver, but my thoughts soon returned to my need to survive the death drive with Jimmy.
We burst into the parking lot in a sea of dust and stones. Jimmy pulled the handbrake out of the dash and silence now replaced the kitchenalia orchestra. I had to push the passenger door open by pressing my shoulder against it.
The chassis had moved around through fifteen years of poor driving, harsh climatic conditions, and potholed
strewn roads. My foot reached for the gravel in the parking lot, and it crunched under my sole. I looked back to see if the strange giant bird was still around, but it was nowhere to be seen. The three of us then walked in noisy unison to the door and the recognizable, familiar, and somewhat comforting smell of stale beer and cigarettes.
There were only one or two people dotted around. The usual alcoholics hanging over the bar with a big cloud of darkness hovering over them. Each wondering where their life went wrong, why their kids don’t speak to them, and why their wives have left them. They blame everyone but themselves and their own lack of self-sacrifice. PJs used to have a decent clientele but somewhere along the way, the crowd quality had taken a major downturn.
In the background a jukebox played some nondescript country music. It sounded more like audio wallpaper due to its irrelevance and blandness. It's always the same tired themes and tropes regurgitated for those tired of living and the aurally redundant. We took our three bottled beers to the table in the corner—Jimmy wasn’t old enough to legally drink, but the bar had served him for years. Jimmy and his pals had paid for the owner’s vacations over the last few summers, so he wasn’t about to be carded.
We all went to the bar on a Friday and Saturday night, the ghosts of memories attach themselves to good actions for the most part. Then it becomes a habit because you want to feel those good feelings again, and in the place where they happened.
So, the bar was crap, the décor was terrible, the food atrocious, the liquor expensive, and the staff rude.
Yet I met Melissa here, brawled with my friends here, celebrated birthdays here, cried at baseball here, and crawled out of here. It reminded me of the carefree existence of working hard all week and partying harder at the weekend—because otherwise what's the point? Right? It wasn’t the bar… it was the things that happened in the bar.
I held the ice-cold beer to my forehead to bring me some relief from my headache. I really didn’t want to drink, but it was something to do with my hands as I picked at the label on the bottle. I didn't know how to start the conversation but Jimmy, as always, chipped in. Jimmy liked to talk, to create a lot of noise to fill every minute of every second with conversation. There was no chance, for example, of sitting in contemplative silence.
“What did she look like?”
“What the fuck, Jimmy!” Myron blurted. “Even I’m not that stupid. Why would you ask a question like that?”
“I’ve never seen a dead body and he said she was murdered. Just asking.” I tried to think about what I should say next, just to stop him from talking.
“I have a terrible tale to tell. I can't believe the things that have happened to me—they are surreal… unbelievable. If were sitting on this side of the table, I'd question whether what I’m about to tell you were true or not—or what kind of drugs you were taking. But you don’t need to have those doubts. You two know that I am a reasonably honest guy. I don't cause problems, I like to keep myself to myself, for the most part.”
“I don't think he means to be an ass. Just tell us what happened, Levi,” Myron added, through his long straight black hair that covered most of his face.
I don't think this was necessarily the personality of Myron. We were in the same year at school, we cleaned the bus together, chatted, and hung out together. He was a nice kid at school, just like everyone else, but I think the introspection. The quietness he wrapped himself in was a way of protecting himself. it was his armor. It also made him a little bit more interesting.
Myron stood out from the crowd by almost hiding from it. It was crazy to see how many girls found this attractive—although he never paid them much attention. He had that simmering, brooding, surly quality about him, and when he spoke people listened, because he didn't say things very often. It jolted everybody to attention to hear his voice, cutting through the usual talk of football, carburetors, and women. In that order!
“I believe she was killed by vampires.” I continued. I knew that statement sounded hokey, but the brothers knew I would never joke about such things.
“They shouldn’t let them in the country!” Jimmy added still lit from his weed.
“Not, immigrants, Jimmy. Dracula!” Myron corrected him as he shook his head.
“Here in town? Jesus Christ!” Jimmy tried to make the sign of the cross but of course he got that wrong.
Myron stared at me. “They killed Debbie. What do we need to do?”
“Kill them. They also have Melissa, and they are coming for me. I swear, it’s the God’s honest truth, guys. I need your help. No joke.”
“How do we help? Garlic, or silver… or something with mirrors? Maybe a priest?”
“We could roam the streets in the camper van looking for vampires. Like some sort of Scooby Doo militia or neighborhood watch,” said Myron with a strange humor.
“I could sharpen my drumsticks and make stakes,” Jimmy added as the weed continued to influence his thought process. He even laughed. Why the hell had I gone to these two idiots?
“Keep going. You might find yourself in the hospital,” I responded angrily.
“Dude, his sister just died.” Myron pushed his brother out of the booth, but Jimmy quickly returned.
Jimmy and Myron didn’t have a relationship with their older sister, so empathy was in short supply. Jimmy once asked if I wanted to watch her showering through a small hole, he’d made in his bedroom closet that poked through into the bathroom, in exchange for my Slinky. My Slinky didn’t do much, but it brought a smile to my face when I pushed it down the basement stairs and pretended it was my dad—but his sister did have amazing breasts. She was a few years older than us with a bra made from military webbing.
“You are right, I’m sorry bro. I just don’t know what to say to make it better. Debs was cool and I know you loved her,” Jimmy stated. “We all did.”
“The Black Knights, they are a part of the vampire underground. They are a part of the Frenzied. That’s what the vampires call themselves.”
“I believe you,” Myron said, and Jimmy nodded, his eyes wide and red.
That didn't help me in the sense that it would bring Debbie back, but it felt good that my friends were supporting me. It didn’t feel as if Myron was just paying me lip service with three words of rhetoric and platitude. It was nice to hear the sentiment.
Jimmy tapped his fingers nervously. I could see he was trying to process what I'd said, especially when the Black Knights were his favorite band. The posters of the band adorned his bedroom walls to cover each fist hole his father punched into the drywall. It was hard to believe that a band so popular and so famous, globally, could have any involvement with the death of my sister—in a small sleepy town in the middle of nowhere, but these were the facts and I presented them.
I could tell they didn't quite understand all the concepts I shared, and the waitress asking if we wanted to order food broke their limited concentration further.
The food in this establishment wasn't the best. I could have ordered an overpriced fish fry with some potato chips, or a greasy burger of course, but I wasn’t hungry. Naturally Jimmy ordered half the menu. Myron and I passed on the food.
I remember when Myron got his first tattoo. He hid it from his mother for fear of admonishment. I think it was only last year when she suddenly noticed, when he was swimming in the lake. She told him he’d ruined his body and it was the work of Satan.
To be honest it wasn't the best tattoo. But we’re living in a small town and the talented and creative people had left. At least the old-school traditional tattoos won’t go out of fashion, regardless of what anyone else thinks—and I do like tigers, even the ones with three eyes.
My life had changed. I already felt things were taking place that I hadn't considered before. I made sure I sat with my back to the wall, so I could see all the entrances without fear of anyone creeping up on me.
I excused myself and went to the restroom. I wondered if they'd still be there when I got back, there wa
s every possibility they’d run, or even call a doctor, but they were still there when I returned. This gave me a sense of relief. It's amazing how the ills of the world can have the edges knocked off with a cold beer, friends, and a sticky carpet.
“We’ve come up with a plan if you think it will help,” Myron reported. “We cannot have vampires attacking our friends and relatives!” Jimmy nodded in agreement. “We are going to patrol the town at night to keep a lookout.”
I hesitated to tell them my own plan, but I didn’t have friends in abundance. “I have to go to Crush tonight, and I want you guys to have my back if I need it.”
“Of course!” They said in unison. “Why?”
“I’ve been summoned. That’s where they are holding Melissa. I have another guy, his name is Charles Coleman, he’s going to help too. He’s got a silver blade and holy water works too. After you eat, can you take me back into town? It will be dark soon and I have to be there on time.”
“You bet,” Jimmy said as his food arrived. He obediently gobbled it down and so quickly it almost made me sick. Again. When he got up, he swayed to his feet with his keys in his hand.
“I’ll drive,” I said, as I snatched the keys out of his grasp.
Chapter Nineteen—Levi
The size of the crowd outside Crush made me sick. Don’t these people know what this place is? This is a killing floor. A dead zone. The Frenzied lived here. Or at least partied here.
A group of young women wearing short skirts and faux fur jackets blew kisses in my direction. A blonde walked toward me as if she intended to invite me to join them, but I walked the other way. I decided to skip the line and look for another way inside. I found it quickly. There was a painted black door at the back of the building, which opened as soon as I spotted it. Whoever was on the other side surely knew I was coming.
Yes, I was expected.
I heard the Creep’s voice in my head, “Sustainer, welcome! I am so happy that you didn’t disappoint us.”
I felt like a hundred eyes on me, watching my every move. They surely were. As I stepped through the door, it closed behind me even though there was no bouncer, no living person there to close it.
The Vampire's Song (Vampires of Rock Book 1) Page 14