by I D Johnson
“Oh, good, James, you’re home,” his mother said as crossed from the parlor into the entryway. “Dinner will be ready in just a few minutes.”
“All right,” he nodded. “I suppose I should go upstairs and wash up.”
Walking past the parlor, he saw his father sitting in his favorite rocking chair, reading the newspaper and smoking a pipe. His father no longer worked the longer shifts James had picked up at the hospital, and most days the elder Dr. Joplin preferred to work out of his own office, seeing less emergency cases and more mild ailments.
“How was your day, Son?” Wallace shouted, closing the paper momentarily.
“Tiring,” James admitted.
“How’s Mrs. Crass?”
Mrs. Crass was the wife of one of his father’s friends, an older woman who had contracted a serious case of pneumonia. She’d come in last week, and James had been treating her. “So far, about the same,” he admitted. It was difficult when patients didn’t improve, or even worse, passed away. In the two years since he’d been working at Massachusetts General, he’d had it happen more times than he could now remember, but that didn’t make it any easier.
“That’s a shame,” his father said, nodding sadly before returning to his paper. Even though he was certainly sympathetic for his friend, there was no doubt the countless deaths over the course of Dr. Joplin’s career had also left him a bit immune to the despair the passing of life would have on someone less seasoned.
James agreed and then continued on his way up the stairs to wash up and change his clothing. His mother always worried he’d come to the table with some sort of bodily fluid on himself, though it had not happened yet.
Once he was cleaned up, he headed down to the dining room. Sadie smiled at him as he entered the room. “You’re just in time, Doc.” She’d taken to calling him that right after he’d officially graduated from Harvard, and each time she said it, she laughed. James knew it was because she was proud of him, not in a way meant to be disparaging, but he didn’t really like the nickname.
Nevertheless, he smiled at her and had a seat just as she served up a nice chicken breast with mashed potatoes and corn. The rolls smelled delicious, and James was happy he’d had the common sense not to go to bed before dinner.
The family began to eat their meal, but from the very beginning, James could tell there was something wrong with his sister. Margie sat across from him, like she did nearly every night, but tonight, her face looked solemn, and she stabbed at her food like she was attempting to impale it.
“Marjorie,” their father finally said, his voice quiet but his tone stern, “that’s quite enough.”
Margie looked at her father for a moment and then dropped her fork with a loud clatter. “May I be excused.”
“No, you may not,” their mother said, her voice sharper than her husband’s had been. James imagined Margie had likely already gone several rounds with their mother during the day when both men were at work. It was unfortunate that it was often left to her to try to correct Margie’s obstinate behavior.
In response, Margie let out a loud growl and pounded her hand on the table.
“Marjorie Elizabeth!” their father shouted. “Stop that this instant!”
James set his fork aside, unsure exactly what was happening. He’d seen his sister throw tantrums before, but nothing like this, particularly with their father at home. Coming from a twenty-one-year-old young woman, this sort of behavior was shocking to say the least.
“I will not!” she screamed. “It isn’t fair! I refuse to continue to be a part of this family if you will not allow me the autonomy to make my own decisions! I am an adult!”
“As long as you live here, you will obey our rules!” Their mother said it with such force, it was clear to James she must’ve said the same phrase at least a dozen times that day.
“I don’t want to live here anymore!” Margie retorted. “I’ve told you a thousand times! Let me go! Let me contact Uncle Culpepper, and let me go!”
“What is this about?” Wallace asked, looking from his daughter’s reddening face to the flushed face of his wife across the table from him.
Felicity wiped loose hairs back from her forehead. “Tomorrow is her birthday,” she reminded her husband.
It took Wallace a moment to understand what that had to do with anything, and it took James even longer. It wasn’t until after his father slowly began to nod his head and Margie pounded both fists on the table one more time that he remembered; Uncle Culpepper said that they would no longer be able to Transform into Guardians once they turned twenty-two, and that had been Margie’s solitary wish for the better part of six years or so.
James still didn’t believe in any of that supernatural hooey. He’d seen the insides of enough bodies to know that all of them were the same. There were no vampires, no super-humans who could kill them. Uncle Culpepper was in need of some good therapy; perhaps a long stay in a convalescence home would do him some good. But, clearly, Margie was very hung up on the fact that she had not been able to go through with this farce, and James couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. It could be Margie was suffering from a bit of hysteria herself. Maybe he should check with some of his colleagues to see if there were any treatment options available for someone so young.
Without any warning, Margie began to laugh. At first, it was just a giggle, and then it turned into a loud cackling, the kind that one might hear on a stage show involving an old hag or witch. They all stared at her in silence, only lifting their eyes to glance at each other from time to time.
Once she had better control over herself, she said, “All right. Mother, you won’t let me contact Uncle Culpepper, and you’ve forbid him from coming round, that’s evident. Well, it just so happens there are other ways that it can be done.”
“Marjorie, I forbid you….”
“You can’t stop me!” The declaration was so loud, the chandelier above the table began to sway to and fro.
While his parents were still staring at each other, James watched as Margie bolted from the table and took off running toward the back door. His parents continued to look at each other, flabbergasted, but neither of them made a move to follow her.
“Father, aren’t you going to go after her?” James asked, shocked.
“She’ll come back, once she’s calmed down.”
“But she’s a young woman running around the streets after dark,” he reminded his father.
Dr. Joplin only shrugged, and glancing at his mother, James could see that she was beginning to weep.
Thinking of all the atrocities that could happen to his sister out there by herself, despite the fact that they lived in a nice neighborhood, James resolved not to let her go on her own. Hoping he could catch up to her, he threw his napkin on the table and headed off toward the back door.
“James?” he heard his father’s voice. “James!” He didn’t slow or even look back as he flew out the back door, though the fact that his father seemed to want him to stop but had said nothing to his sister was telling.
It was early October, and crisp air smelled of falling leaves with traces of fireplace smoke. James knew he was much faster than his sister the last time they’d raced, but if she’d already rounded a corner, he’d have no idea which way to go. Luckily, he caught a glimpse of her up the block. He suddenly knew exactly where she was headed, so he decided to take a different route.
James sprinted around the back of the house and began to run in a parallel path toward what he was sure had to be Margie’s destination. He hoped he wouldn’t scare her, but he was afraid if he merely followed behind her, he wouldn’t get there in time. What it was he thought might happen to her once she arrived at the alley, he wasn’t sure, but he was sure she wouldn’t encounter a vampire there. Perhaps some uncouth garbage thieves.
Coming up on the far end of the alley, James slowed his pace. He knew there was nothing at all to be afraid of, but memories of what he had thought he’d seen here so long ago st
ill made his palms sweaty. As he approached the back entrance of the alley, he heard his sister shouting from the other end, almost a block away, on the other end of the narrow passage. He stopped short, waiting for her to finish so he could call out to her without frightening her. Peeking around the corner, he saw her standing in the middle, where the shadow cast in daytime was always darkest. She was still on the walkway, but she looked determined.
“Where are you?” she shouted into the shadows. “I know that you’re here! Come out! I want to fight you! I want to rip your head off!”
James was alarmed that some of the neighbors might hear and call the police. There were two large houses on either side of the alley, only the ten feet or so expanse of the narrow lane dividing them. Even as the thought entered his head, a light was lit in the house to his sister’s left.
It was not a deterrent. “I said, I want to fight you!”
Thinking he needed to act now before Margie ended up spending the night in lock up for creating a public nuisance, he yelled, “Margie, it’s Jamie. I’m heading down the alley now, all right. Be still, and we’ll figure this out together.”
“Go home, little brother!” she shouted back. “This is between me and him.”
James was standing across from her now, the expanse of alley between them, and nothing more. Exactly who she was talking about, he wasn’t sure, but he could see no one other than his sister, and he knew she didn’t see anyone—or anything—either. Slowly, he began to walk toward her.
He’d never actually stepped foot in the alley before, and once he was a few feet into the darkness, he remembered why. On the far end, Margie was still illuminated by streetlamps and the houses on the block. Occasionally, a carriage would pass by on the road behind her, which he could also see. But here, in this abyss, it was so dark, he couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face.
Nevertheless, now was not a time to waver. He needed to be strong and brave for his sister, to show her that there was nothing in the alley, nothing to fear, nothing that could hurt them. Nothing that needed to be hunted.
A few steps further, and he was nearly halfway through. Margie was quiet now, but her head was darting around, and he imagined her eyes tracing the shadows on the walls, looking for the one she thought she saw here so many years ago, the same one he had also believed he once saw when he was young and impressionable. How had Margie become entranced by the notion that what she’d seen was real? It was becoming clearer every moment that his sister needed professional help.
Now that he had passed the halfway point, he realized he was walking toward the light; rather than getting darker, the space was becoming lighter now, and he could begin to see shapes around him. A fallen tree branch, a bit of refuse, the ivy waving in the wind off the fence on one side of the chasm. He would reach her soon, take her home, and help her calm down.
Once he was about thirty feet from reaching his sister, a movement to his left caught his eye. It was so quick, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at at first. It almost seemed like a person crouched on the ground between the garbage receptacles, readjusting on tired haunches. James froze, he peered into the darkness, looking for an edge, the outline of an object, a human form. Even though he realized his hands were shaking, he took a step forward.
He was certain his eyes had been playing tricks on him, and yet, he had a feeling in his gut like none he’d ever felt before. No, that wasn’t true. He’d felt it once before, when he was six, and he was standing in the same place Margie stood now.
James swallowed down his fear, and a bit of bile, and took another step. Yes, there was something there. He could see it now, see the form, where the darkness seemed raised a bit along the edges. Just as he was about to call out to see whom it might be, there was a loud crashing noise as whatever it was shoved both garbage bins directly at him with excessive force and then shot up off the ground, sprinting in the direction from which James had come.
One of the bins hit him in the shin, and it smarted horribly, but when he saw Margie leap over the other one, dodge around him, and take off running behind the lurker, he knew he had to do something. He couldn’t let her go off by herself running after some sort of vagabond. Even though he thought he may have seen something white and shimmery protruding from this person’s mouth, that did not make it a vampire. And even though it had taken off like a vampire bat out of hell, that was no reason to think it was a bloodsucker.
Realizing his feet were tangled up in spilled garbage, James carefully stepped out of the trap, and forgetting the pain in his leg, he took off after Margie. She was gone from his sight, and he wondered how that could be. His sister had never been particularly fast.
He reached the end of the alley and saw her down the street, running right down the center. The shape of the man from the alley was ahead of her, but Margie was closing in. It didn’t seem possible. How could she run as fast that person was running? The way he’d shot out of the alley, there was simply no way she could ever catch him.
And yet she was. Margie was gaining on it, and as James began to sprint after her, he realized he was also catching up to his sister. His legs began to sting in a way he’d never felt before, like there was an electrical current flowing through them, and as he neared his sister’s location, and closed in on the lurker, his stomach began to flip flop again as well.
Margie was headed into a much busier part of town now. She ran through intersections without even looking. He feared for her safety, but it never crossed his mind that he was doing the same thing. She was within a block of the strange man now. The person must have felt it as well, as he turned to glance over his shoulder, perhaps to see how close she was, and James froze in his tracks. The light from a gas lamp caught him, illuminating his features. He was the ghastliest soul James had ever seen. His hair was jet black and stuck out in tufts around his gaunt face. His eyes were wide with fear, or perhaps that’s what they always looked like. His hands were elongated, with talon-like claws at the end of each finger. His flesh was pasty looking, more of a gray color than white. And worst of all, from his mouth, even from here, James could see a set of pointy, gleaming ivory fangs protruding from his upper jaw.
Margie was chasing a Vampire.
James was chasing a Vampire!
“Margie!” he shouted, thinking perhaps it might be best to let this particular beast go. What would they do if they caught up to it? If it truly was a Vampire, it could kill the both of them. So why was it running? They were nothing more than a couple of unarmed kids. James was tempted to glance behind himself to see if there was something else worth running from, but he didn’t have time. He needed to catch up to his sister and make her stop.
“Margie!” She didn’t turn, didn’t slow, just kept sprinting. She was closing in on him now. In a moment, James assumed she’d hurl herself at the monster, knock him to the ground, and then—and then what?
He could see it happening now, all laid out in front of him. The Vampire crossed into the next street, Margie growing so close she could nearly reach him, and then, somewhere in the distance, a familiar sound rang out. James couldn’t place it just then, his mind preoccupied with other thoughts. A split second later, he realized exactly what it was. “Margie!” he screamed one more time, coming to a halt in the middle of the road. James watched in horror, absolutely nothing he could do to save her.
The trolley hit Margie going full speed, the driver likely not even seeing her there. The horses plowed into her, knocking her up into the air, and then the full weight of the car. She bounced off of the front, near the top, and toppled to the ground. As fast as they had been running, he could see it all now in slow motion. Margie landed a few feet away from the trolley, which the driver pulled to a stop once he realized what had happened.
James took off again, and even though he was a half a block away, he reached his sister before the few passengers on the car were able to get out and walk over to her.
“Margie,” he said, dropping to a knee a
nd carefully cradling her head in his hands.
There was blood everywhere. He could tell without even looking at the back of her head that her skull was broken. One leg and both of her arms jetted off in unnatural angles, and blood was trickling from the corner of her mouth. James felt for a pulse and was relieved when he found one, though it was incredibly weak.
“I… I didn’t even see her,” the driver stammered. James glanced up at the portly man with a small moustache who held his hat in his hand, rubbing the brim of it. “Is she… dead?”
“No,” James said.
“Someone fetch a doctor!” and older woman called.
“I am a doctor,” James replied, and if the group looked at him wide-eyed the way most people did when he made that announcement, he didn’t see, and he didn’t care. “I need to get her home.”
He glanced around and saw a man with a wagon bed pulled by two horses who had come to a stop nearby, watching the scene intently. “You! Can you give us a ride home? It’s a just few blocks.”
“Certainly,” the man replied, pulling the wagon closer.
James hated to think of moving her, knowing she was unstable, but he had no choice. He took off his outer shirt and folded it up, pressing it to the back of her head as he scooped his sister into his arms. She felt incredibly light, and he had no problems lifting her and standing at the same time. He rushed to the wagon and was in the back of it almost instantaneously, Margie’s head resting in his lap.
He looked up to see the owner staring at him, standing near the tailgate, his mouth agape. “Let’s go!” James demanded.
The man nodded his head, slapping his mouth shut, and James hollered directions to their house. As they pulled away, he glanced over his shoulder. There, in the distance, but close enough to see what had unfolded, stood a lone figure in the shadows, the only part of him identifiable from here, his long, sharp teeth.