I was twelve years old the first time I killed my father.
My father wasn’t a bad man, but he wasn’t really a good man. We didn’t have many luxuries, but I didn’t lack for food or clothing. He didn’t play with me, like some dads do, but he made sure I knew certain things he felt a man should know. He taught me rudimentary boxing, and I got to be a pretty good shot with the .22 revolver and the sawed off 20-gauge shotgun he called The Snake-Charmer that he kept under his bed. But he was fond of liquor, and if he got a little heavy-handed with his discipline, when he’d been drinking, well, perhaps my mother or I had it coming. He wasn’t much liked in town.
The night I killed my father began very much like other nights. After supper, my mother and I did the dishes while dad went out to the porch with a glass of whiskey and a cigarette. After helping my mom I went to my room to read. I managed to scrape up enough change to buy myself the latest issue of The Tomb of Dracula comic book. I had a little homework to do but I figured that could wait, I would immerse myself into the world of the vampire hunters first.
I was about half-way through the comic when I heard my parents begin to argue. I didn’t really pay attention, because usually their arguing didn’t concern me. Mostly it was about money, or my dad’s drinking. Tonight, I assumed it was about the drinking because my dad stormed out of the house. I heard him swear when he dropped his truck keys on the steps.
After the comic book I pulled out my geography textbook and answered some questions about the Suez Canal. I got into my pajamas, brushed my teeth, and settled into bed. I was dreaming about being Blade the Vampire Hunter when I awoke. I wasn’t sure if the sound of breaking glass was real or in my dream. As I opened my bedroom door I heard a high-pitched squeal, and then a sound, like the thump when two linemen hit each other during a Packer game. I tip-toed down the steps and peeked around the corner into the kitchen. My mother lay on the floor. My father, his mouth working frantically at her throat was making horrific sucking noises. There was blood. So much blood.
I stood transfixed by the scene before me. Then, with a tiny bit of courage, the vision of my mother, and the image of Blade still fresh in my mind, I crept back up the stairs and into my parent’s bedroom. I reached under the bed and grabbed The Snake Charmer and the box of shells my dad kept with it. Breaking open the shotgun, I shoved in a round of #3 buckshot. I pulled four more rounds out of the box and headed back downstairs. As I stepped into the kitchen, my father rose from my mother’s corpse with one last slurping sound. He looked at me with eyes that were wilder than any I’d ever seen in one of his fits of drunken anger.
“Don’t be scared, Billy,” he said, his voice different, lower, rougher.
“What makes you think I’m scared?” I replied, trying to sound brave. My bladder released. My pajama pants warmed with wetness.
“I can smell it on you,” he said, “but I’m your dad. Come here, it’ll be ok.”
“I—I don’t want to. You hurt mom. I want you to leave.”
“I wish I could, Billy. I can’t just leave. I met a woman tonight, at the Carnival. I just went to look and maybe get a beer. Oh, but she showed me things Billy. Things you wouldn’t believe. She told me to bring you to her, so she could show you the same things she showed me. Your mom just wouldn’t understand, but you will. Come here.”
Memories of my dad’s lessons flowed through my mind. “If a man can’t walk, he can’t fight. If a man can’t see, he can’t fight. If a man can’t breathe, he can’t fight. Remember these things Billy.”
Wide-eyed and grinning, my father stepped toward me. I pulled the trigger. My dad’s left knee exploded and he tumbled to the ground. I reloaded the shotgun. Roaring in pain, he reached for me. I pulled the trigger. The bottom half of my dad’s face disappeared. The shock in his eyes almost unnerved me. A whimpering noise came from where his mouth had been. Slamming a round into the shotgun I pulled the trigger and shot my father in the throat. He fell backward and landed on top of my mother.
I vaguely remember Mrs. Kolfax from across the way coming in the door.
“Billy, we heard noises, what’s happening here?” And then she was screaming.
The police came, I remember someone wrapping a blanket around me, and someone put a
cup of hot chocolate in my hands. I was asked questions that I numbly answered, then a lady
put me in a car and took me to a shelter.
The next day the police came back. They asked if I knew any of my father’s friends and if any of them would have any reason to take his body? It seemed that overnight my father’s body
disappeared. I knew very little of any of my dad’s friends and I told them so.
At the funeral, we put one full coffin and one empty one into the ground. People I didn’t know hugged me and told me how sorry they were. Then the lady from the shelter took me to live with my mom’s sister over in Henderson County. From that point on my life was a blur of sadness and loneliness. And nightmares.
My aunt and uncle were good enough people, but they always looked at me funny. As if they were worried that if they pissed me off, maybe I’d do for them the way I did for my dad. They hadn’t attended the funeral, feeling that the murder would stain them. When I was fifteen, I started running with a bad crowd, started drinking and getting into minor skirmishes with the law. By the time I was seventeen, my aunt and uncle had had enough, and they kicked me out. I got a room over Miss Ella’s Tavern. She let me stay there in return for bouncing in the bar Friday and Saturday nights. I had a pretty solid reputation as a scrapper by then so there wasn’t much trouble. Plus I could drink a couple of beers if I wanted, and she would feed me the occasional hamburger. For real money I worked at the local print shop, lugging cases and reams of paper from place to place. It was there, in October, the year I turned twenty-one, that I saw the advertisement.
Barrow and Watkins Carnival! See Mysteries of the Ancients! Rides! Games! Fun for the whole family! Come and See!
This was the carnival that my father had visited nine years earlier. I looked at the performance dates. In two weeks the carnival would be back in my hometown. I had questions. Maybe I could find some answers. I asked at the print shop if I could have time off, they allowed me a week, after that I’d lose my job. I told Miss Ella I would be leaving for a while. She was kind and said she’d hold my room for me and even gave me one hundred dollars. That was a godsend, I had saved up some money but not much and there were things I needed to buy. I went to the Ben Franklin store and bought a heavy plastic squirt gun. I stopped at the hardware store and bought some thick wooden dowels. Back in my room I ate a can of soup, sharpened the dowels into stakes and made my plan. I had no real clear path, but I was determined to get some closure on what happened that night. Fitfully, I fell asleep, and for the first time in years, dreamed of vampires.
I threw my things in a small duffel bag and headed toward the highway. I stopped into St. Joseph’s Catholic church, and without anyone noticing, filled one of two mason jars that I borrowed from Miss Ella with holy water. I dipped the sharpened tips of the stakes into the holy water and stuffed it all into the duffel and walked to the highway. After walking for nearly an hour with my thumb out, an Oldsmobile pulled up. The couple, Mr. and Mrs. Taylor said that they could take me to about ten miles from my hometown, but then they had to turn in a different direction. I thanked them and gratefully settled into the back seat for the four-hour ride. They seemed like a normal couple, he was ex-military, and she a good Catholic housewife. I enjoyed the warmth in the car, and we had a very interesting conversation. After about an hour, rocked gently by the Oldsmobile, I fell into a deep sleep, and began dreaming.
I was in the kitchen of our old house. My father was sitting at the table with a whiskey glass in his hand. It didn’t look like whiskey in the glass, it looked like blood. My mother was at the sink washing dishes. She turned to look at me, and I saw that her throat was shredded and bloody.
“Come and sit by your old man, sport,” my dad said “His voice was soft, not guttural like the night that I shot him. “We’ve got things to talk about.”
“What could you and I possibly have to talk about?” I asked him. “Unless you’re going to tell me why you killed my mother, your WIFE?”
“I’m sorry Billy, that was unfortunate, but I needed to feed, quickly, and I needed it to be family. Your mom was the easiest person for me to approach. I…, we…, will, if possible, feed where we are comfortable. Home, if you will. I need you to come home Billy so my family can be together again.”
“It’s been almost ten years. Why now? Are you telling me that mom is with you? And what exactly happened to you? Are you some kind of vampire?”
“I’m sorry Billy, but no, your mother can’t join us. Given time, I could have changed her, but, as I said, I needed to feed. My body was dying, so I fed. It’s taken me this long to understand what I am, what I can and can’t do. Also, it’s taken me this long to learn to take care of myself. I no longer need Marlena to guide me. She’s the one who changed me. We have many names, and yes, vampire is one of them. Come home Billy. I can explain in person, and I can convince you to join me.”
“I don’t want to join you. This is just a dream.”
“Is it?” he replied, taking a sip from his glass. “I can feel you getting closer every minute. You’re close now. I told you I have changed. You’re not dreaming, really, we’re conversing psychically. My mind and my body are different. You’ll see.”
A soft bump awakened me. Mrs. Taylor had turned and was looking at me.
“I’m glad you had a nice nap, dear,” she said. “But we’re here. John and I have to head East. I do hope everything works out for you, sweetie.” Mr. Taylor shook my hand and stuck a package wrapped in a handkerchief into my arms.
I thanked them for the ride and crawled out of the Oldsmobile into the chill of the afternoon. I waved goodbye to the Taylor’s and started walking the last ten miles to town.
The sun was setting when I got to the café on Main street. I hoped no one would recognize me, and after almost ten years it seemed obvious that no one did. I ordered coffee and a cheeseburger with fries. I remembered the layout of the town, but I didn’t know precisely what businesses still existed. I asked the waitress, a pretty blonde named Alissa, where I could stay for a couple of days. She said the hotel in town wasn’t very nice, so she suggested Betty Jean’s Rooming House just a couple blocks over. I remembered Betty Jean’s from when I was a kid. She had rooms to rent by the day, week, or month.
“What ya in town for hon?” she asked.
“I’ve come to see the carnival,” I responded without thinking.
“Ooh fun,” she squealed, “my boyfriend and I are going tomorrow night. Maybe we’ll see you there!”
“Maybe,” I said, “thanks again for the food and the information.” Leaving Alissa a two-dollar tip, I put on my jacket and headed to Betty Jean’s.
The Rooming house was clean and comfortable. Betty Jean had a total of six rooms that she rented out, mostly to temporary workers and the occasional vacationer. For an extra five dollars a day, you could have supper every night, which Betty Jean prepared and served promptly at 6PM. If you were fifteen minutes late, well, there was always tomorrow.
I settled into my room, and though the décor was dated, it really was the nicest room I’d ever stayed in. A large brass bed, with down comforters and feather pillows. Vintage dressers and a small table and chairs. I set my duffel on the table and threw myself onto the bed. I must have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. My father was waiting.
“I feel you Billy. You are so close. I’ve been waiting a long time. Come and see me Billy. Come and see, come and see, come and see.”
When I awoke, I splashed water on my face and brushed my teeth. I got dressed quickly, grabbed my duffel, and walked back to the café. Alissa wasn’t working, I was greeted by an older red-haired woman, whose nametag read Jenni, with a heart over the “I.” I ordered eggs, hashbrowns and a cup of coffee. While I ate I tried to formulate a plan. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, or where to begin. As I paid my tab, I figured I would start at the beginning. I would go home.
Obviously deserted, the house looked sad. There was a for-sale sign in front of it, but it looked like it had not been lived in since that night almost ten years ago. Someone had boarded up the windows and was keeping the lawn trimmed. I walked around the house. The back steps leaned awkwardly where one of the risers was rotting away. With the back yard shrubs blocking any view, I took my pocketknife out of my pocket and jimmied the back door.
It took a few minutes for my eyes to acclimate to the darkness. The house smelled dry and musty. I was shocked to see that the furniture was just as I remembered it. I didn’t want to linger in the kitchen. It looked like someone had hastily tried to clean up the blood but hadn’t done a very thorough job. I went room to room looking for anything that might provide a clue as to what I was really looking for. My room, my parents room all looked the same, but there was a layer of dust on everything. I headed for the basement. Without thinking I flipped on the light switch and was startled when the basement lights came on. Apparently the old place still had power, someone was still hopeful they could sell it.
The basement smelled damp, and there was another smell under that, that I didn’t recognize, and it started to turn my stomach. I presumed that some mouse or other animal had found its way in only to die here. The basement was only a three-quarter basement, at the South end, there was just a crawl space. Along the cement block wall at the crawl space there was a small pile of dirt and what I assumed was the bones of mice or squirrels. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I had not thought to bring a flashlight, and I was not going to worm my way into the crawlspace. I felt there was something here I needed to find, but I wanted to investigate the carnival while there was daylight, so I turned out the basement lights and left.
I turned to the West and walked to the edge of town to the abandoned dog-racing track where the carnival had set up. There weren’t many people as I walked through looking at the games, food wagons and rides. Each wagon proclaimed to have a “Mystery of the Ancients.” I rounded a bend past a skinny, rough looking man hawking a game of Three-Card Monte when I spotted my destination. Just ahead of me was an ornate, brightly painted wagon. As I approached I read the banner over the door.
Come see! Mistress Marlena, Fortune Teller from the East! Mistress Marlena Sees All! Mistress Marlena Knows All!
I walked up the stairs and opened the door. It seemed like the only light in the wagon was from the open door. The wagon seemed larger than it appeared on the outside. I was in a room with a table, two chairs and a soft-looking sofa. There was a small pile of blankets next to the sofa. On the table there was a crystal ball and a deck of cards. The wagon expanded to at least another room at the back, but it did not seem as if anyone was in. Quickly, I knelt and stuffed the squirt gun, a stake and one of the mason jars into the pile of blankets. I was startled when I heard a voice behind me.
“Hey, you! Whatcha want here? You don’t belong here.” I turned and saw the skinny man from the Three Card Monte game. I backed up, tripping on the chair and landing unceremoniously on the floor.
“Sorry,” I stammered as I got to my feet. “I just wanted to get my fortune told.”
“Can’t. Come back tonight. Mistress Marlena only reads the crystal or the cards by candlelight.”
“Oh, ok,” I replied, “I will. I will come back tonight.”
He grinned at me with brown and yellow teeth. “That’s good, lad. Mistress Marlena will show you things. Things you won’t believe.”
“I’m counting on it,” I said. I left the wagon and walked out of the carnival; I had the beginnings of a plan in my head.
When I got back to Betty Jean’s I took a shower in the communal bathroom and changed into my one extra set of clothes. Supper, served promptly at 6PM, consisted of meatloaf, baked potatoes, and glazed carrots. It was easily the best meal I’d had in years. The only other diner besides myself and Betty Jean, was Phillip, a Bible salesman from Kansas City. I asked him how the Bible selling business was going and he replied, “Kinda hard to sell something everyone and their brother has two of in these parts.”
I laughed and agreed, this was a bit of a Bible thumping area. “Well, good luck I said.” I paused. “Actually, if it’s not too pricey, I’d like to get one of your Bibles.” He looked at me incredulously. “I have just the thing, young feller.” He trotted to his room and returned a few minutes later.
“Here, here,” he said, handing me a small, black leather Bible. “The ones I peddle are way too big to carry around. This is my personal King James Version. I got a feeling about you, kid. You can have it. No charge.”
“Wow. I mean, thank you so much. I don’t know what to say.”
“It’s ok,” he responded, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Just make sure you read it. You won’t be sorry.”
“I will, I mean, I won’t, I mean, thank you. I’ll read it, I promise.”
I sat on my bed holding the Bible in my lap. “Well, Lord, you and I haven’t had much of a relationship. I never believed all that much in you, but if you’re real, I think I could use your help right about now. I think I’m heading somewhere dark and strange. I’m scared. I’m afraid that I am going to find exactly what I’m looking for, and I don’t know if I can handle it. If you’re there, please help.”
I opened the Bible and looked down. The Bible was open to Joshua 1:9.
“Have I not commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the LORD, thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest.”
I don’t know if I felt better or not but I figured it was time to go. I was anxious to get my fortune read.
I concealed my duffel in the trees outside the dog park, hoping I’d be able to grab it later and walked through the carnival gates. I stopped to grab some peanuts and a Coke. I wandered around watching people enjoying rides and wasting money on rigged games. I saw a familiar face at a BB gun game and walked over.
“Hi Alissa,” I said, cheerfully. She turned with a big smile on her face,
“Oh, hi! I was wondering if I’d see you here? This is my boyfriend Caleb.”
Caleb eyed me up the way every boyfriend eyes up any stranger his girlfriend knows.
I nodded and stuck out my hand. “Hey, Caleb, my name’s Billy. How you doin’?”
He squinted at me. “I’m fine. How do you know Alissa?’
“I just met her yesterday at the café when I stopped in for a burger. She was nice enough to steer me away from the hotel and into Betty Jean’s Rooming House.”
“Yeah, she’s nice that way,” he glanced at her, then turned his attention back to me. “How long you in town? What are you here for?”
“Actually I’m in town because I wanted to check out the carnival. I am interested in getting my fortune read by the mysterious Mistress Marlena.”
Caleb chuckled. “You believe in that horseshit?”
“Well, I don’t know if I believe it, but I’m still interested in what she has to tell me.”
Alissa put her hand on my shoulder. Caleb frowned. “I read my horoscope all the time in Cosmo!” she stated.
“That’s baloney too,” Caleb said, I don’t buy any of it.”
“Is not.”
“Whatever.”
“Hey,” I blurted out, “it’s just for fun anyway. I really need to get going. It was nice running into you Alissa. Nice meeting you Caleb.” I stuck out my hand. Caleb shook it carefully.
“Yeah, nice meeting you Billy. I hope your fortune works out.”
“Bye Billy,” Alissa said. “Come see me at the café before you leave town. I’d like to hear about your fortune.”
“I’ll try to do just that,” I replied, as Caleb dragged her away.
Throwing my empty Coke can and peanut bag in a trash barrel, I made my way to Mistress Marlena’s wagon.
There was a short line outside the wagon when I got there. I figured I’d just have to be patient. The crescent moon was just rising above the trees. The door to the wagon opened and a man stepped out, his eyes glassy, his expression vacant. He was mumbling to himself. “Beautiful, beautiful.”
As he walked past, the next man in line reached for the railing. Then a strong, female voice rang out from inside.
“Stop!” The man stopped on the first step as the figure of Mistress Marlena filled the doorway. She stood, half in shadow, half in moonlight. A wine-colored silk scarf wrapped her black hair, threaded with tiny coins and trinkets that chimed softly when she moved her head. Her dress, deep green, flowed as if moved by an unseen breeze. Bracelets crowded her wrists, and her long-nailed hands were stained faintly with henna. She gazed at the line of men with heavy-lidded eyes.
“You,” she said, pointing at me. “You came to visit me earlier. I will see you now.”
“But—” the man on the stairs stammered, “but I was next in line!”
Mistress Marlena touched the man’s cheek.
“If you are patient, my dear, I will show you things you cannot imagine.”
The man sadly stepped off the stairs back into line. I moved forward. I could feel the hateful gaze of every man there as I climbed the stairs. Mistress Marlena smiled as she led me into the wagon and closed the door.
She sat at the table facing the door and beckoned me to sit across from her. She struck a match and lit a candle; the flame sent a flickering light across the room.
“Why have you come back?’ she asked. “I think you want more than your fortune.”
“Yes,” I answered. “I have been waiting a long time for some answers. I’ve come to ask a question.”
She smiled, her amber eyes staring deeply into mine. There was a scent about her, something floral which did not mask an undertone of rot and decay.
“First, I will read your fortune, and then you may ask your question.”
I nodded. She slowly shuffled the deck and laid out three cards.
The Moon. “There are things that are watching you. Hidden things. There are things you are meant to find. There may be a light in the coming darkness.”
The Tower. “Something built will fall. The fall will claim some lives. An attempt will be made to build something new.”
She flipped the third card. Death. “Hmm,” she paused. “Your path ends in darkness. The moon shines a bit of light upon the tower. For you, the darkness may not be complete. Either way, you will not be alone.”
“What does any of that mean?” I asked. “My path? Do you mean my life”?
“What does any fortune mean? The cards are fickle, oftentimes unreliable. Take from it what you will.”
“Doesn’t help me much though, does it?” My anxieties lessened. She didn’t seem frightening, as I had assumed a vampire would be.
“No, fortunes are not necessarily helpful in guiding your steps. The meanings can be vague. Sometimes however, they are very accurate. You said you had a question. What is it?”
I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. This was the moment I longed for yet dreaded.
“Almost ten years ago. My father visited you. When he came home he was different. What did you do to him?”
She leaned forward. “Yes, I guessed that would be your question. I know who you are. Your father is waiting for you. I think you know where he is. I only showed him two paths. He chose which path he would follow. He offered you that path, perhaps a bit indelicately. You should go to him.”
“How can he be alive? I killed him. I watched him die. No one could live through that!”
“My, but you are full of questions aren’t you?”
“Damn right I am,” I blurted out, “did you turn my dad into a vampire? He murdered my mother!”
“Well, in fact, I did change your father. I’ve changed many over the years. I love a large family.”
“What gave you the right to take mine?” I asked. She looked at me and smiled.
“The strong eat the weak boy, that’s how it’s always been. What will you do with this knowledge boy?”
Swallowing the fear that was growing inside me, pretending to be braver than I am, I answered. “Well, I figured I’d just kill you. Then my dad would be free.”
She laughed, her eyes glowing evilly in the flickering candlelight. “Kill me? Child, I have lived for centuries. Others have tried. You know too many myths and not enough facts. Killing me would not affect your father at all. We are not joined. My death would mean nothing to the family I’ve built. His death would mean nothing.”
“I guess I’ll just have to kill him again.”
She laughed again. “No, this is what is going to happen. I’m going to bleed you, just a little. Enough to make you docile. Then I will give you to your father. He will decide whether to change you or feed on you.” She stood, seemingly taller than before. I stood up, knocking my chair backwards.
“Please, please don’t hurt me!” I uttered as I fell to my knees by the sofa. I stood up, the stake, squirt gun and mason jar in my hands.
“What trinkets do you have for me? Ooh is that holy water in your little jar?”
“No, here’s the holy water,” I said pointing the squirt gun at her face.
She snarled. I pulled the trigger.
Nothing happened. She rounded the table. Frantically I pumped the trigger. Suddenly a stream of water hit her directly in her eyes. She stepped back moaning. Her face was smoking where the holy water had landed. I squeezed the trigger again. The stream hit her in her mouth.
“Aaaaagh!” she gargled. “You fucking worm! I will feed on you for the rest of your life. You will beg me to let you die!” She advanced again. I unscrewed the top of the mason jar and flung the contents at her. She glared at me, her eyes red and watering. “That holy water wasn’t as holy as you thought, boy.”
“Not holy water, bitch. White gas.” I picked up the candle and threw it at her. Her beautiful green dress immediately ignited. She fell backward screaming as she tried to fight the flames as they engulfed her. Already the room was ablaze, the heat almost too much to bear.
I flung the table over and stepped to where she was convulsing. As she rolled on to her back I leapt upon her and slammed the stake into her breast. She immediately went still, and a dank breath went out of her body.
I felt my skin blistering as I crawled off her still burning body. I hobbled down the short hallway to the back of the wagon. In the back room I found a wooden coffin instead of a bed. Quickly examining the room, I found a trap door that would allow Mistress Marlena an easy and unseen method of leaving and entering. Flinging it open I dropped to the ground. I saw people running toward the wagon with buckets. I heard the wail of firetrucks in the distance.
Rolling from under the burning wreckage, I sprinted to the tree line. Making my way around the carnival, I grabbed my duffel and jogged back to Betty Jean’s. The rooming house was dark, so I presumed she was sleeping. I went to the bathroom and ran my hands and arms under cold water. My jacket and shirt were ruined. Rummaging around I found some burn ointment and applied it liberally to my burns. I went to my room and sat on the bed. I couldn’t stay here. Too many people had seen me go into the fortune tellers wagon and not come out. It wouldn’t take too long for them to figure out that I wasn’t there. I found a raincoat in a hall closet and put it on. As quietly as I could I left Betty Jean’s.
A light rain fell, which felt comforting on my face. Only a few of my burns had blistered so I figured I wasn’t in any real danger. I walked in the direction of our house.
Although I had foolishly faced Mistress Marlena at night, I wasn’t certain that now was the time to deal with my father. I was a block away when I noticed a shape moving near a car parked on the street. Crossing to the other side I saw a figure on the sidewalk ahead of me. The figure turned and I looked into my father’s eyes.
“Billy,” he said, sadly. “What have you done”?
“I killed her. I killed her and now I’m going to kill you,” I replied.
“Frankly, I’m stunned. She obviously let her guard down with you. I still can’t believe it. But no matter. I’m giving you a choice, son, come with me, let me show you how amazing this change can be. Please. If you don’t I’ll be forced to feed on you. I will feed on you Billy. If I have to.”
“No thanks. I don’t want to be some kind of monster.”
“I’m not a monster. I’m just different. Better.” He stepped toward me. I wasn’t ready. I bolted back across the street, noticing the other figures in pursuit. Remembering the neighborhood from my childhood I cut between two houses, around a garage and back to the street where I stopped and reached into the duffel bag. One of the vampires had reached me and pulled me up by my shirt. His rotting breath made me gag.
“We’re going to hurt you just a little, then your father will feast on your blood. You should have joined us while you had the chance.”
With my hand still in the duffel I pulled out the .357 revolver that Mr. Taylor had given me when I had gotten out of his car.
He and his wife were intrigued when I told them why I was going home. I felt comfortable with the Taylors, and I verbally unloaded nine years of trauma. The Taylors remembered the story following my parents’ deaths, of my father’s body disappearing, and the poor orphan boy. His last words to me as they drove away were, “Use this if you need to son, It’s all I have to give you, but just maybe it’ll save your life.”
I jammed the revolver under the vampire’s chin and pulled the trigger. The 158-grain soft-point bullet blew out the top of his head, and he flopped backward to the street. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and spun, pulling the trigger as I turned. The bullet caught the second vampire in his right thigh, and he stumbled. Pistol whipping him in the head, I drove him to the ground. As he grabbed my leg I put two more rounds into his face, obliterating it.
A quick look around showed no sign of my father. I retrieved my duffel and removed two stakes. I drove one into each of the vampire’s hearts. Both lay silent and still. I pondered my next move. I still had one stake, a little holy water and two .357 rounds. I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing my father was searching for me, so I decided to continue and finish this, whatever the outcome.
I jimmied open the back door of the house. I flicked on the light switch for the basement and thankfully the lights came on. Clenching the revolver in my hand I crept down the stairs. The only change in the basement that I could see was the size of the bone pile. This is where my father and the other vampires had been feeding, taking sustenance from small animals and neighborhood pets.
Again, mourning the lack of a flashlight I peered into the crawlspace. Illuminated by the bulb in the ceiling I could see nothing in the crawlspace. I lowered the revolver and sighed.
As I turned the lights went out. If it hadn’t been for the moonlight shining into the kitchen I wouldn’t have seen my father’s silhouette in the doorway. I raised the .357 and fired. The bullet struck him in the abdomen. He roared and leapt down the stairs. Before I could pull the trigger, he grabbed me and flung me to the ground. The duffel bag, still hanging from my arm slapped the cement floor and I heard the mason jar shatter. The holy water was gone.
My father stepped on my wrist and snatched the revolver out of my hand. I winced in pain as he pressed on my burned arm.
“You won’t be needing this,” he said, tossing the pistol to the side. “I’m sorry it’s come to this.” He lowered his face. I felt the sharp pricks as his fangs pierced my throat. My hand found its way into the duffel. A shard of glass. Reaching around his head I slashed across his neck with the holy-water-coated glass. He snarled and pulled back, blood dripping from his mouth and neck. I reached into the duffel again and pulled out the water-soaked bible. I slammed it into my father’s face and pushed. He screamed and toppled off me. I rolled to where he had tossed the revolver and picked it up.
My father rose, wiping his face with his sleeve. His eyes shone with an unearthly glare, and he gritted his teeth. “Time to end this,” he said, and took a step. “I’m going to…”
Those were his last words as the last bullet struck him between the eyes. He flopped onto his back. I grabbed the last stake and with all my might slammed it into my father’s heart. I held onto the stake as I felt his life-force go out. His body lay still. It was only then that I realized I was crying. I knelt over my father for a while, no words or prayers seemed sufficient, so I just wept.
I was startled out of my stupor when the lights came back on. Now weaponless, I turned toward the stairs. Mr. Taylor stood on the top step, a sawed-off shotgun in his hand.
“Hoo doggy!” he exclaimed, “looks like me and the missus missed all the fun. Well, shake a leg son. Helen has the Oldsmobile running. We need to get you out of here before the law shows up.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said grasping his arm. “Did you bring what I asked?”
“I sure did,” he replied. “Wait here.” He returned about a minute later. “Here,” he handed me a gas can. “Don’t forget these.” He handed me a book of matches. “Now hurry up!”
Quickly I went room to room dousing anything flammable with gasoline. I went to the basement and poured the last of the gas on my father. I lit a match and dropped it on him.
“Goodbye dad!” I shouted as I sprinted up the stairs. Lighting the book of matches I tossed it into the living room, and the rug and couch almost instantly went up in flames. I ran out of the house and jumped into the Oldsmobile.
“Hi, honey, I hope you’re ok” Mrs. Taylor said as she stepped on the accelerator speeding us away.
“I will be,” I answered.
It was maybe an hour later as I dozed that Mr. Taylor spoke.
“You know you didn’t get them all, right? The carnival is getting ready to leave town. They’ll be gone by morning. You know Helen and I are with you. What do you want to do?”
I stretched out on the Oldsmobiles back seat, feeling the warmth of the heater soak into me.
“Well,” I said, “I say we follow them, find out where they feed.”
Mr. and Mrs. Taylor smiled.
END
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About
I am a 67 year old “emerging writer” living in Appleton, Wisconsin. I had some poetry published in the 80’s and 90’s in some small press ‘zines, but it wasn’t till late 2025 that a writer friend convinced me to try short stories. I have had 4 stories published 2 in anthologies and 2 in E-zines. I don’t have much of a social media presence, but I can be found at facebook.com/ronksenior where I will occasionally post about my writing and publications. I would describe most of my stories as “light” horror or fantasy.
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