THE DISAPPEARANCE An afterward to Amanda and Adam’s story by j.carlson

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This is a follow up to adam and amanda's story - it will make more sense if you go back and read Amanda's Bloody Mary 

(look under older posts)



THE DISAPPEARANCE

An afterward to Amanda and Adam’s story

My name is Rebekah. When I was thirteen my brother disappeared without a trace. At least that’s what I thought until recently. I’m seventeen now, just a year older than my brother when he vanished. I’m collecting information that I was not aware of at the time. No one bothered to tell me anything important about that weekend four years ago. I suppose at thirteen they didn’t think it was important for me to know -- and it probably wouldn’t have made much sense to me at that time anyway.


Just lately, though, I’d been thinking about it. I don’t know why. I kind of got the feeling that he was abducted. Adam wouldn’t have just run off. My memory of him was of a happy guy. The big brother who was always there for me, showed interest in whatever I was doing, included me in his inside jokes, and I was always sure of his love for me. I missed him a lot but, gradually, the hurt and worry diminished. And I was very involved with school and sports and church.


Maybe the reason it all came up again was that the house next door, which had been empty since my brother disappeared, was buzzing with activity. I guess it was finally going to be taken and sold by the bank, even though there couldn’t have been much owing on it.


There’d been a crew tearing out overgrown plants, thorns and trees and working on the inside of the house as well. They’d cut the overgrown grass with an old-fashioned scythe and then with a lawn mower. One of the guys was cute and very friendly. I asked him who had owned the house and why they’d abandon it and let it get so run down.


“You don’t know?” he asked, obviously surprised by my ignorance. “It was your brother who disappeared a few years ago.”


“Yeah, so?”


“Well, the woman who owned the house went missing the same night as your brother. I remember it. Most people figured it was a love affair and they left together because he was a juvenile and they probably thought people would run her out of town -- or maybe even arrest her. It made sense to me.”


“I was a lot younger then,” I said, “but now that you mention it, I have a vague recollection of her.”


In reality, at the time, I didn’t connect the two. I guess because the woman had left no real impression on me her leaving was of no significance.


At any rate, I was pretty popular at school, I played any and all sports I could, and I was class president in my junior year. But I was kind of a nerd too. I had an extensive vocabulary and was a whiz at any kind of math. I was popular, I think, because besides being good at sports, I greeted everybody by their name and didn’t ask a lot of questions. Unless I was specifically asked to, I never gave advice either.


So never having the inclination to ask questions, why finding out what happened to Adam appealed to me, I don’t know. It was sort of out of character for me. The search, the snooping around, the whole investigation!   Yet, the idea of a search suddenly called my name.


Adam’s room had been left exactly the way it was the day he was last there. That is except for all the bags of chips and candy he had stashed. That was all thrown out. Mom might have thought it sacrilege to go through Adam’s things, but that is where I started -- in his room -- at night. I went through his journals which were mostly about his study and his theories on scary otherworld characters. At first I thought it was boring. Hard to believe someone so intelligent and “with it” would believe such nonsense.


There were a lot of other things, too, that were not related to the fantastic. What he did write about myth and stories was interesting. I have to admit I began to enjoy the read. I learned a lot about Adam I hadn’t known. In the last journal there were a few entries about the woman who used to live next door; Amanda. It was obvious that he had a crush on her. I laughed out loud though when he wrote that she might not be human. It sounded so ridiculous.


Also in his last entries, he talked about the attic and a locked desk. He also mentioned a twenty by forty foot space between the kitchen and the living room. It took me a little time to understand what he was talking about. He said there should be a door but that he couldn’t find one. I went outside and measured from the living room window to the kitchen window. They were almost sixty feet apart. Weird.


He wrote;
“Dad said he’d look for my uncle’s keys so that I can open the desk and see if anything is in it. He also told me that there were probably lots of things to uncover in this ole house. But he doesn’t think there is anything important.”


So I asked Daddy if he remembered Adam asking for some keys. Something about a desk.


“I do,” he said.


“Did you ever find anything?”


“Yes, as a matter of fact I did. I left a set of keys in the top drawer of that dresser wardrobe in his room. I don’t know if the key he needed was on the ring though. Why?”


“I don’t know,” I said, “I’ve just been thinking of him a lot lately, and he mentioned it in one of his journals”


He hugged me awkwardly with his right arm and patted me before walking out of the room.


* * * *


I retrieved the keys from the wardrobe and took them to the attic. One of the smaller keys on the ring fit. I turned the key and all of the drawer locks clicked. The top center drawer slid open and I saw some old photos and a notebook. Before I even looked at the notebook, I checked the other drawers. They were all empty except for one which held a long ornately carved box -- I opened it. Several vials with little crosses etched on them, three sharpened wooden stakes, a crucifix and a hand mirror. “What! No hairspray?” I laughed.


“Give me a break!” I thought to myself. These items had obviously put there by my dad’s deceased brother several years ago. It seemed as though Adam had come by his interests naturally. Maybe superstition and magical thinking ran in the family,


We aren’t Catholic, but it was obvious that the vials would contain “holy water.” I shut the box and made note that I might want to use it for myself someday -- sans attack weapons.


So, another notebook for me to thumb through -- this one, my uncle's.  Great. Each entry was dated and most were just a sentence or two long. Laughably every single one chronicled the same nightly events; “She’s in the garden again, she’s been pruning the roses for an hour, she’s mowing with an old-fashioned push mower. She’s wearing a sunhat in the middle of the night!, not out tonight, car gone, she’s cutting bunches of lilac.”


I felt like Jack Nicolson’s wife in THE SHINING must have felt when she discovered pages and pages of manuscript stating the same thing; All work and no play makes Johnny a dull boy. It was strange and obsessive and gave me the shivers. I flipped through two years of redundancy. More than a few times I saw entries like this; “She’s on the porch having a glass of blood.” All I could do was shake my head. In the back of the journal was a list of items written with the words “no good” on it.


     Garlic -- no good
     Holy water -- no good
     Mirror -- no good
     wooden stakes -- good


Oh gee, I would never have guessed the stakes would work!


The photos were all of Amanda. This was getting nowhere in regard to my brother’s disappearance. Tomorrow I would go to the library and see if I could find anything in the newspapers from the week he vanished -- and I’d Google Amanda as well.


Searching the library’s microfiche was a hit for me. Teen’s disappearance considered runaway by police. Case closed. The small article went on about his last hours -- last seen in his bedroom -- bed found empty following day. Suspiciously a woman living next door also disappeared leading police to believe the two may have left together. Another article said Woman kept blood in basement. While searching the house for clues to the disappearance of Amanda Kane, police were shocked to find pints of blood stolen from the local blood bank and kept chilled in refrigerator. John Carlson Memorial Blood bank had reported theft at least once a month, but had no clue as to why someone would steal blood. Police also found two very large cages, chains and large hooks attached to the ceiling. The lieutenant in charge of the case said they were utterly baffled by the finds.


My jaw dropped and I sat in front of the viewer totally shocked. “What the hell was she doing?” I was glad that people other than my uncle uncovered such bizarre information on Amanda Kane.


I asked Daddy how long the woman had lived next door. He said he didn’t know. But I didn’t let that stop me. I was on a roll and next I’d try online. I Googled Amanda Kane and, not surprisingly, tons of Amanda Kanes came up. After searching page after page of Amandas, I got nothing of relivance even when I typed in our town name after hers. But I was in for a surprise yet.


* * * *


I had not forgotten about the unaccounted for space in the house. I decided to take a close look at the basement to see if I could find an entrance. I mentioned to Mom that I was going to explore the basement a little.


“Oh, I hate that place,” she said. “There are no windows down there and it’s so dark and creepy. Be careful, Bekah, if you must go down there. It’s full of junk that I’ve asked your father to have removed for years! And don’t go down there unless someone is home to hear you if you scream for help.”


She wasn‘t trying to be funny, but that statement made me laugh so hard!


I didn’t like dark places either, but I was really curious. Obviously there were lights, but I took a flashlight anyway. Mom wasn’t exaggerating about the clutter of junk. Everything from an old oven to several rusty looking lawn mowers. There was indeed what looked to be a kind of cubbyhole or hallway or closet area that was very dark and filled with bicycles, wheel borrows, croquet mallets and even an old doll house. I shone the flashlight back into the depths of the space. Bingo. I could make out what looked to be a doorknob. It took me quite awhile to wheel and carry out enough of the stuff so that I could squeeze through.


Although this had nothing to do with my brother or Amanda Kane, I was still thrilled to be uncovering something unknown. When I opened the door, I was met by a very pretty dark wood staircase. Up I went, hopefully to the closed off space right between the upstairs living room and kitchen.


Again I shone the light into the room. I couldn’t make out anything much. But I found a light switch on the wall. Naturally the lights didn’t come on -- probably burnt out bulbs. I turned the lens on my fancy schmancy flashlight to widen the beam enough to see a beautiful library! It was as stunning as it was surprising. High shelves of books spread across one wall. Lovely art hung everywhere and there were three solid wood reading tables with leather chairs. There was a sofa with coffee table on another wall and a ancient looking television.


But, why in the world would the owner of this place have built such a beautifully appointed room cut off from the rest of the house? Too isolated to be convenient. My question was answered when I spied another door. I walked over and opened it. It opened to blank sheetrock. So it hadn’t originally been made this way. Someone later had hidden it. Hmm. Like some old fashioned panic room?


The biggest boon to my search was on one of the tables. A box full of papers or documents. My weird uncle had done his homework on Amanda all the way back to 1918!  Impossible. There was a birth certificate -- a baby Amanda Lindsey was born to Jebediah and Mattie Lindsey -- in Butler county, Kentucky. Census records showing the family’s move to Texas in 1922. A marriage license. Amanda Lindsey had married Ebenezer Kane in 1939 and Mr. Kane’s death certificate from 1952. And the last paper I looked at made no sense to me. It was Amanda Lindsey’s death certificate that predated her marriage by three years!! What? I just shook my head, put everything back in the box and got the hell out of there.


A week later I packed my little Toyota and headed for Texas. I was taking a huge gamble that might lead to nothing, but it only made sense that if she fled with my brother, she would go back to her childhood town or at least the area. But really, how could I possibly find my brother or Amanda in a populated area without any other clues. In fact when I was driving through Colorado, I almost turned back for home. Something kept me going though -- hanging on a hope I guess.


I looked through the phone book. Silly, I know, but I didn’t know where else to start. I looked under Adam Finch. Nothing. Then I tried Amanda Kane, Amanda Lindsey and finally Amanda Finch. But when I tried Adam Kane, I found one. Could be any Adam Kane. It was fairly early in the morning when I dialed the number. A male voice. “This is Adam. Not here now. You know the drill.” My heart was pounding. Was it him? The voice was not that of an old person, and it sounded so familiar. Still, I couldn’t tell.


I wrote down the address, my hands shaking, and checked a road map. It took me almost twenty minutes and a long way from the center of Dublin, though the address was still within the boundaries of the city . . . I guess.


* * * *

The house was nothing to write home about. It looked small and old. The yard, though, was gorgeous -- like a park. The doors and windows were locked but there was one lone window high up on the house (probably a bathroom) that was cracked an inch or two. I drug a bench from the yard to the house and, after some maneuvering, was able to open it wide enough for me to pull myself up and squeeze through. Yes, it was a bathroom. I was scared. I don’t know why I was so scared, but I was. So I grabbed the only things I could find to protect myself. A plunger and a heavy old hand mirror.


I walked out of the bathroom and followed the hall into the living area. It was dim in the room, but what I saw caused me to drop my weapons. The mirror shattered loudly on the tile floor. It was a photo of me, framed and sitting on the ledge of a black upright piano. I picked up the photo -- if I’d have had false teeth they would surely have fallen out of my gaping mouth. The photo was recent. It looked as though someone took it in the very late afternoon or evening as I was leaving our house. I had no idea when that would have been, but there I was.


Tears streamed down my face. I put the photo back and began searching the house, even looking in the kitchen cupboards. How silly. When I opened the fridge, I was sickened to see several I.V. bags of what could only be blood. I wanted to scream, to vomit, to fall on the floor and cry. So it was all true! It just wasn’t possible, was it? Seeing is believing even when you’re trying really hard not to see.


Eventually I got myself under control and walked into one of the bedrooms. There was another framed photo -- this of Mom and Daddy, taken years ago.


At the foot of the big bed was a long trunk. I don’t know how I knew or what possessed me but my heart dropped when I looked at the trunk. “Vampire,” I whispered. I was still shaking as I slowly opened the lid and let out a stifled moan. “Oh, no. please no.”


There, lying peacefully was my long lost brother -- not older, not changed. He looked like a pale angel. But he was exactly the same as he was when I was thirteen. “Adam!” I cried. He did not stir. I sat on the bed and stared at him for a long time. Finally I closed the lid softly and walked away. Maybe I was in shock, but I simply felt a kind of relief and release. At long last I knew.


As I drove away, I thought about the photo of me that he must have gone to some trouble to get, and the tears started to flow again. Maybe one day I would come back and let him know that I knew where he was and what he was. But right now, my plans had been fulfilled. More than fulfilled because I knew Adam still existed in this world. More importantly I knew that he still loved me . . . For now, that was all I needed to know.
The rest could wait.

The end

.



Amanda's Bloody Mary

AMANDA’S BLOODY MARY

PART I
copyright johnny carlson 2011

To all appearances, Adam Chase was a pretty normal kid. Good in school, sports and, until last year, Scouts. He thought of himself as a bit of a loner, but when he was with people, he generally liked most. What set him apart, privately, was his intense interest in myth, folklore and legend. Besides studying so-called “true accounts” of supernatural happenings and paranormal literature, he liked reading horror and fantasy fiction -- otherworld and underworld stuff. It all fed his suspicion that there were indeed real things that went bump in the night. A hidden, dangerous, but exciting world just under the surface of everyday life. Why else would there be so many variants of the same stories over many centuries and many countries?


Besides all that, Adam spent a lot of time on his computer. Searching the web, he’d type in keywords that brought up all sorts of sites and chat rooms that appealed to his imagination His actual belief might have been halfhearted, but his enthusiasm toward the possibilities was boundless.


Adam had been exchanging emails with a girl who claimed she was a vampire. She went by the on-line name of Griffine. At first Adam was intrigued. Her description of what the night was like for her sounded compelling and plausible. Although her apparent self-loathing had become annoying to him, it made perfect sense if she had really been turned into something she hated. She said it happened in the nineteen-twenties when she was a teenager. But her emails were peppered with too much teen angst. The more she wrote, the more Adam believed that in reality she was just a lonely Goth girl -- or a creative but probably delusional, and certainly not one of the truly undead.


“Griffine” was just the latest in a lengthening list of strangers he had been in touch with. He was disappointed that this one, too, was turning out to be another fictional story; one more vampire or werewolf wanna-be. As his dad had said about many types of people in this world; “they may be strange, but they’re a dime a dozen.” It was fine, in general, to take people at their word, but in the world of the preternatural, as in Science, extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof. He was in the process of interviewing another stranger and he hoped it panned out. When Griffine started talking about some guy she’d met at school, Adam sighed, and sent her off a message.


“Griffine,” he wrote


“I really appreciate the information you’ve given me. I’m keeping it all in my journal. But I will be leaving with my family for a long trip and I won’t be able to email for awhile. Thanks and good luck.


Your friend, A --”


“Whew!” he thought, “so much for the young queen of the damned.” He smiled to himself, wrote down the web addresses of two sites he’d visit tomorrow and closed his laptop.


* * * *

Adam and his parents and his younger sis, Rebekah, had recently moved across town into a huge old gothic revival mansion. It belonged to an uncle that he wasn’t even aware he had. The whole situation was too weird. Apparently it was important to his dad to keep the house in the family.

His dad, as far as Adam knew, had never mentioned a brother -- let alone that he had died last year. If there was a funeral, Adam never heard about it. He didn’t ask many questions about his uncle or the place but he thought it would be cool to live there since it looked almost like a haunted house from a movie.


Another thing that surprised him was that they moved in without most of their furniture. The house was furnished and mom said she loved the decor. Downstairs, the main living areas were decorated in a contemporary style, but the upstairs bedrooms were furnished with ancient stuff, maybe valuable antiques. He didn’t know. But he chose a room with a cool ancient bed. They don’t make those kind of beds anymore, but his dad said they were called cabinet beds. Like a huge old box with carved wood -- looked like it was pushed up and attached to one whole wall of the bedroom -- (it even had these thick old drapes that pulled closed) like he’d seen in some scary old black and white films. Mom had to wash those though. Most of the bedrooms were dusty from being closed up for years.

At any rate, after writing Griffine, he had things to do. Even though it was Friday night, he wanted to finish his geometry homework, write a report for history class and then spend time going over his driver manual. He’d be taking his license test soon. He heard his mom call up to him for dinner. He opened his bedroom door, “Mom, I’m not hungry. I had pizza with Josh and Mike after school.” He really hadn’t but he had loads of junk food stashed in his room that he could eat while he worked.


About three hours later, Adam began getting ready for bed. He would sleep a few hours before exploring more of the house. He went to pull the curtain and, glancing down into the darkening twilight, he noticed someone in the yard below. A woman working in the garden. Kind of late for yard work, he thought. He shrugged. Whatever.


At three a.m. he awoke. It wasn’t unusual -- he woke up sometime in the night, every night. He had to go to the bathroom. Then he took the wide curving staircase to the third floor. He had only been up there once but he thought he had seen a door that might lead to an attic. He wanted to check it out. He passed two empty bedrooms and turned on the light in the one closest to the door at the end of the hall. The door wasn’t locked and, yes, there was a few steps up behind it.


He climbed the steps but no light switch was on the wall. Then he felt something tickling his face. He reached up and felt a thin chain. “Ah.” He pulled it and a bare light bulb swinging from the ceiling came on. Whoa! This place was loaded with stuff. Junk, antiques, boxes. He was elated at the prospects. He walked around the place, getting general idea of the size and layout of the huge attic. The stuff thinned out as he moved slowly toward the back part of the house -- approximately above his bedroom he figured. A surprising little vignette was set up. A desk, a lamp, a pair of binoculars and a pen holder stuffed with pens, pencils and sharpies. The desk drawers were locked. Beside the desk and in front of a small gable window, a beautiful telescope sat on its tripod.


Adam looked into the eyepiece. Its sites were set on the neighbors’ yard. Most of the yard and part of the garden was visible. He smiled. “So, Uncle was a peeping tom. Huh.”


* * * *


Now Adam was in a quandary. While he wanted to continue his usual on-line investigations, he was even more intrigued by the possible mysteries of the house. As a typical teenager, he needed lots of sleep, but he was so into looking at all the stuff in the attic that he just didn’t feel sleepy. He had found an old coin collection which he took to the desk and spread out for a closer look.


When he took a break from the amazing collection of coins, to stand and stretch, he happened to look out the window. There was that woman again. Now she was hunched over a flowerbed. He wanted to watch for a moment, but he had to pee again. When he returned, though, she was still there. He picked up the binoculars and focused in on her.


She was standing above the flowerbed now -- just staring at it with her hands on her hips. Then she turned and looked up -- right at him -- and smiled. He backed away from the window and put the binoculars down. Dang! he was so embarrassed. But when he thought about it, it only made sense that she would notice the only light in the house was in the little gabled window.


Oh well, who cares, he thought. If she was out working in the middle of the night then she was strange, not him. Nevertheless he decided he’d better go back to his bedroom and try to get at least a few hours sleep. He pulled the chain and clicked the light off, descended the small stairway and closed the door to the attic.


He dreamed of the woman next door. Later he wouldn’t remember much of the dream except that he had run with her through a field and into a dark wood They laughed together like children playing. But the dream put a thought in his head. Maybe she wasn’t what she seemed. He was very much aware that his preoccupation with werewolves and vampires would naturally play into his subconscious. But, still . . .




* * * *

He got up a little late Saturday morning, but he had plenty of time before he had to be at baseball practice, so he went outside to play catch with Bekah. She was really into all sports and jumped at the chance to practice her throw. Dad said she was a “tomboy“ but Adam knew she liked girlie stuff, too, so he figured she just had a competitive streak and he thought that was pretty cool.


Anyhow it was a perfect day for it; dark and overcast, but warm too. He missed a catch that Bekah threw just to the left. The ball went over the picket fence and he jumped it to get the ball.


“Wow,” he muttered to himself. “This yard is amazing.” He wasn’t generally appreciative of flowers and plants but it seemed like the whole place was in boom. Not an inch of soil between the plants. The porch, too, had pots and boxes full of flowers and vines and cool stuff. And sitting in a porch swing was that woman. At least he figured it was her. She waved at him and smiled. Now that he saw her up close he could see she was pretty hot., but she was kind of old -- late twenties or maybe even thirty!


“Nice yard,” he called out to her.


“Thanks,” she said and then laughed -- “better keep your eyes on the ball though!”


He laughed too. “Okay!”


She was nice at least, even if she was old. But she was on the porch at mid-day so she probably wasn’t a vamp. Darn. He had hoped she was. Well, he thought, she could still be a were-animal or a witch or something, and he hoped she was.




* * * *


She was still sitting there on the porch swing when he returned home that evening. She waved. “How was practice?”


“Fine,” he said, “but how did you know I was at practice?”


“You’ve got your mitt and you’re wearing you uniform, Silly.”

He blushed. “Oh. Right.”


She got up and walked to the fence, shading her eyes as if it were sunny outside.  Wow, what a body. “I’ve got something for your mom,” she said. “A housewarming gift. Why don’t you come over and get it after while? Part of it isn’t quite done yet. I‘d bring it over myself, but I‘ve got some projects going that I can‘t walk away from.”


He felt himself redden again. “Sure. When?”


“Oh anytime this evening. After you’ve eaten maybe.”


“Okay.”


“Oh,” she said as if just remembering something. “I’m Amanda.” She held out her hand.


“Adam,” he said. Her hand was soft but also very cold. That was a good sign. Maybe she wasn’t human after all . . .but she sure looked good in human form.


Adam couldn’t wait to go back to her house, and he gulped down his food so he could be excused.


He ran to the fence and jumped over as if he were in a race. Then he caught himself, slowed down and walked at a normal pace. He didn’t want to seem like he was a little kid or that he was overeager. After all, he was sixteen and should be more mature. She wasn’t on the swing, so he stepped onto the wide wraparound porch and knocked.


Amanda opened the door. “Come on in Adam! Delighted you remembered.” She was dressed in a really short skirt and a tight sky-blue pullover. Wow, he thought, swallowing hard. But it was weird that she was wearing heels. Who wears their shoes in the house? And they were kind of dress up too. “This way. It’s all ready.”


He followed her to a solid oak country kitchen type table. Her hips swung seductively as she walked. He tried not to look at her butt. There on the table was a potted plant and a hot apple pie.


“Adam,” she continued, “I’d love to stay and chat with you but I am going out so we’ll have to do it another time.”


“Really?” he said with too much excitement in his voice. “You’d like me to come over and just talk?”


She chuckled. “I’d like that, yes.”


Grabbing the potted plant in one hand and carefully picking up the pie in the other, he started for the door. “Hey,” he said as an afterthought. “How come you were outside last night?”


“I always tend my flowers at night,” she said. “I prefer the cool evening. I just can’t work or concentrate with the sun glaring down on me, and I don’t need much sleep.


Hmmmm, he thought. Maybe a little bit of a nut case. Most people liked working outside when the sun is shining -- not skulking around in the shadows at night.


“See you later then.” The screen door creaked and slammed behind him. “Sorry!”



* * * *


“Hey Dad, did your brother have a keychain? There’s a desk I found with all the drawers locked up, and I wanted to maybe use it.”


“It’s most likely empty, Adam.” He rustled the newspaper he was reading as he turned the page. “but I’ll look around later.”


“Thanks, Dad.”


After a few minutes his father put the newspaper down and looked at Adam. “I know how you like exploring things. I’ve got a hunch there are lots of interesting secrets in this old house, but probably nothing very important.”


“What do you mean by ‘interesting secrets’?”


“Well,” his dad said. “Take the width between the kitchen and the living room. That’s a lot of space.”


“You lost me, Dad.”


“There are no rooms between the two and yet there is a large space between them. Shouldn’t there be something in all that space?”


Adam got up from the hassock he was sitting on. He traced the long wall in the living room all the way to the windows looking outside -- then he walked along the wall to the kitchen and on down the to the hall. No secret doors.


It was getting dark and Adam went upstairs to his room. He undressed and got into bed. He pulled all the drapes around the bed. It was a small cozy space. He lit the candle in a sconce behind him and started reading, but he was asleep in less than ten minutes. When he awoke around one o’clock, the candle was barely flickering. He blew it out and left his bed. Then he returned to the attic.


He started opening some of the boxes. So far his Dad was right. He found a lot of Christmas decorations, a box of fabric and a bunch of old newspapers. There were two full of old toys -- that was pretty cool. Besides the old lamps and mirrors and furniture there were still plenty of boxes, but he was tired of it so he went to the desk and ran his hands all around the edges and underneath. Nothing. He stood up and looked out the window.


There she was again. He put his eye to the telescope and couldn’t believe how clear her image was. It was as if he were standing right beside her. She had some sort of knife/scythe thing. She was cutting bunches of something and then, bam! She cut herself. He heard her cry out and then look at her hand. He could see it too well. It was sliced wide open, deep, like to the bones. Then the gash filled up with blood. She squeezed it with her other hand and just sat there looking around as she applied pressure. She should have jumped up and ran to her house! Adam was riveted. Soon she took her hand away and wiped the wound dry with her dress. There was no deep cut! What? -- spontaneous healing? That was a sure sign of vampirism as well as werewolf physiology. So, she wasn’t human! As much as he had hoped and expected that myth was rooted in reality, when it stared him in the face, he was as freaked out as the next guy.


He went to his room and locked the door. He was surprised at his own fear. His mind was racing. Suddenly he jerked awake with a start. Another dream? Oh please God, he hoped so. Even though his heart was pounding he felt disappointment wash over him.


Sunday morning she was sitting on her porch again and he pretended not to notice her as he walked by. “Morning Adam!”


“Oh, hi Amanda.” He walked over to the fence pretending he was surprised she was sitting there. “What’s up?”


“Nothing much,” she smiled. “you want a soda or something?. I have plenty.


“Yeah, sure.” Must not be a vampire he thought. Why would she have soda if she was. Maybe a werewolf.


She twisted in her chair and opened a cooler and tossed him a coke. “C’mon up and sit,” she said.


He sat down on one of the porch chairs. He couldn’t help trying to see the palm of her hand, but she had both hands in her lap, palms down. He noticed her glass with a stick of celery in it. “What are you drinking?” he asked.


“Oh. Bloody Mary,” she answered dismissively. “So Adam tell me about yourself.”


“Not much to tell really. School, homework, getting used to the new house. You know.”


“Beautiful house, too.” She looked kindly at him. “What else? Do you read or have hobbies?”


“Oh sure,” he answered. “I read a lot actually.” Then he decided to take a chance and tell her his real interests. He told her all about his studies in myth and folklore, and his belief that there was truth in the stories.


She got a funny look on her face. He couldn’t read it. “My,” she said, “that’s really interesting, very cool. So have you discovered anything to back up your theories yet?”


“No, but I’ve got a couple of people on line that I might meet up with. One guy says he’s a member of a pack in Portland, Oregon and there’s another guy who goes by the name Vlad. He said he’d be glad to let me interview him, even go on a hunt! But it would have to be after midnight. To tell you the truth, I think I could skip the hunt part.”


“Vlad,” she said laughing. Then she took a big drink. When she put her glass down, her upper lip was wet with vivid red. It didn’t look like the tomato juice used in a Bloody Mary. It looked kind of slimy and gross. She licked her lip and most of it came off. Gross.


“Oh, well, yeah. I mean people use fake names in chat rooms and stuff. It’s safer.”


“Do you use a fake name?”


“I go by ‘A’ mostly.”


“A for Adam.”


He blushed, “um, no, it’s for Alexi. It sounds better than Adam.”


“Oh,” she said, “I suppose Vampires wouldn’t have typical American names. Listen,” she continued, if you meet one of these characters, would it be . . . I mean would you mind if I tagged along?”


“That’d be great! If you don’t mind riding a bus. I won’t have my actual driver’s license for quite awhile.”


“Don’t be silly,” said Amanda. “I drive.”


“Can’t tell my parents.”


“No, of course not.”


“and you might have to wait in the car when I’m actually meeting somebody.”


“Okay,” she said. “Maybe we should take notes on everything. Let me go get a pad and pen.”

Adam couldn’t believe his luck. That a grown woman would be willing to help him. Wow. When she closed the door behind her, he couldn’t help himself -- he reached for her drink.” He brought it to his mouth. Just a little sip. He almost gagged when the taste registered on his tongue. He put the drink down quickly. That was not anything a person should be drinking! It was thick and had an iron-salty taste. Absolutely disgusting.


Later, Adam was able to track Vlad down on line and instant messaged him. “Vlad,” he typed. “It’s all set. I can meet you now. When is a good time?”


There was no response for several seconds and he was afraid Vlad had already signed off. But then -- “Next Friday -- in Seattle -- 1:00 pm at Mary’s Mausoleum. -- Do you know it? It’s a non-alcoholic dance club.”


“I’ll find it,” Adam answered.








PART II

They were standing in the yard. It was about four o’clock in the morning and Adam had known she’d be there.



“Adam, does this ‘Vlad’ know how old you are?”


“I don’t think so. Why?”


“That place he wants to meet, Mary’s Mausoleum. It caters to teenagers. Why would a grown man, if that’s what he is, choose that place?” She had a disgusted look on her face.


“You mean you think he’s a perv and a vampire?” She just looked at him and didn’t say a word. “Wait,” Adam continued. “If he doesn’t know my age then he’s not trying to lure me there for the reasons you’re suggesting. Besides, how do you know anything about this place?”


“Because,” she said, “I went and checked it out last night. And another thing, “she said, “the place closes at twelve and he wants to meet you at one, right?”


“Right. Maybe he needs to bite someone before I get there. You know, feed or whatever.”


She threw her head back and laughed. Then she abruptly stopped. “Sorry,” she said, “Maybe that’s right.” Then she looked thoughtful and said, “why do you want to interview him anyway?


“For my research,“ he said. “and, well . . .”


“What?”


“It would be cool to have the kinds of powers they have. Vampires, I mean.”


“Are you telling me that you want one of them to change you?”


“You mean turn me,” he said. “I’ve only thought about it. I don’t know if I really want it to happen.”


“Well, you don’t!” she was angry. “It’s not a life. It’s eternal boredom -- with no future, no love, lots of trouble and no peace!” She turned away and walked toward the flowerbed. “I’m afraid you’re going to get into trouble. Trouble that I may not be able to help you with.”


Adam’s mood changed, mirroring hers. “I never asked for your protection! You volunteered to come with me. I didn’t ask you.”


She turned toward him again and, with a gentler tone, said, “Maybe this is all a mistake.”


“Don’t come then! I don’t care!”


“I didn’t mean my coming might be a mistake. I mean your agreeing to meet these . . .people you’re in touch with from the web.”


Adam was starting to whine like a petulant child. “I was into this stuff way before I met you,” he said. “and anyhow, if I really wanted to be turned I’d have asked you to do it!”


She was startled. “What?”


“Yes, you’re one. You’re a vampire,” he said accusingly.


“That’s ridiculous! This conversation is over. Go back to bed,” she said and started toward her house.


“I tasted your Bloody Mary,” he yelled at her. “It was bloody alright. And I saw your hand the night you cut yourself. I saw it heal!”


She was on him in a movement so fast it seemed as though she flew. “You mustn’t repeat that. Ever! To anyone!”


The venom in her voice made him cringe and pull away. But he was still defiant. “If I was going to say anything to anyone else, I would have done it already.”


“Adam, I must warn you. Our kind will not tolerate the knowledge of our existence. The way we exist is by blending in.” Her appearance had changed. Her anger made her eyes flash and it seemed as though her body barely contained the electric energy that animated her. Even her breasts seemed to swell.


“If that’s the case, then why have you befriended me? What’s in it for you?”


She relaxed and gave him the smile he was used to. She reached up and stroked the side of his face. The tenderness of the touch made him blush. He felt it all the way down to his groin. She seemed to sense his excitement and quickly pulled back. “Have you ever had a pet, Adam? A dog or a cat or even a bigger animal, that was very close to you?”


“Yes,” he said.


“I liked you the moment I saw you, Adam. Your big doe-eyes, your infectious smile, your youthful energy, everything. Later you showed your enthusiasm and excitement about your interest. I have become very fond of you in that sense.”


“Oh,” he said, with disappointment. “So I’m like a dog to you. A cute puppy you can throw a ball for . . .”


“Adam, you have no idea what my existence is like. I have no reason to exist. I’m a different species, for heaven’s sake! My life requires the life-force of humans. My life is an abomination. I spend hours cultivating my garden, getting what little joy I can from planning something the way your kind plan your lives.


But you’ve become more than a distraction. I have to admit I am a bit surprised at how important you’ve become to me in such a very short period of time.” She sighed. “But if we can’t remain friends, if we can’t be confidants, then . . .” she shook her head. “If I am forced to destroy you -- well, I am capable of doing what I must. Still, I am not void of feeling. I would grieve your loss and become very sad.”


Adam was deeply touched and frightened at the same time. He didn’t know which feeling brought the tears that he was trying to keep in check. She held out her arms to him and he fell into them, melting in her cold embrace. “I’m sorry I got mad at you,” he said.


“Me too.”


“Are we friends then? I’d never tell anyone about you. I won’t put you at risk.”


She pulled away and looked into his eyes, her hands still on his shoulders. “Friday night, then?” she smiled.


“Okay,” he sniffed.


“It’ll be alright then, Adam. Don’t worry. Go back to your room now.”


* * * *


All the rest of the week, Adam tried to figure out how he could get to Mary’s Mausoleum without Amanda. He felt, after their spat, that he wanted to go on his own. He wasn’t sure why, but his adventure would be more productive without her. Maybe, subconsciously, he did want to become a supernatural being. Finally, Thursday afternoon, he decided what he’d do. After school he knocked on Amanda’s screen door.


“Adam! Is anything wrong? You look strange.”


He kept his eyes downcast. He was still a little embarrassed by the heated conversation they’d had earlier in the week. “Amanda, I think I’m going to cancel Friday night. I feel like I’m coming down with something. In fact you shouldn’t get too close to me now. I’d hate to give you this crud.”


“Don’t be silly, Adam. I’m not susceptible to your illnesses. But I’m sure sorry to her you don’t feel well. Let me know when you’re better,. Okay?”


He raised his eyes to her and saw the look of concern on her face. Adam was pretty sure she was worried that he might have had second thoughts about their friendship. He didn’t want her to think that so he smiled broadly. “Thanks Amanda. Maybe I’ll be better by Saturday.”


He told his mom the next morning that he thought he had the flu. He didn’t want to make Amanda suspicious by walking off to school. So he faked it. His mother suggested that they go see the doctor, but he said he didn’t want to do that. He just wanted to stay in bed, he told her.


Friday afternoon he spent some time on the sofa as part of his ruse. After a while he told everybody that he was going to bed. “If anyone calls, tell ’em I’m sick and in bed.” At nine-thirty he crept down stairs and out the side door without any of the family seeing him. He stayed on that side of the house so that Amanda wouldn’t see him if she happened to be looking outside. By ten o’clock he was at the bus stop and by ten-thirty he was in downtown Seattle. He asked someone for directions to third and Bourne and then walked to the club. Adam was tall. He was wearing a hoodie and kept the hood up. No one seemed to take notice of him.


He heard the music two blocks away. He was early, but that couldn’t be helped. So he decided to go into the place. Luckily he had money on him. He paid a cover charge and entered a dark place full of dancing bodies. It was really dark except for the bar. So he walked up and ordered a coke and then sat on an empty bar stool.


Two stools down was a pretty girl -- kind of. She was about his age. She smiled. He smiled back. Her eyes were caked with black makeup. “Hey,” she said. “You wanna dance?”


“Uumm . . .naw. Thanks though.”


“What’s your name?” she asked. “I’ve never seen you here and I come every weekend.”


“Alexi,” he answered.


“Alexi? Wow. You Russian or Ukrainian or something?”


“No. My parents.”


“That’s cool,” she said. “I’m Eve. You know, like Adam’s wife.”


He gave her a funny look. What a weird thing to say “yeah, I know.”


He wished she’d go away. Even if she was sort of pretty, he was going to be meeting a Vampire later for chrissake. He got up taking his coke with him and went to the men’s room -- just to get away from Eve. Three minutes later he walked around the edge of the dance floor. He stood and watched the kids make asses of themselves.


“Hey!” It was Eve’s voice behind him, damn it. “where’d you go?”


Adam shrugged.


“C’mer,” she said with her mouth to his ear. “I wanna show you something.”


Adam was irritated by her persistence. “Fine. What do you want to show me?”


“C’mon.” He followed her toward the coat check and around a corner into a kind of hallway. “Give me your coke.” She reached out and took it from him. Then she pulled a little bottle of vodka from her back pocket and poured it in. “Try that.”


He looked skeptical. “Everyone does it,” she said. He looked at her. “Oh, c’mon! Don’t’ be a nervous Nelly.”


Adam suddenly laughed out loud. “Nervous Nelly?”


She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”


He hadn’t heard that phrase since his great grandmother had died. He smiled at her. “you’re funny. But just to let you know I’m not here to pick up girls.”


“Boys?” she asked.


He laughed. “No, I just mean I’m not looking for a girlfriend.”


“Good. ‘cause neither am I.”


“Could have fooled me,” he said.


She punched him in the arm and almost knocked him over. “I was just trying to be friendly,” she said. “I thought you looked kind of out of place and uncomfortable.”


So they sat and talked. She asked too many personal questions, but he had another vodka coke and it didn’t bother him too much. He looked at his watch. The place closed at twelve and he was supposed to meet Vlad at one. He had to think of a way to ditch Eve.”


“I gotta go,” he said. “my ride will be here soon.”


“Okay. Maybe see you next weekend?”


“Yeah, sure, next weekend.” He got up from his stool and walked toward the door. He was relieved at how simple that had been. Now he’d just have to find a place to keep out of sight until all the teenagers left.


Adam walked into the night and around the block until he was on the next street over. He knew when the place closed. He could hear kids yelling and talking after the music stopped. He didn’t know which way Eve would be going and he didn’t want her to spot him so he walked until he found the entrance to a dark alley. He leaned against a sour smelling dumpster where he could watch the street.


And that’s when it happened.


* * * *


Someone grabbed him roughly from behind and spun him around as if he were a rag doll. It was Eve. She grabbed him with both hands by the collar and lifted him off his feet. She slammed him against the brick wall of the alley. She looked furious and evil. Nothing like the harmless kid he’d spent the last few hours talking to. “What are you up to, Alexi, hmm?” Her voice was almost a snarl. “Think you’re cool hunting vampires? Or do you think it’d be fun to be one?”


“I’m not hunting vampires,” he said breathlessly. “I’m just doing research.”


“Research,” she mocked. “You think I’m a fool? I wasn’t born yesterday you know.” She slammed him again. “I ought to kill you,” she said. “I’ll decide after I’ve had a drink.”


He felt her teeth sink into him -- the skin didn’t give at first, but with pressure it punctured and slits opened with ease. It hurt like sharp barbed wire digging into his flesh. The pain was localized on his neck but he felt the burn all the way down his chest, shoulder and arm. He struggled against her but had no power. He felt the life draining out of him.


There was some sort of stir behind Eve -- he could see movement but nothing recognizable. Then he was pulled away from the wall, or more precisely, she was pulled and he with her. He heard her snarl and scream. He heard growls and ripping fabric. She had sunk her teeth deeper into him like a dog biting the end of a rope or a ball.


* * * *


He awoke in a bedroom he did not recognize. He felt strange. His muscles felt tight and coiled like a spring. Amanda was sitting in a chair beside the bed. “Welcome back.”


“What happened?”


“Vlad, happened,,” she said.


“I was confused. I don’t think I saw him.”


“Adam it was the girl. The girl went by the online name of Vlad!”


“But . . .”


“We’ll talk about it later,” she said. “But we’ve got to get a move on. We have to leave. For obvious reasons you can’t go back home -- fake eating and drinking, struggling to procure blood. All that. The sooner we go the better for your parents.”


He instantly saw that she was right.


* * * *


They drove all night in Amanda’s car. When the sky began to lighten, they pulled over to a rest stop. She duct taped some heavy cloth over the windows to sleep through the day and Adam crawled into the trunk, slamming the door behind him. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. The sun would be strong later.


Sometime during the afternoon he heard male voices and felt the car shake as if someone were trying to get in. Shit, Amanda was in the front of the car! She wouldn’t be able to fight them off if they opened the car door. He couldn’t do anything either. There were at least two and they sounded like belligerent young men. He was really scared. Then he heard the door pop open and the Amanda hissing. The men were laughing and ordering her to get out. Then there was a tussle and he heard Amanda’s horrible screaming.


For a little while it was quiet. About ten minutes later, he felt someone get in the driver’s seat and start the engine. Had to be one of the men, since Amanda wouldn’t be able to drive under the sun. The car moved and Adam was on his way somewhere with a strange man. A man who, after dark, Adam would rip to shreds for murdering Amanda. Adam felt tears stream down his face. He knew that, eventually, he’d be driving somewhere . . .alone. And he’d have no one.


* * * *


Ten years later, Adam was living in an old shack in Texas. He had adjusted to his solitary life as a child of the night.


Over the years he had kept tabs on his family. They never knew it of course, nor did they ever find out what happened to him. His Dad had retired and traveled around a lot with his mom in their motor home. His sister, Rebekah, had married some guy and had recently given birth the a healthy daughter.


Occasionally a car or a truck would drive by in the evening and see the boy working in his back yard. Sometimes they’d slow down to admire his amazingly lush garden.

when leaves fall

WHEN LEAVES FALL 

part I

copyright 2019 john carlson

The rising full moon, still low on the horizon, already cast a silver light over the dark landscape. The stand of pines on the hilltop blocked the light from penetrating their bulk. Black walls in silhouette . But the deciduous trees nearer the cabin were helpless against the moon’’s charm. Twisted trunks made a latticework of gnarled hands clawing the air.


Pete loved being out here in the late fall, where the sky, when it was clear, was a mass of stars that couldn’t be seen from the city. His two weeks of vacation were barely enough for the profound solitude to soak through his up-tight body and racing mind. No TV or radio, only a cell phone for emergency -- but even that modern convenience showed ""no service"" up here in the foothills of the Cascades. He’d have to drive to Verlot -- a tiny cluster of houses with one small gas station/grocery -- twenty miles down the slopes. By this time of year only a few daring souls willing to brave the cold and isolation of the coming winter would be there.

Ginny was inside the cabin with a blazing fire. She was no doubt propped on the ancient quilt covered bed reading. When she came with him, she always brought a suitcase of books -- novels she had little time to read at home. She seemed content here. She hated the outhouse when they would visit for long weekends in the summer, but this time of year the flies were gone and the smell subdued by the cold.

He liked hiking with the dog during the days, but in the evenings relished sitting on the ramshackle porch -- rain or shine -- encircled by the peacefulness of nature. Yes, the cabin was rustic and not in the best of shape, nailed shut during most of the year, but he always made sure the steep pitched roof was in good repair. He hauled several cords of seasoned wood up during the year and stacked them neatly under a large lean-to a few feet from the house.

A fox and two half grown kits loped past on their way to who-knows-where and a few whitetail deer wandered past, made curious by his presence on the porch and the smell of the fire. He heard a mournful howling somewhere in the distance. Finally he stood up and stretched, reluctantly turning his back on the woods and entered the cabin.


""Did you hear the howling?"" Ginny asked.


""Mmm, sounded lonely,"" he said.


""I know Pete,"" there was concern in her voice. ""but I didn’t think their were wolves in the area.""


That was true, he thought, but . . . ""Maybe coyotes.""


""Pete, coyotes don’t howl. They yap and make those weird crying-barking sounds.""


""Maybe they’ve been reintroduced."" But he doubted that since it would have been all over the news.


""I don’t think so, Pete. Would it be possible for a pack to have somehow made it here on their own?""


""I don’t know, but . . . Ginny you’re starting to make me nervous now,"" he said. Maybe I’ll visit the ranger station tomorrow and ask."" He stripped for bed. Ginny scooted over so he could climb in. She put her book down and turned off the Coleman lamp. The room was lit only by the fireplace now. Shadows danced on the log walls.


""They were asleep in no time. Only the occasional snap of the fire interrupted the stillness. Nathanael was rudely awakened by Ginny’s elbow. He shrunk away but she kept poking him. She put her mouth against his ear -- ""Pete -- shhh, listen."" Waking to a warning or an urgent whisper is a frightening sensation. His heart was beating out of his chest as he strained to listen. ""You hear that?"" she asked.


He did hear a scratching at the door, slow and soft at first, then louder and faster and more forceful, as if paws were digging frantically to get in. They lay there frozen with fear as their imaginations ran amok. The dog, Gracie, had lost most of her hearing in the last couple of years, but even she lifted her head and gave a soft ""woof"". The sound stopped abruptly, but then they heard feet padding away, crackling against fallen leave, and fading into the distance.


"Shit!"" he said, throwing off the quilted comforter, ""what the hell was that?""


""Don’t go out there, Pete,"" Ginny warned in a scratchy whisper.


""Whatever it was is gone,"" he said, and he grabbed a flashlight.


He opened the door slowly and turned the beam on the porch and then the perimeter of the cabin. A fog had come in like a shroud and the light only penetrated a few feet. Then he trained the light on the door itself and saw the scratches, deep and splintered grooves high up. ""Ginny, look at this!""


She crept out and examined the marks. ""Holy . . . It must have been huge whatever it was. Pete I’m scared. Lets get out of here.""


He put his arm around her shoulder in a poor attempt at comforting reassurance. He, too, was totally freaked out. ""Gin, it’s the middle of the night. Whatever or whoever was at the door is long gone now. Besides we practically just arrived.""


""I guess you’re right,"" she said. But she went to fetch a hatchet from one of the boxes they’d lugged in. ""But I’m not going back to bed without protection!""


""He laughed despite his barely contained fear. ""You’re going to fight something off with that? A real ax murderer aren’t you,"" he teased.


""Well, at least keep your gun by the bed. Would you? I’ll rest easier.


""How about my crossbow?""


""Whatever. Something."" A moment passed and she asked, ""what did you mean whatever or whoever? A person couldn’t make those gouges in the door.""

Surprisingly they fell back to sleep. Toward morning both were snoring softly. By the time daylight invaded the room, Pete was beginning to stir. When both were awake, they found that the terror of last night had dissipated. When he opened the door, Gracie bounded out of the cabin and toward the woods to do her duty. When Pete returned from the outhouse, Gracie was whining. Her hackles were raised as she sniffed around the porch.


Ginny had eggs and bacon frying on the Coleman stove -- unhealthy food she would never fry, let alone eat, back home. Pete smiled and poured himself a cup of yesterday’s cold coffee. After eating he retrieved his camera and jacket, kissed Ginny, and headed out the door. Gracie happily ran ahead of him. He knew the trails in the area, he knew the land, no real surprises, but he loved the day hikes no matter how uneventful they may be. The morning was as clear and bright as it was cold and crisp.


He had schooled himself in tracking. He read everything he could find on the subject during the year. He’d learned more by actually doing it when he was in the wilderness. But when he noticed a couple shoeprints leading away from the cabin, he was puzzled and a little angry. But rather than trepidation, he felt excitement at the prospect of finding something out about last night’s intruder.


He followed the sporadic tracks, the trampled grasses and displaced leaves for nearly a mile until he reached the muddy banks of a swampy pond. The man’s big footprints were very clear in the soft mud. Strangely, they just ended -- stopped, disappeared. The tracks ended as if the person just stood in one place and vanished. Maybe he had jumped into the mucky water. He couldn’t make heads or tails of it so he decided to continue walking and forget about it.






*** *** ***

Part II


While Pete was out, Ginny decided she’d better go down to the stream and fetch more water for boiling. The sun was sinking and she was a little concerned that Pete wasn’t back. He was usually gone only until late afternoon but rarely wandered in this late.


The little creek wasn’t far from the cabin. She filled and carried two buckets to the porch, glancing uneasily toward the wooded ridge. Where was he? Next she went to the lean-to for the nights firewood. She was just bending over it when a low voice from behind her said; ""allow me to help you."" She screamed, turned and fell backward against the stacked wood.


A very tall man stared down at her, grinning. His grin frightened and angered her all at once. ""Who are you? And what the hell are you doing on this property?""


He had the nerve to chuckle. ""Sorry if I alarmed you,"" he said, smiling at her. ""I was only passing through and thought I’d help you out with the logs.""


""Passing through? Passing through! Nobody just ‘passes through’ here. We’re in the middle of the forest for heaven’s sake!""


""Well, I was actually trying to find the old Iron Ram mine trail. I think I’ve been walking in circles.""


""Ya?"" she said incredulously. ""You probably are walking in circles and you’re about twenty-five or thirty miles from it.""


He picked up an armload of wood. ""I guess that explains my luck then.""


The man was tall and muscular. His hair was a mass of curls, neither too long nor too short. He had strange gray eyes and a dimpled chin. When he smiled his teeth gleamed like he used too much tooth whitening gel and his canines were longer than most people’s. Ginny wasn’t sure what to do or how to react. Was he a danger, a potential friend or just a lost soul that needed to be hurried on his way? ""My husband will be back soon,"" she said, trying her best to keep calm. ""He’s been on a hike with our dog.""


""Shouldn’t he be back by now?"" He looked at his wide leather watchband. ""It’s after dark . . .nearly.""


""I suppose he should. And shouldn’t you be on your way as well?"" She really hoped he’d leave as suddenly as he came, but suspected he would linger. The small hairs on her neck and arms stood on end as she studied his eyes. They were eerie and too intense. His gray irises were ringed with dark which made the gray appear even lighter than it was. His black dilated pupils penetrated her like lasers.

""Your husband is late, I can not leave you here alone. That would be very ungentlemanly of me.""


She felt she needed to be firm with this guy or she would be stuck with unwanted company. ""I’m fine,"" she said. ""I’m not a child! You just go on now and leave me alone.""


Again he flashed that frighteningly beautiful smile and locked his eyes with hers. She felt a wave of calm wash over her. She felt sleepy. What a nice guy , she thought as she became even more relaxed. Then she jerked back to reality. What the hell was she thinking? He could be a serial killer for all she knew. She shook her head, trying to bring herself out of whatever spell she was under. ""Leave!"" she yelled.


His smile faltered for a moment then spread over his face again. ""You’re very strong."" She looked up at him. ""But,"" he continued, ""you are also very tired and sleepy, Ginny. We should go in.""


She nodded and turned to climb the porch steps. Just as she stepped over the threshold, her fear returned. ""How did you know my name?""


""Your name? I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ginny."" They stood face to face for a moment. Neither uttered a word. Ginny backed slowly away into the cabin. ""Can I come in Ginny?""


""N-n-no,"" she stammered. A ridiculous but very terrible thought came to her. Vampire! Vampires have to be invited in. No, there is no such thing. But as she continued to stare at this handsome frightening stranger, she had the nightmarish certainty that he was exactly that. The very fact that this thought was in her mind absolutely terrified her.


""You know you’d like to invite me in. Why don’t you do that. It’ll be nice. We can talk, have a cup of coffee, wait for Pete."" Her legs abruptly felt weak. She thought she might pee. But she didn’t budge -- she couldn’t. His features tensed and his eyes seared into her. ""Let me in!"" he ordered.


Wisely, Ginny made a split second decision not to look at his eyes. Instead she focused on his hands. They were smooth and white. He wore a ring on his right index finger, but his nails! His nails were too long and thick and there was dirt all around the cuticles -- like he’d been gardening. The thought made her laugh. ""Mr. Gardener, the Vampire!""

""What,"" he asked in a puzzled voice.


She was laughing so hard now that she could barely speak. ""I’m not letting you in Mr. Gardener!"" She slammed the door and fell down on her hands and knees laughing. She had to stop it and try to think. What should she do in this situation?


* * * *


Pete awoke face down. He wasn’t sure where he was. He sat up and turned on the small flashlight attached to his belt. He shone it all around. He was on a trail, he could see that -- thick bushes and ferns all around him and of course the ubiquitous trees. What happened, how did he get here? Had he fallen? He felt good, great in fact. The flashlight sparked and dimmed then petered out. His eyes adjusted quickly and he found he could see perfectly well. He checked himself for wounds. Nothing. But the front of his shirt was damp and sticky. He felt his neck. It was wet too. He sniffed his wet hand. Blood. He could not feel the source of it at first, but then just under his chin he did feel something -- a small bump or two or a welt. What the . . . ?


He stood up and tried to remember which way he was going, got out his pocket compass and found his direction. He was amazed that he could read the little thing in the near darkness. He looked at the watch. It was late. Ginny would be worried. And Gracie! Where was Gracie?


He called the dog’s name. Then he saw her. ""Oh, no. Oh, no Gracie!"" He walked a few steps forward and knelt beside her crumpled body. He picked her up and cradled her dead body, tears streaming down his face. ""Oh, what happened to you, Girl? My good girl."" He laid her back down and rolled her over. Her neck was torn, ripped open, and the blood was still warm though no longer flowing. The coppery smell of it overwhelmed him suddenly. Before he could even register what he was doing, his mouth was on the dogs neck and he was drinking it.


He quickly pulled away. My God! What am I doing!




Gardener, or whoever he was, stood outside yelling. He kept screaming her name angrily. She put her hands over her ears but she could still hear him. He began to howl, and the sound sent chills through her. Then, abruptly, the yelling and screaming and howling stopped.

For a little while she sat in a corner hugging herself and rocking. What did the silence mean? She got up and got a knife and walked softly around the two small rooms of the cabin. When she reached the fireplace her eyes went to the wood. There was a stack of kindling. She picked up a fairly long piece of kindling and examined it, then began whittling on the end, forming a sharp point. Maybe a stake would work better against the Vamp than a knife. She heard footsteps outside. She held her breath listening. It was quiet again and after ten minutes had past, she got up. What should she do?


Where was Pete. Ginny dropped the stake and clutched the knife tighter. The room seemed lighter through the curtains, but the sun had not yet fully risen. She tiptoed to the window and carefully, slowly, pulled the corner of the curtain back so she could see outside. Her heart fell. It was snowing like crazy. Huge flakes were piling up. She sank to her knees. Then she lay down completely on the soft thick area carpet and let her eyes close.


* * * *


Pete stood above the dog’s body and stared. What had he just done? What in the world compelled him to do such a thing? The trail was becoming white before he realized it was snowing. He turned away from Gracie and began walking down the trail. He wasn’t sure how far away from the cabin her was, could be close but could be miles. He just couldn’t remember. He was so thirsty, but he couldn’t hear any water -- no river, no stream.


Everything was different somehow. He could smell the trees and the earth, he could see deeper into the woods than he normally could. He could here small stirrings around him; deer mice, ground squirrels, forest newts or frogs in the leaf mold and loam beneath that? It was weird. As he walked around a bend in the trail, he was all of a sudden aware of a heartbeat off the trail in the bush.


He stopped and listened. Yes, he heard it even more clearly and the rushing of blood being pumped through the body. He sensed it was a deer and had the overwhelming urge to find it. When he felt he was very close, the sleeping animal awoke and was on her feet in a flash. Pete closed in and the doe leapt and ran. Pete gave chase. He was on her trail running through the trees, leaping over fallen branches and moss covered boulders as if, he too, were a forest animal. He ran and ran and let no distance come between him and his prey.


They ran uphill then down a gorge. The deer crossed a small river in two graceful jumps. Pete vaulted over the water and easily onto the other side. The doe was tiring, growing less agile as they wove through the trees, but Pete felt fine -- even exhilarated. ""Enough,"" he thought -- and in two preternatural leaps he was on her. She was gasping and struggling to free herself from his grip. He threw her down and sat on her heaving side. It all seemed so natural as he tore into her neck and felt the hot gush of delicious blood.


The snow was deepening and he knew the daylight was fast approaching. He plunged his hands into the snow feeling the ground beneath. He started to dig, his hands easily snapping through strong roots in the soil. The earth moved almost as easy as the snow. His whole body was soon under the soil. The earth was warm, the smell comforting. Then his thoughts simply ceased.


* * * *


The snow continued to fall, heavily and soundlessly. The lonely cabin in the little clearing looked like the cover of a Christmas card. The silence was profound and to all appearances the cabin seemed serene and warm and beautiful.


Ginny woke with a start. It was so quiet and bright -- obviously daylight. She could see the clock across the room. Twelve o’clock! But . . .she couldn’t have slept so long! Then she remembered everything from the previous night and fear surged through her. The fire had gone out and she could see her own breath. Besides the fear, a deep sadness was upon her. Pete was lost and perhaps dead somewhere out in the woods. She couldn’t fool herself into believing anything but the worst.


I’ve got to get out of here, she thought. I’ll just grab a few things and drive the hell away. She put on her jacket, grabbed her keys and scooped up the knife and stake. When she opened the door however, she dropped everything on the floor and looked blankly at the scene. She’d forgotten the snow. Good Lord, it must have dumped three feet on the ground. There was no way in hell she could drive down that crooked bumpy dirt road leading to the highway. Nor would she get far walking, let alone walking the twenty miles to Verlot.


* * * *


Pete awoke to the darkness. He was still thirsty, but not uncontrollably. He began walking. He had to get home to Ginny. As he plodded through the snow, he saw a couple of raccoons. He caught one and drank it dry. He didn’t like the musky smell, but the blood was sweet. He knew for certain that something bad had happened to him, but he didn’t question it now. He just followed his instincts and continued toward his destination.


The snow had stopped falling and the moon was shining through, where the breaks in the sparse clouds allowed. He was very close now. He saw a movement at the edge of the trail ahead under some Cedars. A man stepped out wearing black levis and a black turtleneck ""Ahh, there you are my son."" The man was near Pete’s age.


""Son?"" Pete said. ""My dad is dead."" Strangely Pete felt no fear. It was as if he were talking to someone on the streets of Seattle.


The man laughed. ""I’m your maker and therefore you are my child."" He stood like a statue, barely moving. ""You are in need of new clothes, Pete.""


Pete looked down at his shirt. He was surprised but not appalled by the state of his clothing. His jacket was gone and his shirt was torn and tattered -- covered with reddish black stains. His jeans were not torn as badly, but they were caked with dirt -- probably from his sleep in the soil. He was most surprised to see that his shoes were gone. His feet were so pale that they were nearly indistinguishable from the snow. ""What have you done to me?""


The Vampire smiled again in a patient fatherly way. ""I’ve made you better. Given you a new life -- an eternal existence.""


""Get the hell away from me."" Pete said. ""I’ve got to check on my wife.""


""Yes, do that Pete. Be careful at the door though. Make sure she invites you in.""


""What are you talking about, you crazy bastard? It’s my wife. She in my cabin.""


""Not yours anymore, my child.""


""Screw you,"" Pete said, as he walked swiftly past the man.


""Be careful Pete,"" the man called after him laughingly. His laugh echoed through the trees.




* * * *

Ginny had spent the day collecting any and all weapons or potential weapons she could find; crossbow, pistol, knives, stakes, even a heavy cast iron frying pan. Between her fiddling with items of potential salvation, she sat and cried. She wept for her situation, she wept for her lost spouse and for Gracie. At one point during the day she carried loads of firewood inside. She didn’t know how long she might have to sustain a siege against the terrible Vampire. She had learned that he could not enter without her invitation, but what if he lit the cabin on fire to smoke her out?


She heard footsteps crunching in the snow outside. Her heart began beating wildly until she heard Pete’s voice. She let out a yelp of surprise and hope. She ran to the door and flung it open. He looked awful, almost unrecognizable. ""Oh my God, Pete!""


He climbed the steps smiling but stopped at the threshold with a puzzled look.


""Pete, what’s happened to you, why are you just standing there? Are you wounded? There’s blood all over you. Oh my God, Pete!"" Then it all started to click in her mind. He must have been attacked by the Vampire. That’s why he stood there. She had to ask him in. Suddenly, overcome with grief, she wished she were dead and asked him to come in.


He fell into the doorway and looked around. ""I’m not going to hurt you Ginny. You’re my wife. I love you. I don’t understand what happened to me, but I won’t hurt you."" His eyes, too, had changed. They were uncannily similar to the man that had wanted in last night.


""Oh, Pete! Don’t you see? You’re a vampire!""


He looked at her like she was crazy -- then sat down on the edge of their bed. ""Vampires are myths, Ginny.""


""Where did the blood come from, Pete?""


""Animals,"" he said as he studied his long thick fingernails. ""Animals. Maybe you’re right I’ve become a monster.""


She told him about the ordeal with the man the night before. ""Yes,"" he said. ""I met him. Apparently he did this to me-- and killed Gracie as well."" She buried her face in her hands and wept yet again.

Then the dreaded voice from outside. ""Pete. Ginny. Let me in.""


""Never, you devil!"" Pete yelled.


The Vamp snarled in answer and then the digging and scratching started -- just like they’d heard the first night. It was weird and haunting. Why did he do it? ""Pete,"" he bellowed. ""Let me in! I command you. I know how to feed from her for many years without turning her.""


""Bull shit,"" Pete yelled back. But he was inching toward the door. He felt compelled.


Finally unable to take it any longer, Ginny grabbed the crossbow and loaded it with double arrows. ""Let him in,"" she screamed. Pete stared at her. She looked away from Pete and called out. ""Come in, Mr. Gardener.""


The door immediately swung open and as it did she released the arrows. They sailed to their mark with enough power to knock him down , the monster. Wasting not a moment, she ran toward him with the stake in her hand and quickly buried it in his chest. The vamp hissed and squirmed and then lay still. She ran back for the hatchet, then ran back to the door and hacked at his neck until the head rolled off the porch.


Pete and Ginny talked the rest of the night about everything. He was able to assure her he would never lay a hand on her. When the sun began to light the morning sky, Pete became weak and sleepy. He crawled under the bed as Ginny looked on with sad eyes. She wasn’t sure what they would do, how they would live. Pete certainly couldn’t keep his current job. She lay down on the bed, her mind racing. But eventually she fell asleep from pure emotional exhaustion. When she awoke at three o’clock in the afternoon, the sun was shining through the window and onto the bed. She got up to close it and then stopped.


She moaned to herself. Then, with a quick movement, she bent beside the bed, grabbed Pete and pulled. He was heavy but she managed to get him moved far enough that only his head was still under the bed. She reached in and turned him so she could get hold of him under the arms. She took a deep breath and pulled as hard as she could toward the window and the square of light on the floor beside it. A god-awful smell hit her and she noticed Pete’s arms were darkening. Suddenly his eyes flashed open and he bit her wrist. She screamed and pulled her wrist away. He was in the light and he cried out, wide eyed, ""Gin help me!"" He struggled but he had become pathetically weak. She watched his skin bubble and smolder until all that was left was a pile of putrid smelling ash.

One year later





The rising moon cast a silvery light on the landscape and the little cabin in the clearing. All the windows were boarded up. The place looked abandoned. Then the door opened and a solitary woman, white as snow, exited. She closed the door behind her.


It was cold. She was in a flimsy shift and she was barefooted. She stretched and smiled . Then, silently, she glided like a ghost toward the wooded hills. She would return at daybreak to wash the blood from her body and disappear again into the lonely cabin.