Encounters (7 page)

“
We took him because we needed him. They are coming back and we aren’t what we once were, so we invoked an ancient rite to barter passage away. We took the books because we weren’t ready for you to find us yet. It was actually quite impressive that he put it all together. When we first came here the natives were astounded by us; our appearances and our abilities even in our current state. They raised mounds to honor us and we lived among them. Then the colonists came from the old world and they drove them out to build their towns and cities. So, we lived among them instead. We very rarely got involved in their affairs, save for that once during the civil war.”

Tuesday
’s smile deepened as he seemed to look inward. “That was a delicious little war” he said. “It reminded me of how much I used to relish combat and it was most refreshing.”

As he was saying this
Thorton was smiling and nodding in agreement.

Odie
glanced at them both with mild annoyance before continuing. “The Kepler book was an excellent find on his part, a book written at a time when man was ceasing to look to the stars for insight and was beginning to study their movements scientifically. He must have used it to read the signs and portents written in the sky.”

“
What do you mean ‘They’ are coming back? Who are they? What signs? What is going on?”

“
Eons ago, before mankind’s recorded history, this world was ruled by ancient gods. They were cruel, vicious creatures. When they left we, and others like us, rose to prominence but now they are returning. It’s been written in the sky that they are coming again and we would flee before they do. I hear that you have even had a dream or two about what this world will be like once it’s under their rule again.”

“
What do you know about my dreams” Tommy asked. His jaw and his fists clenched. He felt powerless and that fueled his anger.

“
More than you do I dare say” was Odie’s reply. “No one is left here with the strength to resist them. All the old powers are dead or gone and soon so shall we.”

“
Where is Stephen?”

“
Don’t worry; you’ll be joining him soon. You both will.”

He started shaking and his legs felt like water.
Odie was still stone faced but Tuesday looked eager and predatory. He glanced over to Helen to see her taking in quick shallow breaths.

“
You can’t do this”, she said. “We had a deal! I brought them both, just like you asked!”

At this Tommy
’s head rocked back as if he’d been slapped. He felt his fear mix with this feeling of betrayal. The two sat in his stomach like a lump. Tommy turned towards her, his body and his head feeling like they were a thousand miles apart, in confusion.

“
What do you mean you brought them both?”

“
I’m sorry Tommy; they promised me they’d take me with them. I didn’t have any choice. We had a deal”, she screamed at the men, or whatever they really were, at the table.

“
I’m sorry” Odie began, “but time is running out and the old rites call for there to be three. These two were always connected and now you have built a connection with them as well. This makes for a much more powerful rite.”

Helen leapt up from her chair but
Thorton caught her easily. Tommy didn’t even try to run when they came for him.

Day 11: Epilogue

The next morning the people of New Damascus were surprised to see closed signs in windows of two of the three local businesses. They were even more shocked when a harried looking Chief Hughes announced the disappearance of five people. A group that included three pillars of the community, the head librarian, and one new arrival. Sadly, none were ever found.

Vampires was
my first attempt at a vignette. In literature a vignette is less of a story and more of a single scene. I wondered what it would actually be like if vampires returned to find the current cultural fascination with them. Vampire books. Vampire movies. A whole generation of girls who think vampires sparkle and just want to be loved too. It would be a feeding frenzy.

Then I had an almost absurd image of the US government trying to combat that attitude with Public Service Announcements. The whole thing came out in a rush typed out on my phone in between classes. Much of my writing gets done on my phone between classes. It was fun to write and is quick to read. So remember, Vampires are not your friends.

They say that nothing stays
buried forever. Damn them for being right. When hurricane Katrina touched down in New Orleans it destroyed the ninth ward, rendered thousands homeless, almost crippled the state economically, and uncovered the last survivors of the scourge of humanity. They were buried in a graveyard just outside the city limits for over two hundred years until their prison was swept away in a matter of minutes. Of course no one knew or even suspected their existence. Even if someone had no one was in a position to do anything about it. They slipped amongst the evacuees of a nursing home unnoticed, two wizened old men and one equally wizened old lady, and fled north. No one seemed to notice the people who went missing along the way.

They must have been astonished at the world that they were reborn into. Not only were people no longer afraid of them, but many were actively infatuated with the idea of them. Television, movies, and books had painted a pretty picture of them as romantic figures to be desired not to be feared. They certainly used that to their advantage. They moved slowly at first, in the shadows, harnessing their strength, and adding to their ranks. It was decades before they made any overt moves.

I first learned about them when the rest of the world did, when they "came out" on that nationally syndicated talk show. It was ridiculous. I was dumbfounded at how accepted they were. For every one of us that was afraid and felt that we should do something there were 10 more who was enthralled by them. The host of the show was practically on her knees in her pretty designer skirt begging to be turned. At that time I was working as a low level government functionary for the Dept of Defense. I was the one that eventually got stuck doing that useless Public Service Announcement. You know the one, “Vampires are not your friends.” As if that helped us any.

After that it snowballed quickly. Girls, and more than a few boys,
flocked to them begging to be fed on or turned. They had grown up reading those romance novels and watching those movies about the sexy, misunderstood, lonely vampire and were completely infatuated with them. The vampires happily obliged.

I know that the military
viewed them as a threat drew up plans to eradicate them early on. However, public sentiment was strong and it was an election year, so the politicians said nay and those proud Generals were forced to abort their plans. If we had allowed them to strike then the world would be a different place.

Other politicians tried to stop the flood of
young women flowing to the Vamps, but the courts ruled that it was their bodies and that they could do whatever they pleased. Hell, in California one of them even got elected to the state senate. From then on things began to snowball for them. They bided their time until things here in the states reached the saturation point. All the while they insinuated themselves into every facet of society and then they struck. By that point they were everywhere. In the military, the police, wall street. We didn't stand a chance.

We learned very soon that most of the myths were just that, myths. Garlic had no effect; sunlight didn't burn them, although it does disorient them, and countless other tall tales. Staking and beheading are the only sure ways to finish one off. One thing was very true however, blood makes them strong. Remember those three wizened refugees? Well, by the time they went on television they weren't so wizened anymore. They were young, virile, and attractive. That helped tremendously with their appeal.

Under the banner of their god Ba’al, the ancient god of flies and corruption, they began rounding up what was left of humanity in North America. Blood banks were set up and people were slaughtered by the thousands men and women, but not children. Oh no, they keep the children fat and healthy to preserve their stock. They also kept a few “Does” but hardly any “Bucks”. Bucks are slaughtered for food immediately. My wife and daughter were captured during the great sweeps. I won’t lie, I cry myself to sleep most nights thinking about my poor Anna growing up in a pen like a farm animal. The thought of my beautiful Samantha being doped out of her mind and constantly being artificially inseminated haunts every moment.

The UN threatened retaliation, but we all knew that was bluster. The Vamps promised them that they were content in North America and the UN
wanted to believe their lies. I know for a fact, however, that they have already started to move south into Mexico and north into Canada. A few of us are still free and still trying to fight back, but we get fewer every day. They caught and drained Frank and Sue just last Wednesday. So, we move around a lot and try to help where we can, fight the good fight, keep peoples hopes alive, but damn we're so tired. So so tired. We’ve drifted out west where the sun is a little brighter and offers a little bit of protection. By the way, what did you say your name was again?

A Night
Under the Stars came about while my wife and I were watching far too much Dexter. I was also interested in writing something in the lines of Poe. Something dark and unapologetic.

I have an odd fascination with a company named Tumbleweed houses. They specialize in tiny houses built on the backs of trailers. I also have a fascination with characters without identities such as Eastwood’s Man
With No Name. The two things combined in my head to make this story. A man with no name, no given destination and a ruthless attitude who runs across an equally brutal serial killer. I wanted to see how a killer would fare against a man as given to violence as himself.

He was sitting on his porch listening to the radio, drinking wine when he saw the man creeping through the RV campsite. Porch might have been slightly misleading as it was only 7' wide and 3' deep. Since he had built the thing with his own two hands, however, he felt that he could call it whatever grandiose terms that he liked. The radio was giving the latest news about the Rest Stop Butcher, lingering almost lovingly over the details of his latest victim. Again, this was a misleading term as only the first few murders had taken place at rest stops. The rest had taken place at RV parks, campsites and any other lonely place a victim could be caught unawares. Still, what's in a name? He followed the man out of the corner of his eye as he slunk closer to him on the porch of his house. Even though it might be built on the back of a trailer, only measure 20' by 8', and was pulled by his truck from site to site it was his house. He had been inspired by that company out in California who built those prefab houses out of bamboo. People often thought he was crazy, but he preferred the term eccentric.

He reached the bottom of his bottle of wine, it was a small bottle after all, and went inside for some more.
He walked through the Spartan living room with its solitary chair and small bookshelf. The curtains were drawn keeping in the light and keeping out any prying eyes. The entrance to the kitchen was beside the ladder to the loft bedroom. His was a home that was not designed to entertain guests. That was fine with him however. He preferred his solitude. He reached into his small dorm room style fridge and got out another one of the four-pack that he had picked up on his weekly grocery run.

He had been at this park for two weeks now as part of his ambling cross country trek and thought he might stay a week more. It didn’t matter; he had nowhere to be and forever to get there. He had watched the park slowly empty as news of the killer spread and was one of the few brave souls still there. The lack of neighbors didn’t bother him. He trekked the short distance back to his porch, it was a porch dammit, to watch the stars continue coming out.
He grabbed a light sweater by the door as he walked out. Looking up at the sky his breath made a fog as it escaped. He knew he wasn't alone, but pretended nonetheless.

"Excuse me, do you have a light", he heard?

Looking down he saw the man standing at the bottom of the short steps to his porch. He wore glasses, was balding, and a little bit dumpy. There wasn’t anything about him that was particularly intimidating.

He slipped a hand in his pocket and pulled it out with a half full
Bic lighter. The man lit his cigarette and handed the lighter back. He leaned against the porch and inhaled deeply.

"Nice night isn't it? It's cold, but the stars look great from out here."

"That they do" he responded and then fell silent again. They stood there a few more minutes while cigarette man puffed away. He took quick drags off of the cigarette like he was trying to finish it in record time. After a few minutes the pudgy little man began shifting from foot to foot. His gaze kept darting around nervously.

"So, have you been keeping up with the
news about the Rest Stop Butcher" Cigarette Man asked without anymore preamble? “You know the one who stabbed all those people to death."

"I've heard of him. Heard he kills at more than just rest stops these days. They think he's hunting the RV parks now."

"If that's true aren't you scared staying here, especially with so few people around?"

"Nah, I'm not scared. Men who have to hurt and kill women to feel tough aren’t men at all."

At this the pudgy man grew red in the face and started puffing air like a fish out of water. His cigarette fell from his hands when they started shaking. Then he straightened up and grew tense.

"You should be scared, you should be very scared”, he said through gritted teeth.

He knew it was coming, but had hoped he was mistaken or that Cigarette Man would move on looking for other prey. There was the click and then a glint of moonlight. Cigarette Man lunged at him with the knife. His face was twisted in a snarl, but he made the mistake of trying to stab upwards at his target. When his intended victim easily sidestepped he lost his balance which is when the drifter delivered a kick to his face that made his nose run red and broke his glasses. He dropped the knife and covered his face in shock. The drifter leapt off the porch and, almost casually, slid around behind him and locked in a choke hold.

The erstwhile killer in his arms began to thrash, but his struggles grew weaker as his brain lost oxygen. He glanced around
but no one else was outside and the few windows with lights coming from them were covered. He dragged him up the stairs and inside the house.

The lack of neighbors served him well. He counted to 60 to make sure of him then laid him down while he went back outside.
He left the body while he went to retrieve his work gloves from his truck. His arms were shaking a little from the exertion and adrenaline in his system. On his way back in he retrieved the knife and the broken bits of glasses from the ground. He stood up and then paused like he had forgotten something. Glancing around him he saw the still lit cigarette. He extinguished it with his toe before adding it to the pile of evidence. He went back inside and began removing any trace he might have left on the body, just in case it was ever found. He stripped his jacket to remove any blood from it. He even wiped down his lighter to remove the man’s prints. He checked his ID and saw that he was a local man, which would mean he would be missed soon. That was a shame. If he was a drifter, like himself, then this would have been so much easier.

Soon enough he was in his truck headed to the hardware store. As was his practice, the first day he was in town he had taken the day to drive around and familiarize his self with the town. That familiarity would serve him well again tonight. First the hardware store for plastic sheeting and Sack Crete and then to Wal-Mart for duc
t tape and industrial sized zip-ties. It wouldn't do to buy it all in one place.

When he returned home he wrapped the body in sheeting
with the evidence laid on top and duct taped it together. He then placed the plastic wrapped body on another layer. The Sack Crete he mixed in a bucket in the living room before pouring it liberally over the body. Then he wrapped it again with several layers and zip tied it together. He glanced around again before dragging it to the truck, but the park was still empty. He lugged the body to the truck and closed the hard bedcover over it. He drove the limit exactly, never failed to use a blinker, and otherwise took great pains not to be noticed. A twenty minute trip found him on a small bridge over the Ouachita River watching the body sink out of sight. He stood there a minute and watched the stars some more. They were even more beautiful over the water. He supposed that he would need to stay long enough not to raise suspicion when someone filed a missing persons report, but he doubted that the body would ever be found. Not in the dim, dark, deep waters of the Ouachita. He drove home and turned on the radio. The news was once more about the Rest Stop Butcher. Police were still looking for suspects and asking anyone with information to call in. In the dark of his cabin he smiled.