The Late Night Horror Show (16 page)

One of the other guys, a jock type with muscles and rakish blond hair, moved away from the grill to stand next to Grant. He took a swig from a nearly empty bottle of Newcastle and peered out at the edge of the woods. “What do you think, man? Should we check it out?”

Lashon gasped. “No. That’s a bad idea.”

And naturally Mercedes dialed back into the conversation at that pronouncement. “Of course it is. You’re afraid your goddamn lie will be exposed.”

The jock glared at her. “Shut up. You’re just being a bitch, like always. This chick’s been through some real shit. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Mercedes’ expression turned hard. Almost murderous. “Fuck you, Rick.” Her gaze shifted from him to another guy by the grill, who was good-looking but more slightly built than either Rick or Grant. “You gonna let that asshole talk to me like that, Blaine?”

Blaine looked nervous. “Um…”

Mercedes did the withering eye-roll thing again. “Of course you are. Pussy.”

Lashon sighed. “Enough fucking drama. Didn’t you people hear me? The psycho motherfucker has a
chainsaw
. We need to get inside, right now, and call the goddamn cops.”

Blaine laughed. “Good luck with that. We’re way out in the sticks. There’s no landline and cell service is spotty. You won’t be able to reach anyone.”

Lashon groaned. “Right. Of course. Why would it be any other way?”

Mercedes made a face again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It means, you dumb cunt, that I’m in a slasher movie come to life and of course there’s no phone service out here because that would be inconvenient to the needs of the fucking script.

But she couldn’t say that, of course.

“Nothing. It’s just my luck, I mean. Which, tonight, is all fucking bad.”

Mercedes made a show of looking her over again, her face continuing to convey nothing but disdain. “Story of your life, I bet.”

Lashon had an array of equally catty things she could say in response, but she was done sniping with the girl for now. She had bigger things to worry about. They all did, even if they didn’t quite believe it yet.

Rick put the Newcastle bottle to his lips and knocked back the last swallow before dropping the empty in a large metal trash can by the porch rail.

He tilted his chin at Grant. “I’m checking shit out. With me?”

Grant nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Lashon’s eyes widened as they came down the porch steps and stepped purposefully past her. “Wait, wait, no, you can’t do this. Please listen to me.”

Still more snide laughter from Mercedes. She ignored it and turned to follow the guys as they marched across the clearing. Rick glanced back at her and winked. “I’m not worried. Show ya why.”

He headed toward the big red Jeep as he dug into a pocket of his shorts. He pulled out an electronic key fob attached to a ring of keys. The Jeep’s headlights flashed once when Rick pushed a button on it. He opened the door on the passenger side and leaned inside. Lashon moved around him and lifted her chin for a better look at what he was doing. She saw him open the glove box and remove a very large handgun.

Rick threw the door shut and showed her the weapon. “Desert Eagle, .45 caliber. If your chainsaw guy is out there, he should be scared of
us
.”

Lashon frowned. “This is still a bad idea. Please don’t go out there.”

Rick placed a hand on her shoulder. It was a light touch, but she could feel the strength in his grip. This was a big, strong guy. He had confidence in spades. Too much, really. He was the kind of guy who thought nothing could hurt him because nothing ever had. “Relax. It’s gonna be okay.” His smile was nearly disarming enough to make her forget what was happening. “I promise.”

She heard a car door thump shut and turned to see Grant approaching them from the direction of the black SUV, another gun in one hand and a big flashlight in the other. He and Rick exchanged nods and started off toward the line of trees.

Lashon followed them for the first several yards. She was nearly overcome with frustration, but by this point she realized there was no stopping them. “Guys…please be careful. Don’t get yourselves fucking killed.”

Another smiling backward glance from Rick. “We’ll be fine. Wait there, okay?”

Lashon gave up. She stopped following them and stared helplessly after them as they continued across the clearing and then disappeared through the line of trees. She caught shadow glimpses of them moving around out there now and then. The flashlight beam was intermittently visible, as well, darting from place to place in a seemingly random way.

She gasped as someone came up beside her and placed a hand gently between her shoulders. A glance to her left showed Ashley standing beside her. She relaxed a little. The lovely pale-skinned girl smiled and said, “Why don’t you come inside while they look around? You could clean up and have a drink. Maybe change into some clean clothes. I have some things I think would fit you.”

Lashon stared in silence at the line of trees for a long moment. She could still hear the guys thrashing around out there, but she could no longer see the flashlight beam.

She sighed. “Maybe I should do that.”

“Come on, then.”

Ashley’s hand moved to the crook of Lashon’s arm and tugged at her, a gentle nudge to steer her back toward the house. Lashon allowed herself to be pulled in that direction. It really would be nice to get inside a nice, warm place and into clean clothes. It might make her feel human again. Normal. Maybe things would be all right, after all. Perhaps
Chainsaw Maniac
really had provided the basis for this world. But did it necessarily follow that everything that happened here would occur as it would in an idiotic cheap slasher film? She was no longer so sure about that. This was a real world. Tactile. Tangible. These were actual, flesh-and-blood people.

Ashley gave her arm a reassuring squeeze. “Things are gonna work out fine. Don’t you worry.”

Lashon managed a tired smile. “Maybe you’re right.”

And, of course, that was when the first ear-piercing scream rang out from the woods.

Chapter Fifteen

Kira stared at the mirror and screamed.

At first she thought the impression a trick of the light, but now she had gotten right up to the mirror and was holding her mouth open wide. There was no denying the disturbing reality. She felt for the sharpness, carefully, with the tip of her tongue, lightly touching a protrusion that had not been there before. Frowning, she just as carefully probed the other side of her mouth and found an identical protrusion.

Fangs,
she thought.
Fucking fangs.

I’m a goddamn vampire.

She turned away from the mirror and glared at the smiling creature who had turned her into a monster. He was still shirtless, but he had slipped back into his trousers and was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“What have you done to me?”

He stood and padded across the hardwood floor toward her on his bare feet. He kept smiling and gently brushed one side of her face with the back of a hand. “Mmm, you are exquisite.”

Kira didn’t shrink away from his touch. Despite her anger, the touch triggered an echo of the overpowering arousal she’d experienced earlier. “I know. I’m a fucking goddess. Now how ’bout you answer my question, asshole?”

He shrugged. “Isn’t it obvious what I’ve done?”

“I think you should spell it out anyway.”

“Very well. During the course of our lovemaking—”

She snorted. “Lovemaking? Is that vampire code for rape?”

His expression darkened. “I did not rape you. You loved every second of it. You cried out for more.
Begged
for more. I know you remember.”

She
did
remember. Very well. She felt more echoes of desire as a series of vivid images flashed through her mind. The vampire poised above her, his muscled torso shifting and twisting as he rode her harder than she ever had been before, making her scream herself hoarse with each devastating thrust, driving her nearly mad with ecstasy.

He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand again. “Yes. I see that you do.”

She pushed his hand away and brushed past him. She kept going until she reached the other side of the room, where she intentionally put the bed between them. Then she folded her arms over her bare breasts and glared at him. “You’re right. I remember everything. I also remember I had no control over any of it, including how my body reacted to you. You have powers. Vampire fucking
powers
. And you used those powers to make it happen. Which means you forced yourself on me. Which means—”

“ENOUGH!”

His booming voice startled Kira. The force of it made her stagger backward a step. It was the first time she had seen him display undiluted anger and it was a fearsome sight indeed to behold. He crossed the room so fast he was an almost-invisible blur.

Kira gaped as he materialized in front of her. “Holy shit. That was…freaky.”

He seized her wrists and pulled her close. She found herself focusing, at least for a moment, on the pale blue hue of his lips. Despite the apparent danger—and despite the terror she felt—she found herself wanting to kiss those lips. To draw the especially ripe bottom one into her mouth and chew on it. For starters.

She tilted her head slightly, blinking rapidly as she stared up at him.

Damn. Seriously, what’s wrong with me?

Because though she was fighting hard to hold on to her anger and her misgivings, she wanted him again. More than that. She
needed
him. How could she still be so weak, now that she was no longer human? He put a hand on her throat. Lightly, without squeezing. Regardless, the touch rendered her almost senseless with renewed desire.

He seemed to sense her thoughts. “I am your maker. You will always want me, just as you will always serve me. So, enough with your impudence. It is not becoming in a new bride.”

“New…bride?”

His hand moved from her throat down to her breasts, which he caressed for a moment before dragging his fingertips down the length of her belly to the moist spot between her legs. His touch electrified her, made her twist and moan. He leaned into her and bent down a little to kiss her on the neck, his lips grazing the spot where the now-vanished puncture wounds had been. Then his mouth moved to her ear and he whispered things that frightened her, even as his roving hands continued to stir her lust.

“Yes, you are my bride. My first true bride in many years. Others have come and gone, but they were trifles, never intended to rule beside me as a near equal. But you are special. I sensed it when I first set eyes on you. You have great potential. I will teach you the pleasures of blood and ruthlessness. And you will learn to love it all. To revel in the pain and pleadings of the lesser beings. Our pitiful playthings. The stinking humans.”

It was quite a speech. And she might have giggled at it under other circumstances, say if it had been a piece of dialogue in a cheesy old movie. But mirth was the farthest thing from her mind in that moment. Because she knew he was telling her what he truly believed. And, worse yet, she believed what he was saying. Believed it totally. She was almost eager for it. She should have been appalled by the notion, but she was not. A dim part of her hoped this was because she was so turned on, rather than the more unsettling possibility that her conscience had deserted her along with her humanity.

She climbed up on the bed, crawling backward until her arms were splayed across the pillows bunched against the massive headboard.

He stared down at her and smiled again. “You desire something, bride?”

She just stared at him, her eyes blazing with erotic need. “You know what I fucking want.”

He did.

And he gave it to her.

Monroe came to, flat on his back on a narrow twin bed. The mattress was hard and uncomfortable. The ceiling above him was concrete, painted white. He was still quite woozy upon waking and opted for the moment to remain in his supine position. He rolled his eyes around a bit and saw that the walls were decorated primarily with rock band posters. The Cure, Bauhaus, Killing Joke, the Cramps, Fugazi and the Misfits. There were also posters for the movie
Eraserhead
and something called
The Church of the Subgenius
.
 

A frown slowly dawned as Monroe absorbed all this. The punk and alternative décor would all have been very cutting edge a quarter century ago. Perhaps he had somehow been transported back in time to 1987 or whatever. Time travel was an absurd notion on the surface, but it made as much sense as anything else that had happened.

He stared at the ceiling again, focusing this time on its solidity. On its undeniable
reality
. After several minutes of this, he shifted his focus back to the rock band posters, noting the creases in them and the way most of them seemed to curl up a bit at the corners. These were old posters. They had been folded and put away for a time before being displayed again on these dorm-room-like walls.

Though he still hadn’t moved, he could see enough of the room to determine that it was very small. Yet another poster, this one showing a collection of imported beer bottles, adorned the closed door to the room. Against the wall directly in front of him was a small desk, upon which was an assortment of books, papers, and an old-fashioned dual-cassette boom box. A wrinkled postcard-sized image of Axl Rose was pinned to a bulletin board on the wall directly above the desk.