Vampire Breath (4 page)

He opened his mouth wide, showing Cara and me. He had no fangs. No teeth at
all. Only gums.

“We’re safe!” I whispered to Cara.

He’s too old and weak to hurt us, I told myself. Without his fangs, the old
vampire can’t harm us.

“We’re safe! We’re safe!” I cried.

How wrong could a person be?

The old vampire poked a finger around in his mouth, shaking his head sadly
the whole while. Finally, he sighed and dropped his hands to his sides.

“Doomed,” he whispered. “Doomed. Unless…”

“Sorry we can’t help you,” I said. “Now, will you open the door and let me
back in my house?”

Count Nightwing rubbed his chin. He shut his eyes, thinking hard.

“Yes. Let us out!” Cara insisted. “We can’t help you. So—”

The old vampire’s eyes shot open. “But you
can
help me!” he declared.
“You
will
help me!”

I took a deep breath. “No. We
won’t,”
I told him. “Let us go—now.”

He floated up over us. He moved his gaze from Cara to me. His silvery eyes
suddenly appeared cold, icy. “You will help me,” he said softly. “Both of you.
If you ever hope to return to your homes again.”

I shivered. The tunnel suddenly felt so cold, as if a freezing wind was
blowing through it.

I glanced at the door. So close, I thought. We’re so close to being safe and
sound in my house.

On the other side of the door we would be out of danger. But we can’t get
there. We can’t. We could be a thousand miles away.

I turned back to the icy stare of the old vampire.

He’s evil, I realized. Even without his fangs, he is evil.

“Wh-what do we have to do?” Cara stammered.

“Yes. What can we do?” I repeated.

He lowered himself to the floor. His expression softened.

“The bottle of
Vampire Breath,
” he said. “Did you see it?”

“Yes,” I replied. “We found it. In your coffin.”

“Do you have it?” he demanded eagerly. He reached out a hand. “Do you have
it? Give it to me.”

“No,” Cara and I answered together.

“We didn’t take it,” I told him. “I think I left it on the floor.”

“We—we dropped it,” Cara stammered.

The old vampire gasped. “You
what
? Did you break it? Did you spill the
Vampire Breath
?”

“It—it poured out,” I replied. “The room filled with smoke. We put the cap
back on. But—”

“We must find it!” Count Nightwing declared. “I must have that bottle. If
there is a little bit of
Vampire Breath
left in the bottle, it will take
me back to my time.”

“Your time?” I asked.

He squinted at me. “Your clothing. Your hair. You two are not of my time,” he
said. “What year is this?”

I told him.

His mouth dropped open. A startled squeak escaped his throat. “I have been
asleep for over a hundred years!” he exclaimed. “I must find the
Vampire
Breath.
It will take me back in time. Back to when I had my fangs.”

I stared hard at him, trying to understand what he was telling us. “Does that
mean you will go away?” I asked. “If there is
Vampire Breath
left in the
bottle, you will go back a hundred years?”

The old vampire nodded. “Yessss,” he hissed. “I will go back to my time.” But
then his eyes turned cold again, “
If
there is any of the precious
Vampire
Breath
left,” he said bitterly. “If you didn’t spill it all.”

“There’s
got
to be some left!” I cried.

Cara and I followed Count Nightwing back through the tunnel. He floated
silently ahead of us, his cape fluttering behind him. “So thirsty…” he kept
muttering. “So terribly thirsty.”

“I can’t believe we’re going back into that room,” I whispered to Cara as we
jogged over the smooth stone floor. “I can’t believe we’re going to help a
vampire!”

“We have no choice,” she replied. “We want to get rid of him—don’t we?”

My shoes splashed through a puddle on the floor. I felt cold water on my
ankles. The tunnel curved, and we followed it. Into the small, square room.

Count Nightwing stepped up to his coffin, then turned back to us. “Where is
the bottle?” he demanded.

I picked up my flashlight from the floor. I clicked it. Once. Twice. No
light. It must have broken when I dropped it. I set it back down on the floor.

“The bottle,” the old vampire repeated. “I must have it.”

“I think Freddy dropped it into the coffin,” Cara told him. She stepped to
the center of the room and flashed her light up and down the purple velvet of
the coffin.

“No. It is not there,” Count Nightwing said impatiently. “Where is it? You
must find it. You have no idea how thirsty I am. It’s been at least one hundred
years!”

He’s a good sleeper! I thought.

“It must be somewhere on the floor,” Cara told him.

“Well, find it!
Find
it!” the vampire shrieked.

Cara and I began to search the floor. I walked beside her since she had the
only light.

She swept the flashlight up and down the bare floors. No sign of the blue
bottle.

“Where is it?” I whispered. “Where?”

“It shouldn’t be so hard to find in an empty room!” Cara declared.

“Do you think maybe it rolled out into the tunnel?” I suggested.

Cara bit her bottom lip. “I don’t think so.” She raised her eyes from the
floor and gazed at me. “We didn’t break it—did we?”

“No. When I put the cap back on it, I set it down somewhere,” I replied.

I glanced up to see the vampire glaring at us angrily. “I’m losing my
patience,” he warned. He licked his dry lips. His icy eyes moved from me to
Cara.

“There it is!” Cara cried. Her beam of light froze at the base of the coffin.
The blue bottle lay there on its side.

I charged across the room, bent quickly, and picked up the
Vampire Breath.

Count Nightwing’s eyes flashed in excitement. A pale smile spread over his
face. “Open it—now!” he ordered. “Open it, and I will be gone. Back to my
time. Back to my beautiful castle. Good-bye, children. Good-bye. Open it!
Quickly!”

My hands trembled. I gripped the blue bottle tightly in my left hand. I lowered my right hand to the glass stopper on top
of the bottle.

I grabbed the stopper—and pulled it off the bottle.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing happened.

And then I heard a
whoosh.

I nearly dropped the bottle as a green mist sprayed up through the top.

“Yessss!” I cried happily. The bottle wasn’t empty!

The sickening odor made me gasp, then hold my breath. But I didn’t care about
the smell.

I watched the fog thicken, thicken until I couldn’t see the coffin in the
middle of the room. Couldn’t see Cara. Couldn’t see the old vampire.

The dark mist billowed and swirled.

I wanted to cheer and jump up and down. Because I knew that Count Nightwing
would disappear into the fog. And we would be safe. We would never see him
again.

“Cara—are you okay?” I called. My voice sounded hollow, muffled by the
swirling fog.

“It
stinks
!” she choked out.

“Hold your breath,” I told her. “The last time, it faded away in a few
seconds.”

“It’s soooo disgusting!” she wailed.

Cara was standing close beside me. But I couldn’t see her in the waves of
mist.

So damp and cold. I suddenly felt as if I were standing under water. Standing
under the ocean as wave after wave rolled over me.

I held my breath as long as I could. When my chest started to burn, I let it
out in a long
whoosh.

I shut my eyes and prayed. Prayed for the fog to fade, for the mist to lower
to the floor and disappear, as it had before.

Please, please—I thought. Don’t let Cara and me drown in this disgusting
mist.

A few seconds later, I opened my eyes.

Darkness all around.

I blinked several times. A square of pale yellow light glowed in the
distance.

Moonlight pouring in through a window.

Window? There
is
no window in this room! I told myself.

I turned and saw Cara. She was swallowing hard, her eyes wide, glancing
nervously around the room. “He—he’s gone,” she murmured. “Freddy—the vampire
is gone.”

I squinted into the dim light. “But where
are
we?” I whispered. I
pointed to the open window far away, at the other end of the room. “There was no
window before.”

Cara chewed her bottom lip. “We’re not in the same room,” she said softly. “This room is so big and—” She stopped.

“Coffins!” I cried.

As my eyes adjusted to the light, the low, solid shapes formed out of the
shadows. And I realized I was staring at two long, straight rows of coffins.

“Where
are
we?” Cara cried, unable to hide the fear in her voice. “It
must be some sort of graveyard or something!”

“But we’re indoors,” I said. “We’re not in a graveyard. We’re in a room. A
very long room.”

I gazed up to the high ceilings. Two glass chandeliers hung down, their
crystals gleaming dully in the pale moonlight.

The dark walls were covered with huge paintings. Even in the dim light, I
could see that they were portraits, portraits of stern-faced men and women in
formal, old-fashioned, black clothes.

I turned back to the rows of coffins—and silently started to count them.
“There must be two dozen coffins in this room!” I whispered to Cara.

“All lined up so perfectly in two straight rows,” she added. “Freddy, do you
think—?”

“He took us with him,” I murmured.

“Huh?” Cara chewed her lip.

“Count Nightwing. He took us with him,” I repeated. “He was supposed to go
back to his castle—by himself. He said he would go and never see us again. But he took us with him, Cara. I’m sure he did.”

Cara stared straight ahead at the rows of coffins. “But he can’t
do
that!” she cried. “He can’t!”

I started to reply. But a sound made me stop.

A creaking sound.

I felt a chill sweep down my back as I heard another creaking, closer this
time.

Cara grabbed my arm. She heard it too. “Freddy—look!” she whispered.

I squinted into the dim light. “The coffins—!” I whispered.

They were all creaking open.

The coffin lids raised up slowly. I could see pale hands pushing them up from
inside. Creaking, the lids swung open, then stopped.

Cara and I huddled together, unable to move. Unable to take our eyes off the
terrifying sight.

I heard low moans and groans as the vampires sat up. Bony hands gripped the
sides of the coffins. I heard coughing. Dry throats being cleared.

The vampires pulled themselves up slowly. Their faces were yellow in the
moonlight. Their eyes gleamed dully, a pale silver.

“Ohhhhhhh.” Groans echoed off the high walls. Bones creaked and cracked.

They looked so old. Older than the oldest people you see on the street. Their
skin appeared so thin and was wrapped so tight, you could see the bones
underneath.

Living skeletons, I thought. Their ancient bones snapped as they moved.

“Ohhhhhh.” They pulled themselves up. Legs, thin as spider legs, reached over
the coffin sides.

Cara and I finally moved. We backed into the deep shadows against the wall.

I heard more coughing. Near the window, a white-haired vampire leaned over
the edge of his coffin, making ugly choking sounds.

“So thirsty…” I heard one of them whisper.

“So thirsty… so thirsty…” others repeated.

They lowered themselves from their coffins, stretching and groaning.

“So thirsty… so thirsty…” they chanted. Their voices were dry and
raspy, as if their throats were sore, as if their voices were only air.

They were all dressed in black. Formal black suits. White shirt collars stiff
and high over their chins. Some of them wore long, shiny capes. They adjusted
their capes with bony, white fingers, sweeping them back over bent, skinny
shoulders.

“So thirsty… so thirsty…” Their silver eyes glowed brighter as they
began to wake up.

And then, standing in the aisle between the two rows of coffins, they began
to flap their bony arms. Slowly at first. Their arms creaked as they pulled them
up, then down.

The silver eyes glowed in the pale, old faces.

Up, then down. Up, then down. They flapped their arms faster, groaning and
grunting. The sound echoed off the walls and the high ceiling.

Flapping faster now. Flapping. Flapping.

And as Cara and I gaped in amazement, the sickly, groaning old men began to
shrink. The flapping arms became the flutter of black wings. The red eyes glowed
from rodent-like faces.

In seconds, they shrank and transformed. They all became fluttering, black
bats.

And turned their red eyes to Cara and me.

Did they see us?

Could they see us in the deep darkness, our backs pressed against the stone
wall?

The bats fluttered up over the open coffins. Their flapping wings glistened,
silvery in the moonlight.

I heard a rattling, like the warning sound of a snake. But the rattling
quickly became a
hiss.

The bats opened their mouths, revealing pointed yellow fangs—and hissed.
What a sound! A shrill, angry whistle that rose higher, higher, until it drowned
out the patter of their fluttering wings.

A
hiss
of attack.

They were awake and ready now. Ready to swoop at me, to knock me to the
floor, to dig those pointed fangs deep into my skin. And drink… drink…

“Freddy—!” Cara cried. She raised her hands in front of her to shield her
face. “Freddy—!”