“You think the Indians bit Gil…that Gil guy?”
“No. I think the European did, the one that fled into the forest. But there are no stories about Gilbraith appearing after death. There are only stories about a mysterious illness that fell on the town, killing person after person. Men, women, children — it didn’t matter. ‘Cholera,’ they said. Thirty–seven people died in the space of four weeks…until something happened.”
Dill and Peter waited for the next words. “What? What happened?”
“Someone figured out what was going on and stopped it once and for all,” Grandfather said as he jammed on the brakes. The truck lurched to a stop in front of the school.
“Who? Who stopped it?” Peter cried out.
“Yeah, what’d they do?” Dill demanded.
“You’re late for school.”
“But — ”
“I have work to do before this thing gets out of hand. Now get back to your studies and keep out of my way, or like I promised Father Stevens, you will get the thrashings of your lives.”
Dill raised a hand tentatively.
“What,” Grandfather barked.
“We need a note.”
“What?”
“We need a note. They won’t let us in without a note.”
“Or worse, they’ll call Mom,” Peter said.
Grandfather grumbled and muttered. “Give me a piece of paper and something to write with.”
Peter fumbled in his backpack and produced paper and a pen. Grandfather scribbled a message, then handed them both back. Peter looked down at the paper. Whatever the writing said, he certainly couldn’t read it.
“Can we — ” Dill began.
“GIT!” Grandfather bellowed.
Peter and Dill got. The truck roared off as soon as they slammed the door.
“Dude,” Dill said. “Your grandfather’s craaaaaazy.”
“I know,” Peter said.
“And scary.”
“Yeah.”
“But he’s cool.”
Peter stared at Dill, who shrugged.
“My granddad talks about his arthritis and how his fake teeth don’t fit and how much mucus he coughs up in the morning.” Dill looked admiringly after the truck as it puttered its way down the street. “Dude, I’d trade for your grandpa’s stories any day.”
23
After a lot of effort trying to translate Grandfather’s message, the school secretary gave up and told Dill and Peter to go back to class.
“Well, I’m glad to see you gentlemen finally decided to join us,” Mrs. Cashew said in her most withering voice.
For the first time in his life, a teacher’s sarcasm didn’t have any effect at all on Peter. He’d had a vampire outside his bedroom window last night; a mean teacher’s snarky comments didn’t really measure up to that.
As he sat down, the first thing Peter noticed was Mercy’s empty chair, and a sharp pang nudged his conscience once again. He couldn’t help but feel partly responsible. He still believed that if he hadn’t been mean to her on the bus, none of this would have happened. Peter knew that it didn’t make any sense, but that didn’t change the way he felt.
The second thing he noticed was that there was a second vacant seat in the classroom, the place where Agnes Smithouse normally sat. Agnes was one of Mercy Chalmers’ best friends.
Peter leaned across the aisle to ask Cindy Mooten where Agnes was.
Cindy just shrugged. “I don’t know. Katie Brammelson said she talked to her really late last night, and Agnes said hang on and put down the phone, but she never came back. Katie finally hung up and tried to call again, but nobody ever answered.”
Peter stole a look at Katie Brammelson over in the corner. She looked worried, unsure of everything. After all, her two closest friends in the world were dead or missing.
“Katie doesn’t know what happened to her,” Cindy Mooten said. “Nobody knows.”
24
By 5 PM, nobody had any more information, but now the entire town was abuzz with the news of Agnes’s disappearance. Dill and Peter watched from Dill’s front lawn as a Sheriff’s department patrol car sped by.
“You think they’ll find her?” Dill asked.
Peter watched the car recede into the distance. “I hope so.”
There was a BAM BAM BAM noise from over in Peter’s yard. Grandfather was up on a ladder, nailing cloves of garlic and crucifixes over every window and door.
“Okay, where’d he get those crosses?” Dill complained. “I try to get some, I get busted and I’m in big–time trouble. But he’s got like two hundred of them stashed away somewhere. Is that fair?”
“No, but I’m sure glad he’s got ‘em,” Peter answered.
Dill watched Grandfather nail another cross over a second–story window. “Can I spend the night at your house?”
“You’re probably better off at your own place.”
“What, do you want me to get turned into a bloodsucker?” Dill said angrily.
Peter rolled his eyes. “You know Mercy’s coming for me — at my house, you’re gonna get caught right in the middle of it. If you stay at your house, she’ll probably leave you alone. Just don’t invite anyone in. Vampires can’t come in unless you invite them.”
Dill wiped his brow. “Phew. Well, I’m fine then, cause my Mom hasn’t invited anybody into our house except you since…” Dill thought for a minute. “I don’t think Mom’s invited anybody into our house except you, EVER.”
“Your mom never invited me into your house,” Peter pointed out.
Dill pumped his arm. “YES. I’m totally safe, dude.”
“Can I come spend the night with you, then?” Dill looked genuinely alarmed. “Heck no, man. She’s your dead girlfriend. Leave me out of it.”
25
Supper was late…late enough that it was dark outside when Peter finished his lasagna. He nervously watched the sun disappear through the kitchen windows as he scooped the last bit of noodles and cheese into his mouth.
To top it off, Mom had had a really bad day. The grocery store clerk was rude to her, somebody’s car door had put yet another dent in the Honda, and her job search was going nowhere. She talked most of dinner about how she hated this town and how much she’d wanted to leave when she was young, and she was sullen and quiet for the rest.
As usual, Grandfather was nowhere to be found. Peter wondered if the old man ever ate. At least, if he ever ate what the rest of them ate.
Somebody once told Peter that if you wanted to raise mean dogs, you should feed them gunpowder. If that was true, then Peter guessed that Grandfather lived on a steady diet of the stuff.
It was almost pitch black when Peter cleared the table. His mother was washing the dishes. Over in the corner, Beth was playing with another one of her dolls she had pulled half the hair out of.
“Peter, could you take out the garbage?” his mother asked.
Peter froze, and said the first thing that came to mind. “No.”
His mother looked at him in shock. “What do you mean, ‘no’? Take out the garbage, Peter!”
Peter shook his head. “I can’t.”
Now his mother was getting indignant. “Oh you most certainly can. Now take it out right now, it’s almost overflowing!”
“Mom, I’ll do it in the morning,” Peter said.
“You’ll do it when I tell you to do it, young man!”
“Please, Mom, I swear I’ll do it first thing tomorrow morning — ”
Beth was beginning to take an interest in the conversation. “Take out da gawbage, Petah!” she yelled.
“Shut up!” Peter yelled at Beth.
“Peter, don’t you dare talk to your sister that way!”
“Yeah, Petah, shu’ up!” Beth called back.
“Beth, don’t you talk like that either,” Mom snapped.
“Okaaaaay, Mommy,” Beth said, then stuck out her tongue at Peter as soon as Mom’s back was turned.
“Please, Mom, I’
ll do anything else you want, anything — just don’t make me take out the garbage tonight, please? Please?”
“Honestly, Peter, I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately. Is it Dill? That boy is a bad influence — ”
“Dill’s my friend,” Peter nearly shouted.
“Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young man,” his mother commanded. “Fine, you don’t want to take out the garbage? You can clean every toilet in this entire house this weekend.”
Peter’s whole body relaxed in relief. Until he saw his mother roll up her sleeves and lift the trash bag out of its plastic container.
“What are you doing?” Peter asked in horror.
“Doing what my son won’t do,” Mom huffed.
Peter ran over to her and grabbed her arm. “Mom, please…whatever you do, please don’t take this outside. Please. I’ll do it in the morning, I’ll clean the toilets, I’ll do whatever you want me to do, just please don’ t take this outside right now.”
Mom stared at him. “Peter, what’s come over you?”
For a split second he weighed the possibilities of using the word ‘vampire’ to explain his case. Knowing his mother as he did, it didn’t take longer than a split second to rule it out. “Mom, please please please please PLEASE don’t go out there — GRANDFATHER!” he yelled. If Grandfather heard him and came in to tell Mom ‘no,’ that would be the end of it.
“Peter, are you scared of the dark?”
“No, Mom, I’m not — GRANDFATHER!”
“Stop yelling for Grandfather and listen to me. Now, if you’re afraid, I can understand that — ”
“I’m not afraid of the dark, Mom! GRANDFATHER!” Peter bellowed, but with no reply.
“Petah’s afwaid of the dawk,” Beth giggled.
“NO I’M NOT!” Peter snapped. “Please Mom, please don’t go out there!”
“Peter, you’ve got to learn that sometimes you have to face your fears, okay? Now, I’m not afraid of the dark, so I’m going to take this garbage out there,” and she rambled on and on, but all Peter could think of was a small girl in a white dress, with eyes black like a shark’s, waiting for his mother in the night.
“OKAY!” Peter yelled, and snatched the trash out of his mother’s hands. “Okay, I’m going to take it out, see? Are you happy now? I’m taking it out!”
He opened the regular wooden door and paused at the screen door…then forced himself to open it, willed himself with every ounce of his being to step into the chill night air.
Peter’s mom frowned as he walked out and shut the wooden door behind him.
“I don’t get him, Beth. I just don’t get him at all…and he’s not even a teenager yet.”
Beth just made a thhhwwwwpppppthhhhh sound with her tongue, and went back to playing with her doll.
26
The trash cans were around the side of the house, about forty feet away from the kitchen door. Not very far away, at all…
…and yet, an eternity.
Peter let go of the screen door and heard it close eeeeeeeWHAPwhapwhap behind him. He walked slowly once he was out in the open, looking all around him for any sign of danger. There was only the dark night sky and the moon. Pale light illuminated everything around — trees, grass, Dill’s house, garden patch, forest.
No Mercy. Nothing and no one in a white dress.
It’s only 8:00. The last time I saw Mercy, it was nearly midnight. There’s no way she’s out now…there’s no way.
That made him feel better. Almost.
As he walked along slowly and peered all around, something occurred to him: the longer he stayed outside, the longer Mercy had to show up. Long time equals bad; short time equals better.
Peter bolted for the garbage cans.
Unfortunately one was full, and the metal lid on the other one was stuck. He grabbed the handle and pulled hard. The whole can came up an inch off the ground, then clattered down with a thud, all without the lid budging.
Peter’s heart was pumping so hard it nearly exploded in his chest.
Forget this. I can just leave the trash by the can…I’ll put it in tomorrow morning. Yeah, tomorrow morning, like I should’ve done in the first place.
He dumped the bag on the ground and turned to run back to the house.
Except Mercy was standing right in front of him, five feet away.
“AAAAH!” Peter yelled and stumbled back into the garbage bag and the metal cans. The cans clanged loudly as they spilled to the ground. Peter tumbled down amongst them but scrambled quickly to his feet. As he got back up, his foot almost slipped on the lid of the garbage can, which had apparently been knocked loose in the fall.
Oh great, NOW you come off.
Mercy smiled. “Peeeteeeeer…”
Her face was fully visible in the moonlight. So were her eyes. Deep pools of black, like a bottle of ink spilled in a puddle on the ground.
“You were so unfriendly last night. I’m glad you came outside. Now we can talk.”
“W–what do you want, Mercy?”
“Silly…I want you.”
Peter nearly tripped against the garbage cans as he tried to back up. His left foot got tangled in the plastic garbage bag ties, and he tried to shake it off.
“I want you to come play with me. We can hang out, like when I asked you on the bus. Is that so much, Peeeteeeer? I just want to hang out with you. We’ll have fun, I promise. It’s so much fun. We can go wherever we want, we can fly wherever we want to…over the ocean and back again…and no school, Peeeteeeer, no one to tell us what to do. And if they try, well, then we just…”
She smiled. The same smile a shark gives before it eats its prey.
Peter shivered, and tried again to free his foot from the handles of the garbage bag. He kicked, and there was a clattering sound as junk fell out. The smell of rotting bananas and lasagna scraps filled the air.
Mercy stepped closer. She was smiling, though not wide enough for her two snake teeth to be seen. But Peter knew they were there. He knew they were there just like he knew that this was the end.
His last image in life would be those teeth as she lunged for his neck.
The next image, whatever he saw, wouldn’t be with the eyes of a living person.
“Peeeteeeeer, just think how fun it will be…we can stay up all night and no one will ever care. We can do whatever we want, and no one can ever stop us…”
Dill…if only Dill were here.
Dill would know what to do. He’d be able to figure it out —he’d watched every monster movie on TV, ever.
Mercy was only three feet away now.
Peter backed up — and fell. His hand squished into something wet and nasty from the garbage. Ugh.
Forget about that. Think, think. Dill said silver bullets — crosses —
Crosses.
He held up his fingers so that one crossed the other, in a symbol like a ‘t’.
Mercy looked down at him, puzzled.
Peter looked at his hands. They were dripping red.
He felt like screaming until he realized it was just lasagna sauce. That’s what he had put his hand in. But it was red and dripping. He tried not to imagine it as his own blood, which would be pouring out of his body any second now and into the mouth of Mercy Chalmers if this cross thing didn’t work —
— which it seemed to be doing.
She stood there, looking down at him and his lasagna covered, finger–made ‘t’ shape.
Then she leaned over and, with her thumb and forefinger, effortlessly flicked his fingers apart like she was playing “Break The Pencil” at school and had just snapped somebody’s yellow #2.
“Next time,” she smiled sweetly, “try using a real cross.”
She leaned over him, and her mouth opened.
Her fangs gleamed in the moonlight.
Peter screamed and raised his hand to ward her off.
His hand, dripping with red…lasagna sauce.
Lasagna
I
talian
Vampires hate Italian
Garlic
“Garlic!” Peter screamed, and reached up and smacked Mercy in the face with his goopy red hand.
Mercy drew back in shock and closed her mouth. She looked down at the bits of noodle and cheese dripping onto her dress — and screeched. Loudly.
“YOU MESSED UP MY DRESS, YOU LITTLE JERK!” she yelled as she tried to wipe away the red sauce.
“There’s garlic in there!” Peter crowed. Bam!
“No there’s not,” Mercy said contemptuously. “It’s a TV dinner.”
Ohhhhhhhhhh man.
Peter reached around for whatever he could get his hands on.
Mercy lunged again with fangs bared.
Peter’s hand closed on the trash can lid.
Mercy was in the air, her arms outstretched.
Peter hurled the garbage can lid through the air like a giant Frisbee —
KRANG, right into the side of Mercy’s head.
She went down like a bag of potatoes and thudded into the grass.
“Oh crap, oh crap,” Peter whimpered. He got up and ran as fast as he could with the garbage bag tugging on his foot and ripping and scattering everything behind him.
Mercy pushed herself up on her arms and looked over her shoulder.
“That HURT,” she howled.
Peter made the mistake of looking behind him as he ran for the kitchen door.
It was like she was wearing a rope around her body that made her weightless. She just pushed off from the ground and suddenly she was in the air and hurtling towards him, arms outstretched and dress flapping in the wind.
She was flying.
Flying towards him.
Peter turned around. He didn’t dare look back again.
He could hear her hissing somewhere above him.
He was at the kitchen door now. His fingers closed on the handle, and he flung open the screen door —
BANG. Before he was even halfway through, the screen door slammed against his body, pinning him against the regular wooden kitchen door.
Mercy was on the other side of the flimsy wire screen, wailing and scratching at it with fingernails that looked like knives. And she was ripping through it with every slash of her fingers.
His hand fumbled for the doorknob as he watched her shredding the wire. In only a few more seconds, the gap she was tearing would be big enough to stick her head through.
His fingers closed around the doorknob and twisted, just as the screen ripped apart and her head came through like a giant eel snapping at his throat.