Lill'est Vampire
By
Walter LaneCopyright 1997 by Walter Lane
PART ONE
"You lyin' little slut! Get out of my house! NOW!" The words that exiled her to the streets echoed in her mind for the thousandth time. Shuffling to a stop beneath the dark sign of a closed KFC, Bonnie took the bottle from her pocket. Taking a long draw from her fifth of Rose's, she tried once again to drown her father's last words to her. Six months of drinking anything she could get her hands on hadn't done the job. But at least now the cheap wine was powerless to offend her deadened taste buds.
The coat the Salvation Army had given her, now thin and threadbare was also torn and dirtied. The abuse of living on the street had not been kind to it—or her. Bonnie pulled it more tightly trying to fend off some of the night chill. Feeling the wine burning a path down her throat, warming her chest and belly, she wondered if perhaps her father's baby sleeping inside her swollen womb would feel it too.
Like on other nights she'd stood shivering in the cold because of this lump in her belly, abortion again crossed her mind. Closing her eyes, she whispered a Hail Mary—sad penitence for her blasphemy. Clutching her scratched-up confirmation crucifix lying beneath her dirty, gray tee shirt, a tear splattered the back of her hand. She rubbed the cross through her shirt as if it were in pain and whispered, "No abortion, Holy Mother; after it's born, I'll give it up for adoption."
Sighing, her wine-fouled breath plumed into the November cold. Feeling the roof of her mouth growing fuzzy, she smacked her lips and grimaced. In high school she'd taken home ecc, gym class, the usual. But nothing had prepared her for the life of a homeless drunk.
To avoid some of the cold breeze, she moved away from the open sidewalk and leaned against the chicken-monger's large plate glass window. A sign taped inside, over her head read: Two Piece Meal And Medium Drink Just $2.99. This Week Only! Holding the precious bottle with both hands, she wondered where she would sleep this night. Since she began swelling some months back, she found it increasingly difficult for her body and plain face to buy a drink and a bed. She hung her head and noticed the sticker in the window's lower right corner: PREMISES PROTECTED BY INFRARED MOTION DETECTORS. She wasn't sure what that meant.
Pushing away from the window, waddling back to the sidewalk, she looked up and down the street to see if a man, any man, was coming along. Standing, shivering, the Colonel absently smiling down on her, she took out the bottle again. This time leaning back, holding the bottle high, she took all it had to offer, her stretched belly looking ready to explode. Feeling the wine burn her lips, she wondered what her mother and father were doing just now, if they were thinking of her. She doubted it. When her father threw her out for telling mother that it was he who had raped her and made her pregnant, he'd made it clear he didn't want to see her again. She recalled the scene at their small trailer. Crying and scared, four weeks quick with her own half-sibling—the It as she thought of it—she stumbled toward the door as her father hurtled curses to her back.
And momma just stood there staring at the floor and let him throw me out! She didn't even say a word!
Food! David assured himself. I can smell food!
In life he had been college student, David Garner. Now in death, the corpse stood in the quite cemetery and sniffed the air like a canine and smelled the blood flowing in the drunken girl's veins. Even the sixty yards he stood distant could not diminish its sweet fetor. And as a canine uses its nose as much as its eyes to sample the world, he too could distinguish the sweet smell from the thousand others that tainted the night.
Instinct.
The cheap wine polluting her blood did not hamper the aroma. He smiled. Yes! It is food! His mouth watering, David dimly recalled a night in Warsaw; an attacker on a deserted street; his blood drank by a strange woman with sharp fangs and burning, red eyes. But now, unaware and uncaring of how he had gotten home, his only thought was of the blood he smelled.
Leaning over the wrought iron fence surrounding the graveyard, he looked down the slightly curving street in the direction of the scent. His heightened vision brought the tramp into plain view as she dropped her head back to drink. Taking a deep breath, he licked his lips, enjoying the sweet fragrance of her hemoglobin again. Standing silently in the tall grass of this neglected patch of churchyard, he rested one hand on the iron fence and looked back at the mausoleum, its broken door hanging open. The word: GARNER chiseled over the door meant nothing to him. He couldn't recall how he'd gotten in there, but as he looked up at the night sky, he smiled broadly, thrilled with his new. . .life
Jumping over the five-foot high ironwork, he landed flat-footed on the sidewalk next to the street. He took off running, faster than the whistling wind, and covered the hundred yards to his prey quickly.
There was a swooshing noise like air forced through a duct. Bonnie looked down the street, but her drunken vision only made out a dim blur rushing toward her. It wasn't until the man snatched her up by the shoulders and hissed in her face that she really saw him at all.
She gasped as his hands gnawed into her triceps like two dog bites. His vise-like grip made her drop the empty wine bottle; it smashed against the sidewalk into a hundred pieces. She could taste his fetid breath as it puffed into her gaping mouth. Her eyes widened as she stared at his incisors lengthening into fangs. She whimpered, "Oh precious Virgin."
Her attacker held her firmly in place. She winced as his fangs pounded hungrily into her jugular, her own terror helping the vein to stand out. The crucifix hidden under her tee shirt bounced side to side as she writhed in agony beneath his bent torso. She tried to scream but her besieged throat would allow hoarse cries. The blood poured from Bonnie's neck into his mouth in short spurts. She could even taste its coppery tang herself as some of it seeped up her throat and into her mouth.
The man hugged her closely and stood transfixed, grunting almost as if in orgasmic ecstasy. A tire squealed and he jerked his head up and relaxed his hold just long enough for Bonnie to stumble off in a clumsy get-away attempt.
The blood falling from her neck covered her arms and hands. It dripped to the sidewalk in tiny splats as she swayed toward the big plate glass window. Putting her hand out, she reached for support and made dark, read smears with her hand prints. She gasped for air and looked at her bloody reflection in the glass. The street and sidewalk behind her were reflected, but not her attacker. She half turned, hoping he'd fled, but instead he was charging straight at her. She tried to scream again but all her damaged throat could manage was a wincing yelp.
Taking a few slow steps away from the window, suddenly she became airborne as the man grabbed her arm and threw her through the plate glass. A loud beeping began as she landed on a table. The table turned over and she plopped limply to the floor. Lying on the cool tile, Bonnie hoped the beeping meant the motion detectors had done whatever it is they do, and that police were on their way. Wincing, she lay, luckily uncut, in a spray of safely glass. She hurt too much to move except to lift her aching head. The attacker knocked over two tables near the window as he came through the busted window. Silently he stood leering at her. Painfully she began pushing against the floor, trying to slide away.
He took a step toward her and she once more tried to scream. He leaped from the window all the way over to her and she tried even harder. His shoes nade a loud snap against the tiled floor when he landed. He grabbed her arm again and drew her off the floor directing her throat toward his mouth. Ignoring her feeble kicks, he again sank his teeth into her vein and slowly drank. She felt sleepy. The pain and horror diminishing. . .
Officer Dan King was reaching for his radio handset to call a ten-seven when the thing squawked, "Ten-eighty-nine, zone fifteen, KFC."
He grunted, "Great! Some kid put a brick through the window of Kentucky Fried Chicken! " as he hit the light array switch. He acknowledged the call and hit the siren. It wailed like a hound.
David relished the feel of her skin against his tongue. The blood flowed slower now, merely seeping from her. He passed his tongue over the side of her neck, licking up stray droplets catching here and there. Through his lips he felt her pulse weakening. He hoped she'd last a few minutes more before he had to release her. But as he sucked harder, trying to get all the blood he could, he heard a wailing approaching. He looked up and hissed at the swirling lights coming down the street.
For a moment he thought about standing and defending his prey; he knew he could defeat whoever was coming. But the Instinct warned him that the true predator knows when to retreat and hunt another night, that his kind lived in secrecy and gained protection from it.
He tossed the girl aside. She flew fifteen feet and bounced off a tabletop and dropped again to the floor. Throwing his head back, he laughed with delight and jumped out the smashed window. He raced away into the night, gone before anyone got even near.
PART TWO
Opening her eyes, wincing at the light, Bonnie blinked and looked around. She guessed she was in a hospital room. After her eyes focused a little more, she saw someone and croaked, "How long have I have been here?"
"Since last night, sweetheart." The nurse, her plump, black figure, covered in sterile white, swayed around the corner of the bed to check the I-V.
"What time is it anyway?"
Checking her watch, the nurse said, "Four-thirty. Oprah'll be on soon!"
Looking down the length of her hospital bed, Bonnie was shocked she could so easily see her feet bulging under the white covers.
"My baby!" Bonnie shouted. Jerking upright in bed, her back felt like it was about to explode. She winced, "Where's my baby?" She rubbed her flattened belly.
The nurse came over and gently pushed Bonnie back down. A cloud passed over her handsome face. "I'm sorry honey, but the only way to say it, is to just come out and say it." She took a deep breath and her ample bosom rose and fell; the name tag displaying Latitia Dail went up and down with as well. "That beatin' sent you into labor. Just after you were brought in you delivered a stillborn."
"Dead?! My baby's dead?!"
"Quiet now," Latitia cooed. "You just lay back. I'm gonna call Doctor Miller to come look you over."
Lying back, staring at the ceiling, Bonnie wrestled with the realization that her bastard, half-sibling baby had been removed out of her body and life. She wasn't sure if she should cry or feel relieved. But in the back of her mind relief was rearing its ugly head.
Catching Latitia's arm, Bonnie asked, "Was it a boy or girl?"
"Boy, sweetheart."
The door swung closed and Bonnie started to lay back down, hopefully to ease some of her soreness. The throbbing radiated up and down her entire back as she moved. She recalled those high school football games and how she mooned over the quarterback. Sometimes she had wondered if it really hurt when he got sacked by the linemen. Wincing as she put her weight against her back, she had her answer.
She reached up and touched the bandages around her throat. The tender, sore place where she'd been bitten suddenly pounded with fresh pain. A picture of her attackers' fangs flashed in her mind, and she recalled those old vampire movies she'd seen on TV late Saturday nights when often as not she was home without a date. Pulling her hand away, she tried to bring the violent shaking under control.
The little corpse lay in the morgue of the small hospital. Just a room on the basement floor near, the morgue was about four times the size of a broom closet. It had one square, stainless steel pull-door built into the wall. The cooler behind the steel door was empty. That space was much too valuable to be used for just one stillborn infant not even named. The dead baby lay wrapped in a plastic bag in the Kenmore refrigerator standing in the corner. Kept in storage until Bonnie could give the hospital permission to dispose of it.
Her hand shaking a little less now, Bonnie reached over the top of her hospital gown and to take hold of her crucifix and pray. Feeling only bare skin around her chest, she looked toward the push-tray beside her bed and saw it lying there. She pushed the button and raised the bed to a sitting position, then leaned over and scooped it up by the chain—the effort sending fresh hot waves up her back. Hissing loudly, she laboriously squared her back once more against the mattress and laid the crucifix in the palm of her other hand and instantly felt searing pain. She threw the sacred symbol to the floor; it bounced across the carpet as if trying to run away from her. She glared at the mark burned in the shape of a cross into her palm. "Oh Holy Virgin," she whispered.
The door banged open and a slim man approached her bed. He boomed, "Hello! I'm Doctor Miller!"
Still glaring at her hand, she didn't speak or move.
"Excuse me," the doctor said to his indifferent patient. "Hello. Hello."
Finally, after the doctor took her hand to examined it, she looked at him.
"Hummm. You've managed to give yourself a second degree burn." In mock sternness he asked, "You haven't been smoking in bed have you? We have very strict rules about that, young lady."
Not getting a response, the doctor shone his examining light in Bonnie's eyes. "Okay! Tell me what's the matter. I've practiced enough medicine to know shock when I see it!"
Looking at him blankly for a moment, suddenly her face contorted into a grimace and tears began streaming down.
The janitor came into the small morgue, switched on the light and began filling his big plastic mop-bucket from the spigot mounted on the tiled wall. It was the same spigot he occasionally hooked a hose to, to wash blood off the tiled floor. The large bucket began filling and he turned up the volume on his Walkman, drowning out the splashing against the plastic sides.
Can't believe they can't wait 'til tomorrow for me to mop the receiving office! He crossed his arms. Nooo! It gots to be done t'night 'fore I leave! Man! He glanced at the round wall clock and grimaced at seeing four-thirty-five. The radio announcer gave a forecast for a cold, clear evening, then said sunset would be at 5:08.
With his bucket filled, Littl' Mac carried it out of the morgue, leaving the lights on for spite. He headed for the receiving office the clear water sloshing in the bucket as it swung back and forth.
Since I gots to stay anyway, I’ll just go see if Sheryl’s come on duty ‘fore I start!
"You feelin' better now?"
Sitting on the side of the bed, wiping her nose with the bunched up toilet paper Doctor Miller had gotten from the tiny bathroom, Bonnie nodded.
"Good. I know you've been through a shock. This brutal attack—losing your baby. But if it's any consolation, I examined you while you were out and didn't find any serious internal injuries. Mostly you were just banged up, and the psycho who did it bit your throat pretty badly. We've been giving you some blood while you were out." He nodded toward the I-V stand beside her bed. "You were a couple quarts low when the cops brought you in. I think we used Valvoline."
Indifferent to his attempted humor, she stared again at the burn mark befouling her hand.
More seriously, the doctor said, "I think you're gonna be okay. 'Course I'll want to keep you for a couple days and run some tests to be sure."
Bonnie rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand; the clear plastic IV feed dangled back and forth. "The nurse said I was out all day and night."
"Yes. I put that down to your weakened health, malnutrition and too much alcohol. And I think it was psychological retreat as much as physical trauma that precipitated your black out. But basically you're going to be fine."
Glancing again at the burn mark in her hand, Bonnie wished she could believe it. "Where's my baby, doctor?"
He frowned slightly, his face tense. Trying to phrase his answer graciously as possible, he said as he started toward the door, "He's being kept on the basement level. We have to know what you want done with the body, but that can wait. For now, I want you to relax. You don't need anymore stress."
"Basement? You mean the morgue like they say on TV don't you?
"Yeah," he murmured and left.
She looked again at the cross-shape burnt into her hand. If this happened to me, then what happened to my baby?
She hesitated a moment then pulled the IV out of her hand with a quick snatch. Using all her remaining strength, she pushed herself out of bed, limped over to the small closet and opened it, hoping to find her things. But instead of her old, raggedy clothes, she saw fresh blue jeans, a nice new heavy coat, an L.L Bean plaid shirt, new Nikes, socks and underwear. The sizes all looked right too. She figured someone had seen her when she was admitted, had taken pity and managed to get some items donated for her.
"God bless whoever," she whispered. As she crawled out of the hospital gown, she glanced out the window at the darkening sky. She dressed as quickly as her bruised body would allow.
In the hall, she hobbled close to the nurses station. When the lone nurse standing behind the desk turned around to file some papers, she slinked passed, thinking, The other nurses must be in the rooms with patients.
Seeing a large open door up ahead, she guessed it was the end of the ward. She limped down the hall until she came to a large window on her right. Looking inside, she saw about twenty bassinets, fifteen with babies. She had thought she would end up in a maternity ward somehow but she didn’t figure it would be this way. Looking at the beautiful babies, some crying, all glowing in good health, she backhanded a tear away knowing her’s never would. . .
She stepped into the elevator before the doors closed and asked one of the two attendants to push the button to the basement floor. She felt gravity shift as it stared down. "Say, could one of you guys tell me how to get to the morgue? I'm suppose to meet Doctor Miller there to discuss what to do with my baby."
Exchanging glances, not knowing how to react to the question or the tragic news it conveyed, one of the attendants replied, "At the basement level, just take a right and go straight down the hall. It's near the big double-doors leading out to the loading dock. Door's marked."
Frowning at the burn mark in her hand again, she nodded her thanks.
Through the windows of the double-doors leading outside Bonnie could see street-lamps glistening in the dark distance. Leaning against the cool concrete wall of the basement hallway, she looked to her left at the door marked MORGUE. To her right was a small, glass partitioned office in an alcove a little further down near the exit. The sign on the door read: RECEIVING OFFICE. Its two foot high wainscoting looked like new, and the six feet of glass above that shone brightly. Bonnie guessed the office must have been added only in recent weeks. The two foot gap between the top of the wall and the hallway ceiling, left the office without any real roof of its own. Pushing away from the wall, she thought, Must get good ventilation that way.
Hobbling over to the door, she twisted the handled and opened it. "Hello! Anybody here?" She was glad to find the office empty. She wanted to hurry up and see her dead baby and then get out hopefully without anyone seeing her. Pulling the door shut, she stopped a moment to rest against the cool glass. She'd seen few people milling around the hospital; she hoped her luck would hold out. She coughed and the echo bounced back from down the hall; it sounded so lonely. She felt strange being down here all by herself.
Limping over to morgue, she took hold of the door handle but hesitated a moment. She'd been scared of getting caught, but now she was even more scared of what she might find. But I gotta know how my baby is. I couldn't give him much of a life, but I can at least make sure he had a decent death. Pushing open the door, she stuck her head inside. The light was already on. The clock on the wall read ten past five. She wanted to make this quick.
Walking in, she was surprised by the smallness of the room. Her footsteps echoed against the tiles, and the swooshing of the pneumatic brake on the door sounded like someone breathing heavily behind her. Stepping toward the solitary steel cooler, she slowly reached for the handle to pull it open. But before she touched it, there came a bumping from the white refrigerator to her left. She froze, her heart pounding like a kick drum.
Deciding that ignorance was probably bliss, all she wanted now was to just get to the double-doors at the end of the hall, get out and limp away into the night. She turned toward the door, but hearing that bumping again, she again stood still. Holding her breath, she watched as the white door of the fridge twitched twice.
If it was like the refrigerator back home, it was just held shut by just a few magnets inside the doors' rubber seal. She stared at the door and flinched hearing the vacuum of the rubber seal breaking loose. Her imagination running wild, she pictured her stillborn pushing the fridge door open, using its little head to bump against it from inside.
The door swung open. There on the top shelf indeed sat a baby, pale, gray, surrounded by shredded plastic. The abomination glared at her; her imagination had been horribly correct. The thing leaped to the floor, looked up at Bonnie and hissed loudly, revealing a mouth devoid of teeth—except for two small fangs. Its face contorted in rabid hunger, it began moving toward her.
Moving as best as her beat up body would allow, Bonnie turned to the door, jerked it open and bounced into the hall Limping wildly, she headed toward the double-door exit and glanced back to see if the thing was following. The stillborn, hopping like a foul frog, came out of the morgue just before the pneumatic brake let the door close. Hopping in broad strides, the stillborn raced past Bonnie, jumped in front of her and squatted between her and the exit. Glaring up at her it let go another long, snake-like hiss.
Her whole body shaking, she backed away from the thing. Its skin, ashen and gray, looked dead despite movement. The thing locked eyes with her and crawled a bit closer.
Looking into the squinting, burning red eyes, she had learned what she'd wanted to know. But the truth was far more horrible than she had imagined. As much as she detested her father, she knew he wasn't responsible for this thing. And even in her terror, she understood that whatever was in that vampires’ saliva had gotten into her blood, went to the fetus and turned it into this—thing.
On hands and knees, it began to inch closer. Then loudly it sucked in air and hissed, "Mommmmm-meeeeeeee."
Bonnie screamed, so loudly it burned her throat. Stumbling backward, she limped toward the receiving office. Each step she took backward, the thing leaped a little forward keeping its eyes focused on hers. Feeling the door against her sore back, she worked her hand around and grabbed the knob. Twisting it, she stepped backwards into the office and slammed the door shut.
She winced as she leaned over to look through the glass. The thing hopped onto it and, sticking like a lizard, began crawling toward the top. The way it glared at Bonnie as it moved up, she knew it wasn't milk it was after. Painfully she made her way around the desk and noticed a large bucket of water sitting on the floor.
"Yes!" she exclaimed, hoping Bram Stoker was right; if so, maybe she had a chance. She'd read Dracula last year for a book report and was struck by the weaknesses of the vampire. Especially when Doctor Van Helsing pointed out to Jonathan Harker that vampires cannot move if submerged in water. She'd never seen that in any of the movies. But having seen two vampires, attacked by one, now stalked by the other, she had no problem believing it.
The thing slithering up the glass, hissed again, its red eyes glaring.
Bonnie expected the thing to come over the top of the partition and then simply leap at her like an insect attacking. She hoped so; her impromptu plan depended on it. The tiny stillborn looked small enough to be easily caught inside the large plastic bucket.
Stepping sideways, she positioned herself in front of the bucket. Half-kneeling, like giving a royal curtsey, she painfully stretched her left hand around her back and took hold of the buckets' metal handle. Straining with the weight of the water, she straightened back up. She grimaced and stood waiting, her weapon concealed behind her.
"Com'on, you little It! Come to mommie."
The stillborn replied with a loud hiss and began climbing faster. Reaching the top of the partition, it placed its small left wrist over the stainless steel rim like a hook, its fingers too small to grasp anything. It did the same with the right and pulled itself up until its head was sticking over the top.
Breathing through her mouth, Bonnie watched the thing lean right and swing its small left leg up and over the rim, supporting itself on its stomach. Balancing itself a moment, it leaned into the office and pushed off from the partition, springing for her.
Hoping her timing was good, Bonnie brought the bucket up and around and took a step backward. Raising it up to her neck, she watched as the thing dove for her. Judging its trajectory best as possible, she jerked the bucket up another half foot and her face was wonderfully splashed as the small vampire landed in the water. She held the bucket tightly, after almost dropping it from the force of the splash.
In the bucket, the tiny palm-sized thing lay submersed, quiet and still.
Finding the furnace room wasn't hard. Bonnie suspected it'd be somewhere on the basement floor. It was only twenty feet up from the morgue toward the elevator. The door was marked: FURNACE/MECHANICAL ROOM-AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. "Passed it on my way down!" she whispered as she pushed open the door and went inside.
Using the edge of the bucket, she swung open the trap covering the mouth of furnace to one side. Heat poured out in waves against her face and arms. She stooped down and looked into the inferno and decided the water probably wouldn't douse the flames. How can a single bucket of water put out so much fire? Standing again, she stepped back, and taking careful aim at the trap opening, held the handle loosely and let the bucket swing a bit to give it momentum. Swinging once, twice, on the third swing, she tossed it squarely through the trap into the furnace, little monster and all.
Carefully squatting to look inside again, the bucket had landed on its side. Water poured out turning instantly into steam that billowed through the trap. Through the vapor, she could see it as the the plastic bucket began to melt, and the thing as it crawled out into the blazing flames. Its ashen skin began to blistered and blackened, and howling like a wounded animal, it started crawling toward the furnace opening.
Bonnie yelled, "No!" and kicked the trap shut, muffling, but not silencing the horror. Plopping onto the floor, Bonnie buried her head in her hands, waiting for the infernal howling to stop. Suddenly, it did stop, and the thing starting crying—like a normal, living baby wanting his mother.
Slapping her hands to her ears, Bonnie shrieked, "Stop it! Stop, stop, stop it!"
A hundred yards from the hospital, Bonnie limped along and tried to think of someone who could help her get home. A homeless shelter or teen hospice maybe.
After the thing had stopped crying, sure it was dead, she had found a scrap piece of metal and carefully opened the furnace trap again. All she saw was a little corpse, lying still, burning away into ashes. Its mouth gaped open, she saw no fangs and decided to take that as a good sign.
Stopping a moment, she felt her bare throat and the scars from the bite marks healing there. She thought again about those old scary movies and knew what would happen to her someday when she died. But seeing how her offspring had finally found rest, it gave her an idea.
After a few minutes of painful trudging, Bonnie came up to a church, its exterior beautifully lit by directional lighting shining from the ground. Etched into the brownstone front wall over the large arched entry—an entry she regretted she could never pass—was a large bas-relief of the Virgin, holding out welcoming arms. Daring not to touch holy ground, wincing with enough pain already, body and soul, Bonnie stepped back and lifted up her head.
"Holy Virgin," she promised, "I'm gonna make it clear to somebody that when I die, I want to be cremated. That should do it. I don't wanna come back and start biting people like that guy who bit me—or like my baby. Please help me make it home. And help me make it after I'm home, too. Amen."
The thought of going home and facing her father, bringing rape charges against him made her stomach tighten. But she wanted her life back and knew it must begin with dealing with him. She assured herself, He sure can't be any worse than a vampire! The thought of driving a stake through his heart crossed her mind, but she figured she'd just simply have him arrested.
Rubbing her tired eyes, she turned away from the church and started her journey home, pacing herself, taking it one step at a time.