Vampire Blues

But Judd wasn’t listening. “Do you see it, Reggie? Do you see it?”

The old vampire was keeping pace with him, looking both distraught and oddly curious. He was shaking his great head. “No, dammit. Now get back here, kid. Let go of whatever it is you’re holding.”

“Dad?” asked Judd, still running to keep up. “Dad, is it really you?”

“It ain’t your dad, kid. It’s Death. And it’s come for you.”

“No. It’s my pops.”

Still holding the camouflaged hand, the old man next to him did something unexpected and terrifying. He grabbed Judd’s arm. Grabbed it hard and pulled. He also did something else, he reached forward, grabbing what Judd was holding…his father’s hand.

“Show yourself, goddammit!” yelled Reggie.

And with a final heave, Judd found himself rolling, tumbling head over ass over the gravel. Next to him, Reggie thudded as well. And next to Reggie…was someone else.

Judd didn’t even realize how loud he was screaming until the train screeched to a halt and the man in the camo jacket wrapped his big arms around him and wept as if his heart was breaking. Only it was being unshattered, moment by moment.

* * *

Reggie stood and dusted himself off. He was quite certain that someone, or something, had appeared out of nowhere. He had just spotted the full-grown man in desert fatigues lying on the ground when he spotted something else. Something that no one could miss.

Rising above, spewing steam high into the air, as big as iron mountain, was an old-time locomotive.

Reggie had lived a long, long time, and there wasn’t much that surprised him these days. Which is why his jaw dropped, which is why he gazed in wonder.

“Son-of-a-bitch.”

* * *

“It’s you, Judd. My boy!” the man cried joyfully, then looked around as if realizing where he was for the first time. “But I don’t know who I am, or where I am.” He looked back at Judd, and his confused frown turned into a smile. “But I know who you are, dammit. I have your baby picture…and nothing else to my name.”

“Dad,” said Judd, crawling forward, ignoring the many cuts and nicks from his tumble over the gravel. “I know who you are. And Mom knows who you are, too.”

“Where do I live?” the man said.

“With us, Dad. With us.” He didn’t let go of the man’s hand. He thought his heart would burst with faith, with love, with joy.

A conductor with glowing eyes came to the open vestibule of the shimmering train, looked at them and said authoritatively, “At every stop, there must be one boarding passenger. One of you must board. All aboard!” he called out.

“No!” Judd shouted. “No!” He looked anxiously at his father who gave him a sad smile.

* * *

Reggie didn’t know why he could suddenly see the steaming locomotive, but he knew what he had to do. He’d lived long enough in this godforsaken shack. He’d lived long enough on mice and rats and other filthy critters.

But he knew what was right and what was wrong. The man with his boy was right. The boy hugging his pops and weeping into his shoulders was right.

“All aboard!”

Reggie stepped forward and raised his hand in a silent salute. The soldier on the ground saluted him back. Reggie nodded once at the boy, and stepped on board the night train.

The End

~~~~~~~~~

Dracula’s Guest

by Bram Stoker

When we started for our drive the sun was shining brightly on Munich, and the air was full of the joyousness of early summer. Just as we were about to depart, Herr Delbrück (the maître d’hôtel of the Quatre Saisons, where I was staying) came down, bareheaded, to the carriage and, after wishing me a pleasant drive, said to the coachman, still holding his hand on the handle of the carriage door:

“Remember you are back by nightfall. The sky looks bright but there is a shiver in the north wind that says there may be a sudden storm. But I am sure you will not be late.” Here he smiled, and added, “for you know what night it is.”

Johann answered with an emphatic, “Ja, mein Herr,” and, touching his hat, drove off quickly. When we had cleared the town, I said, after signaling to him to stop:

“Tell me, Johann, what is tonight?”

He crossed himself, as he answered laconically: “Walpurgis nacht.” Then he took out his watch, a great, old-fashioned German silver thing as big as a turnip, and looked at it, with his eyebrows gathered together and a little impatient shrug of his shoulders. I realized that this was his way of respectfully protesting against the unnecessary delay, and sank back in the carriage, merely motioning him to proceed. He started off rapidly, as if to make up for lost time. Every now and then the horses seemed to throw up their heads and sniff the air suspiciously. On such occasions I often looked round in alarm. The road was pretty bleak, for we were traversing a sort of high, wind-swept plateau. As we drove, I saw a road that looked but little used, and which seemed to dip through a little, winding valley. It looked so inviting that, even at the risk of offending him, I called to Johann to stop—and when he had pulled up, I told him I would like to drive down that road. He made all sorts of excuses, and frequently crossed himself as he spoke. This somewhat piqued my curiosity, so I asked him various questions. He answered fencingly, and repeatedly looked at his watch in protest. Finally I said:

“Well, Johann, I want to go down this road. I shall not ask you to come unless you like; but tell me why you do not like to go, that is all I ask.” For answer he seemed to throw himself off the box, so quickly did he reach the ground. Then he stretched out his hands appealingly to me, and implored me not to go. There was just enough of English mixed with the German for me to understand the drift of his talk. He seemed always just about to tell me something—the very idea of which evidently frightened him; but each time he pulled himself up, saying, as he crossed himself: “Walpurgis nacht!”

I tried to argue with him, but it was difficult to argue with a man when I did not know his language. The advantage certainly rested with him, for although he began to speak in English, of a very crude and broken kind, he always got excited and broke into his native tongue—and every time he did so, he looked at his watch. Then the horses became restless and sniffed the air. At this he grew very pale, and, looking around in a frightened way, he suddenly jumped forward, took them by the bridles and led them on some twenty feet. I followed, and asked why he had done this. For answer he crossed himself, pointed to the spot we had left and drew his carriage in the direction of the other road, indicating a cross, and said, first in German, then in English: “Buried him—him what killed themselves.”