“O-bit”

M.J. Downing

            Sometimes, when fall finally wins out over summer in Louisville, its cold, victorious rain plaits the fallen leaves into a silent carpet, chills bones, and stirs strange ideas in boys cooped up in houses and classrooms. Finn McCoy was such a boy. He had his mother’s strong nose and chin, along with her blond hair. Sadly, he was small, like her, unlike his large, dark-haired father, Professor James McCoy.  Still, after James rescued him from a wicked fairy one past Halloween, Finn recognized the love that would make his dad dare anything to help him. Finn, though, was the sort of boy who could only owe so much of that sort of debt. At fourteen now, and still not getting any size, Finn chafed at his own lack of heroic stature.

Of late, Finn had taken to walking the long way, around Mulberry Street, to Tom Doughty’s house before school. If he was lucky, he would see Stacie Adkins starting for school with her little sister. Stacie stood three inches taller than Finn, with dark red hair and green eyes. She smiled at him, waved and said, “Good morning, Finn!” in happy tones, like she knew he did not need to go that way to Tom’s. Finn smiled back and wished himself taller.

So, three days before Halloween, Finn stared at his bowl of cold breakfast cereal, determined not to walk to Mulberry Street that morning and be too short again. His father sat across the table behind the morning paper, looking at Finn over its top, trying to think of some way to reach the boy.

            “Paper says that we can expect rain right through the week. Might want to dress up like The Creature from the Black Lagoon, for Albert’s party, huh?” The boys, Finn, Albert, and Tom decided to not trick or treat, since they were eighth graders now.  Instead, they were having a party in Albert’s garage, with decorations, music, snacks, and girls. Albert made sure to invite girls because there would be dancing, a vexed situation for Finn, who would be shorter than all the girls there and not able to dance in a manner he imagined would be necessary.

            “We’re not wearing costumes, remember?” Finn replied in quiet tones. His father was several inches over six feet and broad in his shoulders and chest, heroic, in a word. Finn did not like to look at him, knowing he would remain small, like his mother.  He did not take into account that his father could not help but be what he was. Sometimes, it’s like that for boys. 

            James heaved a great sigh and laid the paper flat on the table.  He called to his wife, Claire, “Honey, did to see that Mr. Stanzic over on Mulberry died? It’s in the paper this morning.” She came to his side holding rain jackets for both of them, peering at the picture of the deceased. The mention of Stacie’s street drew Finn to his mother’s side to look at the paper.

            “Oh, he was such a sweet man,” she said.

Finn had never considered the obituaries.  He saw that the paper had a list of names and ages of deceased people from around the state, as well as longer stories that told something of their lives.  His mother studied the “Stanzic” obituary, which featured a picture of a young man in military garb, whom Finn had never seen. “He and his wife kept that big old place so neat, and he was always good to the kids at trick or treat, wasn’t he, son?”

“I don’t recognize him by that picture,” Finn said. “Was his that big house on the corner with the really old lamp post in the middle of the tree?” Finn moved his gaze to the death list.

“That old part of the neighborhood had those old lights all around.  I think that was the last one left standing,” James said as he slipped his raincoat over his tweed jacket.  “Stanzic” wasn’t hard to find on the list, but a sudden shiver ran through Finn as he saw two “Stanzic” entries, with only one day separating the dates of their deaths. “Wait. Which one of these was he?”  Finn asked.

            Claire looked up at the list, muttered a bemused “Huh?” Finn pointed to it. “Oh,” she said. “The first one doesn’t have an obituary printed with it.  Just one of the state listings. Our Mr. Stanzic was the second one, in our county, see? He was Elbert Stanzic.  This other is Bertram Stanzic, but he was from Breathitt County.”

            “Were they brothers?” Finn asked, seeing that Bertram Stanzic was two years older than Elbert, the elderly fellow from Mulberry Street. The “Bert” part of both names, in Finn’s mind, made it likely that they were brothers. He would bet that there were more “bert” names in the list of their kin. Families used names like that. His mom’s name was Claire, and her mom’s name had been Clarice. Besides, with a last name like “Stanzic,” it seemed too obvious to be a coincidence. How many of them could there be?

 Finn’s thought drifted to that old house. Over the last year or so, it had grown spookier, its paint fading, garden weedy, iron fence rusting.  Elbert Stanzic, though, gave out full sized candy bars, which overcame any reticence about a Halloween visit from Finn and his two comrades, Tom and Albert. He fought a sudden impulse to go have a long look at the house. Professor McCoy had spoken at length about the dangers of impetuosity. Given his history, Finn had to admit that his dad was right.

            “Oh, I wouldn’t think so.” Claire replied slowly, as if thinking about the names, too. “Breathitt County is over a hundred miles from here, isn’t it James?”

            “Hm? Breathitt County? Yes, it is, over near the state line, I think.  Gotta run, pet,” he said, giving her a quick kiss and heading for the door. “Have a great, soggy day, Finn boy. Help your mother get Maeve and Megan ready, okay?”

            Finn waved and nodded at his father’s wide back, focused as he was on the newspaper. “But the names, Mom?  El-BERT and BERT-ram? They gotta be from the same family, don’t you think?”

            “Maybe, but I doubt it. Your dad would say, ‘correlation is not causation.’ I really doubt it, since they are so far apart. It must be just a coincidence.”

            “But they were only two years apart in age, like brothers, and died within two days of each other.  Isn’t that, you know, suspicious?” Finn argued.

            “No,” she said slowly. “People that age are likely to die, you know. Happens all the time.  I doubt they were connected.”

            Finn stared at her in disbelief, wondering how grownups could dismiss so obvious a thing. He looked at the paper again, at the single day that separated their deaths. Finn rarely read the local newspaper and never the obituaries.  He looked at them now as shocking evidence of some dark business.  A shiver ran through him, making Finn know that he had to go over to Mulberry Street, though not to see Stacie. Well, maybe to see Stacie, but to take a look at the old house on the corner, the one with the old light post. He would get Tom and Albert to go with him.

            Once, not that long before, a fairy named “Pep” gave him a knock on the head that let Finn see fairies, as well as ghosts, with his left eye. He still had that ability, though he seldom talked about it. Most people could not, or would not, see the things Finn could see. Finn still saw shades of dead folk out of the corners of his eyes, so to speak, but they were no threat and were fairly dull. Finn watched for the fair folk, too, though they avoided him after the “Pep” incident. Mostly, he saw their furtive movements in tall grasses or shadows behind trees as they fled his presence. As he thought of it, Mr Stanzic’s huge overgrown yard made a perfect playground for them.

            As he helped his mom wake and dress Maeve and Megan, Finn wondered if Mr. Elbert Stanzic’s spirit was still around over on Mulberry. Finn wanted to try and talk to him, although this was difficult.  Most of them were just like flashes of gentle light, like memories that occupied a certain place, space, or time.  Many of them could not—or would not—talk to the living. Often, only the angry ones made sounds, as though their ire imprinted itself on a background or time. Perhaps his spirit, if there had been some dark aspect of his death, would be about the place. So, to satisfy the curiosity that burned in his heart and made that familiar shiver run through him, he needed to go to Mulberry Street.

*

            “I can ask my dad if he’s heard of any reports filed about the death,” Tom Doughty said, when Finn related the news from the morning obituary page. The trio of friends were walking away from their school later in the day in the cold drizzle that dampened their moods. Tom’s father, Edward Doughty, was a detective sergeant in the local police force.

            “Hmf. Do you think he’ll tell you?” Albert asked with a scoff. “I want to talk about my party, anyway. At least four girls from class have accepted, and one of them is you-know-who, Finn.”

            “Yes, he will,” Tom replied. “We’re tight, and we all know that you have a crush on Stacie Adkins, though she has eyes only for Finn.” Finn’s cheeks went red, though he said nothing, just then. All the boys in their class took notice of Stacie.

            “Maybe she’ll change her mind,” Albert said with a wry grin, “and go for a taller guy!”

            “Yeah,” Finn replied, irritated about the reference to his height. “Maybe she likes heavy boys, huh?” Tom just smiled and shook his head at the sniping his friends did about height and weight.

            Finn, though, forced away thoughts of Stacie as well as Albert’s crack about his height.  Albert, a heavy fellow, now had about five inches of height on Finn and one on Tom, who was about average height, though compact and strong. Finn only said, “But look Albert, your party is three nights away,  no matter who is coming. Besides, this is important, I think. I need to go to Mulberry Street as soon as I can, see what I can find out about Mr. Stanzic.”

            “You sure that’s it? Stacie lives over on Mulberry, you know.  Besides, what’ll you learn there, other than he’s dead?” Albert protested. “And, look, I don’t want anything happening to you, to us, like it did before, okay?” He referred, of course to the long day that Finn and another boy had been imprisoned in the faerie realm, which each had experienced as days and days.

            Finn ignored the comment about his abduction by the wicked fairy, Pep. “What if the Stanzic brothers were murdered, or something?” he protested. “If we can find any evidence, it might help Tom’s dad, right?”

            Finn envied the closeness between Tom and his father. Sgt, Ed Doughty was quiet, easy going, and talked to his son like he was grown already. Finn found his father’s attempts to talk to him tiresome, too full of lessons. Furthermore, the difference between Det. Edward Doughty and Professor James McCoy was that the former found things out, while the latter knew things. Finn needed to find things out, too, especially things that made his inner alarms tingle. James McCoy would call the Stanzic deaths a coincidence, like Finn’s mom did. Even if the cops had labeled Elbert Stanzic’s death “suspicious,” Finn thought that they needed to know if Bertram, who died the day before, was Elbert’s brother. If it wasn’t a coincidence, what then?

            “It would be…unsettling,” Tom added, “to find that somebody on Mulberry was murdered. Have you called the newspaper to see if they know any more than what they printed?  How old did you say they were?”

            “The man on Mulberry was eighty-six; the other was eighty-eight,” Finn said, recognizing, of course, that those ages were quite advanced. “I haven’t had the time to call the newspaper.”

“Newspaper people aren’t going to tell you anything that they didn’t already print,” Albert said, scoffing again.  Finn frowned and stared at Albert, but he knew he was right. The chances of it being a coincidence of natural deaths was large. Still, the shiver of suspicion lurked in Finn’s heart.

            “I’ll ask my dad later,” Tom said with a nod. “He can check it out without too much trouble, I’d bet.”

            “You two are gonna get me in trouble, aren’t you?” Albert muttered, pulling his slicker hood tighter around his head. The rain fell harder.

*

            Mulberry Street, several blocks from Finn’s house, featured the oldest and largest houses in the neighborhood. The lots were large and deep, with alley ways behind them. Usually, the bigger yards and back gardens were good places to spot fairy activity, which Finn might see.  As Finn thought of it, the Stanzic house, sitting on a wide corner lot, was the biggest as well as oldest and its increasingly overgrown yard made a good spot for fay activity, though they were careful, now-a-days to have no contact with him

The home’s old-fashioned streetlight, had gone out of late. It looked like a London gas lamp Finn had seen in Sherlock Holmes movies, and it gave the whole place a sense of disconnection from the rest of the neighborhood, as did the low stone wall topped with an iron-spear fence, of which most of the heads were missing. The house itself, in Finn’s mind, would have been at home in a black and white movie, especially a spooky one. Made of heavy stone, it had two complete floors with many windows and at least two balconies, six dormer windows on the gabled third floor, and one tall turret at its northeast corner, rising a floor higher, like an English castle plonked down in his neighborhood.

As they approached from the side street, the rain fell off and a mist gathered around them.  To Finn, it appeared to come from Mr. Stanzic’s yard. Another thought he dismissed as silly. Finn watched for the turret first to come in view through the wet shroud around the house. The turret had windows all around, like a lookout tower.  Stanzic’s house sat up higher that the other houses around it. Its tower was the first thing the boys saw, since the bulk of the house was screened from view by the mist and tall, ancient oaks and sycamores, as well as understory trees. The whole place had a wild look, these days, having become unruly Mr. Stanzic last years.

            “It’d be cool to have that tall place as a bedroom, wouldn’t it?” Tom remarked, as though he had followed Finn’s thoughts.

            “Are you kidding?” Albert cried, “Everybody would see you walking around in your underwear!”

            “Well, there could be curtains or blinds,” Finn replied,” and I think there were, last time I looked. None now, though, huh?”

            “Hard to tell in this fog. Can you be sure it had curtains before?” Tom asked.

            “Well…no. I can’t,” Finn muttered.

            “They’re prolly just moving things out, curtains and all, you know? After the old guy died?” Albert said.

            “Yeah, maybe,” Finn said. “Let’s see if the back gate off the alley is open.”

            “Why? Can’t you see enough from the front?” Albert asked.

            “I kind of want to, you know, get a feel for the whole place. Anyway, the latch on that front gate is hard to open, too. Remember last Halloween, when it wouldn’t budge, and the old man came out to open it for us?” Finn said.

            “Oh yeah!” Albert cried, “I remember that guy! Man. He was a good, old fellow, wasn’t he?”

            “I think Finn wants to get in quietly and look for ghosts, though, right?” Tom asked, as he reached the dark wooden gate in the short stone wall.  The gate opened with ease, almost an invitation.  Finn, though, had stopped, studying heavy tire tracks in the alley’s muddy gravel. 

            “A big truck has been back here recently.  Look. The rain hasn’t washed away the deep ruts its tires made,” Finn said. He stooped down, looking from the alley in through the gate. “And unless I miss my guess, something on smaller wheels was taken through here, up toward the house. See? There are still tracks that cut deep into the grass back there.”

            “So? Moving truck.  They use dollies for heavy stuff, refrigerators and like that,” Albert observed. “Makes sense, really.”

            “No.  Movers would have made a lot more tracks everywhere, loading stuff into the truck,” Tom said. “This looks like a single trip.” He followed the path into the grass. “And the grass is flattened down like they went in just once.  No other tracks back here.”

            Albert shrugged heavy shoulders and asked, “Maybe they moved most stuff in and out through the front.  The house has a big front door, remember? ‘Sides, when the men moved us into our house, they used just the front door.”

            Finn had little knowledge of movers and their ways.  Scanning the yard with his left eye, Finn saw no movement to suggest a ghostly or fay presence, which seemed sort of odd, especially near a house as old as this one and the overgrown plantings in the yard. It was early yet. He followed the wheel tracks that led to a slanted bulkhead door at the far corner of the house. “It’s weird, but I don’t see any boot tracks, through here, but in this bare patch, I see what looks like a big shoe print. Look how deep it sank.” Finn and Tom bent down toward the bulkhead door at the same time to inspect the print.

            “Heavy man, or a lighter one carrying something really heavy.  Look how deep it is. Slick sole, too, like a dress shoe,” Tom added leaning down beside Finn. Their hands touched the door at the same time. Finn sprang away as though shocked, scrambling back on his hands. Tom caught his breath and rose to his feet, his hands up in defensive posture, weight back, dark eyes bewildered and scanning for an attack.

            Finn, not able to think, scurried away on all fours, and Albert let out a screech and bolted blindly through the yard.  Finn got to his feet and ran. Albert, whose shrill scream snapped Finn out of his first panic, ran headlong toward a tree. Finn pulled him aside just before he crashed into it. In the next instant, they were all running out the back gate as fast as they could. Albert was first through the gate, guided by Finn, with Tom at the rear, looking back over his shoulder. Raincoats flapping, hoods falling away, they ran hard as they could, as though something was after them. Albert ran on hardest, his raincoat held on only by his school backpack, his scream, now, incoherent bleats of terror.

            Two blocks away, Finn slowed and called out to Albert to wait, stop. Tom came level with him and almost past him. “Tom! Wait!” Finn called.

            Tom managed to turn and cast a glance at Finn, backing away, his eyes still looking for an attack. “Tom! Stop! Look at me Tom! Tom, what are we running from?”  Tom turned wide eyes to Finn, blinking as though a strong light dazzled his vision. Finn gripped him by both arms. “Tom!” he cried. “Tom! Why are we running?!” Finn had to shout to get Tom’s eyes to focus on him.

            “W…wh…what?” Tom asked. He took a deep breath, then, closed his eyes, and said, “We were at the Stanzic place, weren’t we?”

“Yes, Tom, the house, we…” Finn said. He shook Tom and said, “Remember! Make yourself remember!”

            “Finn,” he breathed. “When I touched that door… It was like…something…a hand, maybe, shot out at me…A claw, maybe… came out of nowhere. It wanted to hurt me.”

            “I don’t think I saw anything, It was like a jolt of electricity, to me,” Finn said in something like a relieved sigh. “I think we must have put our hands on the door about the same time, and then, blammo. ” Finn breathed. “Electric shock doesn’t make you fear, which is what ran through me. Just plain…fear.”

            “That’s what it was, and I don’t know if I saw an actual hand.  If I did, it wasn’t attached to anything, but something was gonna get me.”

            “Yeah,” Finn said, chuckling a little, “and you looked like you were ready to kick its butt!”

            Tom chuckled, as much in relief as humor, and said, “Instinct, I guess.  I came up in guard. It was like when you see a strike coming fast and you can’t get away, and you know it’s gonna hurt…”

            “Wonder what Albert saw,” Finn said. They started off in the direction that Albert ran, both laughing now.

            “Are you gonna tell him that he screamed like a little girl?” Tom asked.

            “No, sir,” Finn answered, still chuckling. “Some of those girly screams, I’m pretty sure, were mine.”

            They found Albert leaning against the street sign a block from his house. As they ran up, Finn saw that Albert still had tears on his cheeks, though he was not crying. “You okay, bud?” Tom asked, laying a hand on Albert’s shoulder.

            “Yeah,…but…I don’t know why I’m here or why I’ve been crying,” Albert muttered in a sleepy voice. “And, and, I…I peed my pants…a little.”

            Finn knelt down in front of him on the wet sidewalk, noting the dark spot on Albert’s pant leg. “Well, we went to the Stanzic house and something…scared us, threw us into a panic.  Did you see anything before you ran? I thought you were going to bash your head against a tree, so I turned you out the gate.”

            “Stanzic house?” Albert asked his brow furrowing. He turned a confused, almost angry glance at each of them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

            “We were in the back yard,” Tom explained, “at that bulkhead door that must go into the cellar…”

            “No, we weren’t,” Albert asserted. “I came here right after school, waiting for you guys, only…I can’t remember why I was crying, and why I….” Albert cast a forlorn glance at the dark, wet spot on his pants.

            “Something, scar—” Tom started, but Finn stopped him.

“No.  Give him some time,” Finn whispered to Tom. He turned to Albert and said, “Let’s go to your house and…maybe…talk about your party, huh?”

*

Later that night, after his homework was done and Maeve and Megan had control of the television, giggling over a show about rainbow-colored ponies, Finn made his way into his father’s darkling study. Professor McCoy sat within the green glow of his shaded desk lamp, pipe in mouth and pen busy on a stack of student essays. He failed to notice Finn enter the room and move toward the bookshelves. There was just enough light to let Finn see the titles on spines. The boy ran his fingers over the books, hoping to find a title like “Scary Things That Make You Feel Fear” but saw nothing of the kind. James went on grading, muttering to himself at times, shaking his head, pen moving swiftly in response to wayward student writing. Finn went on looking, amazed at the number of books that were written about other books and literature, myths, and folklore, yet none of them offered him the help he needed. Tom had urged him to ask his father about the sorts of things that could make you want to jump out of your skin.

“He knows so much. I’m pretty sure he can tell you something,” Tom had said.

“Yeah, but, he only knows about old stuff: poems, novels, and plays—that nobody reads unless they have to,” Finn had answered.

“Still, I’d bet that what we experienced today was some sort of magic, right?” Tom explained. “Being scared out of your wits and made to forget about it isn’t something you hear about on the news, is it?”

“No, I’ll grant you that, but my dad,…”

“Is a very smart man.  He knew how to deal with the fairies that time, right?” Tom said as he turned off to his house. “Besides, you need to give him a break.  He really is a good guy—and a great dad, okay?” When it came down to it, Finn knew that Tom was right. James had broken into the old mausoleum under the yew tree, rescued Finn and Buddy Carter, and wedged a silver cross into the door handle.  Two years had tarnished the cross but not the memory of what his powerful father had done.

Now, Finn, his eyes growing weary of looking at titles in dim light, had to admit that a man who read and studied all these books had to be smart. ‘Maybe I should ask him for help—at least to find a book that might help me understand the sort of magic that happened today.’ Finn edged around the desk and turned suddenly into the pool of light that spread over the professor’s desk.

“Hey, dad—”

“Jeeee-hozaphat!!” James cried, the pen leaping from his hand, pipe dropping from his mouth as he stood up hard enough to knocked over his desk chair. Finn had never seen his father, a big man and very strong, look so shook or move so fast. The pipe’s ashes cascaded down his shirt and pants, and James brushed them away with awkward jerks of his hand. Finn knew better than to smile, so he stood there,  hands perched politely on the edge of the desk, looking up at his father.

“Finn!” James said with the first breath he took, “I nearly jumped out of my skin! What in the world—”

“I, um, wanted to ask you about the kinds of things that can scare you,” Finn said in a small voice.

“You mean like benighted goblins sneaking up on a man while he’s concentrating?” James retorted, beginning to chuckle.  He retrieved pipe and pen and sat back down with a sigh.

“Yes, sir, sort of like that, but something that can make you feel sudden panic—without seeing anything, though.  Um,I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t mean to…” Finn decided not to say anymore for the moment. 

After drawing a deep sigh, Professor McCoy replied, “Well, you used a good word, there, ‘panic,’ a word with an origin in the sudden fear of wild places that falls upon people who get lost or wander too far in the woods without a sense of where they go.  In ancient days, such a fear was attributed to the god, Pan, hence Pan-ic, see? Why do you ask?”

“Could such a thing happen now, around here, I mean?”

“Hardly seems likely, not the same thing as that wilderness feeling,” his dad answered. “This, um, doesn’t have anything to do with fairies, now, does it?”

“No, sir. Just about what happened to me, Tom, and Albert when we were looking at an old house today,” Finn replied, holding back mention of the Stanzic house and the suspicion that drove him to Mulberry Street. “All of a sudden, we all three got scared and ran away.”

“Spooky looking, was it?”

“Very,” Finn replied.

“Yeah, and in a dreary rain. I think…it was maybe just you three spooking each other, what with Halloween in a couple of days, which a psychologist would say is something like Panic in the old sense. You three have been hitting the monster movies pretty hard of late, right?”

“Yes, sir,” Finn mumbled, not wanting to have the feeling explained away with common sense.

James studied his son’s face for a moment, and added, “I can think of one story, though that tells us of a monster with that ability and many more.”

“Yeah? What kind?”

“Didn’t you three watch the old Bela Lugosi Dracula last weekend?”

“Yes, we did,” Finn enthused, though the very thought stirred a small ember of dread in his heart.

“Bram Stoker, who wrote that book, details all the powers that old Drac had, some of which the movies never touched,” James explained. “Dracula was trained, Stoker suggests, in a legendary school of black magic, the Scholomance, by the Devil himself.  He could shape shift into all kinds of things, like a wolf or a bat, or small particles.  He could even control some aspects of weather, like fogs and mists, even thunder. And, he could walk in the daylight, though he was weakened by it.  In his full power, though, he had the strength of twenty men.”

“Wow,” Finn whispered, though a shudder ran through him. 

James smiled and asked, “So, you think you boys came across a vampire’s lair?”

Finn stared at his father for a second of two, feigned a laugh, and said,

“No.  No sir. I guess we just scared ourselves, huh?” Finn dared to embrace his suspicions—with their creeping dread– rather than be thought of as just an imaginative kid. “Besides,” he reasoned, “it could all be just like he said, just me spooking myself.”

“Would you like to take a look at what Stoker wrote?” James said, rising from his chair and pulling the old novel down from a nearby shelf.

“Sure,” Finn said in a low voice.

“Here, I’ll mark the passage where Van Helsing goes into detail about a vampire’s powers. There’s a bunch of notes of mine around that passage, too. Here, take a look.”

Finn scanned the passage, noting its under linings and margin notes. His father said, “It’s a hard read for most folks, but I encourage you to try it, if you like.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad,” Finn replied, determined to try what his father said was a hard read. Without another word, he hurried from the room to his bed. Finn had little fear in him, which is not always a good thing, as he knew from past experience. The sort of dread he felt just then was something new. At first, the idea of a vampire in the Stanzic house sounded, well, sort of cool.

Later, as he lay in bed having read Van Helsing’s remarks, he found them more unsettling that anything he had learned about fairies. A vampire, the way Stoker’s Van Helsing described one, sounded like a world-ending event, Finn’s world at least. The notes in his father’s book said that Dracula was given the power of all evil spell. Making three boys feel abject terror would have been easy for an old vampire, like Dracula. But why would there be a vampire in the Stanzic house? Could such a thing really be?

Finn heard his mother and father talking in the hallway after they got Maeve and Megan into bed, and  fear seized him in a stronger grasp:

“You know, James, I took a walk over to Mulberry Street today,” Claire said in a wistful voice, “to look at old Mr. Stanzic’s house.  I took a sympathy card to leave at the door, hoping that his family would know of his kindness to our children.”

“Was anyone there?” James asked, his hand on the door knob to Finn’s room.

“Yes, a man who bore a striking resemblance to Mr. Stanzic, I thought.  But he claimed to be the old fellow’s cousin. Very tall and spare, he was, and clad in dress clothes right out of the old movies.  I don’t know why, but I asked him if he knew of any relation of Mr. Stanzic in Breathitt County.  I suppose that Finn’s conviction along those lines from the obituary stayed with me.  And he smiled and answered “yes,” and that he was the last cousin to both Stanzic men who just passed away. Isn’t that remarkable?  Be sure to tell Finn that he was right.” Finn’s heart beat faster at this news. A sudden panic surged through him. “Get a grip, Finn. You’re being silly, thinking that a vampire is haunting your neighborhood,” he argued against the fear.  Yet his mother had gone there, seen a man who looked like Mr. Stanzic. Stoker had said that Dracula could make himself look like his victims. “Stop letting your imagination run away with you, Finn!” he chided himself.

“I sure will,” James answered. “Did he tell you anything else, like what caused them to die, one after the other?”

“No.  He claimed that he was busy, just then, but urged us to come by some evening soon. I gather he’d like to meet some of the people his cousin knew.  They had not seen each other for decades, he said.”

“Hm.  I’ll tell Finn,” James muttered and opened the door. “Oh,” James whispered and closed the door. Finn, eyes closed, book fallen on the bed, was turned on his side, feigning sleep.  He feared that his father would hear his heart beating fast, though he knew that his father—anyone, really—would think his fears just a fantasy born of too much tv and Halloween nonsense.

 It would be hours later that Finn finally did sleep, though exhausting fear crept upon him from the shadows. Then, nightmare hands, tipped with lang black nails reached out to him in his sleep.  Finn woke early, his fears only a bit less in the presence of the gray dawn. He ate breakfast alone and left the house before anyone was up.

Leaden clouds promised another gray day, and a cold wind swept around him as he made his way to Mulberry Street, not sure what he wanted to do when he got there. He had an hour before he had to be at school and thought that something would occur to him when he got there.

Turning a corner, he nearly gasped at the sight of Albert Miller ahead of him,  moving toward the alley behind the Stanzic house. Finn called to him and got no response. He picked up his pace, for Albert looked intent on heading back into the yard.

“Albert! Stop!” Finn cried in a hoarse whisper, though Albert, his steps shuffling, looked to be walking in his sleep.  Finn sprinted to his side, catching up with Albert as he entered the rear gate. Once inside the gate, Finn, he saw a tall figure standing the now open back door of the house. Finn turned his eyes away from the shape at the door and grabbed Albert’s jacket sleeve.

“Albert, no!” Finn hissed, straining to hold his friend still.  Albert said nothing, though tears ran down his slack cheeks as he pushed the smaller Finn along the slick, cold grass of the rear lawn. The bulkhead door, Finn saw in a fast glance, was open, yawning, black like a new, raw grave, and Albert’s steps headed straight for it. Another quick look showed Finn that the tall man was no longer at the door,

“I hate to do it, buddy, but I’ve got no choice,” Finn cried as he slapped Albert, once, twice, on either cheek, making his head rock back and stopping him in his tracks.

“Ow! God, Finn…!” Albert exclaimed, though his eyes took in his surroundings and made him stop. Seeing where he was made his tearful eyes go wide and the beginnings of a scream leap into his throat.

Finn pushed Albert back, yelling, “Go, boy! Run!” And Albert did, with Finn at his heels, holding onto his jacket.  Finn tugged him to a halt a block away, crying, “What were you doing Albert, going back there?”

“I…I  don’t know, but it was like I was watching myself do it. God…Finn, what is wrong with me?”

“Nothing, now, but… Yesterday, you didn’t even remember being there with me and Tom,” Finn said. “And look at you.  You’ve been crying—a lot.  Your face is…well, it’s red from where I slapped you.  Sorry, I just—”

Albert shook his head, no: “That’s…it’s okay.  I guess I was crying, Finn, because inside, I felt like I was gonna die!”

Behind them a familiar voice called to them: “Hello boys,” Stacie Adkins said as she walked down that dreadful block behind them. “ Would you walk me to school?” She was by herself, her red locks duller in the misty morning. Always pale, she looked even whiter that morning, and Finn’s heart thumped hard. Something, a feral look in her eyes and smile, shook him. It was not Stacie Adkins, Finn knew.

“It’s happening,” he muttered, as a pain lanced through his head.  He called back to her, “I’d like to Stacie, but Albert and I have to get to Tom’s before school. You sure are going in early, aren’t you?”

She gave no answer, just walked toward them.  Finn pushed Albert into a run. “C’mon, Albert. Let’s go get Tom. You’ll be alright with both of us around you.”

“But Stacie…” Albert mumbled.

“Never mind her, now,” Finn, muttered, though his heart beat hard, as his head began to ache. Finn wanted the girl to be Stacie, but when he turned to look back at her, she was gone. “Shape shifting. The vampire can look like his victim,” he thought. That meant Stacie had been… He dared not consider that his thought was right. “Is it really happening? Can it happen?”  Finn dreaded the answer to his questions.

They hurried along toward Tom’s house, which was closer to school. Finn was glad to have given in to the need to go back to the Stanzic place, though the tension around his heart, and the vice-like grip on his head told him that the things he feared were far from over.

A thought occurred to him that made Finn shudder: each time he had been to Mulberry Street, once again he had seen nothing of ghosts or fairies. That was a thing Dracula could do, too, use the dead and other creatures of the nether world to do his bidding.  Maybe the Stacie he saw been a fairy in casting a glamour.  That would be better than the alternative, for that meant the girl he liked was…. “No! Impossible.”

With Tom in tow, asking a thousand questions that neither Albert or Finn answered, they pushed on toward school. On their way, Finn saw shades of the usual kind, quick fleeting images of people that he usually saw, part of the background of things.  Now, though, they were all standing still and staring, though not at him.  They all stared in the direction of the Stanzic house on Mulberry Street. They got to school as the first bell rang. The next time they talked, it was at recess.

*

“So, it’s like you were called back to that house?” Tom asked as they stood in the warming day at recess.  The wind continued to blow, drying out the sodden leaves that had covered everything. They blew around in a sluggish manner in the cold breeze. Albert brushed away those that had stuck to his jacket. He nodded, unwilling or maybe unable to talk. Tom went on and reported that his father had heard nothing official about the death of Mr, Stanzic on Mulberry. “He said that the only time the cops take notice of a death is when it happens through an act of violence that is reported by a victim or a bystander.  And he reminded me that old people often do just die in their homes, especially if they lost their spouse sometime before.”

“Yeah, it happens,” Finn said, finding it nearly impossible to think. Tom stared at him as though expecting a great deal more.

“Well, Finn?” he asked.

“Well, what?” Finn replied, shaking his head. While they had been in morning class, Finn’s headache abated when he let himself think of anything other than the Stanzic house, its new occupant, or Stacie Adkins, who was not in school today. Now that the subject came up again, the pain returned, as though his head was being squeezed by a steel clamp.

“Finn?” Albert mumbled, “how come Stacie isn’t in school today? We saw her, right?”

“Stacie? She, uh, didn’t look like she felt good,  maybe went back home?” Finn lied, making the pain ease. If he just refused to think about Stacie or that house, his headache abated.

“Well, what are we gonna do about this?” Tom demanded, casting a questioning glance at Albert. “We all get some kind of whammy put on us, Albert goes back to a place he said he didn’t remember visiting, you go back there again and find him, and now you are acting like nothing is happening.  Something bad is going on at the Stanzic place.  You tipped us off to it, Finn and now we got proof, right?”

“Proof? Yeah, I guess we do,”  Finn mumbled, rubbing the sides of his head as a wave of aching swept from one temple to the other. “But, you know, it could be our imaginations,” he said, which, again, brought a wave of relief as though the imagined hard clamp on his head was eased. “Maybe, you know, the grownups are right, even if the two Stanzic men in the obituaries were brothers.”

“What? How did you know that?” Tom demanded. “That’s important.  I should tell my dad.”

“Yeah, I guess you should, but he’ll probably say the same thing about victims and witnesses,” Finn said, as the pain returned, “And I don’t remember where I heard that about the old …men.” A sharper ache lanced through Finn’s head as he tried to recall how he knew about the connection between the obituaries.  He rubbed his head to try and make it go away as Albert and Tom looked at him.

“Finn, Tom’s right,” Albert said in a quiet voice. “ I can’t shake the feeling that I need to go back there, like, now.  It’s an itch in my brain. I mean, I’m not wild about it, but maybe we should do something, maybe talk to your dad.  Did he tell you anything that might help us?”

“I…can’t remember,” Finn said, then dropped to one knee, holding his head. “My head hurts so bad…when I try….”

“That tears it!” Tom cried, stooping to lift Finn to his feet. “Let’s get you to the school nurse, and we won’t say anything else about the Stanzic house, right Albert?”

“Uh, right.” Albert said, eyes wide. ”At least not now.”

“Right, but I need a word with you once we get Finn inside.”

The nurse gave Finn some aspirin and let him lie quietly in her office as she sent the other boys to their next class, with a note for their teacher explaining Finn being missing.  In a few minutes, just letting his thoughts wander, the headache was gone, and Finn asked to go back to class. Concentrating on his words kept him free from pain. To all, except Tom, Finn appeared fine.

But when the last bell rang, Finn left through the rear door, instead of joining his friends. He hurried home to a strangely quiet house, went straight to his room, and climbed into bed. He gave no thought about the house being empty, which, on instinct, he knew to not consider else the stabbing in his head return. There, in the cool dark of the afternoon, Finn sought refuge in sleep.

*

Albert Miller would say that Finn McCoy was the bravest boy ever.  Tom Doughty would say he was a born fighter, a boy with grit, an indomitable will. In his heart, which was stronger than his head, Finn was all those things. It was inevitable, given his nature, that Finn, even in his dreams was forced back into turmoil, as through his subconscious mind wished to force him back into thinking about the fear that lay locked under some kind of barrier. The piercing agony in his head returned even in sleep. He did not know that Tom and Albert followed him and sat, now, on his front porch, uneasy about the quietness of the McCoy household. Albert had gone quiet, dull-eyed, and listless. Tom had to hold him to keep him from getting up and wandering away. 

 Finn now thrashed in his sleep. He was under water, and its surface was solid ice. No matter where he swam, he found no opening, though he did find pockets of air.  These he swam to, emptying lungs and sucking in the stale air of each bubble. With each partial breath, he beat at the ice above him, unable to break it, unable to hold his breath long enough to find any means of doing so.  He went to other air bubbles, sucking them down, which made his head pound with pain.  The bubbles of air, plentiful at first, grew smaller and farther apart as a strong current swept him along. At last, panic made him pound harder and faster at the ice.  Though he was sure his hands were both broken, there was a crack above him, and his thudding strikes at the ice became a hard knocking on his bedroom door.

The dream ice cracked, and Finn sat up in a dark room, dry, though he expected to be sodden.  Finn’s head hurt more than he ever thought it could, which, now, made him angry. The door burst open to reveal Tom hurrying in, pulling Albert by the hand.  Far behind them, downstairs, still, James McCoy called out “Claire? Maeve? Megan?” Raw fear tinged his voice and caused Finn to catch his breath. Finn knew, full well, that his mother and sisters, like Albert, had been called to the Stanzic house.  Pain redoubled in his head, yet Finn gritted his teeth and said,

“No! You won’t get them!”

“Who won’t get whom?” Tom asked, staring at the way Finn held his head, as though to keep it from bursting. Albert turned to him and said.

“I told you downstairs. He’s…that man…is calling people to him, the man in that house. He’s calling me now.  I can feel it. I need to go.”

Finn ignored them, rolled out of bed, stumbled from dizziness and leaned on the door jamb. “Dad! Dad! They…They’ve gone to the Stanzic house!” each word pounding, hammer hard inside his skull. Finn collapsed on the floor, as James ran down the hall to scoop him up.

“Finn! What did you say? The boys said that something was wrong with you. Where are your mother and sisters?” He held Finn upright, daring not to shake him, for the boy seemed to have no strength.

“The Stanzic…house. Gotta go. It’s a vampire, Dad. You gotta believe me. They…were, were…called. He’s calling…them,” Finn said, biting off his words as the pain seared through him.  He knew that he had to have the pain to keep thinking and talking. That was the only way to help his mother and sisters and Stacie. The horrible thought that it might be too late, especially for Stacie, who must be his victim already. If he could kill the vampire, it’s victims would be free. That’s what the movies said. 

 James demanded. “A vamp… Finn, why would your mother go there?”

“Heard…her…last night.  She visited…the vampire,” Finn gasped.  He held onto his anger, for though it could not remove the pain, it helped keep him on his feet.

“Vampire? Oh no, Finn! He is just a cousin of the two men who died,” James said in urgent tones.

Albert shook his head and said, “The man in the Stanzjc house calls me, us, Finn’s mom and sisters.  The call, like an itch inside my head,  an urge to do something I know I shouldn’t do, he calls me.”

“It’s true, I think, Professor McCoy,” Tom said. “Ever since Finn read those two obituaries and we went to the house on Mulberry, these two have been effected by something.  Albert almost got there this morning, but Finn stopped him.  Since then, it’s like the man he saw has gotten into Finn’s head. Maybe Mrs. McCoy and the girls…”

Finn surged upright and looked into his father’s eyes. “We. Got. To. Save. Them!”

“Save them, Finn?” James said, holding the boy by the shoulders.

“Yes…and the others,” Finn said, returning his father’s hard grip on his shoulders

“Professor, I know it’s hard to believe, but from what I’ve seen, something, and maybe it is what he said, causes this, and it seems like magic, bad magic. Would it hurt to try and believe him?” Tom asked.  Albert had turned and started walking down the hall.

“Okay,” Professor McCoy said with a determined shake of his head. “Tom, get these two into my car.”

“It’s the house…with the old streetlamp,” Finn said, screwing his eyes shut against his torture.

“Maybe we should call the police,” James said. Finn shook his aching head, staggered, and said,

“NO!” Mom… is there…now! Gone when I got home…an hour or more ago!” Finn broke free of his father’s grasp and hurried along the hall, bouncing off either wall, holding his head.

“My dad will be home already, Professor. I’ll go get him and meet you at that house,” Tom said and sprang away, pushing past Finn. Albert, Tom found out on the street already, eyes vacant, stumbling along. Tom shoved Albert into the Professor’s car. Finn was out of the house, then, and climbed into the front seat.  His father took a bit longer to reach the car. By that time, Tom was well on his way home.

*

Finn was sure that he would start bleeding soon, since his head was being crushed by invisible bands. He put his hands to his head, expecting to see them blood covered, though they never were. “The pain is real, but the cause is not,” Finn said to himself. Only burning anger kept him focused, thinking of his mother and sisters, and Stacie. It took only seconds to push the car at top speed through the thick mists that gathered around the whole block adjacent to the Stanzic house.  When they skidded to a halt in front of the Stanzic place, Albert fumbled with the car door, but Professor McCoy controlled the locks so that Albert could not get out.  Albert moaned, pushed and rocked on the door.

 The blanket of fog grew so thick that the turret of the Stanzic house was hidden. though its front gate stood open.  James McCoy turned off the ignition, stared at the old house and mumbled, “I just can’t believe that a vampire is real.”

“No, not fairies either, right?” Finn shot back at him. “Look, I know that Dracula is a made up character, but some things that Stoker said about vampires are true. Just look at this fog, on a cold day.  It suits him, gives him cover.”

James sighed and nodded, and said, “I know, son.  But that stuff was in a work of fiction! It seems highly unlikely that a modern-day vampire could come from Breathitt county and seize upon a neighborhood—”

”Dad, look at Albert. Look at me. My head feels like it will break apart, and all I have to do is stop thinking about mom and the girls being in there in order for it to feel better,” Finn said. “If there is a vampire in there, we need to know what power he has. How can we stop him? Stake through the heart, that sort of thing, like in the movies?” Finn mumbled.

“Yes.  Fire, decapitation works, too,” James replied, “but I don’t think it will come to—”

The car was bumped by people stumbling against it in the fog.  One of them was Stacie Adkins.  She was with a red-haired woman who must have been her mother.  Both were glassy-eyed, stumbling, and had bandages on their necks. Finn swallowed hard when he saw them. They were lost to any contact except the vampire’s. They took no notice of the car, focused only on getting into the house.

“Go with them, dad. Act like them, and just go inside.  Mom and the girls are in there. Find them. Get them out. You’ll see,” Finn said.

“If they are, then…”  James muttered, brow furrowed in growing anger amidst his shock, opened his door and followed them. He was smart enough to do as Finn advised.  When Stacie, her mother, and Professor McCoy reached the porch, the double front doors swung wide, admitting them so that they did not have to break their stumbling stride.  They disappeared withing, dragging folds of the fog with them into the house’s stygian darkness. Finn dragged Albert from the car, pushed him along nearly strangled paths through thickets and around trees growing in a riot. They went in a stumbling run to the back of the house.  Once he was there, as though he had a homing device on something inside the house, Albert stopped resisting and headed for the yawning opening of the bulkhead doors. Finn followed and entered behind Albert. They weren’t alone in the cellar.

A deep voice, ancient, gentle even, like a very old man awakening from a nap, greeted him as he stood in the half light of the cellar. Albert stood beside him shivering.

“You’re likely the one who reads too much,” the voice said. “but wait…there’s something else about you,” it went on in a southern drawl, which came from a large wooden crate to his right, in the darkest corner of the cellar.  Finn’s head cleared in an instant, and he went down on one knee in relief,  as the voice said, “Maybe I need to get a better read on you.”

A long pale hand gripped the side of the crate, something dribbling off of it to the floor. The voice said, “I might need a little somethin’ to help…” Albert turned and stumbled toward the crate,  Finn made a lunge to hold him back, but the sword-like pain stabbed through his temples, making his crumple to the floor.  Albert reached into the crate, gave a feeble moan, and Finn heard a nasty sucking sound. Finn surged toward Albert, despite the racking agony. He dragged at Albert’s arm, as blood flew from his wrist.  Albert made no other sound but stood shivering as Finn collapsed to the floor beside the crate.

“My, but you’re an angry one, aren’t you?” The gentle voice said, as a figure rose from within the crate and cast a leg over its side.  Finn watched as soft dirt fell from the gray pant leg across the toe of an ancient dress boot. Anger gave him the ability to raise his eyes to the face far above him, so tall that it had to stoop in the low-ceilinged cellar. Finn’s memory struggled through his agony, but he saw the face of Mr. Stanzic above him, smiling. “Now, about that better look…”

With a wave of his old hand, “Mr. Stanzic” withdrew Finn’s torment.  The boy collapsed to the floor as the old eyes glared down at him.  It was a look Finn had never seen on Mr, Stanzic’s face, cold, greedy, nearly serpentine. At the thought of snakes, Finn closed his right eye and  looked again at the shape above him and shuddered. The true visage above him was corpse-like, shrunken, gray skinned, though its pointed canine teeth, smeared with Albert’s blood, stood out from the taut lips.

“You can see, huh, young’un?” the horrid figure drawled, as though he had all the time in the world. “You must’ve been born under a full moon, eh boy? Ah, and there is the other thing, the fairy touch. My, my, isn’t that something?” the long hand reached down and grabbed the front of Finn’s shirt, lifting him with no visible effort. “Hmm.  I could use a fellow like you.”

“M. me? Use me? What does that…mean?”

“Why, as my aide, of course,” the ancient voice said. “I can see clear though to your backbone, boy,” the vampire said in a now bitter voice. “I see the fire, the anger, the desire for strength. I see how you struggle with your father. How about I become your father, eh? All can give you all those things you desire…and…yes, even that red haired beauty upstairs.  Only had a little taste of that sweet nectar, just enough to make her mine.”

Anger flared in the boy: “Maybe, yours until I kill you.”

A dry, wheezing laugh escaped the old throat, and in a few seconds during which Finn glared at him with flaming hatred, the vampire said, “There it is, that fire.  I like it. I don’t know if I should turn you now, have you be my tiny helper in perpetuity, or let you grow abit, like you want to. Think of the promise, boy: I let your grow for, say, five years, while you bring me a few treats a year, and you’ll be bigger and stronger than your daddy—forever.

“ I need to know just one thing, boy, before I make up my mind,” the vampire drawled. “How’d you get wise to my presence here?”

“The obituaries. Two Stanzics within two days. You’re definitely not their long-lost cousin.”

“Hm, I’ve had the identity of the elder Stanzic for the last forty years, so far as his neighbors knew, and they all just moved farther and farther away from me,” the vampire said, his dead eyes glaring at the boy. “ See, I’ve known of the younger Stanzic for a year or so, since his wife died and he contacted his estranged brother. Used to be wars and a bandit’s life that made my hunting grounds.  But see, broken family ties are a better network, plus I can hide in plain sight. With your help, I can stay in this fine old house as long as I like, long as we don’t get too greedy.” Waving his gaunt hand before Finn’s eyes, the vampire’s face became the familiar visage of Finn’s Mr Stanzic.  Finn had only to close his right eye and see the reality of the vampire’s horrid visage. “Now, around here, I’ll take another name, most likely your daddy’s.  That’ll work out pretty well for you, now, won’t it?”

“It’s just evil,” Finn said. “I can’t believe that my mom brought a sympathy card up here.”

“Oh, that sweet mama of yours,” the evil thing said with a grotesque smile, “I’ve yet to taste her, or your little sisters, but I will, soon, like I’ve done for hundreds of years. Your daddy, too.  A strong man’s blood will make me look young again, and I’ll set up here and make this area my own for as long as I want.  With you bringin’ me your little friends, I’ll have their parents thereafter and be like I was in my prime.  You’ll see.  It doesn’t have to be a bad thing, just, you know, like a farm, ‘cept you all will be my crop.

“Tell you what: You can even have that big old turret room for your very own, once we get things organized,” the vampire said.

“No.  That won’t happen. Basically, you’re a bully, and I hate bullies,” Finn whispered through clenched teeth.

“Just full of fire, aren’t you boy? I think I’ll turn you today, keep you tiny and mean.” The evil thing said,  drawing Finn’s face up towards his own. At that moment, James McCoy’s voice rose into a frantic yell, upstairs:

 “Claire, Oh dear God, no, no! Maeve? Megan?” he cried.  Finns sisters wept and cried out. Professor McCoy’s voice was loud enough to shake the house, which woke Albert like a slap in the face.  Before the vampire could clutch him, Albert bolted toward the stairs, screaming. The piercing screams of Finn’s sisters joined the cacophony. The vampire, holding Finn like a rag doll, took to the stairs.

The false Mr. Stanzic did not reckon with James McCoy’s rage at the danger to his family.  His full weight cannoned into the tall figure of the monster. James had a silver cross in his right hand, which he pushed into the vampire’s face as the firce of his charge bore theevil thing back down the steps. Finn, he dropped from his grasp.  The boy, limp,  slid down the stairs to the clear floor.  Professor and monster fell together, bumping, rolling, shaking the old wooden stairs to pieces, breaking the banister into splinters, cracking the ancient wood of the steps in their tumbling descent. Finn smelled the burning where James silver cross, a slightly smaller copy of the one jammed in the door of the tomb the fairies once used. James yelled in anger, his free hand seeking the throat of the tall slender revenant, who hissed and snarled at the attack. He wrenched the silver cross from James hand, enduring the burning.  He flung it behind him in haste, and the silver rang, bell-like, as it fell at Finn’s side.

Yet as they reached the bottom, Finn saw that the vampire would soon gain the upper hand.  Though James McCoy had size and strength, the monster’s strength was that of many men. They thrashed around at the bottom of the steps, with the vampire getting atop James McCoy, who continued to punch. James was no match for the vampire, though, who lifted Finn’s dad from the floor, pushing his head back to expose his throat.

  Crucifix in hand,  Finn rose from the floor, determined to give his last ounce of strength to save his father.  At that point, though, shadows covered the light from the bulkhead door. Det. Ed Doughty’s service weapon went off in the confines of the small cellar, making all of them deaf.  The vampire’s hissing scream they all heard, though the creature only staggered and let Professor McCoy fall.

“Bullets won’t do!” Finn yelled. “Dad! Pin his hands!” Detective Doughty and his son leaped at the creature, the father’s leg flashing in a kick that buckled the vampire’s knee.  It went down to that knee, yowling like a cat, as the detective sprang for its other arm, hauling for all he was worth on the vampire’s right arm and hand.  Tom waded in, sending kicks to the things groin and stomach, though it wrenched itself erect with a hideous howl of rage.

“No one has—”

That was Finn’s cue.  He waited for the monster to open its mouth and leaped onto the monster’s torso, legs wrapping over one shoulder.  With all the force he had, Finn drove the crucifix down into the monster’s mouth. The smoke of it burning rose around Finn as he clung to the monster, jamming the cross down as far as he could, glaring into the monster’s eyes, letting his pure hatred power him.

Through clenched teeth, Finn hissed, “Nobody, and I mean nobody, is gonna mess with my family, my neighborhood, my mom, and sisters, and girlfriend!” The eyes looked back at him, a wild look, full of fury, even as they lit from within with consuming flame.  Choked shrieks filled the air, and the monster threw Ed Doughty aside.  Finn clung onto to the cross, jamming it in the monster’s mouth, the heat of raw flames burning his hands.

“Finn! Let go!” James yelled and pulled him from the vampires arms that were already ablaze. The fire sped thorough the creature, as though it found delight in eradicating its evil from the world. Finn watched as it stood before him, a pillar of flame from head to foot. Tom’s dad pulled at them, yelling “Let’s get out of here!”

“The others, upstairs!” Finn yelled and ran out the bulkhead door.  His father, Tom, and his dad came after, slamming the bulkhead doors shut.  Finn did not see. He was already sprinting around the front of the house, where he found the double doors closed.  He rammed into them and bounded back, hitting the sidewalk.  The figure of his father passed over him at a run, hitting the door with his right shoulder, shattering it.  By the time Finn rose to his feet and ran inside, James was leading Claire out, holding Junah, while Marley clung to her mother’s hand. Tom had Albert by the hand.  Finn ran to Stacie and Mrs, Adkins, who stood in the midst of the large room beyond the foyer, smoke curling around them from the floor. “C’mon.  It’s time to go home.”

“Wh…where are we?  I was so scared,” Mrs. Adkins mumbled, “but I couldn’t do anything about it.”

“It’s okay,” Finn said. “You won’t remember anything after a while.”

“Finn,” Stacie said, grasping his hand, “you got burned.  Did…did you do that for me?”

“Yeah, I guess I did, in a way.  It’s…complicated.”

“Explain it to me when you walk me to and from Albert’s party, okay?” she said. Holding her mother’s hand, they walked out to the street.  They stood watching as the old house went up in flames. No one moved to summon the fire department. Soon, an inferno consumed the interior, while the stone of its walls held. The heat grew so that all the watchers moved back into the stree. Then, with a rending moan, the roof caved in and brought the towering turret down with it in a crash and roar of flames that rushed up into the darkening sky, as though the fire itself was hungry to consume the last of the foul undead creature in its cellar.

*

On Halloween late in the day, when the first, youngest trick or treaters were rushing door to door through dry leaves and cool air, Finn, Tom, Albert, Detective Ed Doughty, and Professor James McCoy stood at the cold damp ruins of what had been the Stanzic house.  They all carried jugs of water, recently blessed by the somewhat confused but cooperative Father Sullivan from St. Andrews church.

“I still can’t believe you had the presence of mind to bring another silver crucifix, Dad,” Finn said with a shake of his head.

“Let that always remind you that I trust my son’s word more than my own doubts,” James said. He reached inside his jacket and produced a duplicate cross to that which was mostly melted into the cellar floor beyond them.  It was filled now with blackened wood, stone, and destruction.  Finn smiled at his dad, and said,

“Thanks, Dad. I owe you.”

“No, son. I owe you.” Those words caused a gentle sigh to escape from the boy with bandaged hands.  He nodded and smiled at his father

Moving with care into the jumbled cellar, scrambling over charred wood and blackened masonry, they uncovered the remains of the crate full of earth.  It had spilled everywhere, once its wood burned.  As one, they emptied the holy water on it. Once that was done, both men took the empty jugs from the boys. Det. Doughty said, “I believe you boys have a party to attend?”

Tom and Albert walked out to the yard, and Finn walked around the ruin of the house toward the front, the ache mostly gone from his bandaged hands. “I’ll see you guys in a few minutes,” he called back to the other boys. James and Ed were already walking back home, stopping to say hello to other moms and dads squiring their children around.

Finn walked out the front gate and down Mulberry.  There, beneath the old fashioned street lamp, Stacie Adkins waited for him. She gave him a big smile as he walked towards her.  She took his hand, and Finn was glad to see that the small wounds the vampire had given her were gone. Every trace of the vampire who had masqueraded as a Mr. Stanzic had gone, along with the memories–for most of them.

“I’m glad you came, Finn,” Stacie claimed. “I was getting sort of spooked standing here, next to that burnt house.  I was imagining ghosts all around me.”

Finn scanned the area with his left eyes, saw a few familiar shades, heard some familiar light rustling from the thickets behind the stone wall, where, he imagined, small sprites celebrated the death of the monster that could compel them.

“Not to worry,” he said, taking her hand. “You’ll be safe with me.  Besides, my father and my friends are just up ahead.” They started down the street, and the ancient looking streetlamp glowed behind them.  Finn was still shorter than Stacie, but he knew that it probably would not be too long until he caught up, at least, to her height, if he ever did.  Things like that did not matter. Thereafter, though, Finn McCoy, as well as his father, scanned the obituaries every day. It was a thing they enjoyed doing together.

The End,

For now.