It’s dark by the time Timothy mounts the front steps of his house. He hasn’t been doing anything in particular to keep him out so late. He’s just been out to be out. He’s been enjoying the kind of freedom he’s never known with his father holding so tightly to his reigns. Timothy’s new independence feels good but strange. It will, likely, take him awhile, but he’s sure he’ll get used to it.
He unlocks the door and steps inside. He shuts the door behind him and leans his back against it. He doesn’t turn on the houselights. Instead, he slowly scans the darkness of the living-room in front of him. He listens to whatever the sounds above and beyond those the house makes on its very own. He sniffs the air and smells something foul that’s new since he left.
“Are you going to say hello,” he asks finally, “or are you still hoping to jump out and scare the bejezus out of me?”
“Aren’t you the killjoy!” comes the response. A black candle suddenly flares on one end of the far window sill. There’s the accompanying smell of tar (and brimstone?).
Flickering candlelight unveils the darker shadow of Gregory Ranlin parenthesized by the regular shadows of the room.
“I was, indeed, hoping to give you a little ‘Boo!’” Gregory says. “I suppose I should have known you’d expect me. Your powers so quickly on the rise. Certainly, enough so as to keep your dear dad locked in one place for awhile.”
“You’ve sucked dad’s blood so often and for so long, I figured his cries for help would likely disturb your sleep.”
“So many people crying for help, during the course of each and every day, these days. I long-ago learned to tune most of them out. However, when he was still so distraught after nightfall…”
“Speaking of the old man, isn’t he going to join us?”
“Actually, I’ve left him where you left him, much to his chagrin. Although you might consider, next time, providing a bed pan. This way, you’ve his mess to clean up.”
“More likely, he has his mess to clean up.”
“And are you wondering when your powers will increase to surpass even mine?”
“No denying that thought crossed my mind.”
“Best to remember that I’ve been around for a very very long time. Even with my powers admittedly on the wane, I’ve a few tricks up my sleeve that might very well catch you unaware.”
“This is why I’ve decided to work with you. Now able to tell you that the Remoth candle-readers know no more about why Trish Remoth was kidnapped than you do, except to suspect the deed was done by a Native American shape-shifter after information. Demons, as curious as you, it would seem, are standing in the long line to find the meaning to this envisioned girl in blue with her blue candle.”
“And you came upon this information just how? Candle-reading, were you?”
“By asking. Sometimes a direct approach is the best approach. Anyway, Melissa Remoth seems to think so. In fact, I think she’s rather taken with me.”
“Increased powers of seduction among those you’re mysteriously being force-fed?”
“I certainly hope so. I’ve a lot of catching up to do.”
“I’m thinking you should do your catching up at my place, Timothy. Where I can keep a better and a closer watch on you. Think you’d like that? Moving out of this dump, away from your abusive father, into that big old house of mine, where you’ll have long days in which to get into to all kinds of mischief with my other two wards?”
“What will my father do without his punching bag?”
“Let me worry about your father. In fact…” He levitates to the window sill and opens the window. “Come, this very second. Hop on up here with me. We’ll go settle you in to your new digs. I’ll come back later and pacify your daddy dear.”
Timothy takes two steps. He pauses.
“No need to be fearful, Timothy,” Gregory encourages. “I ate before you arrived. Your father, as usual, was most obliging, although less so than usual.”
“Possibly, though, you might be thinking of dessert?”
Gregory laughs, showing fanged teeth white in darkness illuminated only by the one flickering flame.
“I do so love a sense of humor,” Gregory says. “Humor so damned hard to come by, these days. Blood, though, as you may one day be lucky enough to discover, is blood is blood is blood, yours no sweeter than any other.” His right hand extends. His right index finger flexes in invitation. “Come on, now. Over and up. Even I’m beginning to tire of the stench your father is making.”
With Gregory’s assistance, Timothy joins the handsome vampire on the window sill.
“Face me and take hold of both my wrists,” Gregory instructs, “and hold very tightly.”
Timothy does as instructed.
“Information sources so much more difficult to come by than food,” Gregory says. “So many people able to plot mischief in the light of day, while I’m relegated only to the dark of the night.”
Suddenly, they’re both disappeared. The wind into which they’ve been sucked, back-blows into the room, fluttering one of the curtains into the candle flame where it ignites with a loud and ominous POOF!
Copyright 2009 W. MALTESE
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