Fred the Vampire - Part 3

Fred can't resist going back to see Heather, even though he's getting bad vibes.

Fred is up as soon as night falls, having passed a restless day cooped up in his makeshift bed, wanting only to get up and work off his emotional turmoil, but knowing he can’t. Finally the sun goes down and Fred comes up. He gambols about the place a bit, jumping up on walls and hopping from gravestone to gravestone outside the church. He catches some rats and eats them, getting off on the feel of their warm, tender flesh. He even leaps from a gravestone and catches a bird in mid-air, in a majestic show of athleticism. He looks around: “Damn! I wish someone was here to see that.” He eats and drinks of the bird’s flesh then casts it aside, and wipes the blood from his mouth.

 

He’s thinking can he risk going to Heather’s house. But he knows he’s gotta go. With leaping strides he makes his way over fields and hills, as the crow flies, his black cape billowing behind him, all the beasts fleeing as he approaches. He smiles to see the large, clumsy cows break into a run, blundering over the rocky ground. He stops and spreads his arms to the sky: “For I am Fred, the Vampire, before whom all things must quake with fear. Run, ye simple beasts, lest I dine upon your flesh and drink of your blood.” They run and run, and Fred continues on his way, reminding himself to look in here on his way back for something to eat.

 

There is no light in Heather’s house, which Fred decides to take as a good sign. He hovers at her window and taps lightly on the glass. She stirs in bed, and then sits up and looks to the window. Fred waves; she doesn’t wave back, and her look is inscrutable, but she gets up and comes toward the window. Tonight she’s wearing pyjama pants and a white vest. She’s frowing slightly. She opens the window.

 

“Hi,” says Fred.

 

“Hi, Fred.”

 

“Sorry about last night.”

 

“It’s not your fault. My Dad was really mad.”

 

“I know. I broke your window. Sorry.”

 

“It’s ok. We got it fixed.”

 

“Can I come in?”

 

“Aren’t you worried he’ll come in for you again?”

 

“I looked in his window. He’s asleep. I even heard him snoring.”

 

“You can come in for a while.” And she stood aside from the window to let Fred in. He tried to kiss her on the cheek, but she moved her head away. She didn’t look into his eyes.

 

Fred closed the window behind him. “So,” he said to break the silence, “what did your Dad say about last night?”

 

“Well, he’s mad. He’s says I’m grounded for like a month.”

 

“That sucks.”

 

She shrugs: “He’ll forget about it in a couple of days. Come lay on the bed,” she says.

 

It’s like she’s distracted or something, but that’s an offer Fred can’t refuse. They lie facing on the bed. Her eyes are cast down, hidden by long, curved lashes. It’s like there’s tear tracks on her cheeks. Fred doesn’t say anything, cos he thinks she doesn’t want to talk about it right now.

 

She finally speaks, still looking away from Fred: “Where do you live anyway, Fred?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“Like where do you sleep during the day?”

 

“In an old church.”

 

“What old church?”

 

“Why do you want to know?”

 

“I’d just like to know, is all.”

 

She reaches out and takes Fred’s hand. Her hand is so warm it gives Fred a rush of sensual pleasure. How cold his hand must feel to her, he thinks. But she doesn’t flinch. She wraps her little hand around his. She goes on:

“I just like to know what you do and what your life is like now and stuff.”

 

“Oh. It’s the old church outside Pennington, westbound. You know it?”

 

“Oh. Yeah, I think I’ve seen it.”

 

“It’s nice there. The soil is soft and full of life, and there’s gravestones all around.”

 

“You like gravestones?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So do you sleep in the church, then, like buried in the soil or what?”

 

“Not buried, just under the altar. Under some big stones that are fallen there. It’s all grassy and mossy in there, so that’s where I like to sleep.”

 

Now her eyes look into Fred’s; her gaze is full of emotion that he doesn’t know what it is. She moves closer and brings her soft yielding lips to Fred’s lips like cold marble, almost white but still with a pinkish tinge. She moves her body close to Fred’s and it almost overwhelms him, but he just holds onto her and allows her to kiss him. He feels his grip involuntarily tightening, but she doesn’t complain. After a few seconds, though, she pulls back and turns her face away.

 

“Why are you crying?” Fred asks.

 

“I’m not,” she says, and wipes an arm across her eyes. Fred doesn’t push it.

 

“I guess I’d better be going,” he says, hoping she’ll ask him to stay. She doesn’t, but she follows him to the window, watching him with moist eyes.

 

“Bye,” he says at the window and looks at her one last time. She says a choked “Bye” but kind of looks away, so he gets onto the window sill and glides off into the night, flying high, cape unfurled, like a dark cloud over the land.

 

The night is still young, so after Fred has dined on a young cow, he sets off for the city morgue. He feels bad about this, but he’s got to get a body of a young boy, and the body has to be in good condition, with cause of death not apparent. There’s one guy who’s about 18; he’ll have to do. Fred bends the barred windows of the morgue and makes off with the body. He's got to get it back to Pennington. He steals a car; he’s strong, but not that strong. He stuffs the body in the boot.

 

He’s got a bad feeling about Heather. Like she’s going to betray him or something. He puts the body under the altar where he usually sleeps and heads off to find someplace else before dawn. That guy doesn’t really know what he looks like, so he’ll probably think this is him and stick a stake through his heart or burn him or cut his head off or whatever.