The Vampire of Plainfield Page 3

  Eddie sat at the head of the table as the boys each took their usual spots on either side. Using a tarnished bottle opener, Eddie popped the cap on his bottle. Cool vapor curled from the glassy mouth. He handed the opener to Timmy. When his bottle was open, he passed the opener over to Peter.

  They gulped their sodas in silence. Timmy sighed as the pop spread a chilly flow through him. After he’d nearly drained his bottle, he set it on the table, and wiped his damp hand on his pants. He grabbed the paper bag from the top of a cluster of comics he’d already read. It was a little heavy and made rattling sounds as it drooped over his fingers. Looked like the same brand of paper bags Nana used at her store.

  “Did you buy these at Nana’s?” asked Timmy.

  “A few of them,” said Eddie. “Most of those came in the mail, and I just put them in there to keep them separated from the old ones for you guys. Can’t get all the good stuff in town.”

  Timmy pulled out a stack. On top was a comic he’d never heard of. He looked at Eddie. “The Vampire’s Graveyard Kiss?”

  Eddie drank some pop, his eyes widening above the bottle.

  “Ooh, let me see it,” said Peter.

  “Hang on,” said Timmy.

  Timmy looked back down at the cover. The setting was an old cemetery, with giant concrete statues of angels, weeping saints, and crosses that carried on in the background to become dark shapes on top of shadowy hills. The sky had been painted in heavy shades of purple and blue. A vampire was on the front, his cape gripped in his hand and spread wide around the body of a screaming blonde draped across his arm. The vampire resembled Bela Lugosi, but with less handsome features. Its pale face was animal-like, a snarling mouth with oversized fangs dripping blood. In the neck of the blonde woman, whose breasts were nearly spilling out of her sagging white gown, Timmy saw two large holes. Blood trickled from the wounds, dripping down to form the title. Underneath in very small print was the year of creation—1954.

  “Take these,” said Timmy, passing the rest of the stack to Peter.

  “Come on,” said Peter. “Let me see the vampire comic.”

  “In a minute,” said Timmy.

  Pouting, Peter began thumbing through the others.

  Timmy turned his attention back to The Vampire’s Graveyard Kiss. The table of contents showed him the comic was an anthology, a collection of five stories inside one comic. He flipped through the pages, surprised to find a lot of writing inside. Bubbles seemed to fill the spaces around the panels of mad horror. This pleased him. But he didn’t attempt reading the stories in the meager lighting Eddie’s kitchen provided. It’d give him a headache.

  The artwork was fantastic. Some of the best Timmy had ever seen in a comic. He enjoyed the action books as well, but the drawing and colors were never as good as what the horror titles had. They somehow seemed…juicier. Wicked.

  And naughty.

  “You hit a homerun this time,” said Peter.

  “Got some good ones, huh?” said Eddie. He leaned back, propping his feet up on a box of junk.

  Timmy glanced up from the vampire comic. Peter was smiling down at an opened magazine clutched tightly in his pudgy fingers. On the cover, a woman in some kind of short gown that made her legs look very bare was on a mattress. Her eyes were closed, mouth open. A wedge of tongue touched her plump bottom lip. Rope hung around her neck.

  Detective Heroes.

  Judging the cover, the heroes had been too late to save her.

  Frowning, Timmy lowered his eyes to the comic. In the panels, the woman from the cover was lying on top of a slab of concrete in the graveyard. Her legs were spread, but the white dress draped between them. The vampire, on his knees, had an arm braced on the ground to keep him up.

  Timmy turned the page and nearly gasped.

  The vampire and woman were having sex on top of the slab.

  Good God…

  Timmy had never seen something so lurid in a comic. The scene was drawn to perfection—the woman moaning, the vampire thrusting. Her legs wrapped around his waist, ankles crossed behind his back. The dress was pulled down to expose a large breast and small turgid nipple.

  In the next panel, the vampire’s teeth sunk into the soft mound, the nipple vanishing inside his mouth.

  Timmy felt his erection pushing against his jeans. He didn’t dare adjust himself, though. Didn’t want Eddie to know what he was doing. Most likely, Eddie had already read the comic. So he knew the scene was inside. If he saw Timmy squirming in his seat, he’d figure out which part he was at in the book.

  He quickly turned the page.

  The first panel showed the woman on all fours, the dress bunched up on her back. The vampire was on his knees behind her. The woman’s head was tilted, mouth wide open in a pleasured moan.

  Timmy closed the book.

  He felt sweat on his brow, trickling into his eyebrows. His breathing had quickened, so he took measured breaths to slow it down.

  He turned. Eddie stared at him. “Done already?”

  “Huh? Oh, no…I…just can’t see it so good. Too dark.”

  “Want me to light a lamp?”

  “Oh, no, that’s okay.”

  “Then take it home with you. I read it already. It’s got some good stuff in there. Make sure you keep a light on, though. Read it by the lantern the other night and was mighty spooked by the time I was done.”

  “Yeah…I’ll borrow it.” Timmy saw the illustrated woman on her hands and knees, the vampire behind her. “Thanks.”

  Timmy expected Peter to ask to look at it next, but he was too intrigued by the magazine with the strangled woman on the front to care. “Can I take this one?” asked Peter.

  “Your Ma would never let you have that,” Timmy said.

  “Like yours will let you keep the vampire comic.”

  “I’m going to hide it,” said Timmy.

  “Good idea,” Eddie said. “Don’t want the Sheriff Worden knocking down my door because of what I gave you.”

  Timmy said, “He wouldn’t,” but knew he just might bust Eddie’s ass if he found out.

  “I’ll hide this one,” said Peter, lowering the magazine. His eyes peered over the top of the pages. “Ma will never know.”

  Timmy rolled his eyes. “But your Ma searches your room all the time for cigarettes. She doesn’t trust you at all. How are you going to keep that magazine hidden from her?”

  Peter clucked his tongue. “She only thinks she knows everything about me.” He raised the magazine and resumed reading.

  The last comment bothered Timmy. He didn’t know why.

  “You boys can take whatever you want,” said Eddie. “You know that.”

  The boys thanked him.

  “Want something to eat?” Eddie asked. “I can throw on some pork and beans on the stove, or make some peanut butter sandwiches.”

  Timmy’s stomach gave a sick gurgle at the idea of eating food cooked in those filthy pots. “No thanks.”

  “I’ll take a peanut butter sandwich,” said Peter. “Thanks!”

  “What about you, Timmy?” Eddie asked. His eyes lifted, lips stuck out. “Just got a new jar from your nana’s place yesterday. Hasn’t even been opened and the bread’s still fresh.”

  Timmy guessed a peanut butter sandwich would be okay. “Sure. I’ll take one.”

  “Great,” said Eddie. “And I’ll grab us some more pop.”

  “Good man,” said Peter.

  Eddie scooted back the chair, and stood up with a groan. He walked to the counter across the room, pushing junk out of his way to clear off a spot. He opened the bread bag, then grabbed a knife from the sink. Some crusty clumps made ridges along the blade, probably peanut butter that had never been cleaned off. Timmy grimaced as he watched Eddie use the grimy knife to spread peanut butter on the bread.

  Should’ve told Eddie no.

  He wasn’t going to eat that, no way.

  Eddie returned to the table, a sandwich in each hand. “Here you are,” he said.


  Timmy took one, and, without looking up, Peter took the other. Before Timmy could warn him, Peter had already taken a bite. He nodded as if he approved of the taste.

  “Thanks, Eddie,” said Peter.

  “You’re welcome.” He looked at Timmy, waiting.

  Timmy held back his disgust as he took a bite. He smiled through the food in his mouth. “Thanks.”

  Eddie nodded, clapped his hands together. “Now I’ll go get that pop! Be right back.”

  Eddie left the kitchen. The back door opened. Sunlight spread a wide path through the shadows in the hall. Timmy waited until the brightness went away and he heard the door bump shut before he spat out the wad of sandwich into his hand.

  Looking around, he didn’t see a trash can. But he spotted another box that didn’t look quite as full as the others. He got up, hurried over to the box, and dropped the sandwich into it. He shook his hand to free the remaining soggy clumps of bread from his fingers. White dots splatted against a dark object inside the box. Timmy thought he saw something that looked like hair flutter when mushy bread hit it.

  “What’s that?” he muttered.

  “Huh?” said Peter, his mouth full. He made gross smacking sounds as he chewed the sandwich. “Did you say something?”

  Timmy ignored Peter as he looked at the box. He could see a lot of crinkled balls of paper, some torn newspaper pages, a hammer with a broken handle, some torn photographs, and a head.

  “Yah!” Timmy jumped back. His feet scrambled out from under him, kicked the box, and dropped him hard on his rump.

  “What’s wrong?” Peter asked. The chair groaned across the floor. Then Timmy heard the heavy stomps of Peter running closer. “What happened?” Peter stood over Timmy, head moving back and forth.

  “In the…box. I saw…”

  “Saw what?” Frowning, Peter got down on his knees. His jeans made swishing sounds as his legs rubbed together.

  “Stay away from it, Peter.”

  But Peter was already reaching into the box, nose wrinkled, and lips curled. “Is that what I think it is?” It sounded as if he’d asked himself more than Timmy.

  “Yeah, it’s…”

  “A head!” Instead of recoiling as Timmy had, Peter laughed. “Neat!” Peter raised the decomposed head out of the box by a mane of raven-black hair. “Look at it! How fake does this look? Like something we’d see in the spookhouse at the carnival!”

  Timmy stared at the porous face. What skin remained was putrefied and gray. A mound of skull showed on its forehead, a bulging socket of bone where the eye should be. Between its craggy lips, Timmy saw a grate of teeth. The upper row was bookended with fangs.

  “The teeth,” Timmy said.

  “Huh?”

  “Look. Just like the shrunken head Eddie had.”

  Peter turned his hand, making the head slowly spin toward him. Eyes narrowed, he leaned closer. Timmy expected the brittle jaws to suddenly pop open and bite off Peter’s nose.

  “Wow!” said Peter. “Fangs. Neat, huh!”

  Timmy stared at the head. It slowly swayed back to peer at him with its eyeless hollows. “Put it back in the box,” he said.

  Peter acted as if he hadn’t heard him. “I wonder where he got it. Think his cousin mailed it to him?” Before Timmy could think to respond, Peter said, “Nah. I bet Eddie made it. Looks like it, huh?” He rubbed its cheek with the tip of his thumb. “Feels like that fake volcano I made for a science project last year.”

  Timmy didn’t care where it had come from. He wanted it back in the box, out of sight. He wished he could go back to moments ago, when he didn’t know Eddie had a head in the kitchen.

  Should’ve eaten the stupid sandwich.

  “Put it back,” Timmy said again.

  Peter looked at him. “Why?”

  Before Timmy could answer, Eddie said, “Found my head?”

  Both boys jumped, but only Peter cried out. He dropped the head. It hit the side of the box, and tumbled onto the floor. Timmy watched it roll a few feet before stopping. Of course, on its side so the moldy face gazed right at him.

  Eddie stood in the kitchen doorway, that customary goofy smirk twisting his face. He had three glass bottles hugged to his chest.

  “Suh-suh-sorry, Eddie,” said Peter. “We were just—I mean, Timmy

  saw the head…and I just wanted to—I mean, I touched it and…”

  “Why are you acting so scared?” Eddie asked, smiling.

  “I’m not scared,” said Peter.

  “You sure sound like it.”

  I am, Timmy thought.

  An odd, almost hysterical laugh clattered out of Peter. “I don’t mean to sound that way. I mean—wow! A head!”

  “That’s the third one,” said Eddie. “You saw the first one earlier.”

  Timmy recalled the tiny head bouncing from the end of that large bone Eddie had been swinging all over. The one Peter had dropped was normal size, not a miniature duplicate.

  “Why’s it so big?” Timmy asked.

  “What?” asked Eddie.

  “The head. It’s a lot bigger than the other.”

  “Oh.” Eddie made a silly face, swept his hand through the air. “I just haven’t shrunken it yet.”

  Peter laughed again, a shrill commotion that sounded like something wild. “He said shrunken it.” Peter looked at Timmy. “You hear that? He said he shrunk it.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “Why-why-why wouldn’t we believe you?” Peter asked. “Right, Timmy? We believe him, don’t we?”

  “It’s real?” Timmy asked.

  Eddie nodded. “Yes.”

  “Oh Jesus H.” Peter’s laugh turned to a wheeze. “Jesus H. I touched a dead woman’s head.”

  “More stuff from your cousin?” Timmy asked.

  Eddie sighed. Something about his appearance made Timmy think Eddie wanted to say more than he was. “Of course. Walter sent them. Usually they’re already shrunken when I get them. But…uh, I learned how.”

  “To shrink them?” Timmy asked.

  “Right.”

  “So he sent you normal heads?” Peter asked. Eddie nodded. “In the mail?”

  Eddie nodded again.

  Timmy bet Mr. Jasper, the mailman, would keel over if he knew he’d brought human heads to Eddie’s house.

  Is that even legal?

  “There’s nothing wrong with head shrinking,” said Eddie. He spoke casually about it as if discussing the weather. “After my cousin sent me some, I got interested in it. Read about these practices from other countries where they shrink the heads of their enemies after killing them. Either in a battle or somebody who’d done them wrong. Then they’d hang the head outside their hut as a warning to others. And some would...”

  “She was your enemy?” said Timmy.

  “No. They’re just heads. That’s all. I don’t know them.”

  “What’s wrong with their teeth?”

  Eddie smiled. “Maybe they’re vampires.”

  A shiver wormed through Timmy’s bowels. “Be serious, Eddie.”

  Laughing, Eddie said, “What I was about to say is shrunken heads are supposed to be for good luck, too. I was going to wait to give it to you, but...” Eddie walked over to the counter. Something small and bulbous rested in the windowsill. The sunlight behind it made the oval-shaped object a dark blot against the glass. Timmy hadn’t noticed it before. “But since you found that one, I don’t see why I can’t go on and let you have it.”

  Eddie grabbed the object from the sill. It was the size of an apple, with a stringy tail hanging from the top of it. As Eddie neared, Timmy saw a different shrunken head balanced on his palm. The tail was actually braided hair dangling from the top of the pruned, skull-like face. The lips, like the first shrunken head, had been stitched shut. The white tips of sharp teeth barely peeked between them.

  “It’s yours,” said Eddie. “Hang it somewhere in your room for good luck.”

  Timmy watched the head lower
to him and was surprised to see his own hand rising to take it. Eddie placed it on the flat of his palm. It felt surprisingly light, no heavier than a peach. It rolled onto its side, the braided hair tickling his fingers.

  “Thu-thanks…”

  “Don’t I get one?” asked Peter with a whine in his voice.

  “Of course,” said Eddie. He bent over, snatched the larger head by its hair, and stood. “I just have to make it first.”

  “Neat!”

  Timmy figured the only reason why Peter no longer acted grossed out by the head was because Eddie had given him one and not Peter. He was like that. Always had to have what everybody else had or he’d throw a tantrum. Eddie probably hadn’t intended to make one for Peter or he would’ve already done it.

  Made one. A head! I’m holding a head in my hand!

  But it didn’t feel like one. And, really, it didn’t look like one. Maybe Eddie was just fooling around. He liked to play pranks on them because they were so easy to trick. Timmy figured this was another one, just like the supposed skin suit he’d been wearing earlier. Probably nothing more than something he’d ordered from a catalog.

  Yeah. That’s probably it.

  But Timmy didn’t really believe that. No matter what, he would just pretend that was where this morbid decoration had come from.

  Now, he just had to worry about hiding it from his parents.

  -4-

  Timmy wasn’t surprised to see Eddie’s truck parked at Nana’s store when he pedaled up to the front of the building. He leaned his Cruiser against the porch railing and climbed the steps onto the porch. The eave shaded him, and it felt good to have the sun off his neck.

  Worden’s General Store was about the only place around anybody could find what they needed from food to motor oil. She also had a better selection of books and comics than the drugstore, though Timmy wouldn’t tell his parents that. They might begin to suspect one of the reasons he came by so much was to gawp at the newest releases—which was what he planned to do now until Nana closed up. Plus, he needed some pencils and paper. He’d finished writing a story last weekend, and was ready to delve into another.

  Eddie seemed to visit Nana’s store more than anybody and, so far as Timmy could tell, Nana didn’t mind. Other folks in town grew tired of Eddie’s company rather quickly, but like Timmy, Nana enjoyed talking to the goofy loner. He made her laugh more than anybody Timmy had ever seen. Sometimes he wondered if they liked each other.