Fright Night (12 page)

“But when your friends here explained the direness of your plight, it was clear where my duty lay. So,” he concluded, clicking his heels and bowing curtly, “Peter Vincent, Vampire Killer, at your service.

“And now, down to business. Where is the lair of this suspected creature of the night?”

Charley pointed nervously. “Right there,” he said.

Peter studied the house gravely. “Ah, yes. I see what you mean. There
is
a distinct possibility.” He reached into the car, withdrew a small leather satchel. Placing it upon the hood of the car, he opened it, removing a delicate crystal vial of liquid. Then he put the bag back and turned to the kids, straightening his shoulders. “Well,” he said, “shall we go?”

Evil Ed snickered a tiny bit. “Where’re your stakes and hammer?”

Peter Vincent regarded him coolly. “They are in the car.”

“You’re not going in there
without
them!” Charley was horrified. “That’d be
suicide!”

“I have to prove that he’s a vampire before I kill him, Charley.”

“But I already
know
he’s a vampire!”

“But
I
do
not!”
Vincent leveled him with his most paternal gaze. “Trust me, Charley. I’ve been doing this for a long, long time, and I’d surely not endanger you, no less myself.”

Vincent held the vial up to the light. “This,” he said, “is holy water. Duly sanctified and blessed. If he so much as
touches
it, it will blister his flesh. I am going to ask him to drink it.”

“He’ll never agree to it! He’ll kill us all!” Charley cried. He stared at the three of them, looking for a trace of sanity.

Evil Ed cackled. “He already agreed, you cluck!”

Charley looked at Peter Vincent. “He
did?”

Peter nodded gravely. “Yes,” he said. “Which doesn’t exactly strengthen your case, does it? Now, shall we go?”

Charley was stymied. “But . . .” he stammered, grabbing Peter’s arm.

Amy interceded. “Mr. Vincent,” she said, eyes imploring. “If Charley’s right, and you
prove
he’s a vampire, are we in any danger?” Charley nodded, emphatically endorsing the notion.

“Not at all, my dear. Vampires are cunning above all, and our joint demise would be most difficult to hide.” He looked at Charley. “No, we’ll be safe tonight, and we can always return to dispatch him by light of day.

“And, after all,” he added, winking, “I
am
Peter Vincent.”

The actor turned with a flourish and strode manfully up the walk. Charley looked at Amy. Amy looked at Eddie. Eddie smiled and looked slightly askance at the whole thing.

“You pays yo’ money and you takes yo’ chance . . .”

They hurried up the walk.

And King Street slipped from twilight into darkness.

FIFTEEN

T
he huge oak door opened with a creak the instant before Peter Vincent’s hand reached the knocker. He recoiled ever so slightly, as did Eddie and Amy. Charley almost had a heart attack. But the terror subsided as Billy Cole appeared with a sponge soaked in Murphy’s Oil Soap from behind the door. He smiled broadly, dropping the sponge into a bucket and wiping the hand on his jeans.

“Oh, hi! We weren’t expecting you so soon. Hope I didn’t scare you.” He gestured at the bucket. “Just doing a little restoration and maintenance. I’m Billy Cole.” He extended his hand warmly. “And you must be . . .”

“Peter Vincent, Vam—” He caught himself. “Peter Vincent.”

“Mr. Vincent, a pleasure. Jerry mentioned you.” He gestured expansively. “Please, won’t you all come in? Don’t mind the clutter.”

He stepped back and they entered, Charley ducking slightly as they cleared the lintel, as if anticipating an ambush. Amy winced in embarrassment.

Billy showed them into the great hall, the stairway sweeping up before them. To the left lay the front parlor. The wailful of clocks ticked in mad staccato.

“It really is a mess,” he confessed. “We just moved in.” He turned to the stairs and yelled, “Hey, Jerry! We’ve got company!”

They waited in rapt silence. Several seconds passed.

“Perhaps he didn’t hear you,” Peter Vincent offered apologetically. He felt supremely embarrassed. Even the girl’s money wasn’t worth this ludicrous charade. Damn the fool boy and his cow-eyed sweetheart. He had
some
pride left. Next, he’d be hosting birthday parties.

Billy Cole just beamed like a jack-o’-lantern. “Oh, he heard me, all right!”

Jerry Dandrige descended from the darkness at the head of the stairs, the epitome of poise and charm. Everything about him reeked of understated elegance: his shoes obviously handmade and very expensive, his clothes (a handsome wool sweater-and-slacks combo) casual yet rarefied. His demeanor was well-bred and almost noble, as if he had not a worry in the world and, as such, could afford to be gracious.

Eddie and Peter were impressed to distraction.

Charley thought him more intimidating than ever.

Amy thought he was gorgeous.

All eyes upon him, Jerry reached the bottom of the stairs and turned to Peter with a blinding smile. “Ah, Mr. Vincent, so good of you to come. I’ve seen all of your films and found them
very
amusing.” He extended his hand.

Peter shook hands, quite flustered. To the best of his knowledge, it was the first time anyone over the age of fifteen had ever admitted to seeing all of his films, much less to liking them. “Why, thank you . . .” he stammered.

“And who might these two attractive people be?”

Peter beamed. “This is Ed Thompson, and this is Amy Peterson.”

Jerry bent low and kissed Amy’s hand. “Charmed,” he crooned. She looked imminently orgasmic. Then he looked up at Charley with a wink and wicked smile. “That’s what a vampire is supposed to do, eh, Charley?”

The whole room laughed. Even Amy stifled a giggle. Charley felt like week-old sheep dip. He glowered and said nothing.

Jerry smiled and gestured to the front parlor. “Please, come in. Be comfortable.” He ushered Peter into the living room. Billy followed, laughing heartily. Amy and Ed stared after them, totally captivated.

“God, he’s neat,” Amy sighed. She practically floated into the room, all but oblivious to Charley’s presence. Eddie shot him a disgusted glance.

“Some vampire, Brewster,” he said, and sauntered off to join the others.

He would have sent a live grenade in his place if he’d had one. He wanted to scream.
I can’t believe you’re falling for this snow job!
But they were. It was one paranoid teenager against Vlad the Impaler, and he was losing in a big way.

Got to play along,
he thought.
Catch him unawares.

He made his way into the parlor, entering with roughly the fanfare reserved for a wayward family pet. His face looked like he’d dipped it in vinegar, but no one seemed to mind. They were too absorbed in Dandrige’s witty repartee.

The parlor was spacious and airy, even though its floor space was crammed with boxes and cartons, all draped with heavy sheets. Jerry looked at them apologetically. “You’ll have to excuse the mess. I’m still unpacking.”

Peter nodded sympathetically. Charley couldn’t stand it. He glared at Dandrige, trying hard to sound tough and resolute. “Where do you keep your coffin? Or do you have
more
than one?” The words came out a petulant whine.

“Charley . . .” Peter growled, trying to conceal his anger.

Dandrige remained unruffled. “It’s all right, Mr. Vincent. As you may have noticed, I am rather fond of antiques,” he said, gesturing around the room. “In fact, it is the means by which I made my fortune: dealing in antiques and
objets d’art.
The ‘coffin’ which apparently started this entire affair is actually a sixteenth-century Bavarian chest that Charley saw Billy and me carrying in.”

“That’s right,” Billy chimed in. “Jerry finds ’em, I fix ’em up. We’re partners.”

“Bullshit,” Charley said. “It’s all bullshit! It wasn’t a chest, it was a coffin! And he’s not your partner, he’s your
master!
I saw you on your
knees—”

“CHARLEY!” Peter was aghast.
I was right. He’s completely insane.

“Quite all right, Mr. Vincent,” Jerry said. “I’m used to it by now. As you may know, Charley even brought the police here yesterday.”

Peter winced. That was it; he wanted out of the entire mortifying situation. Let the kid talk to his mother, or a psychiatrist, or Phil Donahue, for all he cared. The
police?

Everyone stared at Charley as if he’d just had an accident on the rug.
Bad, Charley! Bad, bad, bad, bad . . .

“Oh, Charley, you
didn’t . . .”
Amy looked shamefaced.

“Damn right I did!” he said emphatically. “Only the cops didn’t believe me any more than you do.” He stared at Amy, then turned to Peter and said, “But you will. Mr. Vincent, give him the holy water.”

“Charley, there’s no reason to be rude about this,” Peter said, smiling through gritted teeth.

“No, Mr. Vincent, he’s quite right. Where is the, ah,
holy
water?”

Peter withdrew the vial furtively. Ed’s eyes twinkled. “Are you
sure
that’s holy water, Mr. Vincent?” he chided.

Peter smiled, nodding confidently. “Positive,” he said. “It’s from my personal cache. Father Scanlon down at Saint Mary’s blessed it personally.” He handed the vial to Jerry, who accepted it with a faint reticence.

Jerry searched Peter’s eyes briefly. The old bugger was a nutcase, most certainly.
Did
he have a stash of holy water? He was so absorbed in his pitiful persona, he just might. If it
was,
to even touch it to his lips would mean ceaseless searing agony.

He uncapped the vial, sniffing for any trace of danger. All eyes were glued to his movements. Billy quietly stepped back, moving to block the portico doorway. The tension was a palpable presence in the room, the air tinged with electricity.

Charley edged closer to Amy, simultaneously sliding the cross from his pocket.
“Get ready to run,”
he whispered.
“I’ll protect you with this.”

Jerry smiled and shrugged, tipping the vial back into his mouth. He drained it in one gulp. Winked. Bowed with a flourish.

And all hell broke loose.

It happened very quickly. Dandrige doubled over suddenly, breath rasping in horrible dry heaves. Amy, Peter and Ed rushed forward. Charley reared up triumphantly, brandishing the cross. Before he could speak, a large hand wrapped his and squeezed, snapping the cheap crucifix in two. He turned to face Billy, who was smiling and shaking his head.

And above it all, laughter.

Dandrige straightened, laughing heartily. Shock, relief, and confusion flooded his guests. Billy laughed, clapping Charley on the back. The whole room resounded with the revelry of the prank.

All, save one.

“That, too, is what a vampire’s supposed to do. Isn’t it, Charley?” Jerry said.

Peter turned to Charley, infinitely grateful to Dandrige for deflecting the embarrassment from himself. “You saw it. Are you convinced now that Mr. Dandrige is not a vampire?”

Charley felt likely to explode. “It’s a TRICK! It must be! The water wasn’t blessed right, or it wasn’t blessed at all!”

“Are you calling me a
liar,
young man?” he said huffily. “You have already embarrassed yourself once tonight. I see no reason to compound the error.”

“Yes, Charley,” Dandrige said. “You’ve already caused your friends quite enough pain. You don’t want to cause them any more, now, do you?”

Charley averted his eyes, miserable in his defeat.
Sonofabitch has me locked up tight,
he thought.
They’ll never believe me now.

“I guess not.”

“Excellent.” Jerry smiled as the tension flowed out of the room. “I’m so glad that this is straightened out at last.” He gestured, arms wide, ushering them to the door.

Billy turned to Peter. “I’ll get your coat,” he said, moving toward the antechamber.

At the door, Jerry turned to Amy and Ed. Billy returned with Peter’s coat, helped him into it. Peter reached into his pocket for a smoke, feeling vastly relieved.

“It’s been very nice meeting both of you,” Jerry said, “despite the peculiar circumstances. Please don’t be strangers.” He singled Amy out, his eyes flashing ever so slightly. “You’ll always be welcome.”

Her eyes clouded momentarily, as the seed took root.

(Say “thank you.”)

“Thank you,” Amy replied, staring blankly.

(“I’d like that”)

“I’d like that, Mr. Dandrige . . .”

“Please. Call me Jerry.”

(Kiss, kiss.)

“And you,” he said, turning to Eddie . . .

Peter tamped his cigarette on the mirror inside his case. A few shreds of tobacco fell out onto the mirror. He leaned forward slightly to blow them away.

And his blood froze in his veins.

He couldn’t believe his eyes. There they were: Charley, looking sullen and impatient; Amy, staring dreamily into space . . .

And Ed, heartily shaking hands with the thin air before him.

Peter looked up. There was Dandrige, all effluent grace.