1954

St Francisville, Louisiana

1954

Mikey awoke to the sound of his mother crying.

That wasn’t all that unusual. Every since Sissy died, Ma spent most evenings crying. Ma cried, Pa drank, and Mikey did his best to pretend he didn’t notice. They got upset when he asked what happened to Sissy. They got really upset when he asked why they were so sad. She was barely two weeks old. That wasn’t enough time to get to know someone, much less be sad about them being gone.

But Ma cried and Dad drank and Mikey pretended not to notice because it was either that or Da took his belt off and tanned his hide. Farm chores were hard enough without stripes on his backside. Clarence, the old mule, always seemed to know when he got a whooping, and he always seemed to bite the exact spot where it hurt the most.

Mikey closed his eyes and tried to shut out the noise as best as he could. He felt bad for Ma, he really did, but he didn’t want another whooping.

His plan was foiled by a knock at the door,

“Michael?”

Pa only ever called him that when things were bad.

“Yes, Pa?”

“May I come in?”

What the heck? Pa never asked for permission. It was his house. Mikey just lived in it. That really wasn’t good.

“Um, yessir. Let me just-”

“Whatever it is you need to hide, don’t bother. I don’t have much time.”

The door opened, and Pa stumbled through. He was a right mess. Drunk, obviously. That went without saying. It was a Friday night. Pa was never sober on Friday. Saturday, maybe. He felt guilty about showing up to church hungover. That didn’t always stop him, but he felt bad about it.

The bloodstains down his shirt were new. Something was wrong with Pa’s neck. He had a handkerchief pressed against it with one hand. His pistol was in the other.

That scared Mikey more than the blood. It was three miles to the nearest watering hole, and Pa always walked there and back. Ma refused to allow liquor in the house. That was her one hard and fast rule for Pa, and he always respected it. Walking that far in the dark, drunk as a skunk, was bound to result in the occasional accident.

But his pistol? That lived at the bottom of Pa’s old footlocker. He’d only brought it out once, when the Klan was stirring up trouble with the Washingtons down the road. Pa and Old Man Wash hated each other’s guts, but when the Klan came round looking to put Ol’ Wash in his place, Pa stood by his neighbor’s side and dared them to try.

Mikey knew it was a 1911. Paulie’s dad liked to take his out and let the boys shoot cans off of fenceposts. Not Pa, though. The one time Mikey had asked, Pa cuffed him on the ear and scolded him for playing with guns. They’re not toys, he insisted, and never to be treated as such.

“Pa? What’s wrong?”

“They got me, Michael. That’s what’s wrong,” Pa said. His voice was shaky, like he was in a lot of pain. “I let my guard down for a damn second, and now look at me. It won’t be long now.”

Mikey threw off the covers. Pa flinched at the sudden motion.

“We have to get you to the doctor,” Mikey said. “I can drive. We can-”

“It’s too late. This isn’t something the doctor can fix.”

He pulled the handkerchief away from his neck for a second. In the dim light, Mikey could just make out a pair of red, weeping holes against the sun-bronzed skin of his father’s neck.

“What the hell?” he yelped.

“Don’t swear, Michael. I know, I know, I’m a hypocrite, but you need to be better than me. You’ll be the man of the house soon. You need to be better than me.”

“Pa, don’t talk like that. We can get you help. You’ll be okay.”

Pa smiled gently. He never smiled, not for real. It never reached his eyes. That smile was even scarier than the gun.

“I know this is a lot, Michael, but I need you to listen,” he said. “This is important. Promise me you’ll listen, please.”

Mikey swallowed against the lump in his throat.

“I-I promise, sir.”

“Thank you,” Pa breathed. He closed his eyes briefly, whispering a silent prayer. “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy, but you have to believe me. You remember that movie you got in trouble for watching with Paulie and those other delinquents?”

“Paulie’s not a delinquent,” Mikey protested, and then remembered that he was supposed to listen. “Um. Return of the Vampire. They had it on in the matinee.”

“Right. That one.” Pa said. “It was trash. Real vampires don’t skulk around in capes with werewolves as assistants.”

“Wait, you’ve seen it?”

“They played it at the USO back in Europe. Not important,” Pa said. “The important thing is, vampires are real, Michael. They’re real, and they’re nothing like the movies.”

Mikey couldn’t help it. He stared at his father, stunned. That was impossible. But then, if it was impossible, why did Pa have two holes in his neck? They looked an awful lot like something a pair of fangs would leave behind.

“The Nazis, they went and found a vampire, a real old one, and got him to make more. Lots more. Me and my boys, we stumbled across them one day. They had a whole camp full of ‘em in eastern France. One of the scientists had a conscience, though. He knew we were coming, and he knew we’d need to stop them somehow. So, he made up a mess of silver bullets in .45 caliber. We ambushed ‘em by daylight, when they were sleeping.  Afterward, they told us to keep hush about it. We might’ve saved the war, but we couldn’t breathe a word of it, or they’d lock us up in the loony bin.”

“But…if vampires are real, why would they keep that a secret? They’re bad guys. We kill bad guys, don’t we?”

“That’s the trouble with bad guys: it’s not always so cut and dry. Sometimes, we need ‘em. I don’t know why, and I didn’t ask. I just wanted to get my boys away from that cursed place. I never saw something so horrible, not until we found our first death camp.”

Pa grimaced at some memory or another. Mikey knew the look. He usually looked like that when he was about to head out to the bar.

“Not important, I guess. Not anymore,” he said. “Here. you’ll need this.”

He tossed the gun onto the bed. Mikey stared at it, too scared and confused to even think about picking it up.

“Pa?”

“I guess one of those bloodsuckers decided to get revenge. Or maybe the feds decided it was better to shut me up before I could change my mind about being quiet. I don’t know. I guess it’s too late, now.”

“Pa, you’re scaring me,” Mikey said. “What happened?”

Pa chuckled, and then coughed. When he pulled his hand away from his mouth, it was bloody.

“Not long now,” he said. “Not long now. Listen, Michael. You promised you’d listen, right?”

“I did, sir.”

“There was a woman at the bar tonight. I recognized her from Germany. She was a nurse at one of the POW camps where they held the real nasty Nazis. She said she was in town for a visit and I…I did something I ought not’ve. It’s just, your Ma’s been real distant since Sissy passed, and I was drunk and…damn. I shouldn’t make excuses. Sets a bad example, you know? Point is, she got me. We went out behind the bar, and she bit me. That’s the first step. Once they get their fangs in you, you’ll do whatever you want. She made me drink some of her blood. That’s the second step.”

“You’re-you’re turning into one! You’re turning into a vampire!”

“No, not quite. She didn’t give me enough blood for that. I’ll turn into a…a…you know, we never did figure out what they were actually called. We called ‘em critters. Mindless, deformed things, all rage and violence, no brains. That’s what happens when the vampire only half turns you. That’s what she’s turning me into. I can already feel the thirst setting in. In another hour, I won’t remember who I am, or who you are. There’ll be nothing to stop me from hurting you or your mother.”

“Oh my God. Pa, that’s not…there has to be something.”

“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Michael,” Pa scolded. “I expect I’ll have a lot to answer for soon. I’d rather not have that on my conscience.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Don’t be sorry, be better. This is important, Michael. You’re going to have to look after Ma for a while. She’ll get better, but she needs help. And you’re going to have to…you’re going to have to kill me.”

The words hung in the air for an eternity. Mikey heard them, but his brain refused to accept them.

“Pa, I-I can’t. I won’t. You can’t ask me to do this.”

“I can, and I will. Your Ma can’t handle it right now, and there’s no one else I trust to do it right. I’m sorry, Michael. I don’t want this for you, but I can’t think of any other way. It has to be you. I’d do it myself, but…Suicide is a sin, and I want a fair shake at Heaven. Please, Michael. I’ve never begged for anything in my life, but I’m begging you now. Kill me before I can hurt you or Ma.”

Tears streaming down his face, throat so tight he could barely breathe, Mikey picked up the gun. It was heavier than he remembered. Fingers trembling, he raised it. His hands were shaking so badly, he nearly dropped it.

“You have to take the safety off,” Pa said.

“I…yeah. Safety. Safety.” He found the lever with his thumb and pushed it down.

“There’s one more thing,” Pa said. “When the sheriff gets here, you need to make up a story. Tell him I got drunk and came after your Ma, and you got in the way. We wrestled for the gun and it went off. I know it’s a lie, but it’ll keep you safe. They can never know that you know.”

No words came. Mikey could only nod. He held the 1911 in both hands, like Paulie’s dad had shown him, and raised it at his father. He could barely see the sights through the tears, but he could see enough.

“What was the vampire’s name?” he rasped.

Something suspiciously like a smile, or the ghost of one, twitched across Pa’s lips.

“Elana,” he said.

“Elana,” Mikey repeated. “Elana.”

“Don’t go thinking about revenge, son. It’s not worth it.”

“I-I’m not-”

“It’s not worth lying, either. I love you, Michael. Remember that. I love you, and I’m proud of you.”

“I love you too, Pa.”

His finger twitched, and the gun rocked in his hands. Mikey didn’t hear the gunshot. He couldn’t hear anything, not even his own voice as he mumbled the hated name over and over again, burning it into his soul.

Elana. I’m going to kill you someday. I’m going to make you pay.