C.O.T.V.H. (Book 1): Creation (6 page)

John poured the alcohol onto the cuts of his arm over the bathroom sink. “Damn it!” he cried out in pain as it burned. Gritting his teeth, he dried his arm and covered the wounds with a large bandage.

“
Dad? What are they?” Jake asked again.

John sighed. “I’ll explain everything later, right now I’m going to call your mom at the hospital and tell her we’re coming to pick her up,” John pulled a long sleeved, red flannel shirt over his shoulders then pulled on his blue jeans. “Then we’re getting the hell out of here. Go pack you a bag; we’re leaving this house in ten minutes."

“
What about Mr. . . . uh, the guy in the kitchen?” Jake asked. The last thing he wanted to see as he walked to his room was Marty White’s severed head staring back at him.

“
He’s gone. I took care of it,” John picked up the phone and began dialing.

“
What? How?” Jake asked.

John angrily put down the phone. “Jake, do what I say!”

Jake didn’t say another word but walked straight to his room. His eyes strayed to the kitchen to see the body was indeed gone. Only a large pool of black oil looking blood remained. Putting it out of his mind, he stepped into his room and jerked a suitcase from the top of the closet then as quickly as he could, stuffed it full of clothes. He stopped as he heard his dad’s raised voice coming from the other room.

"What do you mean she never made it in?  My God, Pam, they found us.  They found us!" he yelled.

Jake dropped the clothes in his hands and ran back into his parent’s room. John slammed the phone down then angrily knocked over the lamp on the side table smashing it against the wall. "Seven years. Seven goddamn years! And the bastards come
now
?” John paced back and forth. His eyes found Jake staring up at him. He took a deep breath composing himself. ”We have to go son.  We've got to get out of here."

It was then that Jake realized something bad had happened to his mom.  "Why, Dad?  What's happening?" he asked frantically. "Where's Mom?" John tried to calm him, but at this point Jake was beyond upset, he was downright hysterical. "What happened to Mom?!" he yelled at the top of his lungs.

John grabbed him by the shoulders harder than he meant to. "Jake!” he said, shaking him.  “Listen to me!  I need you to calm down!” Releasing his shoulders, he looked his traumatized son in the eyes. “I’m sorry, Jake, but I can’t have you falling apart right now. I know it’s a lot to ask after what you’ve been through tonight, but I need you to hold it together. We both just have to hold it together. Your mom needs us. Can you do that for me?”

“
Just tell me what happened to Mom,” he answered his voice barely above a whisper.

John lowered his head, “She didn’t make it in to work.”

“
We have to find her!” Jake screamed.

“
We will, son, we will. But first, I’ve got to get you out of here before more of them show up. Now, finish packing your things.”

Hesitantly Jake did as he was told. In less than two minutes time, he returned to his parents’ room, a suitcase tucked under his arm. Two suitcases lay across John’s bed, filled with clothes and family pictures from off the walls. Pushing down on them John clicked them shut. Then from the back of his closet, he pulled a long rifle case and three boxes of shotgun shells. Jake had no idea his dad even owned a gun.

John pulled out a shotgun and loaded it with five shells then cocked it. “Grab your stuff. We’re leaving,” he said, walking down the hall, a suitcase tucked under each arm.

Jake stopped at his room, it dawning on him that he didn’t have any shoes on. “Dad, I forgot my shoes!” He called out to him.

“
Leave them! We’ve got to go now!” John's panicked voice cried out from the front door. Jake came outside to find the suitcases dumped on the front yard. The shotgun held tightly to John’s shoulder. He was scanning over the yard.

“
What is it?” Jake asked, afraid to even step outside.

“
Get my bags and get in the truck,” he whispered. “Quickly, go now!”

Jake jerked them up from the ground, running clumsily to his dad’s old '86 Ford F-250. Tossing them into the bed of the truck, he climbed into the passenger seat and buckled his seatbelt.

John walked backwards toward the truck, his eyes never leaving the darkness of the front yard. As Jake stared past him, he could just make out a lone figure standing at the edge of the yard looking back at them. "Why couldn't you just leave us alone?!" John yelled, his finger hovering over the trigger.  "I was out damn it!  Don't you understand?"

The figure didn't move forward but didn't retreat either.  Jake heard the stranger say something he couldn't quite make out, before disappearing back into the night.  

Climbing into the truck, John slid his gun behind the seat. Then started the truck, it’s diesel engine roared to life. He peeled out of the driveway, leaving their home behind.

Jake stared at the house as it disappeared behind them. Somehow, he knew he would never set foot there again. "Who was that?" he asked. “In the yard? Was it one of them?” 

"It doesn't matter," John said, glancing in his rear view mirror.

"Well what did he say?" Jake asked, infuriated his dad was being so vague.

John didn’t answer until they had reached the end of the block. "He said he was sorry," The truck pulled onto the highway speeding ten miles over the speed limit.  The clock on the radio said the time was now 4:26am.  Both father and son were beyond exhausted, not just physically, but emotionally as well.  

Jake laid his head on his dad's lap, something he hadn’t done in years. Reaching back, John pulled a dusty red jacket from behind the seat and covered his son. Right before he dozed off Jake asked one last time, "Where's Mom?"

"I don't know son.  I don't know,” John patted him gently with his right hand. Jake looked up at him one last time, and in the passing glow of a street light saw tears streaming down his cheeks.  With that image, he fell asleep.

Nearly two hours later he was gently shaken awake by a rough, calloused hand on his shoulder. Sitting up he looked around.  It was still dark out. The slight orange glow of the sun was just peeking in the sky to the east.  They were parked on a dirt road seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Jake rubbed his eyes sleepily.  "Dad, where are we?"

John looked straight ahead, his hands gripping the steering wheel. "Jake, I have something I have to show you.  I don't want to, but you need to see this to understand what's happening to us," He stepped out of the truck and lowered the tailgate, pulling several large black trash bags out of the back then dumped their contents into the middle of the road where they were lit by the truck’s bright headlights. Jake was so in shock at this point that the sight of the Marty White’s dismembered; bloodied body parts dropping onto the dirt road didn't even bother him. Marty's dismembered head lay staring at Jake with its lifeless red eyes wide open.  

It all seemed so very unreal, as if he was watching it through someone else's eyes. John came back into the truck then killed the engine, shutting off the headlights illuminating the scene before them. They sat in complete silence, Jake was too tired and too in shock to say anything.

As the sun began to rise higher in the sky, John finally broke the silence. "Jake, you're about to see something terrible, but also . . . amazing. Something so awful that no one should ever have to know about it. But I can't hide you from it any longer," he sighed lowering his head.  "All I can tell you is that the world isn't what you think it is."

As the sun rose higher, its rays hit the body parts lying on the road.  One by one, they burst into bright blue flames.  Jake grabbed his dad's arm, too afraid to look too amazed to look away. After thirty seconds there was nothing left but charred, smoking pieces of skeleton.  Marty White’s head was now an eyeless, blackened skull. John looked over at his son with tears in his eyes.  "I've tried to shield you from this.  I tried to take you and your mother away from it all.  But they wouldn't just leave us be.  They found us," he grew quiet again.  "Jake." he said, "There are such things as monsters."

Chapter 3

Jake

North US-87

July 31, 1994 6:37am

John pulled the old Ford back onto the highway, leaving Marty White's still smoking skeleton in the middle of the hard caliche road.

He reached into the front pocket of his shirt and handed Jake something loosely wrapped in a blue handkerchief.  

With his hands still shaking, Jake slowly opened it. "What is it?" he asked, staring down at two three-inch long white things that looked a lot like . . .

"Vampire fangs," John said, as calmly as if he had just handed him a piece of candy.

"What?!" Jake exclaimed, dropping them on the seat between his legs. 

"Careful with those, son," John carefully wrapped them back up in the handkerchief. He flicked open the change filled ashtray and set it gently inside then snapped it closed.  "They’re still dangerous.  You won't turn, but they will make you extremely sick.”

 
"Wait, what? You mean to tell me . . . that . . . that thing was a
vampire
? That . . . Mr. White was a
vampire
?”

"Yes and no.” John said sadly. “Marty was a lot of things, but he wasn’t a vampire, at least not always. My guess is he was turned shortly after leaving our house."

“
A real life vampire?  As in drinks blood, killed by crosses, turns into a bat, hates garlic? That kind of vampire?"

“
Again, yes and no. Not all of the legends are true. For one, vampires are extremely hard to kill. No flask of holy water or clove of garlic is going to do it. Crosses? Yeah that’s a joke. You go waving a cross at one and he’s going to break it off in your . . . well let’s just say it won’t be very nice what he does with it.”

For Jake this had just gone from strange to the edge of insanity.
Vampires don’t exist. Everyone knows that.
He rationalized to himself.
But what else could it have been? The fangs, the claws, those eyes, my God those eyes!
Jake thought, remembering the haunted look in his crimson red eyes.
Those were not the eyes of a human!
Then he remembered the show they’d watched earlier that night. "Like that family we saw on
That's Unbelievable!
The Goth looking teenagers that lived in the woods and drank animal blood!"

John snorted a laugh.  "No. That was just a bunch of lunatics playing dress up in the woods.  Vampires can't live on anything other than human blood and they sure can't come out in the sunlight."

"This is crazy!"  Jake exclaimed. "Wait, Dad, how do you know so much about them?"

"I used to hunt them."

"You used to hunt what? Vampires?”

John let out a deep sigh.  "It's a long, long story, son.  I'll tell you about it sometime.  Right now I've got to concentrate on the task at hand."

“
Which is what exactly?” Jake asked, realizing they were still driving in the middle of nowhere. “Where are we going?”

“
To your Grandpa Cort’s house,” John rubbed at his temples with his thumbs. “In Lubbock.”

“
Grandpa Cort, as in your dad? I thought he was dead."

"He's not dead. I just haven't talked to him in a while," John sighed. "We didn't exactly part on good terms."

"Then why are we going there?"

“
Because he’s the only one that can help us.”

Silence grew between them for several long minutes.
Vampires!
Jake thought over and over in his head. It just seemed impossible.  But he couldn't ignore what he'd seen.  How else could you explain body parts exploding into flame when the sun hit them? He had heard his parents arguing about his dad going back to hunting, but he’d always assumed it was bears or something like that. That’s why she worried about him getting hurt. But hunting vampires had never occurred to him in his wildest dreams.  Jake closed his eyes shaking his head. The image of Mr. White’s ferocious teeth, snapping like a crazed beast wouldn’t leave his mind. The lost, hungry look in his eyes . . . it would haunt him for the rest of his life. He really would have preferred aliens.

Jake lifted his head and stared at the edges of the blue handkerchief peeking out from the closed ashtray. "Wait . . . if those things are poisonous, why keep them?"

“
Because those little babies carry quite a bounty on them. They are worth at least three grand apiece.”

Again, Jake’s mouth dropped open. “Who on earth would want to buy vampire fangs?”

John yawned deeply then slapped his cheeks. "I'll tell you what, once we get your mother back and everything calms down, I'll fill you in on every little detail of what I used to do. But right now, I'd rather not get into it.”

Jake started to say something but John held up his hand. "Jake . . . later." he said, in a tone letting Jake know the conversation was over.

Jake closed his mouth swallowing his questions. The entire world had just changed forever. Things would never be the same. As they passed the city limits sign entering Lubbock, Jake couldn't help but ask. "So how exactly is Grandpa Cort going to help us?"