They Thirst (83 page)

The thing is, there are so many dark basements in Los Angeles. And shuttered up motels. And houses with histories. And so many, many victims.

A friend of mine, also a writer, lives in Los Angeles and asks me why I hate his city. I don't hate L.A., but it scares the hell out of me, even without vampires. My first sight of his city, from the airplane, was a sprawling urban wasteland unlike anything I've ever seen in my life. I mean, the place is huge. I grew up and live in a city that hasn't yet reached a million population, so you might imagine my reaction when I saw the Los Angeles area for the first time. It was a beautiful day: the sun shining, the traffic buzzing around, people going on about their lives.

But somewhere, just off the glittering neon-mad Strip, there's a dark basement where men do terrible things.

The Land of Eternal Youth. Disneyland. Movie stars and "A" lists. Gangs fighting for survival on the mean streets. The ghosts of memory, and dark halls where Valentino once walked. The "big break," and people who will sell their bodies, souls, and minds to get through one more day of that hard, golden sunshine.

I think a Vampire King would find Los Angeles a wonderland. He would know that such a beautiful beast has a huge dark belly. And in that darkness, surrounded by pallid forms who fall at his feet in worship, even a Vampire King might become a star.

Robert R. McCammon
June 1988