Wolf Moon Rising (31 page)

He saw the wide door to a closet and walked over and

opened it. Th

e strong smell of cedar made it through the mask’s

fi lter. A place to store fancy clothes, he thought, and sure enough there was a rack of suits and another of ball gowns and luxurious furs. A lump came up into his throat. Th

ey were all so fi ne

looking. All stowed away forever. He pulled off one of his rubber

gloves so he could feel the fabric of one of the satin dresses. He

stroked the furs and fi ngered the beads on a fl imsy little slip

thing. He would have buried his face in the silk of a nightgown

if he hadn’t been wearing the mask.

Th

en he heard it. Th

e pounding noise, and he felt the hair

stand up on his neck. It was a thudding sound, and rhythmical,

a thump that drummed over and over. Didn’t sound like some-

thing a raccoon could do, but you never know. When some-

thing gets trapped . . .

He wandered back out into the basement and tried to fi gure

out where the sound was coming from. For some reason he was

shaking, and he cursed under his breath. Th

ere you go again, you

wimp, scared of stuff like a girl. What ever it was, he would fi nd it and kill it. Maybe bring it home. Make his dad proud. Th

en he

saw something leaning against the wall, the big fi shing net.

Maybe he could catch what ever it was and set it free, then tell his dad it was dead.

Th

e pounding was defi nitely coming from under the stair.

He shined the light across boxes labeled christmas and hal-

loween, and he could see strings of colored lights and crepe

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paper fi gures of goblins and spiders, stuff for decorating. Th

en

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Lara Parker

he saw the door tucked under the treads, smaller than most

doors, some kind of storage area, and he walked over to it. Yeah,

the noise was in there.

He tried the door; it was locked. Now what? He jiggled the

handle and damn if the pounding didn’t start up faster than be-

fore. What ever it was in there wanted out, maybe a little fox or a possum. He cast the light around the fl oor in front of the door

and saw an ax, but he didn’t feel like bashing the door in. Th

en

the light found a pile of bolts and sprinkler parts in the corner,

all gathered in a neat little pile. He had to smile: a pack rat

stashing his trea sures hoping to catch a mate. He moved the

pile with his boot and damn, there it was! A little silver key.

Th

e door opened with a grating sound as it scraped on the

cement fl oor. It was dark, but right away he saw the coffi

n, sit-

ting in the middle of the room with a big chain wrapped around

it. He thought of all the decorations outside the door. Maybe

they’d had a spooky Halloween party and this was a prop,

something to scare people. Who had the guts to get in the cof-

fi n and close the lid? A good party game.

Th

e noise had stopped. He shined the light over the walls

and saw there were a lot of other props for Halloween, pictures

of girls in long dresses and a funny little animal with a horn.

What was it? Yeah, a unicorn. Must have been some party.

He walked around the casket but didn’t hear anything, so

he played the light in the corners. Lots of dead fl owers all dried up and candelabras with the burnt- down candles overfl owing

with melted wax. Th

en he heard a shuffl

ing sound. Th

e sound

was coming from inside the casket.

His skin crawled all over and he wanted to run. Something

told him this was too creepy. But his dad would say, “Well,

what was it? Did you get it?” Th

e coffi

n shook a little and he

almost hollered out. Shit, all it was was a coffi

n, some leftover

prop, and some animal trapped inside. He circled the coffi

n

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again. Sure enough, he found the hole with his light, a battered

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out place on the end where the wood was splintered, big enough

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Dark Shadows: Wolf Moon Rising

for something to crawl in and not be able to get out. He’d seen

rats get trapped that way. Th

ey could fold up their bodies and

slide into something so narrow, but then they couldn’t get their

hips back through.

Th

e casket shuddered again. Leaning over, he shined the

light in the hole and moved it around. He was really shaking

now, more from adrenaline than fright, and the light was bounc-

ing in there, but he saw a pair of eyes staring into the beam. Th

ere

was a fuzzy moan, more like a growl, and the casket shook again.

Had to make the hole bigger. He’d seen that ax. And the

net. He started picturing a little gray fox, something that

snarled, with a beautiful fl uff y tail. He could catch it and save its life. Only could he handle the ax? He was such a baby.

He swung it, one, two, three times, each time missing the

hole. Th

en he took a step back and aimed more carefully.

Th wack!
Th

e hole was bigger. He tried to position the net so that

what ever came out would jump in it. He swung the ax again

and he was pleased to see that a big piece of wood got pushed

inside. He was breathing hard when he leaned over and looked

in the hole, getting his chin down next to the light.

“Come on little fellow. Don’t be afraid.”

Th

ere was a slapping sound and something fl ew out with a

whooosh. What ever it was, it was big and black and it fl apped

into his face, clinging there, covering the goggles, then fl ew

up to the ceiling. Shit! It was a bat! A huge bat! He’d never

thought . . . how many were there? He looked into the hole

again, trying not to get so close this time, and he could smell

something dead, even through the visor, the reek of rotting fl esh.

Th

e bat was fl opping around against the ceiling and then the

noise stopped. Must have found something to hang on to.

He stood up and turned around, looking. But the bat was

gone. Everything was quiet. Where’d it go? Th

en he saw some-

thing and he gasped. Jesus! A goddamn lady was standing in

front of the door. She had fl aming red hair and a long blood-

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colored dress. Where the fuck did she come from? Just appeared

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Lara Parker

out of nowhere. She was panting and she looked really mad, her

face all screwed up, her hands clenching.

“Who are you?” he stammered. Th

at sounded rude. He

should tell her why he was there. “I mean, I’m just trying to—”

She made a growling sound and that really scared him, so

he stepped back. He wanted to run, but fi rst he had to get by

her.

“I’m all done here, I gotta go—”

She growled again, and then like the wind she came for

him. She got hold of him with her nails digging in, and the

scream that came from his throat felt like a wild animal clawing

out of his chest. Her eyes were on fi re and her mouth was gleam-

ing with a lot of sharp teeth, a couple of which were long and

pointed . . .

Quentin found Nathanial Blair in the library pouring over

family rec ords as if he owned the place. Trying not to be-

come irritated, Quentin approached and said, “I’d like to hold

another séance as soon as possible.”

“I don’t know whether that’s a good idea,” answered Blair.

“Th

is one was quite disappointing.”

“Maybe not,” said Quentin. “I just saw the green automo-

bile again, driving down the sea road. It’s defi nitely from the

twenties.”

Blair’s eyes lit up. “It seemed we did accomplish something,”

he said, “just not what we planned.”

“So, you will try again?”

“I think not. I intend to pursue my search for the vampire.

Th

at’s my number- one purpose while I am here.”

Quentin grew thoughtful, then he said in a low voice, “I

might be able to help you if you help me. If I can retrieve what I

am after from the twenties, I am willing to share with you what

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I know about the vampire, and the truth is I know quite a lot—”

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Th

en they heard it: shrieks coming from just below them.

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“What’s that?” said Blair, his expression almost gleeful.

“I think it must be the exterminator,” said Quentin.

“He must have found something big!” Blair exuded a mist

of anticipation. “Stay back against the wall,” he said to Quentin,

and put his arm out as if to shield the man. “I’ve heard that cry

before, and it’s not good.” Th

en they crept uneasily down the

stair, Quentin trailing.

But when they reached the basement, the shrieks had

stopped, and the dark cellar was eerily quiet.

“Hello? Anybody there?” Blair called out. He turned to

Quentin. “Did you say it was an exterminator?”

“I saw him come down here only a few minutes ago. He was

dressed in his protective garb, with a gas mask.”

Blair seemed drawn to the door beneath the stair as though

he possessed the ability to sniff out disaster. He stopped and

picked up the metal rod attached to the sprayer. “Looks like he

lost this,” he said, and then he ducked down and looked in the

room. “Here he is,” he called back. “He’s in here.”

Th

en with a harsh cry he leapt back and threw his arm over

his head. A huge bat fl ew out of the opening and across the

basement. It fl uttered a while, crashing into the walls and fl ying haphazardly in the dark before it found an opening— a small

window open just a crack— and disappeared.

Th

e smell in the room was of the dead and the dying, rotted

fl esh and fresh blood. Quentin saw the mask sitting on the

stone fl oor, still intact, its bizarre red eyes and protruding black mouth gaping like it was about to speak. “He was wearing that,”

he said, but then he uttered a groan when he saw the boy’s body

lying beside the casket. “Oh . . . God!”

Th

e body was still encased in the white overalls, but Blair

reached down, shook it, then looked up at Quentin with a face

blanched white. “It seems impossible.”

“Is he . . . is he—?”

“Yes, he’s dead and . . . and I think . . . I think his head is

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missing.”

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Quentin felt faint and his vision blurred. He reached out

and placed a hand on the coffi

n, and only then did he realize

what it was. He jerked away. “Who? What is this room?”

Blair shook his head, but he appeared less confused than

fascinated, even energized. “Take a look at that,” he said, mo-

tioning to the gas mask.

Quentin leaned over and picked up the hood, holding it by

the goggles. It was heavier than he had expected, and something

fell out of it and hit the fl oor with a dull thud. It was a mass of black hair, but when he turned it over, it had a face . . . a face with a mouth curled back in a scream and eyes frozen in terror.

“Who would do this? Who
could
do it?”

“Who indeed? It’s a vampire,” said Blair, with a tremor of

excitement in his voice.

“A vampire? But . . . how do you know?” asked Quentin,

now thinking of Barnabas.

“First of all, the casket. It’s where he slept. He had been

chained in until this unfortunate boy released him.”

“Oh, good God. Th

at’s pure conjecture. How can you be

sure?”

“Well, with the head torn off , the blood should be pouring

out of his body, but as you can see, there is very little. I think it was consumed before we got here.”

“A vampire,” repeated Quentin, still feigning ignorance.

“Yes, and damn it all, we seem to have just missed him.”

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T h i r t e e n

The house was lit up like a great chandelier, all the panes

aglow; even the tall arched windows of the closed- off ball-

room were brilliant with sparkling light. At fi rst David thought

the family might have stayed awake wondering where he was,

but this was more, much more.

As they drew nearer he could see that there was something

diff erent about the mansion; the stones were smoother, gleam-

ing like marble, the parapet and its attenuating spires were un-

damaged, and even the gargoyles seemed less decayed. In fact

they glared down like sleek and irritable buzzards searching for

prey, their beaks sharp and menacing. Th

e thick overlapping ivy

that covered the facade was not there, and only a few small

bushes were clinging to the foundation, leaving the walls and

windows fresh and uncluttered. Strangest of all, there was no