Part XI: Here Comes the Boogeyman

Let the Long Night End
Part XI
Here Comes the Boogeyman

Children, have you ever met the Boogeyman before?
No, of course you haven't, for you're much too good I'm sure
Don't you be afraid of him, if he should visit you
He's a great big coward, so I'll tell you what to do:
Hush-Hush-Hush
Here comes the Boogeyman!

"It was a strong effort of the spirit of good; but it was ineffectual. Destiny was too potent, and her immutable laws had decreed my utter and terrible destruction." – Frankenstein

∆

MILTON
1982, October 23rd

“Now hold still. If you keep flinching this will take longer.”

“Mmmhm.”

Levi sat patiently in his seat as Oskar began the process of filing down the nails on his left hand, having already finished his work on the boy’s other hand and feet. Black chips of keratin are flicked into a small tin bucket with light pling-ing chimes, as the elder boy’s fingers are steadily transformed through brute force back into a silhouette of humanity.

Milton watches appreciatively as he and Eli – Elias, he reminds himself – finish their fourth round of Mikado, the pale boy having easily trounced Milton’s every attempt at victory with his surgically steady grace of hand and uncanny instinct for picking the right stick. The two sit on the floor of Levi’s bedroom, which was still slightly damp from the vigorous bi-weekly cleaning that had taken place earlier in the day to remove the lingering smell of rot that came with Levi’s lunar maturations. A necessary step to keep the smell from sinking in too deeply and spreading to the rest of the house.

And, frankly, Milton couldn’t deny that his nephew was a bit of a slob when it came to keeping his area clean. As a man who had served two tours in the Army, the disarray was anathema to his sensibilities and he had taken it upon himself to ensure the bedrooms stayed reasonably neat and orderly. He could’ve simply made Levi clean his own room, but…

But, for reasons that eluded him, he found enjoyment in the chore. So he let it slide.

“Ow!” The exclamation draws the Milton and Elias’ eyes to the bed, Levi recoiled with his hand drawn back, blood dribbling from the tip of his ring finger.

Oskar puts a hand to his mouth, mortified. “I’m sorry!”

“Don’t worry over it, Oskar,” Milton speaks quickly to comfort the child. “Sometimes the quick grows farther out faster than expected and it gets aggravated trimming the nails down. Happens every now and then.”

“Yeah, and it hurts like a son of a bitch every now and then…” Levi mutters irritably, scowling until he catches Oskar’s look of contrition. His frown vanishes, words softening. “It’s alright, man. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’ll try to cooperate, okay?” He reaches out his hand again, prodding Oskar to reluctantly resume his work.

Milton watches, mildly irked, as a few drops of cherry-colored blood fall to patter on the wood floor. I just cleaned that…

His attention is drawn from the scene to Elias when he notes the boy’s twitching nostrils and intent gaze…on the blood spatter. Conclusions are drawn quickly. “…Elias?”

Elias blinks, as if woken from a dream, and sniffs again. “The blood smells…wrong.”

“Huh. No trouble, though, right?”

“No trouble.”

Milton makes an approving noise. “Good. That actually reminds me – next week we’ll have to do your feeding at home.”

“Why?”

“Halloween. Not likely to have many parents or grandparents giving out blood during service time. They’ll want to be in shape for touring the town with the young ones or hitting up a costume party.”

Elias tilts his head, dark hair falling to one side of his porcelain face. “What’s Halloween? Another American holiday?”

“Something like that, though other parts of the Western world celebrate it too. It’s a bit of a convergence of several different holidays from many cultures, originating back to…” The elder man thinks a moment. “I think to a Gaelic festival called Samhain. It marked the beginning of winter.”

“And that means people dress up in costumes?” Oskar asks curiously as he finishes trimming Levi’s pinky, thankfully without further mishap. “That doesn’t seem related.”

“Oh, it’s not. The costumes come from an old bit of history – see, Halloween night was believed to be a time when spirits could come back to Earth for a time. People leaving their homes had to put on masks so that the spirits wouldn’t recognize them as living beings and leave them be,” Milton chuckles softly. “But that was then. Halloween as celebrated in America now has very little to do with the roots of the original idea. Nowadays it’s about touring your neighborhood to get candy from others, having a good time and occasionally getting – or giving – a good scare in your costume. “

“Why would you want to go around scaring people or getting scared?” Elias asks suspiciously.

“It’s…difficult to appreciate, in our case. I’ll grant that. But for most people it’s just a bit of harmless fun. Way to get the blood pumping, make some memories. And a lot of times you’re freer to be yourself wearing a mask than you are any other time of your life. It can be cathartic.”

“Hm. If you say so.” Elias seems unconvinced, but does not question further. Milton’s heart went out to the boy. Of course, to a person who’d lived two lifetimes in fear, the idea of a night dedicated to nothing but fright would seem bizarre in the extreme.

“I think it sounds fun,” Oskar chirps, finished with his grooming of his ‘cousin’ who flexes his fingers in pleasure. “I mean, you get free candy and to play around as somebody else for a night.” His head tilts as he looks to Milton. “Were we going to do anything for Halloween?”

And now all eyes were on him – even Levi seemed interested, which draws a small smile from the old pastor. “I had some plans, but I wanted to run them by you three first. Thought it might be good for you three to get out of the house together, tour the town a bit without this old windbag trailing your steps. I’ve heard there’s supposed to be a sort of fiesta going down in the town square, lots of cider and dancing. And the theater will be playing some classic spook films all night long. Does that sound like fun to you?”

“What about you?” Levi prods uncertainly.

“Well, someone has to feed Elias here, and there’s only one person in this room who has enough blood to spare. I’ll be staying in that night, hopefully in shape enough after to give out some treats to anyone who comes knocking.”

Elias frowns. “That’s not fair. You should be able to celebrate, too.”

Milton chuckles, scratching his scraggly beard. “I’ve had fifty-three years to celebrate Halloween, kiddo. Missing out on one won’t hurt so bad if it means you three get to have some fun. So – what do you say?”

The three boys exchange glances among themselves, and silently come to an agreement. “Alright.”

Milton smiles. “That’s the spirit. So, let’s talk costumes…”

∆

LANGLEY
1982, October 24th

Damien Langley lay restlessly on the floor of his home, arms and legs splayed loosely outwards over the cool wooden floor strewn with books, papers, and photographs. An empty bottle of bourbon lay beside his head, the smallest droplets of alcoholic nectar clinging to the interior of the glass. He had only just finished it off in the last twenty minutes. And had only begun forty-five minutes ago in total.

The numbing embrace of intoxication helped dim the painful lucidity that came with having one’s world carelessly upheaved with all the gentleness of an angry father who underestimated the strength of his grip versus the fragility of a child’s arm.

The three Magi prowl tightly around Langley’s prone form, footsteps feather-light and tails swishing through the chilled October air, circling as carrion vultures might surround a fallen man. Caspar meowed and nudged the fingers of his right hand, prompting Langley to sluggishly scratch the top of the feline’s head. “Am I dying,” he asked the cat through a mouth filled with a tongue that felt too thick. “I must be dying. You never let me pet you.”

Caspar yowls again. Langley struggles to raise his leaden head, pulling himself into a slouched sitting position and running a hand down his face. There would be no more house-visits, from either the media or agent-of-the-law Howard Burns. Langley had officially removed himself from the Muralist case the day before, and quickly retired to his home to begin a more private investigation. A search that had, very rapidly, turned into a dive into the darkest occult and most outlandish of theories, all based around one keyword: supernatural.

He hadn’t shared his findings in the Matthews home with Burns – how could he? Vampires didn’t exist. Werewolves didn’t exist. People didn’t live off blood or transform when the moon bloomed full. Didn’t. Couldn’t.

And yet – it was true. I am living in a world where the shadows belong to the devil.

Langley flipped through the scattering of papers across his floor, picking up a news article dated in the year of 1981, month of November: “Two dead, one missing. Scene of shocking violence at an after-school event in Blackeberg, Sweden. Child witnesses claim to be the work of a ‘monster.’”

International news, one week earlier: “Ritual killing spree in Sweden comes to an end: suspect apprehended once more after a final rampage, following hospital escape.”

The international news had been irritatingly vague on the subject, and so he had obtained the local Swedish papers and had them mailed first-class to his home, then spent several hours translating painstakingly until he had a clear picture in his hands: the killer, one Håkan Bengtsson, had killed and hung the body of a little boy in Vällingby. The body had been drained of blood, the same way a butcher would bleed a piglet. And yet there was very little blood found on the scene.

Escalation: disappearances, followed by morbid reappearances – a body found beneath frozen waters with a head twisted three-hundred-and-sixty degrees and similarly emptied of blood. Bengtsson is apprehended after attempting another murder, with a face that was hard to look at. Then things turned…strange. Bengtsson had ‘died’, escaped the morgue with an additional murder under his belt, and died again at the hands of some kid who had beaten him into jelly.

A patient who had stayed in the same room as Bengtsson before his first demise had been interviewed some time after the fact. According to him, the ex-school teacher had been visited by ‘the angel of death.’ An angel that, oddly enough, was described as a pale child with black hair. Of course, that child was also said to have ‘flown’ from the hospital windowsill of Bengtsson’s room into the night. The same monster that killed those kids a few days later? The monster that had then…kidnapped…a boy named Oskar?

Had it flown him all the way to the States? To what purpose? And why keep him alive? The answer came in the form of statements that had been made by the surviving two children of the pool massacre, leaked out to the Swedish public: the attacker had interrupted a would-be murder attempt.

The act of a good Samaritan? The mysterious child had only been confirmed to have killed or attempted to have killed three people: Bengtsson, a suspected pedophile and known serial murderer. The two boys, brothers, who had attempted a revenge killing on Oskar Eriksson.

There was a problem with that profile, though: the heavy likelihood that Håkan Bengtsson had been killing for another person when he drained his victims of blood, at least before his visit by an ‘angel’, and the lack of any significant criminal record for any of those reported murders. Whomever he had been feeding clearly had no qualms about dining on innocent blood. Presumably had no qualms about murder in general.

So why save Oskar?

The letter: the letter was the final piece. The Eriksson kid laid it all out in just a few lines, written on paper – this vampire, this ‘Eli’, had found a friend of some kind in Oskar. It was the only explanation left to Langley that made sense, for he could hardly see the practical value in lugging around a twelve-year old boy whilst trying to remain under the radar, even as a second set of hands to assist in murders. And if Oskar were simply a take-along snack, he would not be alive, in the United States, nearly a year later.

Some way, somehow, this ‘Eli’ and Oskar had found themselves falling in with Milton and Levi Matthews, who were clearly sheltering and feeding the vampire’s gluttonous needs through the unknowing contributions of the Waynesboro congregation. All that…and Levi Matthews was, impossibly, a werewolf. Langley still couldn’t much wrap his head around how that fit into the equation.

But now it was beyond a certainty: Milton Matthews was the Muralist killer. He’d taken up a position as Bengtsson’s replacement, had killed Elizabeth Gray, Frederick Newberrie, and at least two others. And, at some point along the way, realized that he could successfully obtain blood for the monster posing as his ‘niece’ by using his communal authority.

The question now was what, precisely, ought to be done about it.

Langley sluggishly rose to a standing position and traipsed to his toilet, relieving himself and then rinsing his face clean of sweat. He then retreated to the kitchen, opening another bottle of bourbon and setting it alongside a plate of re-heated hamburger and rice. Breakfast was eaten slowly, his body working on habitual instinct while his mind raced in several alternate directions.

Do I share this with official law enforcement? Langley ponders, blinking slowly as he stares into the cold, vacant dark of his home. He thinks, then rises from the dining table to flick on a few lights, sparing his eyes some strain. Exposing the vampire was out of the question, of course. I could drive up to the precinct with a trailer-home’s worth of evidence and get nowhere. It’s too outrageous. I’d be laughed out before I got further than two sentences.

Langley lets his feet carry him from one light-switch to another, steadily illuminating the dark corners of his home. He imagines the appearance of light as sparking synapses in a great brain; a living thing slowly roused into consciousness. Then we leave out anything supernatural and focus on the killings – how can I prove Matthews is the Muralist?

The blood drive would be an easy enough place to start – disprove Matthews’ claims that the donations were being put towards humanitarian rather than personal issues. Get him for housing illegal immigrants, at that, and the subsequent investigation would likely unveil similar pieces of incriminating material such as had been discovered during Langley’s extra-legal search. I could get Matthews arrested on all three crimes, put him away along with the nephew and the two kids. Shortly after, no doubt, there would be some irregularities noted with this ‘Eli’ and the wolf boy. Exposure.

The last light is turned on, illuminating the front porch. Langley contemplates the layer of frost covering the viewing window and goes to retrieve his shoes and a jacket. Stepping out into the night, he breathes in the frosty morning air and tastes the coming of winter on his tongue. The sun had yet to rise, and looking into the deep darkness he is suddenly seized by a deep paranoia – there could be a vampire waiting for him out in all that cold. He wanted to laugh at the thought, but the mirth dies in his throat.

Quit stalling and get out there. Langley grits his teeth and forces himself down the porch steps, walking until he is at the center of the grass field surrounding his home. Once arrived, he finds some of his anxiousness has departed. As if the distance from safety had removed any concern about proximity to danger.

Expose Matthews, obtain justice for the murders. Save several potential future victims when the blood drive scheme inevitably ran dry. All it required was a few small steps on his part. Except…

Except…part of him – an annoyingly large part – wanted to learn more. For the first time since Vanessa’s passing, Langley found himself anticipating the coming of the next day – or night, as was the case. In the light of this case he had rediscovered passion, presence, and purpose that had been long-absent from his aimless days working, hunting, and existing. I want more. I don’t want to go back.

There were too many questions left unanswered: questions that, if the rest of the world got involved, Langley may never have the satisfaction of asking personally. Why put the bodies on display? What kind of vampire was this child, this ‘Eli’? What kind of werewolf was Levi Matthews? Were there others like them?

…Was there really a life beyond death, after all?

No. Langley resolved, watching his house through eyes that witnessed only a boat of light sailing on a sea of fog. The beginnings of a plan percolated the smoggy hot-house that was his brain. I can’t let this go. Not yet. I have to know. He had to know if, beyond the veil of death, his beloved was still waiting for him.

And if that veil could be pierced.

∆

CARMEN

Carmen examined herself in the mirror. Turned slightly to the left, then to the right, taking in the angles. “I like it,” she declared, glancing at the other mirrored reflection expectantly.

Carmen’s mother crossed her thin arms, a shorter, brown-eyed copy of her daughter with a brow creased from half a lifetime of frowns – one of which was being worn at the moment. “I like the look of it, but I still think we should’ve gone a size smaller. It looks a little puffy on you.”

“This was the only one of its kind they had left, remember? Anything smaller would’ve had to have been something different. And I like this one.”

“Alright…” replied her mother dubiously. Carmen resisted a sigh – always just a little too concerned with the little things, her mother. She wondered if the attitude of worry was something that simply grew with you as you aged. It hardly seemed fun, living like that.

She put her costume away, then joined her mother in preparing for their weekly visit to St. Peter’s. Carmen’s father would not be joining them – much to the displeasure of her mother – this time, still sleeping off a night out drinking with some friends from work. The young woman had left a glass of water by his bedside and given him a fond pat on the head, wishing that he could learn a little moderation but knowing it was unlikely. Everyone grew into their ways over time. Once they finished growing, it took a miracle or a sledgehammer to break that mold into a new shape again.

But one should never give up on their family.

They attended Mass, this time with what seemed to be half the population of Waynesboro – the good word appeared to be spreading. Carmen recalled this to be a familiar phenomenon in her town, where the faithful grew just a little bit more numerous before Halloween night. An old wave of superstition, like knocking on wood or the stigmatization of the number thirteen. Of course, it helped that in the past month there had been a series of disappearances in nearby towns and cities. Halloween was an opportune time for more kinds of night-walkers than children seeking candy, and parents were, if not nervous, a little more alert to the unusual than they might otherwise be.

As she followed the rest of the congregation through the rituals and routines, Carmen’s eyes would shift occasionally from her scripture to the two boys in the front-most row, closest to the pew. Oscar, who she knew to be Milton’s nephew on his sister’s side, with his Matthews-tradition black hair and blue eyes that held an edge of seriousness to them she couldn’t ignore.

And, of course, there was Levi – his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen him, grown down past his ears and messily jutting in all directions. He looked…scruffy. That was the word. Like a dog that had run away for several weeks and abruptly returned home smelling of pinewood and squirrel meat. She averted her gaze when Oscar caught notice of her and said something to Levi, who began to turn his head to look.

Later, while her mother approached Milton to submit her own donation of blood to the pastor’s cause, Carmen found her nerve and caught up with the two boys as they prepared to leave the church, calling for them to wait up. Oscar regarded her with curiosity, while Levi appeared guarded, as if expecting an assault.

She tried not to dwell too much on the fact that it was him who had assaulted her in their last encounter. Bitterness was the last refuge of the weak. I’m not weak. She repeated to herself with conviction.

“Carmen…” Levi grunted neutrally, his eyes clouded and shoulders set.

“Hello, Levi. And Oscar, am I right?” I’m Carmen. Pleasure to meet you, She smiled at the boy, who smiled prettily back and nodded. He had an open face – Carmen decided she liked him. “Do you have a minute?”

Levi mulled for a moment, then nodded. “Follow me. Oscar, you can head home if you don’t want to wait up for me. I won’t be long.”

Oscar shook his head mutely, gesturing to the exit door and leaning to the side of it. Levi smiled. “Alright. Like I said, I’ll try not to be long.”

His smile melted as he refocused on her. “This needs privacy?”

Carmen nodded. “Yes.”

“Okay.”

With most of the congregation lingering in St. Peter’s to either donate or socialize (or both), there was little room for privacy in the publicly available halls. She’d suggested going a few steps down into the basement level where they wouldn’t be overheard or distracted, but Levi had shot that idea down rather hurriedly. Instead they took charge of a confessional booth – her dubious look earned only a shrug in reply – with Levi taking the side reserved for priests.

Inside the box, Carmen felt sequestered, yet safe – they would not be overheard here and the setting oddly supplemented her confidence. Clearing her throat, she decided to lead in with some levity. “Your hair looks terrible. Did a pair of clippers insult your ancestors recently? I almost mistook you for a wildebeest.”

She heard a small, dry scoff. “It just grows fast, is all. Didn’t feel like keeping it down this month.”

“It fits good on you. Manly-looking.”

“Oh. Well…thanks,” A note of hesitation. “What did you need to talk about, Carmen? If it’s about last time, I’m…”

“I know you’re sorry.”

“Oh,” Another pause. “Then…what is it you wanted to say?”

The moment of truth… “I wanted to say…that I’m sorry.”

“…You’re sorry? For what?”

“For – “ Carmen swallows. “For not…being there for you, these last two years. Since your father died.”

There is a long, heavy silence, and Carmen prays she doesn’t hear the opposite confessional door open. No such sound comes. Instead, Levi replies: “You were there for me. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“No.”

“No?”

“It’s…different. I was just around. Usually whether you wanted me to be or not,” she notes dryly.

“Sorry.”

“I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Levi. It’s just how it was. No point hiding from it.”

“Alright. But what do you mean you were ‘around?’”

Carmen looks down at her hands, grateful for the barrier between them. Without seeing his face, being exposed herself, she felt more confident than she had in their last encounter. For once, being separated was giving her – and perhaps him – a benefit. “I know I tried to make you feel better. Did all the things you’re supposed to do for a friend. Writing cards, attending the funeral, smothering you with as much ‘support’ and ‘understanding’ as I could. And I don’t think it was totally wrong to try that way, at least at first.”

She squeezes her hands into fists. Inhales. “But it didn’t really help, did it? You never got better.”

Levi is silent.

“I thought that if you had enough time, maybe you’d start to heal and…be yourself again. That’s how the grief process is supposed to work. You hurt, you heal, you move on. I knew you were hurting, and I thought I was healing you. But instead it…” she pauses. “It seemed like the closer I tried to get to you, the more I pushed you away.”

The silence drags on, and for the first time Carmen wished there wasn’t a barrier between them so that she could see his face. Read his reactions. But she suppressed that urge – she knew better, now. Levi was all about what was said, not what was seen. And besides, she was not here to dissect him, knowingly or otherwise. His sharp rebuke at the playground had taught her as much. If he wasn’t saying anything nor leaving, it meant he was listening. That would have to be enough.

“And the further the distance grew, the more I started to lose hope. Thinking you’d never recover, worrying that if I didn’t do something you were just going to…fade away, I guess. I wanted to save you.”

“What’s so wrong about that?” He asked her lowly, and she imagined him leaned forward, head tilted in that strangely endearing way as though he were a puzzled puppy.

“You’re not someone I need to save to feel good about myself. You’re not my thesis paper,” she laughs disparagingly. “It’s no wonder you kept your distance from me. All I ever wanted to talk about were the serious things. The ugly things. You wanted to forget, but every time I saw you I’d peel back whatever bandage you’d put over the wound. Just trying to help, but…making things harder. I should’ve stopped trying to fix you and just accepted you. So…that’s why I wanted to talk today. Someone I met recently told me…not to give up on the people you care about. Your family. And...you…you’re my family, Levi. You always will be.”

Carmen waited, listening. She thought she heard the creaking of wood and closed her eyes, waiting for the rush of defeat that came with the sound of the booth door closing. But the sound never came. Instead, the thin mesh window between the two halves of the booth pushed forward slightly into the imprint of a hand. She placed her own against it. Waited.

“You’re my family too, Carmen. And you’ve always been important to me, even when I didn’t…know how to accept it. I’m so sorry for how I’ve treated you. And I’m sorry that you felt like…like you did something wrong for trying to help. You didn’t. What’s going on with me is…just…”

Levi sighs. “It’s a long story. And it’s not going to make sense, a lot of it. But I’m tired of hiding it from you. I’m tired of…not being allowed to heal. I need you.”

A long pause. “It’s not your fault that I couldn’t move on. It’s not your fault I pushed you away. Maybe I made you think that, but it’s just not true. There are things with me that I can’t…can’t explain right now. I don’t think I could get through it all if I tried. But…soon, I will. I promise. Because…I want my best friend back. If she can forgive me.”

Carmen blinks, and the tears she’d been holding back slide down her cheeks in warm, wet trails. She sniffles. “I already have. Even if it was just you and me left in the world, I’d always forgive you.”

She didn’t need to see his face to know that behind that privacy wall, Levi was smiling.

∆

OSKAR

“What did she want to talk about?” Oskar asked as they left the church, stepping with squinted eyes into the bright October mid-afternoon. The air was cool, clean, and had the faintest tinge of a deeper chill to it that Oskar had missed. Once upon a time, summers were his favorite season of the year – mainly for the freedom from school, from Jonny and all the day-to-day torments. But no longer. Now it was the night that he belonged to. He and all his friends.

“Just…clearing the air of some things,” Levi replied, attempting to downplay the event. His mouth seemed incapable of quitting a smile, though.

Oskar recognized that look. It was the face Eli got sometimes, when he was happy in that strange, almost reflective way. Nostalgic. Oskar knew very little of what Levi’s social life entailed prior to their meeting, but he’d assumed that Levi had been friendless for some time. Clearly, though, this girl was an old friend of some sort.

“You two seemed like you knew each other,” Oskar remarked as they walked the street, zipping his jacket closed as the wind picked up a sharp breeze and hurled it their way. He was distinctly thankful Levi had showered before they came – such a stink in clean air would be less than enjoyable. “Is she your friend?”

Levi nods. Clicks his tongue. Nods again, slower. “My first friend. We’ve known each other pretty much our whole lives.”

“You never mentioned her before now. Did something happen? Oh,” Oskar pauses as he realizes he has answered his question by voicing it. “Your sickness.”

“Right…” The older boy seems comfortable, more relaxed than Oskar had come to expect when conversation strayed into this topic. He breathed deeply and smoothly without sign of agitation. “When Uncle and I realized what was going on, I had to break things off with everybody, including her. Anyone who got too close could’ve exposed what was going on with me or gotten hurt. I had to push her away.”

They stopped in at a local store and picked up a few bars of chocolate, chewing them as they aimlessly wandered through the town streets. A few people said hello, they waved back politely. It was nice to feel part of a community instead of outside of one, in Oskar’s opinion. He rolled his tongue over his teeth to clear the last bits of chocolate. American chocolate tasted weird. Oskar stops walking when he realizes Levi has done the same, the two of them watching traffic roll by as they wait for the crosswalk light to illuminate.

“What changed your mind?” Oskar asked curiously, now that they were alone again.

Levi runs a hand through his shaggy hair, looks askance at him. “Someone…managed to slip in. And I realized that maybe I don’t have to push everyone away after all.”

Oskar squinted at him. Were his cheeks darkening? They were. Levi was…

“You’re actually embarrassed,” Oskar jeered, laughing at Levi’s stricken look. “You’re blushing!”

“I am not blushing.”

“You are,” Oskar cackled, his sudden mirth warming his face. “You really do care after all. You just act tough. Like a tiny puppy that thinks it’s big.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Instead of going home, they picked one of Oskar’s old jogging routes and walked along the path, starting from the old apartment complex in which he had stayed in the months before the Matthews. They talked more about Carmen, her relationship with Levi, his complicated feelings toward her. Complicated being Levi’s choice of words. To Oskar it was pretty simple: he loved her and she loved him. Anything else was just white noise.

“So you’re going to tell her everything?”

They cross through a bridge built over a small pond. Levi crumples up his chocolate wrapper and tosses it into the waters. Oskar follows suit.

“I want to,” the wolf-boy admits, leaning against the bridge railing and crossing his arms. “But I know it’s not really just my secret to tell anymore.”

Oskar finds himself uncertain of what to say. He cannot deny that the notion of Levi opening up to someone else made him feel excited, and also proud. But there was the undeniable risk of exposure that came with introducing someone into the circle. The more people who kept a thing secret, the less likely it became that thing would stay secret.

And if their secret leaked, people would die.

Oskar bites his bottom lip. “We…should talk about this, later. All of us. I want to say yes, but…you know…”

“No, no. I get it,” Levi shrugs, clearly unsurprised but deflated nonetheless by his reluctance. “It’d just…be good for everyone, I think. One more person to help. Carmen wants to go into social work. She’s a good person.”

“I believe you. But we have to minimize potential risks. Be careful.”

“Like one of your crime documentaries.”

Oskar nods. “Ja.”

Levi clicks his teeth together, pushing himself up from the railing. “That makes sense. Tonight, then.”

They walk further along the park-way, stopping occasionally to take in the scenery or for Levi to point out some local trivia. They pass by a park bench, and Oskar finds his eyes drawn to the tiny construct, legs slowing their pace. Levi looks back. “Something wrong?”

“This is where I first met you.”

Levi tilts his head. “It is?”

“You don’t remember?”

Levi shakes his head.

“We used the same trail for running. You’d pass me by sometimes. One day I saw you here and offered some money – I thought you were homeless. You wouldn’t say much. I didn’t even get your name.”

“Oh…” Levi walks over to the bench, touching it carefully as one might a piece of hot metal. “I was…sleeping on here, wasn’t I?”

“Ja.”

“And…what was it you said,” Levi snaps his fingers, trying to recall. “’I can take care of myself, anyway. I’m used to trouble.’ You were having a laugh, then, weren’t you?”

Oskar’s lips twitch. “Maybe a little.”

“And like you said, I got your name. You didn’t get mine…” Levi frowns and looks down. Looks back up. A hand is extended forward. “I’m Levi Anthony Matthews.”

Oskar blinks, takes the hand tentatively. “Oskar Eriksson.”

They shake hands, and Levi winks. “Nice to meet you for the first time – again.”

∆

MILTON
October 31st

Milton walked lightly in the fading warmth of the setting sun, leaves crunching beneath his boots and wind caressing his face. He clears the chamber of his shotgun and turns the safety on, crouching down beside the shuddering form of his kill – a wild boar, eyes resigned, legs twitching. With a sigh, the man draws his knife and presses it against the beast’s neck, pushing so that the blade slides in to the hilt and the beast breathes no more.

Withdrawing the knife, he cleans it with the edge of his shirt and calls over the rest of his entourage. They creep forth from the trees in a wide line, the two adults loud and noisy compared to the feather-light steps of the child between them, whose wide green eyes are fixed on the body of the boar.

“Nice shot,” Jacob compliments, patting his six-year-old son reassuringly. Levi leans into the touch, fearful to leave his father’s side. “Is it dead?”

Milton nods. “Dead enough.”

“Don’t think we’ve ever had boar before,” Maribeth remarks, stepping forward to touch the tip of the beast’s tusk. “He was a big one. Probably more than two hundred pounds here, at least.” She turns her head, blonde hair trailing with the motion, and smiles at her nephew. “Levi, come a little closer. He won’t hurt you.”

The boy shakes his head. “Uh-uh.”

“Does he scare you?”

Levi shakes his head once more, prompting a sigh from his aunt. She gestures to Jacob. “I told you, boy’s not a hunter. This is just frightening him.”

“Come on, Levi…” Jacob gently nudges the boy. “Hunting’s a family tradition. You’ve got to get used to this, okay?”

Milton watches as Levi’s eyes flick between his father, his aunt, Milton himself, and then back to the boar. His shoulder sag and he shakes his head again. Jacob sighs, looking to his brother beseechingly. Milton rolls his eyes. Fine. “Why don’t you both go get the Jeep and bring it in closer so we don’t have to haul this thing two miles? Levi and I can sit watch.”

Taking the signal, the two elders depart into the encroaching dark, leaving the young ones to their task. Levi kicks at the ground and says nothing, tiny green eyes pointedly looking in any direction that isn’t in front of him.

Milton sits and begins rifling through his small pack, withdrawing a pair of wrapped tuna sandwiches and setting one next to the boar, just beside its snout. He goes to work on his own meal, chewing loudly and waiting patiently. The boy’s eyes flit over, just for a moment, and Milton can see that hunger has already begun to override whatever reservations were troubling the youth’s mind.

Approaching tentatively, as a stray might approach a handful of meat, Levi steps closer, bending down to pick up his sandwich. He holds it in both hands, frowning as he stares down at the animal at his feet.

“…” The child sighs. “It looks so sad.”

Milton raises an eyebrow, and takes a look for himself - the boar didn’t look to be experiencing much of any emotion to him. “Dead things aren’t sad. They aren’t anything. If it looks sad, it’s because the person looking is sad.” Brushing crumbs from his jacket, Milton folds his hands in his lap and leans against the animal carcass, watching his nephew as he lights a cigarette. “Why are you sad?”

Levi’s lip quivers pathetically. “It was so pretty…”

“You’re sad because it was pretty?”

“No…” the boy’s shoulders twitch. “It didn’t have to die. Why did you kill it?”

“Because…” Milton shrugs indifferently. “Because people like to destroy things that are beautiful to make up for what’s ugly inside them.”

Levi is silent. Milton inhales a breath of smoke, then exhales in a small cloud. “Your father wants you to like this.”

“I know.”

“He’ll be disappointed if you don’t.”

“I know…”

Milton flicks his cigarette away. “Look, Levi. We all have to do things we don’t like for people we love. That’s what family is. You love your father, don’t you?”

The boy nods quickly.

“Then toughen up. Get used to it. The world likes to steal time away when you aren’t looking – moments like this, time you should be spending enjoying yourself with him, they’ll be gone quicker than you think. Wasting opportunities to bond will only leave you with regret later. He does a lot for you. Can’t you do this one thing for him?”

Levi looks down, ashamed. Milton sighs, contemplates reaching a hand out to the boy. Doesn’t. “I don’t like doing this either. I think it’s a waste of life and a waste of time. But it makes your aunt happy and it makes your dad happy. So I grit my teeth and do what I have to. This boar was going to die someday no matter what I did. But dying here, now, serves a purpose. It makes for a memory that is worth more than gold.”

He exhales another drag from his cigarette. “Someday, these memories will be all you’ll have left of anyone here.”

- - - - - - -

Milton awoke to cold feet and the slightest twinge of discomfort in his lower back. He lay there in bed for a time, counting the cracks in the plaster of his room ceiling as had become his habit. It was a calming distraction, slowing his racing mind as the last vestiges of the dream – the memory – steadily returned from reality to history. Then, he slid out from underneath his blankets and padded down to the kitchen in his slippers, stepping softly past Levi’s bedroom so as not to disturb his nephew’s rest. Rare were the nights that the boy was able to sleep restfully with the waxing of the moon so nigh.

Once downstairs, he began a pot of coffee and stuck his hands into his robe pockets, shivering slightly. A quick look at the thermostat beside the kitchen sink read the temperature as just a few degrees above zero Celsius. Samhain’s gift.

Growing uncomfortable at the unusual silence of the house, still an hour before either Oskar or Levi could be expected to wake, Milton turned on the kitchen radio and shifted to a music station, the tunes of Louis Armstrong’s ‘Kiss to Build a Dream On.’ The man’s throaty tones accompanied the pastor as he sipped from his mug, the dark liquid’s warmth travelling down his throat and spreading throughout his veins.

‘There is no greater woe than in misery to remember the happy time.’ That’s what Dante wrote, wasn’t it? Long indeed had been the days since Milton had ever recalled the days of his halcyon youth with anything but bitter regret. The dream had only returned those feelings to him. I should call Maribeth. It’s been…two years, hasn’t it? Nearly three now.

The thought sent an electric jolt of nervous panic down his spine. Three years. That couldn’t be right. He tried to recall the last time he had spoken to his younger sister – Jacob’s funeral, wasn’t it? No. He had seen her, but not spoken to her. Before, then. It had been…three months before the funeral. He’d called her to ask about…something. And that had been it.

I’ll call her tonight. He resolved. Before the kids go out. Before feeding Elias. It’s been too long.

That reminded him – he needed to go down into the cellar, which he had more often than not considered to be "Elias’ den" of late, to adjust the furnace. Levi may not mind the chill and in fact seemed more at ease in winter given his high body temperature, but Milton was merely an old man and Oskar a young boy. How Elias dealt with the cold, the pastor couldn’t guess, but he suspected there would be little problem one way or another with the vampire’s attitude toward the climate.

Milton strode to the cellar door – it opened with a slight creak of old hinges – peering into the dark depths. He flicked on the lights and stepped down the stone steps, the house’s chill growing thicker and heavier with every inch of descent. He passed by Elias’ unconventional sleeping unit, pausing to run a hand over the cover of the barrel. He had considered feeding Elias this very morning, using the same method they had relied upon for the transference of donated blood. However, he decided it would be safest if the boy was fed at the very last moment before leaving the house.

After adjusting the furnace, Milton returned to the kitchen to pour another pot of coffee and was surprised to see Oskar waiting for him, blearily rubbing his eyes and yawning as he sipped his own cup. “Oskar – you’re up early.”

“I couldn’t stay asleep. Anxious, I guess,” the boy offered a shrug and a mild smile.

“Anything on your mind?”

Oskar shook his head. “Maybe. It’s more like…a feeling, I guess. Like everything’s about to change.”

“Tonight’s a big deal,” Milton reflected, smiling wonderingly and looking down. “Not just Halloween, but Carmen as well. Was Elias still on the fence when you spoke to him last night?”

“On the fence?”

“Uncertain.”

“Oh,” Oskar nods. “He’s not sure about the risk. But he said he’s willing to go along as long as you’re certain she can be trusted.” The unspoken question from the boy, of course, was: ‘Can she?’

“She can be. If I’m being honest, I’m nervous about opening up this secret as well. But maybe these are the steps we have to take: someday very soon, the blood drive will not be an option anymore. And when that time comes, we’ll need as many trusted people with us as we can to keep up Elias’ feeding or find a new way to get him what he needs.”

“Right…” Oskar looked uncomfortable with the thought, not that Milton blamed him. It was an inevitably that had hung heavier and heavier with each passing week of donations. Eventually, the goodwill of the congregation would run dry – and Milton only had enough blood in him to safely feed Elias once in a six-week period. They needed to obtain alternative sources of blood, or beyond that recruit enough people into their circle to feed the vampire on a rotating basis.

All of this, he knew. But the merits of compassion outweighed the merits of honesty. He put a hand on Oskar’s shoulder and patted him reassuringly. “Don’t worry. I have a plan. We’ll make it, okay?”

Oskar nodded, lips upturned. “Okay.”

Milton smiled, and flicked a lock of the boy’s dark hair. “You know, I had a thought. We’ve had you here long enough that most everyone here is convinced you’re my nephew now. I think we can get away with taking that dye gunk out of your hair and letting your natural color out again. Call it part of your Halloween costume.”

“That…” Oskar blinks, then brightens. “That’d be great! Can we do it this afternoon?”

“We can do it now, if you like. Give our two boys a surprise when they wake up and see you. What do you say?”

“Ja!”

- - - - - - -

Milton retrieved a spare sheet from his bedroom closet and spread it over his bathroom floor, as well as a chair for Oskar to sit in with his back to the sink. “Lean your head back over the bowl,” he instructed as he prepared a mixture to fade the dye they’d been applying to color the boy’s hair. Oskar complied, whistling a tune to himself as Milton stood over him with a bottle of white vinegar. He wetted the boy’s hair with water from the sink, then applied a smattering of vinegar and worked it into the scalp until it was satisfactory. Then he handed over a shower cap: “It has to sit for a bit. Put this on for about fifteen minutes.”

Oskar snickered when he saw himself in the mirror. “This makes me look slow,” he chirped, rolling his eyes and making a dopey face. Milton swatted him lightly on the head. They played several rounds of cards while they waited for the mixture to complete its work, then Milton removed the cap and told the young teen to shower his head.

When the boy returned to him, Milton was pleased: the concoction had indeed removed the majority of the dye from Oskar’s scalp, albeit imperfectly. A few strands of black still remained mixed in with the blonde crop which was a shade or two darker than its original blonde, but otherwise the hair had been restored to its original appearance.

Milton handed him a mirror. “What do you think?”

Oskar examined his reflection, slowly adjusting the angle of the mirror to peer at one side and then the other. He looked…confused.

“Is something wrong?”

Oskar shook his head and returned the mirror. “I’ve just gotten used to seeing myself with black hair. The old me seems like a stranger now.”

Milton blinked, and was startled by the empathy he felt for the child in that moment. To have to hide so much of yourself – your true name, home, your very appearance, just to live in any kind of safety…even he could not claim to have sacrificed that much in the name of secrecy. “Well, we’ll keep it like this for the next month or two then. Maybe make the change permanent, say you ended up liking the blonde look.”

Oskar smiled. “I’d like that.”

“Nobody’s own face should be a stranger,” Milton replied. “We were made in the image of God. To forget your face is to forget the reflection of His light.”

“Is that in the Bible?”

“No – it’s just what I believe.”

“That’s a little surprising.”

“Oh?”

Oskar moved his weight from one foot to the other, considering his words. “Sometimes it seems like you don’t believe in God, even though it’s your job and you say the things people would expect you to say. That’s all.”

Milton can’t help it – he laughs. “Here, sit with me a moment,” he pats a spot on his bedside, and when Oskar sits he folds his hands in his lap. “Have you ever heard of the Korean War?”

Oskar shakes his head. The pastor shrugs. “Well, that’s not too surprising. Most kids your age haven’t – hell, a lot of adults my age haven’t,” he scoffs sardonically. “People like to call it a forgotten war, because that’s what it was. The details don’t matter too much – what matters is, I was part of a deployment sent there by our – sorry, by the American government, back in the 50s. I joined up, I guess, because I didn’t know what else I could be good for.”

Milton exhales softly, tapping his fingers against his legs. “My father wasn’t around much. He came by, once or twice a year. Called a few times. Mostly when he was drunk and at the end of the rope he eventually hung himself with.” Milton paused to see how Oskar took it – the boy showed no signs of wanting him to stop, uncomfortable though the subject was. He decided to trust his listener to tell him when enough was enough. “After my father finally passed, after Korea, that’s when I tried to find religion. All the meanness was beat out of me by then and I was just looking for a little purpose in my life. And, truth be told, I think I was looking for reassurance too.”

The older man gazed at Oskar seriously. “I would never dismiss the things you’ve been through. The things you’ve seen and had to do. I can only say that you’re young, yet. Life likes to save its worst surprises for when you’re too old to heal the way you used to.”

Oskar nodded once, tentatively.

“God was a good fit for me. I wanted to believe, and I wanted others to believe too. I started the church and spread my wings as far as they’d go. Being a Catholic already fit with my worldview a little bit anyhow. It filled a bit of the hole inside where something had been…chiseled out of me. Then…” Milton closes his eyes. “Levi’s father passed. And it was because of me – because I failed him, when he needed me most. And because of that failure and its consequences…I just couldn’t believe anymore. But I couldn’t just leave the church; I had responsibilities by then. My congregation. Levi, barely older than you and without his father. I couldn’t stop but I couldn’t believe like I wanted to. So I went through the motions. Pretended. And I kept on pretending for the next two years…until we found you.”

“Me,” Oskar frowns, uncomprehending. “Why me? I didn’t even know much about religion before I met you.”

“It wasn’t about what you knew. It’s about what you believed. You looked me dead in the eye and told me that you were best friends with a vampire – a vampire, of all things! You’d given up everything you had because you saw the little light inside that boy and took it upon yourself to shelter it, in spite of all the ugliness his affliction had left him with. You believed people could still be worth caring for, even if they did ugly things.” Milton smiles and looks away, voice growing a touch hoarse. “The thought hadn’t occurred to me for a while.”

“Even after Mister Newberrie?”

“That was the start of it, actually. Coming to terms with it all, what it meant to house and shelter you both after that. It made me question myself for the first time whether I had been wrong from the very beginning about God, about faith. Good and evil. But I kept playing it back…when you kissed Elias,” Milton chuckles lowly. “Son, I’ve made too many questionable romantic choices to judge you, but that spooked me something fierce. He was – looked like – a monster. Drenched in innocent blood.” He looked at Oskar earnestly. “But you kissed and held him as if he were the most precious thing in the world to you. Because he was.”

Oskar shifts a little, but says nothing.

“And I just couldn’t wrap my head around it – how you could see him, all of him, and still love what you could. You still hoped things could be better somehow. And I thought…what the hell kind of man am I if a child can do what I can’t; to have faith when it’s hard, not just when it’s easy. It took a couple of blood drives for it to really sink in – that even though I’d failed to save the life of one of my own, by protecting you two I was protecting more lives than I ever had before. And I think…I think that maybe we were meant to find each other, at this time in our lives. Maybe that was God.”

“Maybe?”

“Well,” Milton rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “I’m still not sure. But I don’t need certainty – I just have to hope.” He pats the boy on the shoulder fondly. “So…thank you, for that. You helped me remember what it’s like.”

Oskar smiles back shyly, cheeks red. He echoes the words back: “Remember?”

Milton smiles with light in his eyes. “What it’s like to look in the mirror…and not see a stranger.”

- - - - - - -

Afternoon passed slowly for Milton, whittled away with ensuring his Halloween decorations were in proper placement, readying freshly gutted and carved pumpkin heads to be lit and placed on the front porch, preparing bags of sugary confections for the children and teens of Waynesboro to dine on. His ‘costume’ as such had already been adorned: he was Frankenstein’s misbegotten creature, with bolts on either side of his head and a deathly gray pallor to the skin of his face, neck, and hands.

With the sun nearly set, he checked on the boys: Oskar, rather terrifying in a monster-clown get-up complete with a yellow ball on his nose, was showing off his newly acquired hunting knife that Milton had given him as a prop for his appearance, at the child’s request. If he could be trusted to shoot targets with a firearm, there was little worry in the pastor’s eyes that Oskar could be trusted not to shank anyone who didn’t dearly deserve it.

Then there was Levi, dressed in clothes deliberately tattered and then professionally stitched back together with tufts of fur between – and Elias, dressed in a faux-tuxedo with a small red cape over his shoulders. The two of them had apparently come to this decision independently of Oskar, and decided to make their mutual afflictions, for this night at least, work to the benefit of their own merriment. Levi had allowed his nails to grow into claws, and occasionally growled in a deep rumble that Milton could feel in his bones. Elias, on the surface, revealed little – but he had mentioned his intent that he might show off his vampiric teeth on request if the mood struck him. He had tied his long hair into a small ponytail, his scalp showing strands of grey and his skin somehow paler and less porcelain than it typically was – as he appeared during the latest stages of his feeding schedule.

Milton looked at them all, sitting together in Levi’s room and talking, playing, like normal children. And in his heart, all he could find in himself to feel was…peace. Finally, you damned fossil. He thought. You finally did something right in your life.

“You boys ready?” They nodded. “Well, let’s get going then. Some people are already out and about, and the festival’s supposed to start about twenty minutes after dark.”

He leads the way back down to the first floor, taking a seat in his favorite chair facing the television, which quietly plays one of the many horror films being broadcast. “Y’know, it’s Halloween,” a policeman says to a young woman on the screen. “Guess everyone’s entitled to one good scare.”

Levi and Oskar lingered in the background while Elias brought forth the first-aid kit that, according to the boy himself, he had used on others in similar circumstances over the years. The knowledge that they were not foraging into totally unknown territory comforted Milton, but could not entirely douse the smoldering ember of knowledge that a vampire was about to drink his blood directly from the vein. “Just to be completely certain, there’s no risk of infection through this method. Yes?”

Elias nodded, withdrawing a small razor blade and alcohol patch. “Do you have a preference on which arm?”

“Eh. The left one.” That way he could at least still use his right hand to change channels, hand out candy, and dine on the food that Oskar and Levi had prepared for him to help his body recover.

Elias nods again and wipes the interior of Milton’s forearm to sterilize it, directly over a big blue vein that suddenly seemed to the pastor like a pipe ready to rupture and spill its contents. Spill them into the open mouth of a hungry vampire. The boy looks to his peers. “This should only take about a minute. If I don’t stop or I start biting down, I’ll need you to stop me. Don’t worry about hurting me. Just make me stop however you can.” He looks at Levi seriously. Levi nods.

Oskar steps to Milton’s right, and takes his hand. “We’re all right here with you.”

“Thanks, son,” Milton manages a half-smile and nods to Elias. “Ready.”

“Alright…” Elias presses the razor against the vein and quickly swipes to the left, provoking a sharp hiss and leaving Milton’s vision flashing red. He squeezes Oskar’s hand tightly as Elias leans in and presses his lips and tongue to the wound. There is a sensation of pressure in his forearm, and suddenly Milton can feel the rush of blood through his body intensify somehow – yet his heart remained steady. It was as if Elias’ mouth were the center of a vacuum, and all that was inside Milton Matthews was being drawn into that small and hungry void.

A terrible fear struck him, and he very nearly acted on a wild impulse to tear his arm away from the vampire’s mouth – the child’s mouth, he remembered, and the urge weakened. The child depending on you to keep him from ever taking a life again.

How long had it been? Twenty-seconds? Thirty? He didn’t know – all he knew was that he could feel himself steadily fading with every bob of Elias’ Adam’s apple. Eventually, Levi stepped forward and said: “Alright. That’s enough.”

Elias kept sucking.

“Elias,” Levi’s tone grow warning. Elias gave no sign of hearing him, and Milton once again began to grow afraid. The tension of the room reached close to bursting, as the three non-vampire occupants suddenly realized they may have to act on a very dangerous situation.

Then, Elias pulled away, teeth stained red and face suddenly as aglow with life as any the pastor had ever seen. He stared vacantly forward for a moment, then blinked, eyes returning to their normal shape and shade. “I’m sorry. It was…hard to stop, this time.” He quickly bandages over the cut made in Milton’s arm, the old man feeling as though he had just experienced all of basic Army in a single minute. He was bone-tired, sweaty, and more than a little dizzy.

“Was it enough…” he croaked after Levi brought a glass of orange juice to his lips.

Elias nodded. “Yes. I should be safe now,” the boy stares a moment, then gently takes Milton’s left hand. “Thank you…for all of this. I wish we could’ve met sooner.” Levi is spared a glance. “Both of you.”

Milton works up enough spit to moisten his dry mouth. “Make it worth my while, kid. Go on. Have fun.”

Everyone says their farewells and Levi leaves a dinner tray of food and drink for Milton to dine on while he recuperated. As Levi departs, Milton catches him by the wrist and pulls him in close. “I’m proud of you, Levi. Have a good time tonight, okay?”

Levi kisses his forehead in reply. “I will. I’ll be back later to check up on you, alright?”

“Alright…”

Levi vanishes from view, and Milton fixes his eyes on the television screen again. The film playing seemed familiar, somehow, though he could not place where he had seen it before. The room swiveled uncertainly as the front door clicked closed and left him to his thoughts. Milton slowly picked through his food and sipped at his juice. Felt his eyes begin to droop and restfulness close in on him.

His last thought – I forgot to phone Mari.

∆

ABRAHAM

Abraham was in good spirits. Wishing to be in his best state for the night’s festivities, he had fed from a kindly man who had picked him up along a road several miles outside of Waynesboro and then proceeded to drive the dead man’s vehicle to a secluded spot. There he lit the car aflame and watched as the corpse twitched, shivered, and finally came to rest as the dark gift within his veins burned out. Fire – the great destroyer and creator: the purest symbol of God.

Feeding so close to town would be reckless any other night. But now…now, it no longer mattered. He would not be staying much longer.

Shirt tied around his waist, Abraham stood bare-chested in the moonlight and smiled. Tonight would be a night to remember. Gabriel, can you see me? See how great I have grown.

Closing his eyes, the vampire allowed himself to become Other – and more – than a man and took to the skies with a flap of his powerful wings. Among the clouds, he soared with the grace and sharp-eyed focus of a nighthawk and wondered if any man living or dead could ever begin to appreciate the freedom he enjoyed.

No. No man. Only God above, lurking in the sky. I have not yet been struck down from your heavenly domain. May I take this as an invitation, oh Lord?

Abraham landed just outside the home of his quarry, among the branches of trees. He sat with his unnaturally light frame on a somewhat thick branch and thought himself back into the shape of a man, dressing his naked torso. Then he waited. In the house below he could hear the sounds of life, the moving of feet and the chatter of voices. It would not be long, now.

The girl left her home in the colors of red and blue, a strange yellow symbol over her chest and a red cape fluttering in the wind beneath a light jacket and over a pair of shorts thrown over her get-up in deference to the cold. Abraham, of course, paid little consideration to the weather – he was beyond such things. He followed her at a distance, amazed at the girl’s carelessness and the carelessness of those wandering the streets tonight – did they think that because today was a holiday that danger would simply wait until morning?

There was a reason man once feared the dark.

Much of the townsfolk were congregated closer to the center of the area, dressed in costumes and masks and knocking on doors. Where the girl went, however, was to the outskirts – on the path to his apartment. His…and Abigail’s. Abraham waited until there was no one in sight and fell upon her, teeth sinking into her shoulder as he snaked one hand around her neck and the other around her mouth. She screamed against his grip and tried to throw him off, but he held her easily as he would hold an errant child. Hush, now, my sweet. This pain is only a passing thing – you are simply changing. He struck her once on the back of the head and she went limp in his arms.

He could see why Abigail liked her. She tasted pretty.

∆

LANGLEY

Langley drove slowly into Waynesboro, gripping the steering wheel of his Buick with white-knuckled tension as he neared the Matthews household. He had sipped a bottle of whiskey on the way to the secluded town, leaving heavy and tinged with alcohol. Carefully, though, so that while his throat burned his mind remained clear with just enough liquid courage to force himself forward. He waved at a group of teenagers crossing the street in their costumes – they didn’t wave back. His windshield began to fog as his warm breath met the chill separated from him only by a pane of glass.

Damien, what the hell are you doing?

He parked across the road from Matthews’ home. The lights were on, jack-o-lanterns and ghouls posted appropriately throughout the front exterior of the home and in the yard. Somebody was home – but were all of them? It would’ve been better if he came earlier, had time to case the place. But he had only found his nerve at the last second and even now was dangerously close to losing it.

Langley reached into the glove compartment and retrieved his snub-nose revolver. Loaded it, then slid it into his jacket pocket. Then he withdrew a small white box from his pants pocket and lifted the lid, staring into the contents with a sense of impending destiny. Reached with two fingers and pinched the object within. Slid it onto his ring finger.

“Okay…” he breathed out slowly. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

∆

ABBY

Abby was brushing her hair when she heard the door to the apartment swing open, footsteps heavier than any she recognized striding confidently into the domain. She paused, then sniffed at the air, recognizing the scent. With a heavy exhale she replaced the brush into her trunk and dropped the lid, padding forth from the bathroom. He expected to greeted whenever he returned home and she was there, and would become…unpleasant, if ignored.

She froze in place when she saw what he had brought in with him.

Or, more accurately, who.

“You…” she gaped, watching as Abraham gently laid the girl to rest on their floor and folded her hands together. Horror flowered into anger, then blossomed into rage. “You bastard!” She howled, flesh darkening and hands stretching into claws. Abraham tried to speak but she threw herself at him with reckless abandon, tearing at him tooth and nail, reaching her claws up so she could sink them into his hateful eyes. He laughed and threw her easily off him, and she met the plaster of the wall with a sharp crack that left her numb below the waist. Growling, she attempted to crawl over to him, propelling herself with her strong arms, but he merely stepped out of the way.

The scent of blood was in the air, rousing the beast inside from its slumber. She had fed only two days ago, yet faced with the sight of Carmen lain out before her, vulnerable and bleeding all that delicious red…

No! Yes. Her fangs lengthened, and…

“No, no,” Abraham chided, grabbing her ankle and pulling her away from Carmen’s body. “None of that, now. She isn’t for eating.”

She thrashed and wiggled her torso, but he was stronger – as strong as an adult compared to a child – and easily held her back. Eventually her mind cleared and the beast retreated into its cage, knowing it could not indulge. The smell of blood was thinning.

Tears burned in her eyes. “Why…” she sobbed. “Why do you take everything away from me?”

“I haven’t taken, Abigail,” Abraham replied gently, kneeling beside her. “I have given her to you. She is yours now.”

“You bit her. She’s going to…going to…” Abby felt sick.

Abraham nodded with satisfaction. “Yes. She is going to become an angel, just like you.”

“Why?”

The vampire sighed. “I thought you would be more excited. Now you will have nothing to hide from her. Now she will never age, never die, never fear again. She is free.”

“You made her a slave,” Abby choked out through a tight throat, immobilized by pain. “Just like you did to me.”

Her sorrow was immeasurable, impossible to capture through mere words. The only construct that came close was the low moan of grief that rumbled in her chest and fell with her tears into the floor. She could feel sensation returning to her legs, but it mattered not – there was nowhere she could run, even if she wanted to.

Abraham frowns down at her and glances at Carmen. Back to Abby. He sighs again. “Come on, sit up,” he gently pulls the sniffling child up to her knees, squatting down beside her. He brushes the tears from her cheeks with a few deft swipes of his fingers and she cannot bring herself to recoil from the touch.

When she can find her voice again, she repeats her question. “Why did you do it?”

Abraham contemplates her question. Smiles. “I wanted to make you happy. I knew you cared for her – I wanted to show you how much I care for you.”

Abby’s words were flat. “You did this for me.”

“Yes.”

“I hate you.”

Abraham blinked. “What?”

“I never want to see you again. Go away.”

The vampire stood abruptly. Stepped back. “You are being irrational.”

Abby is silent.

“This was meant to be a gift to you. Why can’t you accept it?”

“Tomorrow I’m going to go watch a sunrise.”

Abraham stared at her for a long minute, radiating displeasure and something Abby might’ve considered within throwing distance of sadness. But when she looked at his face it was as blank and devoid of humanity as it had always been. He sneered. “Fine, then. I’ve tried to teach you. Shelter you. But it is clear I was mistaken when I chose you all those years ago. You’re not worth having as part of my family.”

“Family,” Abby smiled mirthlessly. “Family. You don’t know what family is. You killed my family.”

“Family is chosen, not born into.”

“Then I choose someone else.”

“Who?”

“Anyone. No one. As long as it’s not you.”

Abraham hissed, eyes narrowing into slits. Good – now she could see him as he was, instead of what he pretended to be. “If that is your decision, then so be it. I don’t need you.” His gaze drifted to Carmen, who was beginning to stir. “If life will be so terrible for Carmen, then it seems you only have one choice if you truly care about her.” He smiled emptily. “Just remember – it will have been you who stole her life. Not I.”

He left her there, and for the briefest instant Abby felt relief: the relief of a prisoner seeing the sun unfettered by boundaries. Freedom. But that relief died as she laid eyes on Carmen, who was now awake and pulling herself up sluggishly from the floor. She was wearing a Superman costume beneath her clothes…

“Abby,” she croaked, rubbing her shoulder. “Where are we? How did we get here?”

Abby swallowed and stared down at her feet. “Carmen…I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry? I don’t…” Carmen trailed off, saw the tears on Abby’s face. She came close and leaned in. “Are you okay? What happened?”

Abby shivered and leaned into the touch. “Carmen.”

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry.”

Abby leaned in and kissed Carmen, melded their lips into one. And she channeled all her feeling, all her affection and joy that she had ever felt for the girl into that kiss – painted a picture of splendor and grace in her mind and sent it through the channel between them. She could feel Carmen’s surprise, then elation, and reciprocation. And in that moment of connection Abby understood Carmen better than she had ever understood anyone.

And she understood what she had to do.

Pulling Carmen in closer with one arm, she clenched her opposite hand into a fist and drove it through the girl’s heart.

∆

MILTON

Laurie Strode was screaming for her life when someone rang his front doorbell. Milton blinked and looked at the time – he had been asleep for a little over an hour. He felt weak, cold and not at all in the mood to be receiving visitors. Then he recalled that it was Halloween and groaned. Of all the nights to have to give blood…

He rose unsteadily and hugged the wall as he moved toward the front door, grasping a handful of mini-chocolate bars from a bucket with a small pumpkin decal on the side. Breathing deeply, he waited until his vision steadied somewhat and then opened the door.

A grown man, undressed in any sort of costume, stood on his front porch. He had a nervous smile. “Trick or treat?” He asked with a self-aware glance at his own unremarkable attire. “I’m looking for a monster. It looks like I’ve found him.”

Milton swallowed thickly. “Do I know you?”

“Not really. We met once before, in your church. My name is Damien Langley.”

“Oh. Well I’m sorry, Damien, but I’m currently not in much shape for spiritual counsel.”

Damien stepped forward, feet just beyond the threshold of the house. “That’s okay. Neither am I. But I’d like to have a word with you nonetheless.”
“I…” Milton shook his head. He was growing faint again. “I’m sorry, but…another time.”

He moved to close the door, but Damien held it open with one hand. His face was grim. “There’s no time like the present, father. Not all of us can be immortal like your vampire friend.”

Milton froze, a chill creeping down his spine that had nothing to do with a lack of blood. “What did you say?”

Langley smiled. “We should talk.”

Milton stepped aside and allowed Damien inside, looking around cautiously for signs of any others waiting or watching before closing the door. Langley whistled as he examined the home’s interior. “Wow. It looks a lot nicer with the lights on,” He turned to Milton. “So…where are they?”

“Who?”

“Your fake niece, fake nephew, and presumably real nephew.”

“They’re…” Milton struggled to remember; Damien’s face was melting and shifting before his eyes. Focus. “They’re out trick-or-treating. It’s Halloween.”

The unannounced visitor seemed intrigued by that, scoffing lightly. “Really? That’s interesting. Can a vampire even eat candy?”

“It’s…” Milton swallowed – his tongue felt too heavy in his mouth, “It’s not…about the candy.”

Again, Langley scoffed. “I’ll have questions about that – later. Right now…well, let’s lay our cards on the table. Shall we?” He leaned against the wall opposite Milton, hands holstered in the pockets of his dark jacket. “I know a lot, father. I know about your niece. I know about your nephews. I know that of the three, one is werewolf and the other is a vampire of some kind. I know that your ‘blood drives’ are a front for feeding said vampire.” He stepped forward. “And I know you’ve killed to feed her before now.”

“I haven’t killed anyone,” Milton whispered, dropping the candy back into its bowl.

“Fredrick Newberrie would beg to differ.”

“That was…” Milton winced, looking away. “That was different. An accident.”

“Accident,” Langley echoed. “I see. Were the other deaths throughout the state accidents, too? Did you ‘accidentally’ murder four people and drain their bodies?”

Milton shook his head fiercely – then regretted it when his dizziness flipped the world around him. “I haven’t murdered anyone,” he repeated desperately.

Langley watched him for a moment. Frowned. “Then was it one of the others? Did you just help them hide the bodies? Or did you come up with the blood drive solution when you found out what they were doing?”

Milton closed his eyes. Langley sighed. “It doesn’t matter. So long as you give me what I want.”

“…What do you want,” the pastor asked warily.

“I want in.”

“In.” Milton echoed, brow furrowed.

Langley nodded, eyes darting around as if he expected an attack from all sides. “Yeah. In. I want to be part of whatever it is you have going on here.” Langley had mismatched eyes – and both of them were boring holes into the space occupied by Milton Matthews. “I won’t expose you, in return. You look like you’ve found a way to solve that feeding problem for vampires without killing anyone. That’s good. I can help make sure it stays that way.”

“So you can…be a vampire?”

Langley laughed. “No. No, I want someone else to be turned. Someone dear to me.”

Milton’s world was spinning. He was alone. There was a man in his house, hands in the pockets of his jacket with one of them most assuredly holding a gun. Laurie Strode was screaming in the background. He knew everything. He wanted Elias to make someone a vampire.

If I refuse…

“It’s a curse…” he warned, words low and raspy. “It’s not whatever you think it is. It’s an abomination.”

“So you say,” Langley shrugged. “But you seem quite happy to be living with a couple of abominations in your household, for a man of God. I think I’ll manage just fine.”

There came a knocking at the door. Milton’s blood ran cold – Levi, here to check on him. Had it been that long already?

“Go on, answer it.”

Milton complied – and his heart skipped a beat; it was not Levi, but Oskar who stood patiently before him. “Oskar? What are you doing here?”

The boy smiled self-deprecatingly. “I forgot the camera.”

“Oh…I see.” Milton swallowed, didn’t look back at Langley. “Well, olly olly oxen free then.” Oskar stiffened. “Come on in. You don’t want to miss out on the fun.”

Oskar walked in, noticed Langley. The older man waved cordially, and Oskar disappeared up the steps, watched by both men. Langley smiled. “Kids. I can see the appeal, I think. His costume’s neat.”

“How did you find us,” Milton asked quickly, not at all fond of Langley taking any sort of interest in talking about one of his wards. “Are you a cop?”

“I’m a profiler,” Langley replied, looking offended. “A detective – and a damn decent one. It’s what I do. But this is currently unofficial.”

“You’re not with the police, then…” Milton replied slowly, listening for the creaking up above – Oskar was in Milton’s room now. And judging by the sound, he was looking for something. Something that wasn’t a camera. If he stalled long enough, Oskar could hold Langley at gunpoint – and Milton could renegotiate the terms of their ‘deal.’

Just a little longer-

There came another knocking at the door. This time, Langley frowned. “…Answer it.”

Milton opened the door…and another familiar face greeted him on the other side. A face with a vacant smile. “Hello, Mister Matthews. May I…” His question trailed off as he noticed Langley standing behind Milton, head quirked to the side. His eyes narrowed. “I see you have company.”

“Yes, Abraham. I’m sorry, but – ”

“Not to worry, father. I’ll see our guest out.”

Abraham stepped past Milton and approached Langley slowly. The other man stepped back, glancing between Milton and the unexpected third party. “Another one of your friends, Milton?”

“I’d like to think so.” Abraham smiled threateningly – and in that smile were teeth.

Langley drew a revolver. But before he could fire Abraham was on him, knocking the gun aside and pinning the other man to the wall by the wrist. Langley punched him solidly in the face, but Abraham ignored the blow entirely as though it was irksome at best, staring into the other man’s eyes. “You’re the man the authorities brought to find me. I heard you left the case.”

Langley grunted, struggling against Abraham’s grip. “To find you?” He looked searchingly at Milton, then back to Abraham. “You’re the muralist?”

“I’m an artist, yes. Unfortunately, you are not the canvas I desire. You must be…” Abraham’s smile grew wider as his grip on his quarry’s throat tightened. “Discarded.”

Milton saw the teeth in that mouth grow sharper – inhuman, just like he had witnessed in Elias. The weakness in his knees left him rapidly in the wake of sudden adrenaline, the instinct to flee that nature had programmed all life to feel in the face of a predator. He saw that the gun Langley had brought rested at his feet. Picked it up.

With sharp clarity of thought brought about by adrenaline, Milton knew in that moment he had two choices: he could shoot Abraham in the back, empty the gun into his body and pray that vampiric resilience was less than that of a moon-crazed Levi. Langley, if he lived, would still have blackmail on Milton – moreso for the dead body in his house. And if his desire was fulfilled, a new vampire would soon replace the one Milton had slain.

Or…he could stand by and watch as the detective met a gruesome end. The act required nothing but his silence and submission. Then, when the deed was done, he could kill Abraham with several shots to the head. The police could be told his house had been broken into, that he acted in self-defense. No one need know what had truly occurred. His life, just begun again, could go on as it had. Levi would be safe. Oskar would be safe. Elias would be safe.

If he just did nothing.

Milton raised the revolver and squeezed the trigger, the space next to Langley’s head splashed with blood as a bullet tore through Abraham’s shoulder. The vampire hissed and dropped the unconscious detective, face twisted into something hellish as he turned and lunged for the pastor. Milton fired again.

If he hadn’t been at such close range. If he hadn’t been dizzy, disoriented from blood loss and trembling from adrenaline spiking through his veins. If he had practiced more in the years between his time in the service. If he wasn’t relying on one hand to fire.

If – then he would’ve struck Abraham through the eye and painted the walls with his brains.

Instead, he missed. And all that was struck was Abraham’s left ear, which separated in half from the vampire’s head. Milton was tackled to the floor and his only weapon ripped from his hands and broken. “That was rude, father Matthews.” Abraham’s slitted eyes flashed with cruel intent. “Now you’ll have to repay me.”

He opened his mouth wide and, without giving Milton time to process what was about to happen, sank his teeth into the old man’s shoulder.
It felt as though a jaw full of knives had been plunged into his flesh, acidic daggers that penetrated flesh and muscle, sweeping away thought with waves of pain. Milton could do nothing – his left arm was useless, and his right was held down as Abraham drained him. He could feel himself growing colder and thought: Is this what dying feels like?

There was an explosion of sound – and suddenly, Abraham slumped and his teeth left Milton’s shoulder with a wet sucking noise. Oskar stood at the stairway landing, shoulders raised and hands gripping a polished Ruger Redhawk that Milton knew all too well. Oskar stared with trembling hands at the body of the man he had just killed, then dropped the gun and ran over to Milton. “Milton! Milton! Are you okay?”

Milton could barely speak – his mind was growing dim. “Bleeding out…he bit me.”

The heartbreak in the child’s eyes was too much for the pastor to bear. He looked away and grunted. “Can you get him off me?”

Oskar nodded and strained his arms, crying out as he rolled the corpse off Milton’s prone form and exposed the vampire’s face. He scrabbled backward, slipping in the blood and falling over. “It’s him,” he muttered frantically, hyperventilating. “It’s him.”

“Him…” Milton forced himself up, examining the vampire’s corpse. Oskar’s bullet had torn through the spot where Abraham’s left lung would be – assuming vampires even had lungs. But then his eyes trailed up to the man’s face…and he recoiled.

The face that he saw was not the visage he had come to recognize as Abraham’s. It was wizened, with thin cheeks and flesh the color of wax. The toothy maw of a predator remained, and the hair atop his scalp had receded and turned grey. He looked nearly unrecognizable, if not for the hazel eyes that stared emptily forward.

“Who…is he?”

Oskar stared at the corpse, trembling. “Him. The man who changed Eli. He found us again.”

Abraham blinked and sluggishly began to rise. “That…hurt,” the vampire groaned, putting a hand over the exit wound in his chest. “Fortunately, you missed the parts that matter. Well…” he shrugged his shoulders. “Fortunate for me. Less so for you.”

“Run, Oskar!”

The boy froze, looking between Abraham, the stairs, and the helpless Milton. Again, Milton barked at him to flee. Finally, Oskar obeyed, disappearing up the steps – watched by Milton and the devil that had walked into his home. Abraham licked the blood leaking from his own lips. “There is no way out for him up there, you know.”

No, Milton thought. But there are guns and ammunition with your name on it.

Guns that…were in his cabinet. Which he had replaced the lock for. And the only one left outside of that cabinet, the Ruger, was still at the base of the stairs where Oskar had dropped it.

The cold in Milton’s bowels deepened. “No…”

“Yes,” The ‘s’ was dragged out of Abraham’s teeth in a low hiss. Staggering over to the pastor, he lifted him by the neck of his shirt as though he were a sack of cloth, and set the immobile man in his chair, kneeling beside him with a contemplative look. “I came here to say hello – and goodbye. The time for my family reunion has come.”

“What…” Milton’s eyes unfocused, and when they cleared again Abraham’s face had returned to its original – fake? – appearance. “What family?”

“Eli. And, of course, dear Oskar. I think I’ll grow quite fond of that boy in time.” The vampire tilted his head, thinking. “I suppose I ought to collect the other one – Levi. He is a bit of a curiosity to me.”

“Stay…away…from them.”

Abraham’s face was one of bemusement. “But it was you who told me, father, that one should never give up on oneself. Or their family.” He sighed, took Milton’s hand in his own, running a thumb fondly over it. Milton lacked the strength to pull away. “I had almost given up. I doubted myself. If not for you, I think I would’ve let them go. But God saw fit to provide you to show me the way again," he smiled, devoid of either malice or humor. “I’m indebted to you for that.”

“Oskar said…that you’re the one who hurt Elias.”

“Elias? Ah – you mean Eli. I made them into an angel.”

“You cut him.”

“In fairness, I cut myself as well. Angels don’t have genitalia. I thought it fitting,” Abraham shrugged. “Castration has been common practice for centuries. I merely took it a bit farther. Besides, Eli had no more use for it.”

The vampire sighed, and released Milton’s hand to cup his face. His eyes leered like pits of golden fire, in which burned the souls of all the innocents he had ever consumed in his campaign of terror. Milton couldn’t look away. “You’re dying,” the not-man remarked casually, as one might mention the state of the weather. “If I left you, you would perish. Upon that death, given time, you would rise again. But you would not be like Eli or myself. Your spirit will have fled while your body roamed without thought or desire beyond hunger. I doubt such a fate would be desirable to you.”

Milton managed to shake his head.

Abraham nodded. “I thought as much. I had hoped to give you a more peaceful passing from this world. But events have…spiraled, tonight, from my expectations. So my plans must be forced to adapt. Do not worry – when you pass from this world, I will ensure you do not return. You will meet your reward in the kingdom of God.” He cupped Milton’s face…and a new kind of dizziness came over the old man. “Now…there is a question I would like you ask you. A left-over from our previous conversation.”

Abraham leaned forward. “You gave up on someone, once. I can see that it weighs on you still. Who was it?”

“I…”

“Please,” another wave of dizziness. “Tell me.”

“My brother,” Milton’s mouth worked automatically, the words coming as if spoken by another. “Jacob. I’m the reason he died.”

“Ah…I see,” Abraham smiled sadly. “That is a tragedy. Brothers are irreplaceable, aren’t they? I had a brother, too, if you recall. Losing him…” the vampire looked away with distance in his eyes. “Hurt. But it prompted me to grow. I wonder if perhaps the same could be said of you.”

“Of course,” Abraham met Milton’s gaze once more. “I can see my brother whenever I wish. He lives in me. You, however, have only a grave to return to. That strikes me as unfair. If you could see your brother again, wouldn’t you want to?”

Milton exhaled shakily. He had lost too much blood to muster speech, even under the strange spell the vampire seemed to have him under. Laurie Strode was screaming again. There was gunfire coming from the television set. If only there were gunfire in reality.

“Let me see…” Abraham pressed his forehead to Milton’s – cold, so cold – and remained still for a moment, then pulled back. Milton felt as though something had been moved inside his skull. Rifled through. Abraham smiled beatifically. “Ah…now I understand. As a repayment for the kindness you’ve shown me and dear Eli, I will give your deepest prayer. God may have chosen to ignore it – I will not.”

Milton’s vision began to swim, then typhoon, turning deeper and darker until what he saw before him was no longer a man at all. It was a hungry humanoid, starved so thin the flesh may well be dark rubber pulled over a spindly skeleton. The eyes were blank white holes carved into the face of a man, with a head of antlers that reached to the ceiling and ribs that jutted out in white spikes from the torso. Blood dripped from the wendigo’s mouth, and Milton knew in that moment that it would never stop. The void within it would never be filled, and it would eat and eat and eat forever until there was no more left to consume in this world.

His vision cleared, one last time. And before him was no devil – but an angel, one he had thought lost to him forever. He reached out to stroke the angel’s face, to feel one more time a kinship he thought lost forever. Couldn’t create the strength to do so.

So he smiled, instead, and let that smile carry him into peace.

The television was still playing. “It was the Boogeyman," Laurie Strode whispered.

The doctor replied: “As a matter of fact, it was.”