The Traveling Vampire Show

To Bitsy, I explained, “My brother’s out of town for the weekend. We just want to drop in on Lee and make sure she’s okay.”

“Is something wrong?”

“A lot of weird stuff’s been going on today,” Slim said.

“Like what?”

“Come on, guys,” Rusty said, a pleading whine in his voice. “She tells. I don’t want my mom and dad knowing all my business.”

“I won’t tell,” Bitsy said.

“Bullshit,” Rusty said.

Slim stopped the car. Looking out the window, I saw that we were at the curb in front of Lee’s house. Her pickup truck was parked in the driveway.

The windows of her house were dark.

“Doesn’t look like she’s home,” Rusty said.

“I’ll go see.” I opened my door.

“I’m coming with you,” Rusty said, opening his.

“Me too,” said Bitsy.

Slim shrugged, shut off the engine and killed the headlights. Moments later, all four of us were walking toward the front door of Lee’s house.

“Did Lee go somewhere?” Rusty asked in a hushed voice.

“We don’t know,” Slim said.

“It’s funny the lights are off,” I muttered.

“Maybe she’s taking a nap,” Rusty said.

“We tried to call a couple of times,” I told him. “I don’t think she slept through the ringing.”

“Might’ve,” Slim said. “But not likely.”

On the front stoop, I reached for the doorbell but Rusty grabbed my wrist. “Don’t,” he whispered. “What if somebody’s in there?”

“Like who?”

“You know. Like them.”

“You mean Julian?” I asked.

“Yeah. Or some of his gang.”

“Who’s Julian?” Bitsy asked.

Slim went, “Shhhh.”

When I lowered my arm, Rusty released my wrist. I stepped up to the screen door, put my nose against it, then cupped my hands on both sides of my eyes to block out the faint glow of light from the street.

I could just barely see in.

The main door was wide open. Beyond it, I saw only blackness and shades of gray.

“LEE!” I shouted, startling everyone.

Rusty gasped. Bitsy sucked in a quick breath, making a high-pitched “Uh!” Slim grabbed my arm but didn’t make any noise.

Only silence came from inside the house.

Though I hated to raise my voice again, I yelled, “LEE! YOU HOME? IT’S DWIGHT!”

After my shout, a long silence.

Rusty broke it, whispering, “Maybe she went over to a neighbor’s.”

“Maybe.”

“Who’s Julian?” Bitsy asked again.

“From the Vampire Show,” Slim said.

Bitsy did that “Uh!” again.

“Tell her everything, why don’t you!” Rusty burst out in an angry whisper.

“I’m going in,” I said.

Slim, still gripping my arm, gave it a squeeze. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” Then she let go, whirled around and ran back to her Pontiac. Bending over behind it, she opened its trunk.

“What’s she doing?” Bitsy asked.

Slim reached into the trunk, then took a step away from it and swung her quiver of arrows behind her back.

Rusty groaned.

“What?” Bitsy demanded.

“Nothing.”

Slim bent over the trunk again. This time, she came up with her bow in one hand. I couldn’t exactly see what she had in her other hand, but knew it must be the two knives.

She came running toward us, leaped up the stairs and lurched to a halt. “Here, you guys.” She held out the knives. Rusty took the sheath knife and I took the pocket knife.

“What’s going on?” Bitsy asked.

“Why don’t you go and wait in the car?” Rusty said.

“Fat chance.”

“Go on. It might be dangerous.”

“So?” Turning to me, she said, “I don’t have to wait in the car, do I?”

“Might be a good idea,” I said.

Slim gave a quick shake of her head. “We don’t really want her in the car by herself.”

“No,” said Bitsy. “We don’t.”

“If you stay,” Rusty told her, “you’ve got to do everything we tell you to.”

“I’m not taking orders from you.”

“Just stick with us,” Slim told her, then whipped an arrow out of her quiver, fit it onto her bowstring and drew the string back a few inches.

“Who’s in there?” Bitsy asked.

“We don’t know,” I said. “Maybe nobody.”

Rusty put his face close to Bitsy’s. “Maybe a vampire!” She straightened her back. “No such thing.”

“Keep telling yourself that, squirt.”

“There isn’t.”

“Let’s go,” Slim said. “Me first. Dwight, you wanta get the door?”

First, I opened the pocket knife. Holding it in my right hand, I used my left to pull open the screen door.

Slim walked in. Rusty followed, staying close to her back. Bitsy went into the house behind him. I took up the rear and eased the screen door silently shut.

In the foyer, we stopped moving. We listened.

There were a few quiet sounds of the sort that houses always make: creaks, clicks, humms and buzzes from some sort of appliances. I heard breathing sounds and hoped they came only from us.

Slim’s black shirt moved like a shadow in the darkness. She seemed to be swiveling slowly, scanning the living room, ready to shoot.

All of a sudden, my left arm got grabbed. I flinched and gasped, then realized it was only Bitsy.

Only.

She clung to my arm with both hands and pressed her body against it as if she’d mistaken my arm for a pole she hoped to climb. My upper arm was clasped against one of her breasts so tightly that the small, soft mound seemed to be mashed flat. My forearm was pressed to her belly. I could feel her heartbeat and breathing. She wore a flowery perfume so sweet I almost gagged.

It wasn’t exactly the same as if she’d been Slim.

I resisted the urge to push her away.

“Somebody get a light,” Slim whispered.