I had and I did. Ever since, I had made my bed each morning. The action is robotic, and it gives me a chance to prepare myself for what I’m going to do that day. It’s strange to see my bed in such disorder. I can’t blame this on anyone but myself. I left the bed in a hurry when they knocked on the door.
I check under the bed, in the closet, and behind the door.
This room is clear too, but I know I heard something when I climbed the stairs.
That leaves only one possibility.
I stand under the trapdoor that leads up to the attic. I’ve been up there a few times. When Uncle Walt installed cable TV, he ran it up to the attic next to the old chimney and then had me fish it down through the wall. It’s all blown-in insulation up there. It makes my skin itch just thinking about it.
Those scaly vampires probably don’t mind the insulation, but I don’t know how they deal with the heat up there. As I remember, it’s stuffy and hot as hell. If they’re up there, Mr. Engel must have been wrong about them hating the heat.
With a couple of failed attempts, I use the tip of one of my spears to hook the ring and I pull down the trapdoor. The springs groan out a warning and then it clangs into place. A thick chunk of pink insulation comes down with the stairs. I nudge it to the side and it falls silently to the floor. I circle underneath warily, pointing the beam up into the darkness above. For a moment, I think I catch a glimpse of glowing eyes. It’s just the flashlight reflecting off of something metal though. I reach up and unfold the stairs.
Going up there is a terrible idea.
They could easily surprise me from behind as I ascend above the level of the attic floor. They might even hide in the loose insulation and snatch me from below.
Aside from the cellar, this is the last place to check.
I hold my breath and climb.
(With every step, I feel the temperature increase.)
With every step, I feel the temperature increase.
Dust swirls in the beam of my light.
I’m looking at the underside of rafters that were hoisted into place more than a hundred and fifty years before I was born. I have no way to guess the age of what I’m hunting. In books and movies, vampires survive to an incredible age. I’m not sure why that’s the case. You never hear about werewolves living eternally. How come only vampires have learned to cheat death?
When my head breaches the level of the attic, I spin and aim my light at the corners where the rafters meet the walls. My quick inspection reveals nothing, but I know that there are plenty of hidden nooks up there. I spent more than my fair share of time running cables. Uncle Walt dressed me up like a mummy before he sent me up. I had to wear long sleeves, gloves, a breathing mask, and goggles before I climbed.
Today, I have jeans and a t-shirt.
I can still see the depression in the insulation from the last time I stepped across these beams. There’s nothing to walk on but the spines of the beams that are buried in the insulation. Uncle Walt trusted me not to slip and put my foot down through the ceiling. He warned me a lot, and then he trusted me.
I put a cautious foot down and feel around until I’m sure that it’s planted firmly on a beam. These beams were cut up on the hill from old-growth fir trees according to Uncle Walt. It bends under my weight. That didn’t happen twenty years ago.
I hear a creak and whip around to see the source. It’s just the wood complaining about my presence. With another careful step, I can nearly see around the corner into the space behind the chimney. Before Uncle Walt put on the metal roof, he busted the top off of the unused chimney. Now it ends here in the attic. This ancient ruin is evidence of the house’s original heart.
I’m holding my breath as I lean to get a look.
There’s nothing there.
In the daylight, with no real evidence of them, it’s easy to dismiss that I ever saw them. I’m not going to make that mistake. They were here. My uncle’s truck is burned up and I spent the night in the pantry. I’m not going to forget what I saw.
I start working my way back to the other side. From the outside of the house, the roof looks pretty consistent. Up here, I can see evidence of the alterations that the house has gone through. The original building ended just ahead of me. Grandma’s room and the upstairs bath were a part of an addition. I point my flashlight through a hole the size of an old window and look into the slightly newer section.
The cable is draped through the hole, right where I ran it. This is where I lost my balance and nearly fell through the ceiling when I was a kid.
I have to set down one of my stakes to step through.
My shoelace catches on a nail or something, and it almost happens. I teeter for a moment and then get a hand on a rafter to steady myself.
I’m breathing hard—taking the attic dust deep into my lungs.
There’s only one more spot to check.
My eyes are locked on a place where the roof seems to absorb the light coming from my flashlight. My foot is trying to find the next beam.
Uncle Walt said that a fire in the bathroom nearly burned the place down in the forties. The only evidence of that blaze is up here, in the attic. Surrounding the iron pipe, the beams and rafters are all charred. More wood was added to stabilize the
