Lewis Aleman - The Anti-Vampire

Put my lips to her forehead. Bring my hands up to hold both sides of her face.

“They didn’t hurt you, did they? Are you alright?”

Shakes her head, “No, they didn’t hurt me. What about you—are you alright?”

Looking down into her emerald green eyes, feeling her hands caressing the back of my neck, “Never been better, Ruby. Never been better.”

Scrambling noises come from behind us through the hole in the front door.

“Don’t look back. Walk to the back door. Keep walking—keep moving no matter what.”

Creaking noises come from the balcony. The fire is either weakening the wood of the porch or the remaining half of the balcony, making one of them crack and about to collapse. Sounds of breaking—destruction.

There were a lot of people on the balcony. Maybe some are hurt—maybe some ran in fear—but some had to stay. They could be anywhere—still on the front lawn, inside the house again through the back door, just a few feet away from us in the darkness—reaching out to grab us right now.

Got to get Ruby out of here.

A woman shrieks—a horrible sound echoing down the stairs.

Ruby turns around and grabs my arm tightly, “Ambrosia! That’s her screaming!”

Shake my head, but Ruby continues before I can curse, “Go help her! Please, now!”

“You get out that back door and find the car.”

“I know: five streets down—bright red car. Got it.”

“Ruby, I—”

Scream comes again—piercing, haunting.

So close to Ruby—where I’ve wanted to be for so long. So worried she had been hurt—now she’s here where I could throw my arms around her and keep her safe or die trying, and I have to run again. Her eyes sparkle like jade, even in the darkness.

Kiss her lips quickly and rush to the stairs.

The front door has been kicked in completely—someone came through after me. Look at the ground—Edgar’s body’s gone too. There’s at least two of them in here—they have to be what’s causing the screaming upstairs.

Hope Ambrosia’s okay by the time I get there. Hope Ruby gets out that back door.

Body’s recovering—taking the steps three at a time. Joints crack and muscles are sore, but the shocks through my spine are weakening.

Don’t know where Ambrosia is in all of these dark hallways, but I’d bet she’s on the third floor with the others—exactly the most dangerous place for her to be, and the furthest place in the house from Ruby. And, all that depends on if Edgar was telling the truth about what’s on the top floor. Either way, it’s a safe bet that Ambrosia’s near the chaos, and the chaos is up there somewhere.

A different female groan-wail comes from above—definitely the third floor. Not Ambrosia’s voice—a little deeper, a little too raspy.

Reach the edge of the second floor. Make a 180 turn, immediately heading up to the third—going after the last scream. Hope Ambrosia’s there too.

The darkness feels much colder—chilling, since Simon disappeared into it. Before we found each other in this lethal, dim hole of a house, my eyes had just started to adjust to the dark horrors, growing used to rushing through it to the back door, waving my hands in front of me to find objects I couldn’t see.

Then I caught a glimpse of him before me—touching him—arms around him—quick kiss in the lightless hallway. For a moment, the pitch dark posed no threat—I was happy in the middle of this hell as long as he was near me, making the darkness around our entwined bodies seem so harmless. He was here, and everything was changed. The shadows were suddenly weakened by having something so wonderful in them.

I know it was a kiss goodbye in case he didn’t make it back to me. That’s what freezes through me now—stinging cold.

With him gone—even his footsteps on the stairs have faded—the blackness looks so thick—so dense—mind racing to fill every inch of it with images that terrify me. The red-bearded one who grabbed me just moments ago dropping down on me from a chandelier as he did to Simon, Carvelli awakened and after me, attacking from the front, Quint grabbing me by my throat from behind, and Roderick’s evil smile—angry fangs exposed and flying toward my neck. Even Maxine’s sharp fingernails slicing through the air and tearing into my face. I know she helped me—I know I owe her, but her image is still scary in the shadows.

All of the images stay fresh on my mind—keeping my skin feeling prickly—heart pounding like a sledgehammer in my ears.

God, I hope Simon comes down those stairs safely with Ambrosia. I sent him after her—couldn’t live with myself if something terrible happens to him—couldn’t live with myself if we ran out and left Ambrosia to die either—Simon didn’t know it was her—didn’t recognize her voice—it was all up to me…can’t wait to get out of this awful place.

Want to be up there with him now—my eyes on his every move to see that he’s alright—to know he’s alive before every breath I take. Don’t know what help I’d be—I’d do whatever I could. But, he told me to get out of here and get to the car. Last time I didn’t listen to him they kidnapped me at the bottom of the stairs at the bar and drugged and beat Simon. That’s what’s gotten us into this mess and into this awful house. Better do what he says—just hate not trying to help keep him safe.

Something squeaky and furry rushes past my right ankle. My whole body jumps. Rat—running from the fire. Its feet patter down the hallway ahead of me. Wonder how many more of them are coming.

Fire rages on the porch—its flickering the only violation of the darkness, casting its glow into the building behind me through the windows and the hole in the door. Too bad it’s not lighting up the side of the house where I’m headed. As it grows—ravaging the front of the building, the rats may not be the only creatures fleeing this burning nightmare.

Eyes strain to see what sharp, menacing creatures might be coming toward me.

Knees smack something unseen. Body flops forward—crashing into the unknown. Feet lift off the ground. Hands reach out in front of me. Fingers slide into grimy fabric—stirring up stale dust—face following behind, breathing in its stagnant odor.

A sofa. I’ve crashed onto a short, grimy, velvet couch—the dust on it like a layer of slime.

I was just taken out by old fabric stretched over moldy cushions on a thin wooden frame—landed on my face and hands—and it nearly gave me a heart attack. How in the hell am I going to get out of here—past the things with fangs and cruel hearts?

Push my body off the couch and get back on my feet.

Speaking of cruel hearts, my mind flashes to Maxine in the woods, enraged and charging at me—nails reaching out to slice into my head. Why would she help me now? The only time she wasn’t entirely brutal to me was right after she cut my hand to save Simon. It was all about Simon—not me. Why would she care about me now?

Maybe she had a reason to get me out of that room. Too hard to kill me in there. Two guards at the door—she did take them out, but she wasn’t safe from anyone else who could’ve come in the room—Roderick coming in to torment me, Simon coming in to save me. Either one wanted me alive—Simon forever, Roderick just long enough to snare Simon and get his hands on Ambrosia.

Maybe she just wanted me out in the open darkness where no one would be looking for me. Get me away from the action where she could let me wander down these creepy hallways, toying with me in a dark game—taunting an uppity, little, human girl who took her man from her.