Lewis Aleman - The Anti-Vampire

Crash into the room.

Edgar has Ambrosia over his shoulder—she pounds her fists on his back, while he grabs at the closest of three other women backed into the far corner of the room—her arm scraped from his attempts. The two girls behind her try to push her forward into Edgar—keeping his claws further away from them and offering her to him to fill his other empty shoulder so he’ll hopefully go away and leave them alone.

I shout, “Hey, big red, you can’t keep the one girl on your shoulder happy. What makes you think you can handle two?”

His face is ugly with anger—twisted and snarling beneath his rust-colored beard.

“Better run after your own girl before someone picks her up downstairs and does something nasty to her.”

Rush across the room toward Edgar. He turns from the terrified three girls backed against the wall to face me, both his hands at Ambrosia’s waist. He tosses Ambrosia at my head—sending her flying toward me with her back facing me—leaving her unable to see where she’s going—her arms, legs, and blue ponytails flailing.

Both of my hands catch her near her hips. Try to dump her on her feet to the side of me as swiftly as I can. Know something’s coming at me fast.

Before I can release her, Edgar’s boot kicks me in the temple. Ambrosia drops out of my hands—lands on her feet and stumbles till she finds her balance.

Raise my arm—block Edgar’s fingernails from scraping my face. He kicks my leg at the knee—body buckles. He throws a right cross—aiming for the bridge of my nose—pull my head back—grazes me. Kicks at my stomach—I catch his foot, taking away most of its force as it pushes against me—holding onto his foot and calf I turn fast—twisting and falling toward the floor—pulling him over me by his leg—slamming him to the ground. The floorboards crack.

The three girls run to the hole I tore through the bookcase that was blocking the exit. The girl, with the scratches on her arm who was being pushed toward Edgar, smacks her hands at the backs of the other two as they disappear into the hallway.

Ambrosia’s backed herself against the wall, and from beneath smeared and runny blue mascara, she watches Edgar and I scramble to our feet.

First one standing, I charge toward him—jumping—putting my entire body in the air—kicking him square in his shoulders with both of my feet, sending him off his feet and shooting into the wall near Ambrosia.

She jumps back—getting far out of the way as Edgar crashes into the wall.

He bounces back onto his feet, fist clenched and cocked back—looking square at my face where he wants to plant it.

Kick him in the center of his chest. Solid—deep thud. He falls back into the wall again.

Ambrosia squeals.

Arch my back to land as hard of a punch as I can throw—sting pierces my neck—sharp.

Turn to see the source of Ambrosia’s squeal and the hand that threw the needle lodged in the back of my neck. Roderick—his smile is content, but his eyes are hungry with rage—hungry for destruction but enjoying that all he lusts for has been delivered to him inside his own house.

Grab the piercing needle—feathered at its end. Yank it out. It’s indeed a dart. Red feathers at its handle end—discolored at its tip—stained with something.

“You’ve got to be kidding me, Roderick. Darts?”

He raises his left hand, revealing three more of them held between his fingers.

“Life gets boring, Simon, without new, little toys to play with.”

“You’ve lost your mind, you crazy, old psycho. Might as well be throwing feathers at me after all we’ve been through.”

“Feathers add up—eventually breaking any beast’s back.”

“What do you know about beasts? All you’ve been doing is bullying young girls. You wanna break me, Roderick?” pausing while I turn and punch the blur of Edgar rushing toward me. Then as he drops back to the wall, I continue, “Come and break me, tough guy.”

Roderick’s face stares at me—unmoved.

Edgar’s on his feet again, hands slicing the air in noisy chops. Turn to face him with my hands covering my head. His first hand smacks my forearm, but his second goes to my ribs—scraping them. Finally went to the body—he’s learning. Guess he hasn’t fought too many people who know how to block him.

Throw an elbow into Edgar’s forehead, and another dart digs into me—into the center of my back.

Roderick moves toward me. Edgar shakes the remaining dizziness from my elbow shot to his head.

Ambrosia is standing on her toes looking from the door to Roderick and back to the door.

I charge at Roderick and shout, “Run, Ambrosia, get out of here! Now, now, now!”

Roderick throws another dart that lands in my left biceps.

Ambrosia runs over the books scattered on the floor before the bookshelf and then disappears out the hole.

My head grows foggy—muscles feel heavy.

Roderick throws a punch at my head. Dodge—sway my torso back. Too close—I’m moving too slow. Something’s wrong.

Catch Edgar moving in the corner of my eye. Have to move fast—got to get both of them on the same side of me or this won’t last very long.

Roderick swings wildly at me again.

I duck down and with a leg scissors trip him face-first to the floor.

Edgar’s footsteps are scrambling loudly on the wood floor, but they’re moving away from us.

I jump onto Roderick’s back, pushing my knees into his spine and pulling up on his chin—tying him up and putting pressure on his lower back.

We both look to Edgar who’s nearly out the hole in the bookshelf.

Roderick shrieks, “I need you, you weasel!”

Edgar puts a hand to the edge of the hole in the bookshelf and stops. Pointing with his other hand to the corner front window, “No, you don’t. Look to the window.”

I drop my hold of Roderick’s chin as I see two vampires—Quint and Carvelli crouched on the ledge and lifting the window. Their faces are scratched harshly, but they’re ready to fight.

Head’s sludgy—dizzy—breaths coming hard—balance is off. Darts must’ve been poisoned—same stuff as before.

Quint and Carvelli drop down to the hardwood floor.

I break a leg off a nearby lamp stand—lamp crashing and shattering on the floor.

Two more figures have jumped up to the window sill—must be climbing to the edge of the balcony that is still standing and not completely in flames and then jumping to the sill.

The two jump into the room. Desirée—one of Edgar’s little needle girls—her eyes look raw. Speaking of needles—my eyelids are getting heavy. Poison’s working fast. The other vamp is a guy—young one, short brown hair—long sideburns—don’t even know his name—must’ve been born in the last five decades when I was away.

Footsteps pound their path up the stairs—a lot of them.

Did Ambrosia have enough time to get downstairs? Hope so.

The approaching horde stomp higher and higher up the stairs—some smacking their feet down this hallway—getting close to this room.

Another dark figure jumps to the windowsill.

Roderick, now up on his knees, throws the last dart—piercing its way into my thigh.

Yank it out of my leg—yank the other out of my biceps. Put both of them between fingers in my left hand—going to need them—won’t be enough. Can’t reach the one still stuck in my back. Thoughts getting slow…heavy.

Roderick smiles as the first of his lackeys reach the opening in the bookcase. Must be the horror shelf.

I hate it because it’s his smile. Hate it because of the malice in it. Hate it because it’s smug. Hate it because I’m fading. Hate it even more because it’s the last thing I may see. Hate it worse ‘cause don’t know how far Ruby’s gotten away from all this.