Richard Laymon - The Stake

Kramer kicked and twitched and flapped his arms. Blood gurgled up around the stake. His eyes bulged as if they might explode from his head. His mouth gaped, tongue stretched out and jerking as he made gagging noises.

Then came a violent spasm that seemed to shake the last of Kramer’s life out of his body. He sagged. Lane heard a soft fart. A stench of excrement came, and she covered her nose and mouth.

Dad, using the stake like a handle, dragged Kramer’s body off Mom.

He left it in the man’s throat and straightened up, gasping for air. He looked at his dripping hands. Then he looked at Pete. “Are you okay?”

Pete was holding his bloody chest, staring down at himself, shaking his head.

Barbara held an arrow in each hand. She let go, and they clattered against the floor. She put an arm around Pete’s back. “God, honey.”

“Are you okay?” Pete asked her.

“Just had my wind knocked out.”

“Jean?” Dad asked.

Mom was on her knees, staring at the body. Instead of answering, she got up. She lifted her arms toward Lane. She had tears in her eyes and her nose was runny, but she didn’t look hurt. Lane stepped closer, and they embraced.

“What did he do to you?” Mom asked.

“He hurt me,” Lane said, making sure her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “He raped me. After the play Saturday night. He’s the one who murdered Jessica Patterson and her parents. He said he’d kill us, too, if I told on him.”

“Oh my God,” Barbara murmured. “You poor kid.”

“Fuckin‘ bastard,” Pete said. Lane heard a quick thud. Someone kicking Kramer?

She heard footsteps. Then Dad pressed against her back. His arms went around Mom, and Lane was enclosed between their bodies. She felt Dad’s breath stirring her hair, warm against her scalp.

“Our pal Bonnie didn’t come out of it,” Pete said.

Turning her head, Lane saw the dark cadaver stretched out motionless in its coffin, a hole where the stake had been.

Pete said, “Guess she wasn’t a vampire, after all.”

“Thank God,” Dad muttered.

“I don’t wanta leave you holding the bag,” Pete said from the backseat of his car, where he was stretched out with a towel hugged to his chest.

“Don’t worry about it,” Larry said through the driver’s window.

“We’ll come back,” Barbara told him. “It shouldn’t take more than an hour or so...”

“If they don’t have to send out for more thread,” Pete said.

“The cops’ll probably still be here.”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised.” Barbara took a hand off the steering wheel, gently patted Larry’s cheek and said, “Don’t worry. Nobody’s gonna throw you in jail for killing that maggot.”

“If they do,” Pete said, “you can write a book about it.”

“Thanks a bunch, partner.”

“Come on, babe. Let’s move it. I’m turning into vampire dessert back here.”

“Take care,” Larry said. Then he stepped back from the car. Jean held his hand, and they stood side by side while Barbara steered out of the driveway.

Lane, sitting on her parents’ bed with the phone book open on her lap, picked up the handset and punched in Kramer’s number. She listened to the first ring, and imagined the phone suddenly blaring in Kramer’s dark house, probably startling Riley, making his heart jump.

Two more rings, then the line opened.

Before she could speak, Kramer said, “I’m not available to answer your call right now. At the sound of the tone, please leave your name, number, and message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

“Like hell you will,” Lane muttered over the sound of his “thank you.”

She heard an empty, windy sound like the desert at night.

What if Riley isn’t there and the cops end up with this?

The beep came.

“Hey, pick up. It’s goody-two-shoes. You know? Goody-two-shoes with the spit on her face. Pick up. It’s urgent.”

She heard a click. “Lane?” Riley’s voice.

“Yeah, it’s me. Take the tape out of the machine and put it in your pocket.”

“Sure. What’s up?”

“Do it now, okay?”

A few seconds later he said, “Okay, I’ve got it. What’s going on? Is he leaving?”

“He’s dead.”

“What?”

“My Dad killed him about ten minutes ago. I don’t have time to tell you about it now. The thing is, you can go on home.”

“Damn it!”

“You oughta be glad.”

“I wanted to...”

“I know, I know.”

“Maybe I’ll burn the fucker’s house for him.”

“No, don’t do that. There might be some kind of evidence.”

“Oh yeah, there’s plenty of that, all right.”

“Really?”

“Hey, the fucker’s got a regular museum here in a closet — pictures on the walls. You, Jessica, half a dozen...”

“ Me ?” Lane asked, feeling as if her breath were being sucked out.

“Sure as shit. Must be thirty, forty of ‘em. He’s got a darkroom here, all kinds of cameras, telephoto lenses, you name it.”

“My God.”

“A lot of girl’s stuff, too. Panties, bras, nightgowns. Fuckin‘ pervert. Looks like he used ’em to...”

“Just leave everything the way it is. For godsake, don’t burn the place. The cops’ve gotta find that stuff. It’ll help keep my dad out of trouble.”

For a few moments there was silence. Then Riley said, “I don’t know. Some of the shots he got of Jessica... I don’t want a bunch of cops seeing her like that.”

“They have to know what Kramer was doing.”

“Yeah? Bet you wouldn’t be saying that if you saw what he’s got on you .”

“He couldn’t...”

“He was following you around, Lane. He was out to your house, too, from the looks of it. You better start learning to shut your curtains better.”

“Jesus,” she muttered.

“Still want me to leave everything?”

Squeezing her eyes shut, she groaned.

Pictures of me on his walls. Taken through the windows? Her skin went hot and crawly.

“Leave everything,” she said. “Please. You’ve got to.”

More silence. At last Riley said, “I’ll leave some of it. Enough so the cops get the idea. Okay? I’ll take the worst ones of you and Jessica and burn ‘em.”

“All right. Thanks.” She heard the front door bump shut. “Look, I’ve gotta hang up. My folks just came in. I’ll be in touch. You get out of there.” She hung up the phone and hurried to the hallway.

* * *

From his hiding place behind a cactus cluster across the street, Uriah watched the lair of the vampires and wondered what had happened there.

Everyone else in the neighborhood must’ve been wondering, too. He counted more than twenty rubberneckers wandering around the street and sidewalks, all of them strange in the flashing lights of the police cars and coroner’s van.

After a long time a couple of gurneys were rolled down the driveway. As they were being loaded into the coroner’s van, Uriah caught glimpses of bulky dark bags.

A lot of the gawkers cleared out, once the meat wagon was gone.

One by one the police cars left. The last of them stayed for quite a while. Only a few neighbors were still hanging around by the time a pair of cops stepped out of the front door, went to the remaining car and drove away.

Uriah sat down on the gravel behind the cactus, wrapped the blanket around himself to keep off the chill, and waited.

Whatever had gone on across the street, he still had to go in and carry out his mission. The cops hadn’t taken care of any vampires, he was sure of that. Cops might be good at some things, but they didn’t know beans about Satan’s bloodthirsty children.