Richard Laymon: The Traveling Vampire Show

Too bad we weren’t on the diving raft at the Cove. Too bad we were stranded, instead, on the scratchy tarpaper roof of the BEER—SNACKS—SOUVENIRS shack. Not surrounded by chilly water but by the wasteland of Janks Field. Not waves lapping peacefully at the platform, but the damn dog growling and barking and every so often hurling itself at the shack.

This just wasn’t the same.

Not quite. The raft was paradise and this was the pits. And even if the dog should magically vanish, I knew Slim would start bleeding all over the place the minute we hit the ground.

She’d already lost a fair amount of blood.

She would lose a lot more on the way home.

What if she lost too much?

I turned my head. Blinking sweat out of my eyes, I looked at Slim. Her eyes were shut. Her face was cushioned on her crossed arms. It was speckled with tiny drops of sweat, and dribbles were running here and there. Her short hair, the color of bronze, was wet and coiled and clinging to her temple and forehead. She was marked from temple to jaw by three thin red stratches.

I found myself wanting to kiss those scratches.

And maybe also kiss the tiny soft curls of down above the left comer of her mouth.

While I was thinking about it, she opened her eyes. She blinked a few times, then raised her eyebrows. “Time to go?” she asked.

“Hasn’t been an hour!” Rusty protested from the other side of Slim.

“I’ve been thinking,” I said.

“Hurt yourself?” Rusty asked. Apparently, the rest period had improved his mood—if not his wit.

“I don’t know about walking home from here,” I said.

“You and me both,” Rusty said. “We try, the dog’ll have us for lunch.”

“I’m not thinking about the dog.”

“You oughta be.”

“Dog or no dog, I don’t like the idea of trying to walk home. Slim’ll probably start bleeding again.”

“Big deal,” she said.

“It might be.”

“It’s not like I’ll bleed that much,” she said.

“What I was thinking, though, is that maybe one of us better go for help.”

“Oh, joy,” Rusty muttered.

“And what?” Slim asked. “Send out an ambulance for me? Forget it. I’ve got a couple of little cuts….”

“More than a couple.”

“Even still, it’s no big crisis. I don’t want to have a goddamn ambulance coming for me.”

“What I thought was, I’ll run to town and get somebody to drive me back here. Or I’ll borrow a car and do it myself. Either way, we end up driving you home.”

Slim’s upper lip twitched slightly. “I don’t know, Dwight.”

“You wanta leave us up here?” Rusty asked.

“I’d be back in an hour.”

“But shit, man, an hour. I don’t want to be stuck up here for an hour.”

“Take a nap.”

“What if something happens?”

“I’ll protect you, Rusty,” Slim said, speaking loudly because her face was turned away from him.

He tossed a scowl at her. Then he said, “Anyway, what about the dog?”

“Long as you stay up here, it can’t….”

“I know that, man. What about you? You think it’ll just let you leave?”

I shrugged. “I’ll take care of it.”

“Oh ,yeah? Good luck.”

He said it sarcastically, but I answered, “Thanks” and got to my feet. I stepped to the edge of the roof. Knees almost touching the back of the BEER—SNACKS—SOUVENIRS sign, I bent forward and looked down.

The dog, sitting, suddenly sprang at me and slammed against the shack.

“I think it’s a moron,” I announced.

“Do you have a plan or something?” Slim asked.

“Not exactly.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I looked around at her, feeling a nice warmth. “Thanks,” I told her.

Sitting up, Rusty said, “It’s gonna have your ass, man.”

The dog again threw itself at the shack, bounced off and fell to the dust.

I gave the sign a nudge with my knee. Though it felt sturdy, it was nailed to the roof on wooden braces made of two-by-fours. With a little effort, I could probably kick one of the braces apart and have myself a club—maybe with a few nails sticking out.

Only one problem.

When you’re my dad’s son, you don’t go around destroying other people’s property. Not even a crummy sign on a closed snack stand in Janks Field.

It’s not only wrong, it’s illegal.

If Dad ever found out that a son of his had kicked apart someone else’s sign in order to make himself a club in order to beat the crap out of a stray dog…

“What’re you doing?” Rusty asked.

“Nothing.”

“Want help?” he asked.

A laugh flew out of Slim, but then she groaned.

“You okay?” I asked her.

“Been better.” She grimaced slightly, then added, “Been worse, too.”

“Do you have any fond feelings for the dog?” I asked.

“You kidding?”

I shrugged. “I mean, you’re sort of an animal lover.”

“That has its limits,” she said.

“So… you won’t be upset if something bad happens to this dog?”

“Like what?” she asked.

“Like something really bad?”

Looking me steadily in the eyes, she said, “I don’t think so.

As I, nodded, I saw Rusty giving me this very weird look. His eyebrows were rumpled in a frown, but his eyes looked frantic and his mouth seemed to be smiling.

“What?” I asked him.

“What’re you gonna do?”

I shrugged, then walked over to where the sign ended. Down below, the dog watched me and followed. When I stopped, it stopped.

“Get outa here!” I shouted at it.

It barked and leaped, slammed the wall and tried to scurry up. Then it dropped. As it landed on its side in the dust in front of the shack, I jumped.

My plan was to land on the dog with both feet.

Cave it in.

On my way down, I heard it make a quick, alarmed whine as if it knew what was coming.

I braced myself for the feel of my sneakers smashing through its ribcage—and maybe for the sound of a wet splot! as its guts erupted.

But it had just enough time to scoot out of my way.

Almost.

Instead of busting through the dog, one of my feet pounded nothing but ground and the other stomped the end of its tail.

The dog howled.

I stumbled forward and almost fell, but managed to stay on my feet. As I regained my balance, I glanced back. The dog was racing off, howling and yelping, butt low, tail curled between its hind legs as if to hide from more harm.

Rusty, at the edge of the roof, called down, “Got a piece of him!”

The dog sat down, curled around and studied its tail.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can!” I yelled.

My voice must’ve gotten the dog’s attention. It forgot its tail and turned its head and stared at me with its only eye.

I muttered, “Uh-oh.”

It came at me like a sprinter out of the blocks.

“Shit!” Rusty yelled. “Run! Go, man!”

I ran like hell.

Somewhere in the distance behind me, Rusty yelled, “Hey, you fuckin’ mangy piece of shit! Over here!”

I looked back.

The dog, gaining on me, turned its head for a glance toward the voice.

Rusty let fly with a sneaker.

The dog barked at him… or at the airborn shoe.

The sneaker hit the ground a couple of yards behind it and tumbled, throwing up dust. Not even a near miss. But the dog wheeled around and barked.

Rusty threw a second sneaker.

The dog glanced over its shoulder at me, snarled, then dodged the second sneaker (which would’ve missed it anyway by about five feet) and raced forward to renew its seige of the snack stand.