Richard Laymon - The Traveling Vampire Show

Slim groaned.

Rusty and I both looked over our shoulders.

Rusty muttered, “Shit.”

By the velocity of the car’s approach, I expected it to swerve and zip around us. But it didn’t. It stayed behind us. Just when I expected it to slam into our tail, Slim hit the gas. We shot forward, the sudden acceleration pushing me into the seat.

The other car shrank into the distance, then started to grow. It looked like a big old black Cadillac.

“Here it comes,” I said.

“What’s the matter with that bastard!” Slim blurted.

“You’d better get moving,” Rusty told her.

“I am moving.”

“Faster.”

We picked up more speed. The Cadillac quit growing. It didn’t shrink away, either. It matched our speed and stayed about twenty feet behind us.

Moonlight glinted on its hood and windshield. I couldn’t see inside it.

Slim said, “I don’t like this.”

She rounded a bend in the road too fast. The tires sighed. As the forces pulled at me, I grabbed the door handle to keep myself from leaning into Rusty. He let himself tilt against Slim. She muttered, “Get off me,” and shoved at him with her elbow.

I looked back. The Cadillac was still on our tail.

“I’m slowing down,” Slim said and took her foot off the gas.

“Here it comes,” I warned.

I braced for the impact. There wasn’t one. When I looked back again, the car was no more than two feet from our rear. But the space seemed to be growing.

“Looks like they don’t want to hit us,” I said.

“What do they want?” Slim asked.

I shook my head.

Rusty said, “Maybe they’re just trying to scare us.”

“If that’s all,” Slim said, “they’ve succeeded. They can go home now.”

“Could be anything,” I said.

“Is it the car from the graveyard?” Slim asked.

“You got me,” I said.

“I think so,” said Rusty.

“It looked like it might’ve just been sitting there waiting for us.”

“Or for some one,” I said. “Maybe just waiting for anyone to go by.”

Her voice low and steady, Slim said, “Either way, we’re it.”

“Long as all they do is follow us…,” Rusty muttered.

“We’ll get to town pretty soon,” I said.

“We’re not that close,” Slim pointed out.

“Five minutes?”

“More like ten,” Rusty said.

“Who do you think they are?” Slim asked.

“God knows,” I muttered.

“How about Scotty or one of those guys?” Rusty asked.

“They wouldn’t dare,” Slim said.

“They’d love to nail us,” I said.

“Yeah, but they know what’ll happen if they try.”

“You wouldn’t happen to have your bow handy, would you?” Rusty asked.

“No. But they don’t know that.”

“I almost hope it is Scotty,” I said.

“As opposed to whom?” Slim asked.

“I don’t know. Some creep like Starkweather or…”

“Hey,” Rusty said. “Maybe it’s an artist and he wants to make us into statues. Slap some clay on us….”

“ Crap! ” Slim cried out.

Startled, I leaned past Rusty and looked at Slim. Her head was turned away, her short hair blowing. Just as I noticed the engine noises growing louder, the dark shape of the Cadillac filled her side window. It was no more than three feet away, in the lane for oncoming traffic.

So far, there was no oncoming traffic.

The big car stayed beside us. Its windows were rolled up. I tried to see through them, but couldn’t.

Slowly, the front passenger window began to lower.

“ Watch out!” I yelled.

Slim hit the brakes. We were thrown forward in our seats and the Cadillac burst ahead. It zoomed up the road for a few seconds, then cut back into our lane.

Its brake lights came on, bright red in the darkness.

“Oh, shit,” Rusty muttered.

“Shit is right,” Slim said.

We stopped dead in our lane.

The Cadillac, about fifty yards ahead of us, also seemed to be stopped.

Its red brake lights went out.

Slim shut off our headlights and darkness slammed down on us.

At the rear of the Cadillac, white lights came on.

“Back-up lights,” I muttered.

They began moving slowly toward us.

“Here it comes,” Slim whispered.

“I don’t feel so good,” Rusty said.

“What’ll we do?” I asked.

Nobody said anything.

The car continued to back up. About ten feet in front of us, it stopped. All its lights went dark. It sat there.

And sat there.

“If anyone else comes along…” I said.

“We’ll see their headlights,” Slim said. “I’ll get us out of the way.”

“Speaking of which,” said Rusty, “where is everyone?”

“Still at the movies,” Slim explained.

“That’s where we oughta be,” I said. “We wouldn’t be in this fix if we’d stayed for the whole thing.”

“Parents,” Rusty muttered as if it were a curse word.

Slim chuckled softly, then added, “I guess we’ll have the last laugh if we end up getting killed.”

“We’ll be all right,” I said. “They obviously aren’t gonna ram us, or they would’ve done it by now. The thing is…” I wasn’t sure how to say it.

“What?” Slim asked.

“If someone gets out of the car…”

She leaned forward and looked at me. “Someone gets out and tries to come for us on foot, he’ll have to deal with Chief Pontiac.”

“Gonna run him over?” Rusty asked.

“If he needs it.”

We waited.

The Cadillac sat in front of us, dark, its doors shut.

Slim looked at her wristwatch. “I know his game,” she said. “He’s trying to make us late.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Quarter till twelve.”

“We can still make it.”

“Not if we keep sitting here.”

“If we’re late,” I said, “my Dad’s gonna kill me.”

That got a pretty good laugh from Slim and Rusty.

Then Slim said softly as if speaking to herself, “Let’s just see what happens,” and stepped on the gas. As we bolted from a standstill, she cut into the other lane.

The Cadillac sprang forward and swung to the left, blocking us.

Slim hit her brakes and swerved to the right.

The Cadillac swerved and blocked us again.

We stopped. It stopped.

We sat there in the dark, ten feet apart.

“Screw this,” Slim said. She threw her door open.

“What’re you doing?” I yelled.

“Stay here.” She started to climb out.

“Grab her!”

Rusty didn’t even try. Either he knew better than to interfere with Slim or he was eager for her to handle the situation.

Slim dodged her open door and headed for the Cadillac, taking long, quick strides. I jumped out. “Wait!” I called.

She stopped and waved me away. “Get back in the car,” she said.

“Slim!”

She whirled away and walked straight to the driver’s door of the Cadillac.

I felt my stomach drop as she bent over and knocked on the window.

“Get away from there!” I called.

She knocked again. “Hey!” she yelled.

I hurried between the two cars. Glancing toward ours, I saw that Rusty had scooted over. He now sat in the driver’s seat.

Slim was still leaning toward the window of the Cadillac. As I stepped around its rear, she said, “What’s going on, mister?” From her tone of voice, I figured the window must be open. “Why’re you…”

She suddenly tried to leap backward, but a hand shot out and grabbed the front of her T-shirt. It jerked hard. With a gasp, she stumbled forward and her head plunged into the open window.