Richard Laymon - The Traveling Vampire Show

They had no spears now—only flashlights. Watching them, though, I felt chills crawl up my spine.

Slim was smart not to come here, I thought.

Cars and trucks kept lining up, stopping, shutting off their headlights and engines. Doors opened. People climbed out. Doors banged shut. In couples and small groups, people walked away from their vehicles and headed for the brightly lighted bleachers. I could hear their voices, their laughter.

People I know, I thought.

I had to know plenty of them… any who’d come from Grandville, at least.

And they’ll know us.

But I couldn’t actually recognize anyone because of the darkness and the distance.

I nudged Rusty with my shoulder. His head turned. “See anyone we know?” I asked.

“Huh-uh.”

“Me nei…” I gasped and flinched as someone flopped onto the ground beside me. The heat of her body seemed to wash over me. She was panting for breath.

“I’m back,” she huffed.

I jerked my head toward her.

Bitsy’s hair was glued down with sweat. Her face was shiny and dripping… and smiling. She nudged me with her shoulder.

“Shit, no,” Rusty said. “What the hell is she doing here?”

Ignoring him, I twisted around and gazed behind me. No sign of Slim. “Where’s Slim?” I asked.

“Goin’ to the car.”

“Why aren’t you with her?”

“She said it’s okay.”

“Slim said you could come with us?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“She did not,” Rusty said.

“Did so.”

Fat chance, I thought. Keeping it to myself, I asked, “How’d you get away from her?”

Bitsy smiled. It gave me a creepy feeling. “I just said how I had to take a leak. That got her to let go of my hand, so then I ran away.”

“Slim could’ve caught you easy,” Rusty said.

“She did. And she ripped my dress and we fell down and I got hurt. So then she climbed offa me and said she was sorry.”

That sounded like Slim, all right.

“And I was crying and saying how all I wanted was to go see the Vampire Show like everyone promised, but she said I shouldn’t on account of I might get hurt and I said how I didn’t care. So then she was gonna make me come with her anyhow. She pulled me off the ground and I tried to get away again but she wouldn’t let go, so then I called her a name and she let go.”

“Called her what?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she muttered.

“What?”

Bitsy muttered, “A dirty whore.”

“You called Slim a whore?”

Her voice a quiet whimper, she said, “Yeah.”

Back in those days, you never heard the “c” word. I didn’t, anyway. “Whore” was the worst thing anyone ever called a girl, and you rarely heard that. It’s a commonplace word now, used in everyday speech, in comedy routines, all over the place. But not then. Back then, it was a dark, vile word. Calling a girl a “whore” was as lowdown as you could get.

I had a tight feeling in my throat—and an urge to punch Bitsy in the face.

“What’d you wanta call her that for?” I asked.

“Just to make her let go.”

“She’s always been your friend.”

In a stronger voice, Bitsy said, “I wanted her to let go of me.”

“That was really lousy,” I told her.

Softly, she murmured, “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Real neat play, fatso,” Rusty said.

“So what happened after you called Slim that name?” I asked.

“She let go. She says ‘You wanta go with Dwight so bad, go. And go to hell while you’re at it.’ So then she let me have my ticket. I told her thanks and she said ‘Fuck you.’ ”

“Sure she did,” Rusty muttered.

“She did.”

I’d never heard the word come from Slim’s mouth. I doubted she’d said it to Bitsy, but the worthless bitch had just called her a dirty whore so maybe Slim had used that language back at her.

“What happened then?” I asked. “After she called you that.”

“Nothin’. I came looking for you.”

“Where’d Slim go?”

“I don’t know. Back to the car?”

I just stared at Bitsy. It was a good thing there wasn’t enough light for her to see the look in my eyes. Turning to Rusty, I said, “I’ve gotta go and find Slim.”

“Hey, no. Come on, man.”

“You can’t,” Bitsy whined.

I looked at her. “Wanta bet?”

“You’ll miss the show,” Rusty said.

“Screw the show.”

Bitsy went, “Dwiiiight.”

I pushed myself up to my hands and knees. As I started to back away, Bitsy clutched my right arm with both hands.

“Let go,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“Stay. Y’gotta stay.”

“Bitsy, let go!”

“No!”

I wrenched my arm out of her grip, then whirled around on my hands and knees. Just as I was about to scurry off, a hand tugged at a seat pocket of my jeans and Bitsy said, “What about Lee?”

I stopped.

“You gotta find Lee, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Rusty said. “You left her a note and everything. You can’t just not show up.”

Bitsy gave my pocket a couple of pulls. “Slim’s just going back to the car, anyways. She doesn’t need you.”

I looked around at Bitsy. She was on her knees, leaning toward me, left arm bracing her up while her right arm was extended toward my rear end. Behind her, a few cars were moving slowly toward their parking places. People were walking toward the bleachers. I saw a couple of the black-shirt gang waving flashlights.

Nobody seemed to be aware of us.

“Take your hand out of my pocket,” I said.

She took it out. “Don’t go,” she whispered. “Please.”

“Rusty, you’re the one who’s so hot to see the show. Why don’t you and Bitsy go ahead? Keep an eye out for Lee. If you find her, stick with her. I’ve gotta make sure Slim’s okay.”

“Slim’s fine,” Bitsy insisted.

“I’ll know that when I see her.”

Rusty suddenly said, “I’m not gonna go to the vampire show with my sister. Screw that. I’m coming with you.”

“No,” Bitsy whined. “Never mind Slim. We gotta see the Vampire Show.”

“Forget it,” Rusty said.

Next thing I knew, all three of us were crawling through the forest away from Janks Field and the Traveling Vampire Show.

Fine, I thought. Now nobody gets to see it.

We never should’ve tried in the first place, I thought. The whole thing had been a rotten idea from the very start and we’d been in trouble of one kind or another all day long because of the stupid show.

I was glad we wouldn’t be seeing it.

When we were a safe distance from Janks Field, we stood up. I led the way, moving carefully though the dark woods. Bitsy walked close behind me and Rusty followed her.

“Hold up a minute,” Rusty said.

I stopped and turned around.

So did Bitsy.

Rusty said, “Here’s good.”

“Good for what?” I asked.

“This.” He leaped forward, grabbed Bitsy by the front of her dress with one hand and smashed her in the stomach with the other. The sound was like punching a raw steak. Her breath whooshed out and she started to fold over. “Nuffa you!” he blurted, and slugged her again.

“Rusty!”

“Stay outa this.”

Before I could make a move to help her, Rusty drove his fist into her belly again and again, very fast. Then he let go and staggered backward. Bitsy sank to her knees. Doubled over, she whined and sucked air. Her head was almost touching the ground.

“Jesus, Rusty,” I muttered.

“She had it coming.”

“God !”

“She asked for it. She’s been askin’ for it all day. Got no business messin’ with us.”