Ellen Datlow - Teeth - Vampire Tales

Luke’s memory returned to that night at the picnic table by the lake for quite a while, and then he checked his phone for the time, sure that at least a couple of hours had passed. He discovered that not even a half hour had gone by since Sfortunado had fallen asleep. Taking a cue from the old man, he put his phone in his pocket, folded his arms across his chest, and closed his eyes. As he began to doze, a putrid stench, the first stirrings of which he attributed to Uncle Sfortunado, slowly overcame the aroma of old incense and pervaded the place. Gracie’s not embalmed was his last thought before sleep, and then he dreamed of going naked, late, to the SATs.

Gracie’s not embalmed was the first thought he had upon waking suddenly at the touch of someone’s hand upon his shoulder. The church was freezing, and that death stench was now thick as perfume. He looked over and caught a burst of adrenaline upon seeing a revolver in the old man’s wobbling hand. Luke made a move to bolt, but Sfortunado’s eyes got big behind his glasses, and he brought his finger to his lips. He waved with the gun toward the altar. “The squirrel claws my heart,” he whispered.

Luke tried to get away, but the old man grabbed his wrist. “Fashtulina,” he said, and touched the gun to his chest. He released his grip on Luke’s wrist and turned to face the altar.

“Okay,” said Luke, reluctantly sitting back in his chair.

“She’s got it in her blood,” whispered Sfortunado.

“What’s in whose blood?” asked Luke.

“Gracie,” said the old man. “Every fifty years or so, one of us Cabadula is born with the gritchino in the blood. You can’t tell till they die. But this one” — he pointed at the coffin — “I always had a feeling.”

“Gritchino,” said Luke.

At the sound of the word, Sfortunado touched his yellowed left thumbnail to each lens of his glasses and then kissed his middle finger. “The breeze. Do you feel it?” said Sfortunado. Luke could feel a cold wind in his face. The candle flames danced wildly. “It’s freezing,” he said, teeth chattering, and he noticed his breath was now steam.

“The wind of eternity,” said the old man. He pointed with the gun again, toward the altar. Luke looked up to see the lid of the coffin slowly closing. “What the hell,” he said. He wanted to run but was paralyzed with fear. The wind increased, whipping around the church and screeching above in the darkened dome. Luke was shivering. Uncle Sfortunado was shivering, but when the coffin lifted slowly off its platform, the old man stood and brought the gun up in front of him.

The coffin, as if lifted with invisible strings, rose six feet off its platform. Then it began to move through the air like a slow, wooden torpedo. As it swept by above and out over the pews, Uncle Sfortunado aimed and fired at it. He pulled the trigger three times, and the echoes from the shots and splintering wood careened everywhere. As Gracie passed into the dark toward the front of the church, he said, “Fasheel,” and tapped his forehead with the barrel of the gun.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Luke, trembling. He stood and saw the coffin cruising back out of the shadows, returning toward the altar. He ducked. Sfortunado again took aim and fired two more shots in rapid succession as she passed overhead. Splinters fell into Luke’s hair, and he noticed the coffin beginning to wobble in its flight. It gained speed and then took a nosedive at the altar, crashing into the metal sun and smashing the head off one of the sculptures.

As Uncle Sfortunado moved toward the altar steps, the lid of the coffin swung open on its hinges and what was left of Gracie levitated slowly into a standing position. Her blond wig was crooked, and her face drooped in lumpy folds. She was pale as milk; even her long tongue was white, and her eyes had lost their pupils. Her lopsided green smile revealed sharp canines.

“She’s a fuckin’ vampire,” said Luke.

“Fly like the wren,” said Sfortunado over his shoulder, and Luke didn’t need a translation. He bolted down the aisle toward the front door of the church. He heard the gun go off again, and he stopped and turned to see the old man hobbling after him, waving him to move. On the altar, Gracie was screaming like a wounded cat.

Luke made the door, burst out into the night, and then held it for Sfortunado, who was little more than halfway, limping and scuttling with all he had. Behind him, Gracie was floating up off the altar.

“Come on!” yelled Luke, and just as the old man reached him, he saw Gracie swoop through the air toward them. He grabbed Uncle Sfortunado by the arm, pulled him outside, and slammed the door. There was a thud against it from inside.

“She’s coming.”

The old man leaned back against the door and bent over to catch his breath. In between heaves, he held up a trembling index finger and said, “She’s trapped in the church. till dawn.” Then he laughed and again couldn’t catch his breath. “I knew she was gritchino ,” he said. “I told them all, and they said, ‘Oh, Sfortunado, he’s losing his marbles.’”

“She can’t get out?” said Luke.

“I already told you. Call Darene, tell her gritchino . Tell her to bring guns.”

Luke took out his phone and did as he was told. He still wanted to run and keep on running till he was back at his house, in his room, earphones on, sitting at his computer. Darene finally answered.

“What are you doing to me here?” said Luke.

“Quit complaining,” she said. “You’re already more than half through the night.”

“Gritchino,” he said. “Gracie’s gone wild.”

Darene didn’t answer, but he heard her running from her room. At a distance he heard her scream, “Dad, Gracie’s gritchino .”

Two minutes passed, and while Luke waited for Darene to pick up again, Uncle Sfortunado limped over to a stone bench to the right of the church doors and sat down with a sigh.

“Stay there,” Darene finally said into the phone. “We’re coming.”

“Your uncle says to bring guns. Darene, what the hell?”

She hung up. Luke walked over to the bench and sat next to the old man. “This is all wrong,” he said.

Sfortunado smiled. “Only wrong if we don’t kill her.”

“Forget we,” said Luke. “I’m done.”

The old man waved a hand as if to dismiss him. “Cowards get no treasure,” he said.

“What treasure?”

“You kill the gritchino , cut off the left leg, and there’s a diamond, right here,” he said, leaning forward and pointing to the back of his leg. “Inside the calf muscle, a gift from the great spirit for killing the creature.”

“Get out of here,” said Luke.

“This big,” said Sfortunado, and made a fist. “You help kill it, you get a share.”

“How hard is it to kill the gritchino ?” asked Luke.

“Ehh.” The old man rocked back and forth. “Sometimes not so hard. First you shoot it, shoot it, shoot it, and then you gotta nail the head.”

“What do you nail it with?”

“Brass. This long,” he said, and stretched his thumb and forefinger apart six inches. “Right here.” He touched his finger to the middle of his forehead. “With a hammer.” He pantomimed a mighty hammer blow. “ Pfft , finished.”

“What if she gets me before I get her?”

“ Gritchino likes the organ meat — liver, kidney, heart, you know. Likes the blood.”

“What makes her do that?”

“It’s in the blood. People say it’s a demon, evil spirit, goblin, but this is the twenty-first century. It’s a hereditary germ. It makes gritchino every fifty years or so.”