Laymon, Richard - The Traveling Vampire Show

“Sure,” I said.

I took out my flashlight and shined it for Dagny as she bent over, pressed the candy bar against the thigh of her jeans, and used her pocket knife to cut it straight through the wrapper. Rusty took the first chunk, I took the next, the Dagny kept the third.

Before starting to eat, she slipped the knife blade into her mouth to lick and suck it clean.

Rusty and I started to eat our sections of the Three Musketeers.

In the moonlight, Dagny drew the blade slowly out of her tight lips like the wooden stick of an ice cream bar. Then she said, “Somebody’s coming.”

Those are words you don’t want to hear, not on Halloween night at the side of a moonlit road, forest all around you, the town two miles away.

I suddenly lost all interest in the candy.

“Don’t look,” Dagny whispered. “Just stand still. Pretend everything’s all right.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Rusty whispered.

“You wish.”

Dagny stood motionless, gazing through the space between Rusty and me.

“Who is it?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“How many?”

“Just one. I think.”

“What’s he doing?” Rusty asked.

“Coming down the road. Walking.”

“How big is he?” I asked.

“Big.”

“Shit,” Rusty muttered. Then he popped the last of his Three Musketeers bar into his mouth and chewed loudly, his mouth open, his teeth making wet sucky noises as they thrust into the thick, sticky candy and pulled out.

“What’ll we do?” I asked Dagny.

“See who he is?” she suggested.

“Let’s haul ass,” Rusty said through his mouthful.

“I don’t know,” Dagny said. “Running off into the woods doesn’t seem like a brilliant plan. If we stay here, at least some cars might come by. Anyway, maybe this guy’s harmless.”

“Three of us, one of him,” I pointed out.

Dagny nodded. “And we’ve got knives.”

Still chewing, Rusty glanced over his shoulder to see who was coming. Then he turned his head forward and said, “Double-shit. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m outa here.” He hustled for the darkness where the forest shrouded the dirt road. Looking back at us, he called, “Come on, guys!”

Dagny stayed put.

Therefore, so did I.

“Come on!”

We didn’t, so Rusty said, “Your funerals.” Then he vanished into the darkness enclosing the dirt road.

“Great,” I muttered.

Dagny shrugged in the moonlight. “Two of us, one of him.”

I stuffed the remains of my Three Musketeers into a pocket of my jacket, then turned around.

And understood why Rusty had run away.

What I suddenly didn’t understand is how Dagny could’ve remained so calm.

Gliding up the middle of Route 3 was a ghost. A very tall ghost. Actually, a very tall person covered from head to ankles by a white bedsheet. With each stride, a bare foot swept out from under the sheet. But that’s all I could see of the person except for his general shape. On top of his head was a black bowler hat. Around his neck hung a hangman’s noose which served as a weight to hold the sheet in place.

There wasn’t much wind, but the sheet flowed and trembled around the stranger as he walked.

So far, he remained in the middle of the road.

“Maybe he’ll just walk by,” I whispered.

“Who do you think it is?” Dagny asked.

“No idea.”

“Who’s that tall?”

“Can’t think of anybody.”

“Me neither.” Dagny was silent for a moment, then said, “He doesn’t seem to be looking at us.”

True. To see us standing at the mouth of the dirt road—several feet beyond the edge of the highway—he would’ve needed to turn his head.

“Maybe he doesn’t know we’re here,” I whispered.

We both went silent, side by side, as the sheeted figure glided closer and closer.

It stayed on the center line, face forward.

But I knew its head would turn.

And then it would come for us.

My heart pounded like crazy. My legs were shaking.

Dagny took hold of my hand.

As she squeezed my hand, we looked at each other. Her teeth were bared, but I couldn’t tell whether she was giving me a smile or a grimace.

Turning our heads, we faced the stranger.

He kept walking. And then he was past us.

Dagny loosened her grip on my hand.

I took a deep breath.

The man in the sheet kept walking, kept walking.

We didn’t dare say anything. Nor did we dare look away from him for fear he might turn around and come back toward us.

Soon, he disappeared around a bend.

“What was that?” Dagny asked, her voice hushed though the sheeted man was far beyond hearing, range.

“I don’t know,” I muttered.

“Jeezel peezel,” she said.

“Yeah.”

We both kept staring down the road.

“Is he gone?” Rusty called from somewhere among the trees.

“Yeah,” I said. “You can come out now.”

Rusty tromped out of the darkness. The moonlight flashed on the blade of the knife in his right hand. “What’d you wanta just stand here for?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

Dagny shrugged. “Why run?” she asked. “He didn’t do anything.”

“I was ready for him,” Rusty said, raising his knife. “Lucky for him he kept going.”

We all turned and stared at where the sheeted man had gone.

I really expected him to reappear, gliding toward us around the curve.

But the road was empty.

“Let’s get out of here,” Dagny said.

“Janks Field?” asked Rusty. When he saw how we looked at him, he said, “Just kidding.”

So we headed north on Route 3, walking back toward town. We walked more quickly than usual. We often looked behind us.

When at last we reached the sanctuary of well-lighted streets, porches with glowing jack-o’-lanterns and houses with bright windows, we slowed to our usual pace. And we didn’t look behind us quite so often.

“You know what?” said Rusty. “We should’ve gone after him.”

“Sure,” said Dagny.

“No, really. I mean it. Now we’ll never find out who he was. And you know, he must not’ve been following us like we thought, so what was he doing? Where was he going? There isn’t another town for twenty miles in that direction.”

“Nothing but more forest,” I added.

Shaking his head, Rusty said, “Shit. We should’ve followed him or something.”

“Sure,” said Dagny.

“Wouldn’t you love to know what he was up to?”

“I don’t think I want to know,” Dagny said.

The thing about that night is that Rusty got scared and fled.

We could’ve gone with him, of course. It was our choice not to run off and hide. But after he knew that we were staying by the road, he didn’t come back.

He didn’t stick with us.

That’s the point.

Rusty couldn’t be completely trusted to watch out for Slim. In a bad situation, he might save his own hide and let Slim go down.

I never should’ve left them on the roof together.

Chapter Twelve

On our way back to Route 3, Lee drove the dirt road very slowly. We both scanned the woods in hopes of seeing Slim and Rusty.

Three times, Lee stopped her truck and tooted the horn. I climbed out and called their names. Then we waited. Nobody yelled back. Nobody showed up. So she drove on.

When we reached the two-lane highway, I said, “Maybe you’d better let me out.”

She shook her head, but she didn’t drive on. Most adults would’ve just stepped on the gas and whisked me off, but not Lee. “I don’t think they’re in the woods,” she said. “By now, they’re probably long gone.” She put her hand on my leg. “Did you tell them where you’d be going?”