The Traveling Vampire Show (18 page)

“Oh, great,” Slim muttered.

Rusty sniffed and licked the blood. “Happy?” He tipped back his head.

“You’d better lie down,” I told him.

He stepped off the sidewalk and stretched out flat on someone’s front yard.

“You’ll be all right in a minute,” I said.

Slim squatted down beside him. Patting him on the chest, she said, “Too bad, sport. You can’t go to a vampire show with a bloody nose. Drives ’em crazy. They’ll come right after you and suck you dry.”

“Screw you,” he said.

Calmly, Slim reached toward his face, tucked down her middle finger and gave his nose another hard flick.

“OW! DAMN IT!”

“Be nice, Rusty, and these things won’t befall you.”

“Go to hell,” he muttered.

Chuckling, Slim stood up. She said to me, “Poor Rusty, everybody’s beating up on him.”

“He likes it,” I said. “He must.”

“I do not,” he said from the ground.

“Anyway,” Slim said, “where’re we going now?”

“My place?” I suggested. “We can hang out there till supper time. You’re going to eat with us, aren’t you? Dad’s grilling burgers.”

“Sure. But why don’t I meet you there? I want to run home and change clothes.”

She saw the look on my face.

“What?” she asked.

“Do you have to?”

She stared down at herself, holding her arms away from her sides, bending her knees, grimacing as if she’d just gotten up from a face-first fall into a mud puddle.

“You look fine,” I said. She looked great, but I didn’t want to push it.

“Yeah, well, I like to wear my own stuff. Anyway, it’ll only take a few minutes.” She started to turn away.

“No, wait,” I said.

. She faced me.

“Why don’t you not go?”

She raised her eyebrows, put her head forward and spoke slowly as if talking to a goon. “I want my own clothes?” She lifted her voice at the end so it sounded like a question. “I want clothes that fit? And shorts that aren’t red? And something to wear under them?”

“Okay,” I said.

But I must’ve looked pained, because her mocking attitude changed to concern. “What is it?”

I shrugged.

Someone was sure to discover the mess in her mother’s bedroom, anyway, sooner or later. This might be a good time for Slim to find it. She would have no reason to suspect Rusty and me, especially if she went by herself so she couldn’t see the looks on our faces or hear us say something stupid.

I should’ve told her, “Nothing’s wrong. Go on ahead.”

But I didn’t want her to leave.

Before I could think of what to say, Rusty spoke up. “He’s scared you’ll get lost.”

Slim met my eyes.

My eyes must’ve looked astonished, because I could hardly believe that Rusty had come up with an explanation that was so close to the truth.

Especially since I hadn’t realized it, myself, until the words came out of him.

“I just think we oughta stick together,” I said. “It’s been a weird day, you know? We didn’t know where you were, and ... I don’t want you to get lost again.”

“I was never lost.”

“But we didn’t know where you were. We were afraid maybe they’d gotten their hands on you....”

“And shoved a spear up your ass.”

Just when I was starting to appreciate Rusty again, he had to say that.

Slim smirked down at him. “You didn’t know about the spears then, moron.”

“We assumed them.”

Slim and I laughed. But then we looked at each other and I said, “Anyway, I’ve spent most of the day worrying about you, and we finally found you and now you want to go off by yourself.”

“Just for a few minutes....”

“What if they are after you?” I asked. “Somebody might’ve seen you run away....”

“Even if they did, they don’t know where I live.”

“They might.”

“They have ways,” Rusty said from the ground.

“Bull.”

“Magic ways.”

“Yeah, right.”

Rusty sniffed a couple of times, then took his hand away from his face. All around his mouth, he was smeared with blood. He looked as if he’d been eating someone raw. Smiling, he said, “Maybe they put the dog on your scent.”

“It’s dead.”

“They put its ghost on you.”

Slim looked uneasy for a moment. Then she smiled and said, “Good one.”

“Maybe you should be the writer,” I told him.

“Slim can write ’em. I’ll be the idea man.”

“Anyway,” Slim said, “they can’t possibly know where I live.”

“What if they’re watching us right now,” I asked, “and they follow you home?”

She almost smirked, but not quite. Instead, she turned her head and looked over her shoulder.

“Maybe they’re already at your house,” Rusty added, kidding around.

“Yeah, right.”

“Anything’s possible,” he said.

“Anything is not possible.”

“What if they’re waiting for you?”

I looked down at Rusty, impressed and a little annoyed. He’d just given a whole new meaning to the mess Slim would find in her mother’s room. Now, instead of wondering about the mystery of it, she might figure the gang from Janks Field had paid a visit to her house.

“I’ll take my chances,” she told Rusty. “See you guys later.” Again, she turned away.

Again, I said, “No, wait.” Then I looked down at Rusty. “Get up. If she’s going, we’re going with her.” To Slim, I said, “Is that okay?”

“Okay by me.”

“How’s the nose?” I asked Rusty.

“Hurts.”

“Is it still bleeding?”

He sniffed a couple of times. “I donno. Maybe not.”

“Come on. We’re going with Slim.”

As we climbed the porch stairs, my stomach started to feel funny. Not indigestion funny, scared funny. I was nervous about Slim finding the spilled perfume and broken glass in her mother’s room, but it wasn’t just that. Dumb as it may seem, I half believed that Julian or some of his gang might be hiding in the house.

Because of Rusty’s remarks.

Sometimes people say stuff that doesn’t make any sense, but it gets to you anyway. This was one of those times.

I knew Slim’s house was empty, but the fear wouldn’t go away.

It didn’t help matters, watching her open the screen door and front door without unlocking either of them.

Anybody might be in her house.

When I started to follow Slim through the doors, Rusty grabbed my arm. I frowned back at him.

“Maybe we should wait out here,” he said.

“Huh?”

“Her mother’s not home.”

In the foyer, Slim turned around. “You’re coming over tonight, aren’t you? So what’s the difference?”

“I thought tonight we’d sneak in the back way,” Rusty explained. “We don’t want your neighbors seeing us, do we?”

She made a face to show us what she thought of nosy neighbors. “If they don’t like it, they can lump it.”

“You’re only gonna be a minute, right?” Rusty asked. “Why don’t we just wait out here for you?”

“Don’t you want to come in and wash up?” she asked him.

“Nah, I’m fine.”

“You’re a bloody mess,” she said.

“That’s okay.”

“I think we should go in with her,” I said, still worried for no good reason that she might have intruders.

Slim nodded. “Yeah, come on.”

Leering at her, Rusty said, “If we come in, can we go upstairs?” Before she could answer, he added, “We’ve never seen your bedroom.”

Her eyebrows lifted.

Rusty nudged me. “You’d like to see her bedroom, wouldn’t you?”

Scowling, I shook my head.

“How about it?” he asked Slim. “Do we get to see your bedroom?”

“In your dreams.” She whirled around and hurried toward the stairway. As she trotted up, she looked over her shoulder. “In or out, I don’t care. But stay downstairs.”

When she was gone, Rusty grinned at me.

“You jerk,” I whispered. “What’re you trying to pull?”

“Just playing it safe, you know? We don’t wanta be around when she finds the surprise in her mom’s room, do we?”

“I guess not.”

“Outa sight, outa mind.”

“Sure.”

“No matter what, we act dumb.”

“Right.”

I hated the whole idea of being dishonest with Slim, but we’d already deceived her. If we tried to tell the truth now, we’d look like jerks.

Expecting Slim to shout at any moment, I gazed at the top of the stairs. So did Rusty. We stood side by side, watching and listening. Quiet sounds came from the second floor: footsteps, the creaking of a board, soft skids and bumps that might’ve been drawers opening and shutting.

Rusty leaned toward me. “She hasn’t noticed it yet.”

“Guess not.”

“Maybe she won’t.”

Nodding, I whispered, “The smell might’ve dissipated.”

He turned his head and frowned at me.

“Spread out and faded away,” I explained.

“I know that. I’m not stupid.”

“Hey, guys,” Slim called. “You want to come up here a minute?” She sounded a little worried.

We glanced at each other. Rusty looked like a school kid ordered to the principal’s office.

“Oh, man,” he murmured.

I ran to the stairs and raced up them two at a time, Rusty pounding along behind me. At the top of the stairs, I knew I would see Slim down the hallway, standing in front of her mother’s bedroom.

She wasn’t there.

The hallway was empty.

“Slim?”

“Over here.” Her voice had come from the left—the direction of both the bedrooms.

Heart thumping hard and fast, I hurried down the hallway, certain to find Slim inside her mother’s bedroom.

The two doors were on opposite sides of the hallway.

As I neared them, I smelled the sweetness of the spilled perfume. Maybe the scent had dissipated, but it certainly hadn’t vanished.

I turned toward the mother’s door.

“Dwight?”

I spun around. Slim was in her own room. I hurried to her door and got there just before Rusty. We both stopped and gazed in.

Slim was standing beside her bed, a nervous look on her face. She was barefoot. She still wore Lee’s red shorts, but she’d taken off the shirts and put on her own bikini top. The powder-blue one, a favorite of mine. The matching bottoms looked as if they been tossed onto her bed along with the two shirts she’d taken off.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

In a small voice as if she feared being overheard, she said, “Somebody’s been in my room.”

I shriveled inside. Before I could say anything, Rusty asked, “What do you mean?”

She turned sideways, raised a long, tanned arm and pointed a finger at her pillow.

On top of it lay a paperback book, wet and chewed and torn. Though the book looked as if it had been mauled by a vicious dog, its cover was intact enough for me to read the title.

Dracula.

My breath knocked out, I looked at Rusty. He looked at me. Then we both shook our heads.

Slim still had her eyes on the wreckage of Dracula, so I took a fast look at the paperbacks on her headboard. They were lined up neatly, just the same as when I’d seen them earlier. Then, however, Dracula had been among them.

“How the hell did that happen?” Rusty asked.

I almost blurted out, “I didn’t do it,” but I caught myself in time.

I’d looked at the books, but I hadn’t touched them and certainly hadn’t chewed on any of them.

Neither had Rusty. The books had been fine when I went looking for him and found him in the mother’s room. After that, neither of us had been alone in the house.

Slim kept staring at the book.

“Did you do it?” Rusty asked.

“No!” I blurted.

“Not you. Slim.”

“Huh? Me?” She looked at him. “Are you nuts?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Did you?”

“No!”

“You had time to do it.”

“I was changing my clothes.”

“Didn’t you see it?”

Slowly, she shook her head. “Not right away. It must’ve been like that, but ... I got undressed over there.” She nodded toward her dresser. “Then I came over here and tossed the stuff on the bed and that’s when I noticed.”

“That’s when you yelled?” I asked.

She shook her head some more. “I put my top on first.”

An image filled my mind of Slim standing there in just the red shorts, breathing hard as she stared down at the decimated book, her breasts rising and falling.

“This is crazy,” Rusty muttered. He looked worried.

Apparently, he didn’t suspect me. Maybe he’d glanced into the room on our way out and seen that nothing was out of place.

To Slim, he said, “Are you sure you didn’t do this, like to freak us out or something?”

One glance gave him all the answer he needed—and more.

“Slim wouldn’t do that to a book,” I said. “For any reason.” ,

“That’s right,” she said.

“So if she didn’t, who did?” Half grimacing, half smiling, he added, “Or what?”

Slim bent over slightly, reached down and picked up the book. “It’s still wet.” She lifted it close to her face and sniffed. “Smells like saliva.”

“Human or dog?” I asked.

“Or vampire?” asked Rusty.

Slim scowled at him. “It’s broad daylight.”

“We’d better look around,” I said. “Whoever did this might still be in the house.”

“Or whatever,” Rusty threw in.

Slim looked around as if confused about what to do with the book. Then she carried it across her room and dropped it into a wastebasket next to her desk. It hit the bottom with a ringing thump.

She pulled open a desk drawer and took out two knives. One was a hunting knife in a leather sheath. The other was a Boy Scout pocket knife. Not speaking a word, she brought the knives to us. She handed the hunting knife to me, the pocket knife to Rusty. Then she went to her closet, silently opened its door and stepped inside.

In the closet, most of Slim was out of sight.

She stepped backward with her straight, fiberglass bow in one hand and a quiver of arrows in the other.

Turning toward us, she slung the quiver over her back so the feathered ends of a dozen or more arrows jutted up behind her right shoulder. The strap angled downward from her shoulder to her left hip, passing between her breasts.

With both hands free, she planted a tip of her fiberglass bow against the floor. She pulled down at the top, used her leg for some extra leverage, bent the bow and slipped its string upward until its loop was secure in the nock.