Dead Men (and Women) Walking Read online

  "Children," the same voice echoed from the other side of the wooden door, "May I come in?"

  "No!" Zacharie exclaimed.

  "Very well," said the voice, "Don't say I didn't warn you."

  "Please sir," Sabine asked of the stranger, "Help us."

  The man started to speak, but, just as he found the words, a pain began at the base of his spine. He staggered to the center of the kitchen, the pain drawing him to his knees. The children watched as his spine began to bubble and shift.

  "Is he a werewolf?" the wide-eyed boy exclaimed. His terror-stricken sister did not reply.

  The man bellowed as the bulge in his lower back moved upward toward his head. It stopped at his neck and moved in the direction of the two puncture wounds. The wounds began to separate and tear, revealing a small, grey head. The head pushed out as the man slumped over, dead. A slimy, peppery-eyed baby forced its way out onto the kitchen floor. Two small, veined wings unfolded themselves and flapped vigorously. The baby opened its mouth, which began to squeak and hiss, revealing two rows of razor sharp teeth. It cooed and, in seconds, it was upon the children.

  The vampire brushed open the door and walked into the bloody mess, followed by her sisters. She lifted the snapping baby into the air and gasped.

  "Sisters," she declared. "She is a...boy! The prophecy has come full circle."

  The three vamps gathered around the small demon child in amazement. For centuries, all vampires had been women. A curse had descended upon the vampire race hundreds of years prior. There had been a foretelling of one, born a male, who would break the gypsy hex and become the most powerful of the Nosferatu. The eldest vampire wiped away the blood from the infant's mouth and held him tenderly in the moonlight.

  "He will be called Dracula," she deemed, "And everyone will fear his name."

  ALONE IN THE PARK

  By Patricia A. Collins

  Like a panther on the prowl, the big black Cadillac glided silently down the quiet suburban streets. Its headlights, like two huge, glowing eyes, cut through the inky darkness, illuminating row upon row of newly- built, middle-class houses, which were surrounded by rolling, manicured lawns.

  It was summer in suburbia, and James liked nothing more than to cruise through the neighborhoods with his windows rolled down, breathing in the scent of newly mown grass while listening to the laughing, excited voices of children at play.

  It was getting late, and although most of the little ones had been called in for the night, a couple of lucky children had gotten permission to play for a few more precious moments in their front or back yards, under the watchful eyes of their protective parents.

  James thought it was a shame how people had become so suspicious of each other in the past few years. These days, parents seemed to think that around every corner lurked a pedophile ready to pounce on their sweet, little darlings and whisk them away never to be seen again.

  He longed for the more innocent times of his childhood: when kids were allowed to stay out long after dark, running and playing with friends; parents didn't have to worry about constantly keeping a close eye on their children; and a child wasn't taught to be automatically wary of any stranger who approached him or her. But James knew those carefree days were long gone, replaced by the mistrust that seemed to prevail in this day and age.

  The big car took a right turn, heading back toward the driver's apartment building. James figured he'd have a late dinner, watch a little TV, then get to bed early, since tomorrow morning he had to get up and go to the unemployment office. He still couldn't believe that he'd been fired from his last job. He hadn't particularly liked being an elementary school janitor, but at least it had paid the bills. If only that little brat hadn't gone tattling on him, he'd still be working there.

  It had all been a big misunderstanding, he thought. He didn't even touch the girl, only made a comment or two, and then off she went crying to her teacher. James knew he'd never actually touch one of the kids where he worked. He was smarter than that, had more self-control, and knew better than to shit where he ate.

  James was so lost in thought that he almost drove right by the park without noticing the lone child who was happily playing on the swing set. At the last minute, however, he spotted motion in the near darkness, saw the girl, and immediately applied the brakes.

  The man couldn't believe his luck. Here was a child, alone after dark, in a park far from any residential housing. This is too good to be true! James thought to himself as his palms began to sweat in anticipation.

  He took a deep breath to calm himself, reached over to the glove box, opened it, and removed the contents. Then, after checking in the rearview mirror to make sure that he didn't appear too disheveled, James climbed out of the Cadillac and slowly walked toward the child.

  As James drew nearer, and his eyes started adjusting to the moonlit surroundings, the details of the girl's appearance slowly became clearer. She was very pale, with long blond hair that fell to her waist. Her clothing consisted of a bright yellow t-shirt, emblazoned with a cute little bunny; torn jeans; and a pair of scuffed-up tennis shoes. Judging by her size, James was sure that she could be no more than six years old.

  The girl looked up when she heard the man approaching. James held his breath, hoping she didn't jump up and run screaming at the sight of a stranger coming toward her in the dark. Surprisingly when she saw him, a huge grin spread across her small face.

  "Hello," she said innocently.

  James, sensing a perfect opportunity, replied quickly, "Well, hi there young lady. My name is George, what's yours?"

  "Jennifer, but I like to be called Jenny."

  "Well, Jenny it is then," the man agreed, trying his best to seem friendly and harmless. "I was wondering if you could help me, Jenny. I was walking my puppy a few blocks over and somehow he slipped out of his collar and got away."

  James showed the child the leash and collar that he had just taken out of the glove compartment and asked, "Did you happen to see him here in the park?"

  Jenny scrunched up her small face in for a moment as if in deep concentration, then replied, "No, I haven't seen any puppies and I've been here a long time."

  Trying to seem crestfallen in order to evoke the child's sympathy, James sighed heavily. "I'm never going to be able to find him on my own," he lamented, "the park's just too big!"

  He'd used the missing puppy excuse many times before. It was a very effective way to lure unsuspecting little girls into his vehicle without any screaming or struggling. They were all more than happy to climb into his car and go off in search of the non-existent dog. Holding his breath, the man waited to see if the child took the bait.

  "Don't be sad, George," The girl said. "I can help you look for him!" Jenny jumped out of the swing and, after quickly crossing over to where the stranger stood, trustingly placed her small hand in his.

  James almost swooned with excitement as her cool, soft skin made contact with his clammy palm. This is almost too easy, he thought, grasping the child's hand tightly, as he led her over to his waiting car.

  As her abductor quickly drove away from the park, the child drummed her tiny feet against the car seat, apparently oblivious to the dangers of her situation. Speeding down the highway, Jenny stared intently out the window trying to catch sight of the arrant puppy.

  James couldn't believe that his plan was going so smoothly. Even though they were far from the park by now, the girl still appeared to have no idea that anything was amiss. He hoped that the child would remain oblivious to her peril until he'd gotten her far away from prying eyes. But even if she finally did become afraid and begin to scream and fight, James was prepared. Before he left his apartment every morning, he always made sure that he had plenty of duct tape in the glove box, and a good length of rope and shovel in the trunk. "Always be prepared" was James' motto.

  "Can the puppy be way out here?" the child asked, turning her large, inquisitive eyes to the adult sitting beside her.

  "Well Jenn
y, he's a very quick little dog, and he could be almost anywhere by now. That's why we need to drive so fast, to catch up to him," her kidnapper replied. The answer seemed to placate the girl, who, turning back to the window, resumed her vigil.

  The man could barely keep his attention on the road as the car purred down the highway. His eyes kept straying back to the little girls long blond hair, and the way its silky waves lay against her fragile little neck: a neck that was so thin and delicate that he could easily squeeze the life out of the child by using just one hand.

  James swore to himself that this time would be different. With the other girls, he'd been inexperienced, scared of being caught, and too excited to control his impulses; but with Jenny, he would take his time, because rushing with her would be a travesty, like gulping a fine wine or bolting down a gourmet meal. No, he thought, beautiful little Jenny is definitely a bouquet to be savored, and savor her I will.

  They were approaching James' favorite place to bring "his girls". It was a very woody, secluded spot about a mile off of the main road. Three of his victims were buried in this area; they were probably little more than hair and bones by now. James hadn't used this spot in a while; he knew better than to keep coming back to the same place time after time.

  Usually he would roam around the tri-state area, snatching up a victim whenever the opportunity presented itself, careful not to take more than one child a year from any given locale. He had several burial sites around the region, and would use the one that was closest to the spot where he'd kidnapped the girl. He did this to keep the authorities from discovering that all of the disappearances were related.

  James knew that he was smart, smarter than the average serial killer at least, and even though he'd done away with his victims quickly, he'd always made sure to take his time when hiding their remains. Each time, he carefully buried the small bodies in deeply dug holes, covering the newly turned earth with debris to make the ground seem undisturbed. The killer hoped that his luck held out, and the graves went undiscovered for years to come. That way, he'd be able to keep hunting as he pleased, without constantly worrying about being hounded by the police.

  "I see him over there!" James exclaimed, pointing toward a dense copse of trees.

  "Where? Where?" Jenny shouted, jumping up into her seat and pressing her small face close to the windshield, trying to locate the spot that "George" was pointing too.

  "Right over there, he just ran behind those trees!"

  As he brought the car to a sudden halt, James reached for the girl's shoulder to keep her from tumbling headfirst into the glass. He held her not because he cared for her safety, but because he didn't want even a scratch to mar her velvety skin before he had a chance to explore its perfect smoothness for himself.

  "Come on, Jenny, let's go catch him before he gets away again!" James said breathlessly, grabbing the little girl's hand and pulling her across the seat and out of the car before she even had a chance to respond. The child, barely able to keep up with the large man's fast-paced strides, almost tripped and fell more than once before they made it to the thicket.

  The killer realized that he was safe now. There was no one living for miles around to hear the child's screams, so he could finally drop the Mr. Nice Guy persona, which he hated so much, and let the real James make an appearance. Jenny's abductor turned to look at her. Instead of the smiling, happy stranger she'd come to trust, the little girl was faced with a panting, leering monster that was intent on her destruction.

  "I've got a secret to tell you, Jenny." The killer held the girl by both arms and pulled her so close to his sneering countenance that she could smell the odor of decay that wafted from his mouth with every word he spoke. "My name isn't George, and I didn't lose a puppy."

  James stood immobile as he waited for the child to realize the life threatening danger that she was in. He loved this part of the game. When the truth finally dawned on the children, their little faces would crumple into tear-filled grimaces of terror, and then the screaming and begging would begin. Oh how he loved the screaming and begging!

  That wasn't happening with this little girl though; she was still calm and tranquil. The only noticeable difference was that her innocent smile was now replaced by a twisted little leer, while a definitely unchildlike intelligence emanated from her hungry eyes.

  James frowned in confusion. Why wasn't she crying? Why wasn't she screaming? Why did a look from this defenseless, little girl suddenly turn his legs rubbery and his stomach into a nervous, clenched knot?

  "I've got a secret to tell you too, George," the child whispered, grabbing her captor by the flesh of his cheeks and pulling his face close to her own. "My name isn't Jenny, and I'm not really a little girl."

  The child's breath reeked, but it wasn't the fetid odor of decaying teeth or the stink of rotting food that permeated her every exhalation; it was the pungent stink of old blood. Too late, James understood that tonight, their roles would be reversed: he would be playing the part of the victim, and she, the monster. He tried to struggle, but the vampire's grip was like velvet-gloved steel: baby soft on the outside, but hard and inflexible underneath.

  "You know, I was sitting in that park for so long, that I thought I'd begun to lose my touch," the creature hissed, "but then you came along and showed me that, even after 300 years, I've still got what it takes to attract men like you."

  And with that, the tiny bloodsucker twisted her victim's head to the side and bit into the meaty, sweat-scented flesh of his throat.

  THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

  By Lee Pletzers

  Mack walked the city of the dead. He strolled across deserted streets and stepped over bodies, littering the area. For months he had walked and walked and walked. Scrounging food from wherever he could, and hoping to find someone else alive in this hell-hole of corpses and sweltering heat.

  Crashed cars and busses filled with the dead, blocked all exits from the city. He was cut off from the rest of the world, if there was a world left.

  Litter skittered across the ground; newspaper sheets, candy wrappers and other paper-like junk. A few beer cans turned in semi-circles, headed for the gutter. God, he'd love a beer right now, but all the stores were empty; beer, wine, sprits -- all of it gone.

  On his right was a park where just months ago, he had enjoyed a day there with his wife and son. They had skipped stones across a small duck pond and laughed at ducks racing out of the way.

  Mack spied a wicker chair and a fishing pole with a small bucket next to it close to the pond. The owner was nowhere to be seen.

  This city was dead. This city was for the dead.

  The sun was high in the clear blue sky and its light reflected off shiny office windows with estate-like names; Barron's Hall, Yellow-bird Manson, etc.

  Each had a good view of the park.

  A flash of movement from Barron's Hall, caught his eye. He turned to face the building straight on. From the blackened glass, he could just make out a pair of eyes looking at him.

  He stared at the watcher as the watcher stared at him.

  Had he truly found someone alive, after all these months? Hope swelled in his chest, the thought of no longer being alone was almost impossible to believe.

  The watcher vanished from the window.

  He crossed the street.

  The blackened glass reflected his dirty clothes, unkempt brown hair, sunken cheeks with a grayish tinge to them, brown eyes wide. He watched his feet shuffle forward.

  Up against the glass, he cupped his hands and peered in. Whoever was up against the window wasn't dead, 'cause he or she was gone. It was very dark looking from the outside to the inside, so Mack decided he should enter the building.

  He tried to see some sign for the building apart from it's pathetic name, but couldn't see anything that would give away the offices inside. He remembered the days before Death visited, the days of family happiness and joy. He recalled seeing this building with a guard posted outside every day and night.
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  He pushed on the X shaped door and entered the large foyer. Sunlight gleamed on the highly polished floor. Directly in front of him was a metal detector and next to that was an x-ray machine, like those found at airports. Along the side was a long reception desk and beside that were elevators. Close to the windows at the far end of the hall was a large, heavy looking door -- which was open an inch or two.

  He walked through the metal detectors. Two quick beeps from the machine startled him. He turned to it and stared in amazement at the flashing light. This place has electricity, he thought in amazement. There hadn't been electricity in the streets for months. He turned to the elevators and saw the yellow number one was lighted.

  Cupping his hands over his mouth, he yelled, "Hello?" His voice echoed in the large space, bouncing off the walls and returning to him. "Would like to know if I'm the only person alive in this city." Mack waited for a response. He stood statue still, almost held his breath.

  The door at the end opened slowly. A woman in her twenties or thirties, Mack was never good at guessing ages, stood framed in the doorway. Her hair was long and straggly, she looked as if she hadn't washed in ages; the clothes she wore had mud stains on the miniskirt and grime on the blouse. She stared at him coldly, her arms behind her back.

  Mack held his hands in front of him and took a step forward. She flinched. "Don't worry," he said softly. "I come in peace." What a stupid thing to say, he thought but it did the trick. Her face relaxed. "What's your name?"

  She shook her head and smiled. Her teeth were brown and several were cracked. Strips of white and black flesh were jammed in gaps. She pulled her right hand from behind her back. The skin was gone, peeled away. The exposed flesh looked dry and cracked. Between her thumb and index finger, she held a white billiard cue ball.

  Mack took a step back.

  A cough, long and rough ripped forth. Her head tilted to the floor and she seemed to study her feet a moment as the coughs continued to rack her. A gurgling sound issued in the back of her throat. Her body convulsed and suddenly vomit spewed to the floor. Blood and undigested skin splattered her feet.