“I can offer you a room and a properly cooked meal.” The woman managed a tired smile. “I was an apprentice chef once upon a time, and I haven’t quite lost the touch.”
“Why?” I asked.
She frowned. “Why do I still cook?”
“Why give me a bed and a meal?”
She shrugged. “Because I can. I have beds and I have food, and as much as I’d love to share them with whoever comes along this road, most times I grab my daughter and hide in the ditch until they pass.”
“And I’m different?”
“Aren’t you?”
The little girl ran over and held out a handful of strawberries. I took one and she grinned up at me. “We have Scrabble.”
“Do you?” I said.
“And Monopoly. But I like Scrabble better.”
“So do I,” I said, and followed her to the strawberry patch to continue picking.
IfI thought the last house was heaven, that only proves how low my standards had fallen. With this one, even before the vampires, I’d have been both charmed and impressed. And maybe a little envious of the girl who got to grow up in this cozy sanctuary, like something from an old-timey English novel; the ones where children lived charmed lives in the countryside,spending their days with bosom friends and loyal dogs and kindly grownups, getting into trouble that really wasn’t trouble at all.
The house itself was as hidden by trees as the one I’d left. The woman had seeded the lane with weeds and rubble, so it looked as if nothing lay at the other end. There was a greenhouse filled with vegetables, fruit trees in the yard, a chicken coop, even goats for milk. The pantry was overflowing with home-canned goods.
“Keeps me busy,” the woman said as she took out a jar of peaches for afternoon tea.
For dinner, we had a meal beyond any I’d dare dreamed of in years. Then we played board games until the little girl was too tired to continue. After that, her mother and I read for an hour or so. Finally, we headed off to bed, and I was shown how to lock myself in. There were two deadbolts, one fastened on either side of the door. As I expected these days.
I said good-night. Then I went inside, turned my lock and climbed into bed.
I lay there, in that unbelievably comfortable bed, with sheets that smelled of lemons and fresh air. I lay, and I waited. Hours later, when I heard footsteps in the hall, I closed my eyes.
The woman rapped softly on my door and whispered, “Are you awake?”
I didn’t answer. She carefully unbolted the lock on her side. Then came a rattle, as she used something to pop mine. The door opened. Eyes shut, I waited until I heard breathing beside my bed. When I pinpointed the sound, I leaped.
I caught the woman by the throat, both of us flying to the floor. I saw a blur of motion and heard a muffled snarl and turned to see the little girl with a canvas sack over her head. Her mother swung at me. I ducked the blow and slammed heragainst the wall. The girl was snarling and fighting against the sack. As I pinned her mother, the girl got free of the bag.
The child’s eyes didn’t glow red. Her fingers weren’t twisted into talons. Her canines weren’t an inch long and sharpened. She looked exactly like the girl I’d just played Scrabble with for two hours. But the look in her eyes told me I’d guessed right. Yes, I’d hoped it was still possible for a stranger to be kind to me, to take me in and feed me and give me shelter because we were all in this hell together. I’d taken the chance, because I still dared to hope. But I’d known better.
If I was surprised at all, it was because I presumed the mother was the vampire. But this made sense.
“She’s my daughter,” the woman said. “All I have left.”
I nodded. I understood. I really did. In her place, maybe I’d have done the same, as much as I’d like to think I wouldn’t.
I looked at the little girl. Then I threw her mother at her. The woman screamed and tried to scramble away. The girl pounced.
It was not over quickly. I’d heard stories of how the vampires kill. The rumor was they paralyzed their victims with a bite. But the girl kept biting and her mother kept struggling, at first only saying the girl’s name and fighting to control her. Then came the panic, the kicking and screaming and punching, any thought of harming her child consumed by her own survival instinct. The girl bit her mother, over and over, blood spurting and spraying, until finally the woman’s struggles faded, and the girl began to gorge on the blood while her mother lay there, still alive, still jerking, eyes wide, life slowly draining from them.
I walked out of the guest room and locked the door behind me.
Thenext morning, I hit the road, back the way I’d come. I walked all morning with the little girl skipping beside me, then racing off to pick wildflowers and strawberries. She’d woken in her own room, her nightgown and face clean.
I’d woken her at dawn, seemingly panicked because I couldn’t find her mother. Something must have happened, and we had to go find her.
The girl followed without question. Now she walked without question. I’d told her that her mother had vanished, and she still skipped and sang and gathered flowers. Proving maybe a little part of herwasstill that monster after all.
