Page 116 of The Neighborhood Vampire

Alice’s reflection’s laid eyes on her, and a solemn silence filled the room. Her face was blank and expressionless. Alice recognized her stoic, unmoving expression—the face of feminine rage. Seething rage bubbled under the surface, held back from exploding on the spot.

With a low whisper, Alice’s reflection said, “Then why can’t you let him go? Why are you the one sleeping with a T-shirt covered pillow?”

Alice’s teeth chattered. The coolness of the early autumn morning sent a shiver down her back. She was frozen at the words spoken by her reflection.

Alice’s reflection leaned forward, placing both hands on the side of the mirror. “Since you can’t let him go either, and you know I’m right, then figure out how to bring him back,” she said, her voice raising to a near shout.

Alice covered her chin with her hands. She exhaled into them before dropping them back down. “Are you prepared for me to bring him back?”

“Whatever it takes. Wherever you go. Whatever you have to do. Bring Hugo and his reflection back,” Alice’s reflection commanded. “Bring. Them. Back!”

Coda

A Stranger in a not so Wondrous Land

The long oar splashed into the water as the ferryman maneuvered the flat bottom gondola down the river. A wooden casket laid out on the bottom of the boat. The ferryman was covered in a dark cloak with its face hidden in a black icky void. It said no words and made no sound. It only rowed the boat toward the casket’s final destination with its skeletal hands.

A lantern attached to the end of the gondola lit the way. Its light shone on the rocky, cave like surface surrounding the river. A light appeared in the distance. It grew brighter with every paddle of the oar.

The boat emerged from a cave into a small lagoon at the bottom of a sheer, rocky cliffside. The jagged mountain disappeared into the swirling black clouds which rolled in the sky. The boat crossed the lagoon to a waiting dock. Six ghoulish creatures, their faces shriveled and darkened, stood ready to receive the boat. Using wooden poles, they latched onto the gondola and pulled it next to the dock.

The boat rocked as four entered. They took positions at the corners of the wooden casket. They grasped underneath and lifted it above their shoulders. The two remaining on the dock stretched outand pulled the casket over the side of the boat. Together, they helped carry it up onto dry land to the back of a waiting carriage. They slid the wood box into the back and closed the carriage door.

The horse-drawn black carriage carried its occupant toward a final resting place. The horse was black as night, with seeping wounds on its side. Glass windows allowed viewing to the wooden casket held within. The wooden spoked wheels tumbled over the cobblestone pathway. A rider in dark robes jostled with every groove in the road. He tugged the reins, forcing the horse in the direction of his choosing.

The dark, swirling clouds rolled like a vengeful sea overhead. The occasional lightning bolt shattered the sky, illuminating the ground below. The sky was like dusk—dark, yet not completely descending the realm into darkness. Lanterns attached to the side of the carriage provided some light for the journey of the dead.

The funeral hearse made its procession down the winding street of mismatched houses of various colors and from various time periods. Great fissures in the siding revealed the soft wood underneath. Pieces of roofs, gutters, and shutters ripped from them, as if the whole house was rotting and decaying. Twisted trees and dead plants decorated the yards of the homes.

They passed one house, and three knocks rang forth through the air. It was constant. Non-stop. Three knocks. The sound of wood against glass, like something was trying to escape.

Wails filled the air. Wails of ghoulish voices. Tormented souls meandered throughout the landscape. Their faces discolored as if they wore painted skeletal masks. White with black around their eyes, nose, and part of their cheeks. Their bodies gaunt. They shuffled about without purpose or intention.

The three knocks filled the air again. Unending. Desperate.

The hearse continued its journey. The houses it passed appeared as if they were plucked out of many different time periods to create a surreal environment. Some new. Some extremely old. All containing the wails of torment within. The hearseapproached a Folk Victorian house. Purple and black in appearance. It too had the appearance of a decaying corpse. Pieces missing. Fissures in its siding. A twisted, familiar sight no doubt to the occupant inside.

A rider on a black horse, next to another horse-drawn carriage, observed the proceedings. He was shrouded in a black hooded robe. His face was unseen like the ferryman. A sword and sheath were held at his side. Fire spewed forth from the horse’s nostrils with every breath. It shuffled at the approaching hearse. The rider pulled on the reins to control the great beast.

Three more knocks rang out against the glass.

The hearse stopped in front of the purple and black house. A group of four ghouls stood ready to greet the new arrival. They approached the back of the hearse and opened the door. The ghouls pulled the wooden casket, passing it down until it was free from its glass prison. They struggled with the weight of the box, but held firm. Without speaking, they turned and began carrying it up the walkway toward the gray porch.

Three more knocks echoed throughout the land.

They moved the box inside the awaiting house. They turned a tight corner and placed the box on the floor of the living room. It was filled with a Victorian style red couch, a black high-back chair, and an assortment of macabre items filled every available space. It was dressed to resemble the home of the occupant of the casket.

A woman followed the procession. The ghouls stood at attention, their backs straight and arms at their sides. She was dressed in a black Edwardian gown. She wore matching lace gloves and held a collapsed, black parasol. Her face was painted white and black to look like a skull. She tapped the end of the parasol on the floor.

“Where is the warden of this house?” she demanded.

The leather soles of boots tapped against the wooden floorboards and sent an echo throughout the house. They grew closer as he left the kitchen and entered the living room. He was a burly man wearing a green coat. Gold buttons running down the center held it closed. He wore an oversized, leather tricorn hat. The leather wastanned and brown with age. Unlike the others, he had no painted skull mask. He held a cup of tea and took a sip.

“I’m here, your highness,” his booming voice said.

She pointed the parasol at the casket. “I expect you to complete your job as soon as possible with this one. He’s special. He’s frommytown.”

Thaddeus Price bowed his head. “Of course, your highness. I’ll do my best.”

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