Mickey rolled the car into 7th street to his left; a section of the road was blocked with an orange ‘ROAD BLOCKED’ sign and traffic cones lit by the car’s shining headlights. Cars stopped rolling and traffic ahead came to a halt. The maintenance crew sat on foldable chairs, expecting their last man climbing out of the manhole. With his window rolled open Mickey overheard their conversation.

“That pipe is bust!” The climbed out man made a fuss. “We should report it to the higher ups.”

“Damn!” Cursed the team leader wearing a white construction helmet . “Even if we order the pipe now, it’s still gonna take weeks.” His finger smashed on the electric pad.

Interesting. Seems to happen all too frequently. Mickey thought. “Do you remember that day when you and your mom went grocery shopping, uhm… like 3 months ago.”

Keen pondered for a small amount of time. “Oh yeah! That time, mom and I went to buy ingredients for that…” Keen patted his knee as if he encoded a morse code message. “Wraps! Burrito wraps. I forgot the red bell peppers or how she likes to call it red paprika. Instead I picked a few greens and yellows. I tried to tell her that. But the ground started to burst just when we left the store. It burst open like a volcano, bulging up the road, cracking all over, and pushed the parked cars aside on the walkway. just a few feet further and mom would have been crushed.”

“Your mom, crushed by a car? Trust me. It would be the other way around.” Mickey said while playing a sporadic beat with his large thumbs.

The jam slowly advanced at snail pace speed, agitating Mickey, mobile phones what an invention, keeping it low, lowest of low profile. But Traine… is this worth the cost…

“Need to take a leak.” Mickey made Keen confused. “Sorry… I have to take a leak.” And got a ‘Oooh’ from Keen.

From afar, behind a light blue van, blocked by it and slowly more visible as the car rolled, came a man into few. Lit by a line of double light posts. His hair waved, darker than black at ear lengths. Clean shaven, a face not guessed older than twenty five and glowing skin with purity. The man wore an unfamiliar dark-brown leather coat. He awkwardly smoked the tiniest stub of a cigarette to its very last. With one last puff the stub burned wholly, incinerating it.

Hey… that’s Traine… “Chimney!” Mickey yelled, and Keen rolled his windows open. “Chimney!”. “Dad!”.

Traine staggered, and locked eyes, showing a kind, pristine white smile. He trotted in big airy steps toward the traffic jammed car. “Hey guys missed me.” And took a few steps back. “Nice car! Better than that stupid eagle premier… and also it's out of gas.” peaked his head in the Keen’s window.

“Stu… This car is better anyways.” Mickey remarked.

“Dad, did you find 1097? we’ve been looking around but can’t seem to find it.”

“It’s a bit further ahead,” and handed the papers and book on Keen's lap. “I got what we needed.” He entered to sit in the backseat. “Camwell is playing tricks again. Just like Connecticut.”

“Hahaha!” Mickey uncontrollably laughed. “It’s just twelve undeads, guys.” Impersonating Camwell. “Twelve fucking Wights. We hid around for who knows long… And eventually got a few Wights distracted.”

Traine continued, “Mickey dragged the smallest into the barn, we were hiding in, and pummeled the Wights in smithereens…”

Car for car the line gradually moved to the speed limit, “finally!” Mickey exhaled. He directly turned at the first right to escape the jam. “Where to, boss?” he asked.

“Let me check” Triane stuck his hand out waving his fingers. Keen gave the neatly stacked papers to his father, leaving the book on his lap. “What about your book?” Keen inspected the dentless, blank cover of the book.

“Keep it close. It’s important, I’m only not sure exactly why yet.” He said, while skimming the files, searching out the facts. “Gorg Velmon, vampire, aged at least 300 years. I have his last known record in my pocket.” and quickly glimpsed the scroll from his breast pocket. “He had lordship as Earl of Dummonts, a town in France and, disappeared off the grid since. A scout reported that Gorg, other than the feral bloodsuckers, displayed normal behavior. If you call parading with the mayor’s head normal.”

“Eeh” Mickey answered “Kinda…” and turned towards Keen, “another time.”

Traine continued, “A few buildings caught fire, it’s been suspected it were the homeowners themselves defending their lives. Streets and walls bloodied by their carnage, stores broken into in search of prey. Countless cars left abandoned and running. Even the children… No one was left alive. That all, in twenty four hours.”

“The whole damn town! Are they trying to kill us?” Mickey yelled and thought for a second. “Damn Nosfaru! These missions keep getting more and more outrages.”

“It’s either this or the kill list.”

Keen said “You are indestructible dad, mom said so and I believe her. I always will no matter what.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I wish I believed like you boy, but even I can see what your mother ignored for years, Mickey felt a sudden downcast, and turned the knobs of the radio. Forgetting that he played music from his Ipod.

“Uncle…” Keen passed the Ipod in his searching hand. “It’s dumb anyway, the radio replays the same songs five times a day.”

“Anyways, I need some sleep. My head hurts again. It's a six hours drive from here. Follow the highway towards Brewerton, oh and… I will just nap here for a while.” Traine laid down on the backseat.

Alright we’re near, Brewerton, I better wake Traine. No. Keen as a kinder voice. He wanted to ask Keen, However he slept like an angel. Mickey swept his hand to the back waking up Traine.

“Waat… Wut… What’s going on…”

“Shush… Keen is sleeping,” he whispered.

With the view of concrete towers from Fanningsburg, Mickey expected the same rebar skeleton frames clawing the sky. Instead rows of low built houses and stores, not more than three stories. From the horizon a white, six legged water tower visible from every yard, porch store, peaked over the roofs.

“We just entered Brewerton. Where to now?.”

“Follow the main road to Sunville, a rural town, 10 miles west from here.”

Mickey, Traine and the sleeping Keen drove past the early morning sun on the main road of Brewerton. Driving past the local baker unloading the dough mixture, carrying the sacks of flour on his back. A truck was parked next to a grocery chain. Mickey assumed it delivered the freshly picked fruits, and tender cuts of meat. Yet the frowned trucker flailed her arms around while in a call and vigorously moved her mouth. He imagined plenty of curses to yell at the store manager who tries to reconcile the angry trucker. Sometimes… Screaming makes me feel better, other times breaking things, most times I curse to feel better. I wonder why I need to do these things to feel better…

They passed Brewerton into the countryside, the grass sprouting with yellow patches. Few flowers grew on the tree barren prairie. The trio neared a motel, the rusted sign lived through many seasons. Adjacent to the motel stood a 24/7 gas station kept clean.

“We better stay here till night, fuel up and get some sleep.”

Mickey yawned, “yeah I better do.” Empty of cars, Mickey picked the most convenient spot in the parking lot. Between the motel and gas station.

“I’ll book a room and take Keen to bed.” Train said.

“I want to check the gas station anyway” His belly grumbled. “I need a snack before sleeping.”

“You do that.” Traine left Keen and went towards the motel for a room.

Mickey entered the gas station. The clerk rested his legs on the counter and watched tv on his small monitor. ‘GOAL!’ Mickey heard from the low quality built in speakers. “Woah! Big guy, Spearknights scored.”

Mickey looked confusedly around, “cool I guess.” So you did notice me.

“Cool I guess? You don’t watch football…” Mickey ignored the clerk and browsed the snack section. Smarties… maybe some cake, oh and instant noodles. Water. Motel water probably sends me to shiter.

—

Keen slept on the bed, dreaming about a wander visiting a castle. The high ceilings, chiseled with a painter's art work. Swordsmen fought a ferocious two-headed white dragon. Its emerald eyes were like a cat's sharp pupil, piercing through the soul. One man in particular wore a t-shaped face slit helmet, embedded with violet crystal which shone within its core. Swords encircled him, hovering as if controlled by a puppet master. A faint halo surrounded the knight gaining energy for a final attack.

High from the ceiling, red rugs embroidered with two golden snakes circling around each other draped the marble floor. Between the embroidered rugs, a throne made of jagged slabs of obsidian stood, breathing energy, and pulsating a crimson hue heartbeat.

“We” ‘Murmur’ “Take” ‘Murmur’ “No”

‘Clank’

Keen awoke with the blank book on his chest. The bed sheets smelled clean and fresh. His dad meditated in the room on the loveseat. The mustard yellow wallpaper had tear spots showing the concrete behind full with air bubbles. On top of a cheap looking drawer a wooden cased tv played a slapstick, the screen speckled like a fresh opened coke, trickling against the can.

Keen turned the tv off and wiped the lint balls of his clothing, opening the door he remembered. Keep it close. It’s important. He snatched it off the bed and headed outside leaving his father to meditate in peace.

From the second floor through the bars of railing, Keen sees Mickey leaning against the hood of the mercury marauder x100. He ate out of a bag of smarties while staring at who knows what. Keen walked the steps and went towards the sulking giant.

“Hey Keen” Mickey greeted softly.

“Did you fight with Dad? I overheard something while sleeping and then ‘CLANK!’”

“He wants you with us. While I…” Mickey swithered and crumbled the pack of smarties. “I want to send you somewhere safe, far away from us, far from anything we do.”

“But…But…” Why uncle Mick? Why do you want me to be alone? “I want to be like you! Hunting things, saving people!”

“This life is far from perfect.” Mickey looked around him. “I steal cars, crash in motels and use blood money to survive. Do you think I just always want to be uncle Mick? I also want a little fellow following me around just like you.” Mickey gazed at his feet, avoiding Keen’s eyes. “I’m not made for a family life. A wife haha,” he said with a sheepish grin. “With that anger within me, I can’t. I won’t. Yet I still dream.”

It works for dad, “meditating! Maybe that helps.”

Mickey remorsefully shook, “doesn’t work for me.” Closened to Keen, and went on his knee. “Keen, I’m getting older and eventually I won’t be around anymore. I’m not like your father who doesn’t age. Yet I will always put you first for as long as I'm around.”

Keen cried, the tears flowed uncontrollably. Mickey patted his shoulder, “don’t cry… Remember yesterday.” Keen nodded. “You’re a tiny man.”

“Yes I am” Keen Sniffed his stuffy nose.

Mickey closed mouth smiles. “Alright let's get inside. I bought some instant noodles, and I think your dad hasn’t eaten either.”