Maybe it was curiosity, or not wanting to be alone in my room, but I needed to get out after retelling myself those ghost stories. I knew the only way to displace the thoughts was to go to that old house on Tremaine, the old church, and dispel any crazy notion I was building up too.
It was easy to sneak out, especially when your mother was a heavy sleeper, and your father was on night patrol. My brother, also, never bothered to check in on me. So, I found myself on a shadowy path to the old church.
The old church as it stood, was covered in shadows, stemming from a gangly group of oak trees.their branches looked like withered old fingers, from passing fall.
The iron gate, stood at least 10 feet tall, and was overrun by vines, and a green moss that discolored parts of the iron gate itself. It was a risk to touch the oxidizing gate, so I kept my hands to myself, using my eyes to scours the triumphant yard. What parts I could see were covered in shadows, and the only light was near the front door that stood oafishly strong. Seeing the place from up close made me realize just how reminiscent to a church it was. Although the namesake, and its closeness to a man named the preacher, the place felt inherently evil. I was on the verge of turning back, scared to move any further or beyond the gate, when an a rabbit scurried out of a patch on the far east side of the gate. The brush came loose, and under that was a small, child size, entrance into the yard.
Instead of rushing in, I waited, stashing my bike into the nearby bushes, holding out hope that I wouldn’t have to enter through that hole. My watch showed me that it was 5 past midnight, and there was no sign of the girl, or anyone to invite me into the place. Time ticked by and I was on the outside looking in. No sign of being rescued, and if it weren’t for my own morbid curiosity I might not have gone inside.
It was a tight fit, but I managed to squeeze through with no problems. The problem was the size of the yard, and not knowing where to go inside that yard. It was monstrous, up close, not only in looks but width and length. Rustling leaves wrestled amongst themselves as the wind bellowed through dense tree trunks. The noises were reminiscent to wolf howls. I knew if I was caught, I was dead. If not by the Preacher, then my father.
I was panicked by a obnoxiously loud barks, until I realized it was houses down. I released some of the built up tension, and continued my trek carefully. There was no instruction where to go from the girl. Only that I needed to come to the house, but now that I was here. I was lost. Creaks came from every which way in the yard, and I found myself terrified of the shadows around me. A whistle chimed through the winds bellows, and I looked to find a the culprit, maybe a bird., or some sort of midnight creature.
I crouched low, and scoured my surroundings. I was lucky enough to be behind a large oak tree near the. Center of the overly large yard. The grass was tall in some areas, and dead in others. So I kept towards the tall side, ducking in and out, looking for that whistle. It was there again, and I was on the lookout for the direction. The whistle was a sing song whistle, purposely done, but I couldn’t tell by what. My gaze brought me back to where I started, hoping that there was a girl, equally confused as to why I was inside the yard and not waiting for her, but nobody was there. It sounded again, but weaker this time, and as I listened closely, I turned my head to see the sound dying down by the old shed towards the east side of the yard. The roofs metallic covering hummed and vibrated with the wind, and I thought that maybe that was the culprit all along. So, I felt stupid. It had to be. The pace was built with a combination of wood and metal. So that with the wind building, made the whistling sound. My father would say that’s science for you. Solving the unexplainable.
I was thinking of turning back. It wasn’t like I owed the girl anything, or an explanation as to why I didn’t come, when she didn’t show herself either.
“Over here.”
A voice cut through the wind. Loud enough for me to here it, but soft enough to be drowned out if I wasn’t on high alert. My eyes darted all around me first, then back to the shed, where I was still sure the whistling was coming from.
There was a low groan screech that made me look towards the sheds opening. I crouched low, trying to blend into my surroundings, only to be stunned by what was coming out of the shed. A, glowing, white hand stabbed out, like it was grasping for air, straight from a grave itself. A finger lifted, calling me over.
The doors hinges were all rusted, and they groaned when I opened it. Inside, standing near a window, that was half illuminated by moonlight, was the girl from the palisades. She was in a heavier coat this time, that made her look like a fat wild animal. Her hair sprang out the collar, making for a comical view.
I stepped inside, letting myself warm up, before deciding to break the ice. I was ignored or passed over by a quick glance pass me, then outside the window to her left.
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“Is there anyone else with you?” She asked, blowing into her hands for warmth. I noticed her ungloved hands and wondered, but didn’t ask why, because she pocketed them right after.
“No, I’m by myself.” I answered, the best way I could, pinpointing what I thought was her supposed worry about me being loose lipped.
I watched half her face, but she showed no sign of acknowledging me. In a mock defeat I put my hands up to let her know I was defenseless, alone and, only here because I was asked to come. Instead of giving a proper response she chewed her bottom lip, before bringing her glare back over me.
“Do you live here?” I asked, finally settling on sitting on what I thought were bags of fertilizer, due to the smell. I was trying to fill that void of silence, left by her dissatisfied attitude. “Not exactly here, I mean.” I added, hoping she didn’t think I meant the shed. “There.” I pointed to a wall where there were tools lined up, but behind that on the other side. There was no answer, only a silence.
“Is he your father? The Prea… the man you were with?” I slipped up, almost calling the man the name, we called him in jest. I was hoping to break the tension, which was thicker than the girls eyebrows. Although this garnered some attention, it was the wrong kind. She gave me a scathing glare.
“He’s not, I’m no monster like him.” She violently spat out, like the word father was poison to her. I was starting to wonder why I was even called here, if she was as going to be stand offish, but I persevered anyways.
“So, is he’s a vampire?” I only asked to get away from the sore topic, and to get on her better side, since this was a topic I knew I could broach with her. I tried not to sound skeptical, but I was sure it came off like that.
She shook her head, saying.
“They’re.”
I turned my head, trying to piece the meaning together.
“them.”
She repeated, nodding past the wall of tools.
“So, you want me to believe the family inside that house are vampires?”
She scowled, then asked.
“Is your father coming?”
At the mention of my father; I seized up looking for the bright red and blue police lights, flashing outside the windows reflection.
“He shouldn’t,” I said. “I didn’t exactly tell him I was sneaking out to see what the weird girl, saying she was a vampire.” I added a little ire to my tone, because I was frustrated by being stalemated, when she was the one who called me out.
I startled when the metallic roof shuttered, sending us both into a brooding silence. Then after a second to think to think, she spat out the side of her mouth. “I’m not the vampire, or weird.” I didn’t catch what she said, not out of annoying her, but because of the winds raucous attack on the sheds roof.
“Huh?” I asked. Instead of repeating the same way, or saying it louder. She closed in on one fell swoop. Appearing right in front of me. A finger pressed against my chest, and through gritted teeth, she reiterated.
“I am not Weird, or a vampire.”
Unlike my mind, I didn’t think fast enough, so I was backpedaling, falling backwards onto my butt, and she was coming quickly at me. The ground was cold and hard, and with absolutely nowhere to go, she straddled me like a wild animal.
I was breathing in and out, raggedly, as she pressed her hands into my chest. Our breaths were simultaneously entangled as we both looked up and down at another.
“They hurt, they kill, they and eat people. They are detestable. I want them caught.I want justice for the people they’ve hurt.” My breathing was becoming shallow, as she pounded each word, and her hands into my chest. I was in awe of her hostility. I didn’t think to scream out for help, because although I was the one pinned to the ground. There wasn’t much force being generated to keep me there. I looked up, hoping to glimpse an intenseness in her emerald eyes, but instead I was left with a pitiful look, and tears overflowing. She continued ranting, and I could hear the frustration in her voice. I didn’t tell her to stop, or invalidate her, I let her continue. It was all I could do.
After it was all done and out, her frustrations at these monsters, she claimed hurt people. I was terrified for a different reason. That there was a possibility they could exist. I also felt sorry. Because, what situation put you in the care of monsters, what was her life like until now. She gripped my jacket and pressed her face into it.
“I’ll do anything for them to be caught.” She finished, from inside my jacket, and it came out garbled and warped, but again I said nothing.
After a minute of getting ourselves situated. We both sat in opposite corners of where we started.
“I’m sorry,” I said, “for calling you weird.”
There were sniffles and then she said though small sobs. “it’s okay, I am a bit weird.”
I didn’t dare agree.
“I can show you, proof I mean.” Came a half choked sniffle, in between words. I looked over at her, not understanding what she meant, when she added. “But they can never know I told you. Not even if they find you, if they found out I betrayed them.” She paused here, looking at every corner, and listening closely to the wind outside. “it’ll be the end for me.” She was desperate now, reminiscent of a child telling a secret that must never get out, lest her parents ground her. I listened to the word, Proof, in my head. Could I possibly even believe? Didn’t she say she would show me tonight? I was curious, but at what cost would I get the answer. I hesitated answering, letting her face dictate my next response. It was there, a possibility, because she was truly terrified, but Vampires? I couldn’t just believe that was the case. I was starting to feel like this was to much for me. I couldn’t fathom what kind of help I could offer.
I decided to listen to what else she had to say or show me.
“Later on today, in the evening, right after 6, It has to be then. That’s when they feed.” Her crying all but dried up, and she was more vocal, less hostile and filled with hope. This struck me right where it hurt the most. I still didn’t fully believe her, and I still didn’t offer any circumstance that could help her out. Although, there was a quality to her story, her emotions, that made me think beyond the realm of reality. That, although preposterous at first, there was a finality to it. Her words stamped themselves into the realm of non fiction, and I couldn’t help but want to help her.