From Darkness Comes: The Horror Box Set (3 page)

“Morgan just came by with a job.” I shut the door and hea
ded upstairs to my room. It would be daylight soon, I could feel it. “She thinks I can handle it by myself and didn’t want you getting involved.” I guess that was at least part of the truth. I wasn’t all that sure that Morgan believed that I could handle anything by myself.

“What is the job?” Lisa moved past me into my room and ploppe
d down on my bed. I could tell by the look on her face that she wasn’t buying any of what I was selling.

“Just something up in Estacada. I will head there tonight and be back before morning most likely.”

“So is it werewolves?” Lisa said that with way too much enthusiasm. I guess this was all just a big adventure to her. She still was not really in tune with the whole “we are monsters” part of things. If she knew how close she’d come to being a late-night snack to Belinda back when we first started hanging out together…perhaps she would be a little more concerned with her own safety.

“No.” I closed my bedroom door. A little bit of dim gray light was starting to spill across the floor of my hallway.

“Then maybe you can let me know what it is, and
I
can decide if it is too dangerous for me or not.” Lisa folded her arms across her chest and cocked one hip. That was teenage girl body language for ‘I ain’t budging until you talk.’

“Zombies,” I said.

Seriously, what could it hurt? In fact, we’d watched a bunch of those movies. Even went to some author’s book signing. Marvin, or Mark, or Mel Tufo…something like that—he had some series that she was just crazy about. She got home that night and wrapped the book in plastic like it was a priceless artifact. I was certain that when I told her it might be zombies that she would see the logic in sitting this one out. After all, I am a ghoul. I was pretty sure I am off the menu.

I could not have
been more wrong.

Rumors in the Air

Lisa was at my door within minutes of sunset. Lucky for her that I wasn’t busy. Hey, I might be a ghoul, but I still have my needs. I had done some searches on Google about zombies—the real ones…not the movie versions. I figured I knew all that I needed to deal with the made-in-Hollywood kind—a bullet to the head or whatever.

In a day’s worth of research, I came up with salt. Now what you did with the salt depended on what you read. I could make a circle with it. I could throw it on the zombie—that one seemed like a last ditch tactic. I was pretty sure that if it came to that, I was already in big trouble.

“Can I drive?” Lisa asked, twirling the keys on her finger.

“The Corvette?” I had to stifle a laugh. Hadn’t she just been going on yesterday about my frivolous spending?

“Did you get another car when I wasn’t paying attention?”

“You can drive, but if you so much as get too many bugs on the windshield…it is game over.”

Lisa let out a squeal that could almost cause an ear hemorrhage and raced down the stairs. I am pretty sure the only things capable of hearing in that register were ghouls and dogs. I grabbed my plastic bag from the grocery store with a variety of salts. I had the one with the little girl and the umbrella, the generic store brand, and then, as an added bonus, I’d had Lisa get a thing of sea salt. Hey, no such thing as being over-prepared when it comes to dealing with zombies. Now there is something I never imagined in a million years I would have to say with any sort of seriousness.

We pulled out of the driveway. That is how long it took me to regret letting Lisa drive. First, I was thrown forward hard enough that I was pretty sure I was going to have whiplash (if ghouls can get whiplash, that is). Then, I was slammed back in my seat hard enough that, if this would have been a cartoon, my teeth would still be floating in the air where my head used to be.

Then she turned on the stereo.

Apparently the little delinquent had been planning on my saying yes. She already had her iPod docked and a song queued up. Now when I was young…err…young
er
…groups like Pantera were considered pretty extreme. I listened to them when I wanted to piss off my folks. I didn’t even like them that much. Megadeth and Metallica fell into that grouping as well. Well, Metallica did until they went emo-metal with
Nothing Else Matters
.

The stuff screaming out of my speakers had absolutely no relation to actual music. I get that each generation thinks theirs is the one that cornered the market. With my folks it was Elvis, The
Beatles, and Barbara Streisand. How you can link those together is anybody’s guess. My mom cried when John Lennon got shot. I cried when Poison broke up. To each his or her own, I guess. Still, this noise was absolutely ridiculous. If you shoved a microphone down some guy’s throat and then slammed his testicles in a sliding glass door, he would probably be more musical than this garbage.

I endured it for all of ten minutes. Say what you will, but I am proud that I lasted that long. A moment later
, we were back on the road and heading towards Estacada. I swapped out her iPod for mine and was soon just a bit envious of Katrina and her ability to walk on sunshine. Lisa seemed unimpressed.

We drove in silence for a while, but I could almost feel the pressure dropping as a storm moved in steadily. As we turned on to
a stretch of highway that ran in a series of lazy curves beside some river or another—don’t ask me which one the damn things are everywhere in this state…and then there is the whole ‘Is it a river or a stream” thing. How should I know, and why do I care? It is moving water and you can skip rocks across it. Beyond that…is there really a difference? Anyway…it started to rain.

“Why is
your
stuff music and
my
stuff crap?” Lisa grumbled.
Ah yes, the leading edge of another storm had arrived
.

“I never said any such thing,” I
replied, knowing very well that an answer like that would not divert or lessen the coming storm.

One thing about being a ghoul, I do have a rather extreme sense of smell. Lisa was being paid a visit by Aunt Scarlet. I have heard some people say that PMS is a construct of the f
emale psyche. Funny how most of those “experts” happen to be men.

“You don’t have to say it. Every time I put on my music, you either make a face or turn it off.”

“Look, when you get your car, and I have to ride in it, you can play your music to your little heart’s content.”

In my mind, I was slapping my forehead. Hadn’t my own mother said that exact same thing to me when I was
close to around Lisa’s age? And those words had come back to bite her in the ass.

My senior year in high school, she had gone to Arizona to visit her mom and dad—my grandma and granddaddy. Guess who had to pick her up at the airport when she came home? And I wa
s driving my beat up Toyota Corolla with a Kenwood stereo and hundred watt amp (that was probably worth more than the car)—ah, the Eighties. So, at the time, I was dating this guy named Joel. He was a big Van Halen fan. I hadn’t really gotten into them yet. I was still listening to the Top Forty.

I credit Joel for really getting me started in the rock music. He took me to my first concert. It was Scorpions, Iron Maiden and Girl’s School. It was better than sex. Well, it was better than high school sex, but that is a topic for another time.

Anyways, so I go to pick up my mom. In my cassette deck is the first (and best in my opinion) Van Halen tape. I may or may not have sat in the parking lot for a few extra moments fast forwarding to a specific spot on the tape. Say what you want about your CDs, and various digital music players, there was something magic about those days of having a small suitcase of cassette tapes in your back seat.

We got my mom’s bags and threw them in the back seat, then once we both had on our seatbelts…I
turned the ignition. When those first few bangs on the drum sounded…and then Eddie Van Halen tore into
Eruption
like I do a dead wino, my mom just about gave me a sunroof. As I backed out of the space, she started yelling about turning off ‘that infernal racket!’

“When we drive your car, you can play your music,” I pa
rroted a saying that she had used on me since I was about four.

“Look,” I glanced at Lisa and tried my best to smile, “how about you ease me into your stuff. I’m sure you listen to som
ething that doesn’t sound like somebody caught their testicles in a garbage disposal.”

Lisa
actually had the nerve to appear to be
considering
my offer! I was about to take it back, after all…it is
my
car!

“Fine,” she agreed. “I have a few other bands I can probably listen to that you won’t hate.”

“And if something of mine is just too much, then you let me know. I will try and keep it fair.” I was feeling pretty good about myself. My mother never would have made such a compromise.

“This,” Lisa said, and then made a choking, gagging sound while clutching her throat.

“What?” At this very moment, Steve Perry and the boys were urging me not to stop believin’. How could anybody have a problem with Journey?

“Reminds me of that stupid show,
Glee
.” Lisa held her nose and waved one hand in front of her face. I saw her point. Maybe later I would try to sneak in some
Wheel in the Sky
or
Lights
.

I thumbed ahead and introduced her to Dexy’s Midnight Runners. She seemed to hate them considerably less than Jou
rney. We drove along the rest of the way in relative peace. I even grabbed her a four-pack of peanut butter cups when I stopped for gas. I don’t care what any doctor says, but when Aunt Flo stops by, chocolate is the answer.

Eventually we rolled into what was considered the main drag in Estacada. No surprise, it was called Main Street. I pulled in to a little strip mall with a pizza place and a coin-operated laundry. At the moment, there were more people in the laundry. Sunglasses on—my eyes are black, not just the pretty part e
ither…the entire eyeball was entirely black which tended to unnerve some folks—I hopped out of the car and strolled into the laundry.

“So do we just start asking?” Lisa whispered.

I glanced at her, and that was when it hit me. I didn’t have a plan. I had no clue what to do. Maybe zombies were like vampires. As a ghoul, I can smell a dead body from a pretty fair distance. They smell like the best thing you can imagine. Think pumpkin pie and chocolate chip cookies. However, vampires smell disgusting to me. The best thing I can compare it to is maybe chocolate cake frosted in Dumpster filth and dipped in sewage. I haven’t gotten around to asking why yet. I’m not sure if Morgan would know…or care.

I briefly considered calling her up and asking, but I knew that nothing good would come of that. I decided that I didn’t need her. In fact, within just a matter of seconds, I had managed to turn the entire situation around and had myself convinced that the reason that Morgan had given me this job is because she had no clue. I was her only hope.

I was about to head inside the pizza place when I caught a whiff of something. Have you ever visited a place that makes candy? Specifically, a place that makes all types of fudge and chocolate treats? That first blast of cocoa-scented air is magical. I used to go to this place in the Pearl District when I wanted to pretend that I was an affluent young woman. I always had my cover blown the moment I engaged in a conversation with somebody who was actually
from
the Pearl District. I didn’t know anything about art or what the latest must-read book happened to be at the moment. And Heaven forbid my phone ring. As soon as I pulled out my pay-by-the-month model with absolutely no special features…so busted.

Back to what I was saying before I got sidetracked…

This smell hit my nose and I am pretty sure I had a tiny orgasm. My knees almost folded up like a lawn chair. But then I caught a whiff of something else. It was just below the surface of that other smell, and I had to concentrate because I began to think that I’d imagined it. It was like my mind had decided that nothing could smell that good and so it had popped the bubble by creating this other smell.

The more I tried to focus on it, the more it seemed to stay just out of reach. I turned back to the street and looked around. A few cars passed, but there was nobody on the street. That seemed wrong somehow. After all, it was Friday night and school was within a week or so of letting out for summer break. If nothing else, there should have at least been a few juvenile delinquents out prowling and working up the courage to cause trouble.

I tried to home back in on that wonderful smell, but it had gone away as if it never had existed. Hmm…maybe it hadn’t. But no, my body physically reacted to that smell. It was real, and now I needed to track it down, because the only thing that has that sort of smell for me is something dead.

“Did you see that lady?” Lisa tugged at my arm, snapping me out of my little aroma-induced trance.

“Huh?” That should have been an obvious enough response for Lisa to be able to deduce my answer. However, Lisa often misses the obvious.

“That lady that just walked into that pizza place?”

“No, but what about her?”

“She was…” Lisa stood there with her mouth open. It was like she completely switched off. The last time she did that…

The smell hit me at the same time as I heard that voice. “Morgan told me that I would find you here.”

“Belinda.
” I tried not to make that one word sound at all how I felt about the person in question. “What brings you out here to the sticks?”

“I have a thrall out here,” she said as she stepped
from the shadows and sort of oozed behind Lisa, running her fingers along my friend’s shoulder.

The thing you need to know about Belinda is that she was turned a few hundred years ago. She was obviously young, and now she uses that to her advantage. She dresses like jail bait and apparently has a thing for dirty old men. Her hair is blonde enough to almost be white and her blue eyes remind me of
this baby doll I had as a little girl. They sparkle, but there is no life in them at all.

Tonight she was wearing shorts...almost. I mean I am sure that they started off as shorts, but I just can
’t see anybody modifying them to the extent that they have so many tiny rips in them located with such strategic perfection that they come very close to making her a flasher. And the bare midriff tee shirt looks to be a size or two small…at least for her bra-less boobs. It sports the Estacada High School Rangers’ logo, albeit somewhat stretched and malformed by the pair of unfairly firm mounds stuffed under it.

“What, dare I ask,
exactly is a thrall?” I decided to play along and play nice for now.

“My need to feed is not something I can always find a source to quench. For just such occasions, I have a few humans that give willingly.”

“So you are here for the cuisine,” I said with a laugh that I hoped sounded pleasant and not too mocking.