Final Reckonings (12 page)

So Nancy was able to tell him she already had a date and wouldn't be there because she just simply could not break it.

Yes, she was glad. She couldn't face him tonight, after what happened and after—what she thought.

And also, that meant tonight would be a good chance to do what she planned. If Philip was out, she could go to the cottage.

It wasn't easy. Hedy was just ready to blow her top when Nancy broke the date. But she didn't ask any questions, and it was only about nine when Nancy sneaked back past the cottage.

Philip was in there, all right. Nancy went up the path then to his place. It was dark, and there were clouds over the moon. She almost fell flat on her face before she got to the door.

It was locked anyway. But the window was open. Nancy took off the screen and crawled inside.

The cottage was just a cottage. She had a pencil flashlight and held it down low while she looked around. But there was nothing to see. Nothing!

Of course, the bed hadn't been slept in. At least, it was made pretty well for a man. And he didn't have any dishes or stuff. Not even a camp stove in the place. There were suits in the closet and a drawer full of clothes.

It gave Nancy a funny feeling to open his bureau and feel the shirts and socks and stuff, all lying there in stacks. Most of it was brand-new.

There was no mirror above the bureau. There was no mirror in the bathroom, or anywhere else. Of course there wouldn't be, if—

But she had to be sure.

Nancy finally went over to the worktable. There was a typewriter on it, and a big stack of manuscript on one side. Maybe he was writing a thesis, after all.

She ruffled through the pile of papers, looking for the title page. It was there.

SOME NOTES UPON THE EMPIRICAL APPROACH TO DEMONOLOGY IN THE MODERN WORLD
.

Somehow, that shocked her more than anything else. It seemed to all tie in. Demonology. In the modern world, today. He was writing about demons, and — things.

Nancy knew now that she'd have to do something, tell somebody.

Yes. That was it. Tonight, after Philip left, she'd tell Laura. Tell her that Philip didn't eat and there were no mirrors and he was so pale and nobody saw him in the daytime and a bat flew out of the sunset.

Tell her that Philip was ... a vampire.

Nancy never knew how she managed to get through that night after she told Laura. Laura was afraid she would go into hysterics, until she managed to deadpan. If Laura wanted to take it that way, let her. Some people are just too superior for their own good.

But Nancy wouldn't stop now. She couldn't. If her own mother acted that way, how could you expect anyone else to — ?

There was only one thing left to do and that was see it through. At least Laura wouldn't say anything—she positively wouldn't dare.

So the next night, when she heard that Philip might drop in again, Nancy excused herself just in time. She waited outside until she saw Philip come up the path. It was cloudy again, but that suited her. Then she headed straight for the cottage down the path.

After she finished there, Nancy came back to their place. Philip was still talking with Laura and Ralph. She could hear him through the window.

"You're afraid of the dark, aren't you?

"Oh, but you are. I know all about you, do you understand? You were afraid of the dark when you were a child. Not because of robbers ... or thieves ... or murderers. Children don't think of such things. You were afraid of the dark because of. . . the Bogey Man!

"That's the term your parents used. Bogey Man. One of those smart, sophisticated, grown-up terms, designed to hide the terror behind it. But the terror exists.

"Because, when you were a child, you knew what the Bogey Man looked like. You would see him in your dreams — that black, grinning face with the wicked red eyes. You heard his buzzing voice mumbling to you in sleep, when you had nightmares. And you'd wake up, screaming for your mother.

"Admit it. You did scream, didn't you? And now that you're grown up, you laugh about it. Now you're ashamed of your fear.

"But — you're still afraid. You may have learned to sneer at witchcraft and demonology. You read slick, scientific explanations, dismissing the basic phobias with a psychiatric phrase. Mythology, folklore, primitive ignorance — that's what tales of witches and wizards are, aren't they? There is no Satan, no Hell. Right?

"Yet somehow, you can't keep away from such thoughts. You will buy books about the supernatural and patronize horror movies, and visit spiritualists, and listen to ghost stories, and talk about your dreams, and speculate on the Faust legend. Even though you parrot the arguments you've learned —you can't keep away from the mysteries. And ever so often, you'll find yourself in the darkness with that deep fear; the fear which all bravado and pretending cannot drive from your soul.

"Because you know it's true. There are such things, such forces, such Evil. And . . . the Bogey Man will get you if you don't watch out!"

Philip laughed. "Now—in the face of all that — is it so difficult for you to understand why your daughter might think I'm a vampire?"

They all laughed. But Nancy didn't laugh. She crouched under the window and bit her lip.

Laura had opened her trap, after all. And — to him! Probably blabbed everything; about the food and the bat and all the rest. Now they were having a good time over it. "Damn them!" she muttered.

Philip had keen ears. She heard him get up and come to the window. There was no use in trying to hide. Nancy walked around to the porch and opened the door.

"Why, hello, my dear."

"Nancy—back so soon?"

They were all grinning at her at once. She couldn't look at them. Philip had a big smile on his face, and for the first time she noticed his teeth. His big, white teeth; the points hidden under his full red lips. That was all she could see — Philip's teeth, gleaming at her.

Nancy made the sign of the cross and ran sobbing into her room.

The next day they had it out.

Laura told her she was acting like a child. She had just embarrassed them to death.

"But why did you have to tell him about it?" Nancy wanted to know.

"Because he asked us."

"Asked you?"

"Yes. Somebody told him you were making inquiries about him at the store."

So that was it. That was why he came up with his long line about the Bogey Man. Oh, he was clever, all right. Making them think she was just pulling some kid stuff. Making them laugh at her.

It was no use talking to Laura at all, after that. She was just waiting to fly off the handle about the whole thing.

"Let's skip it," Nancy said, and went out.

She sat under the trees for a long time that afternoon, just trying to think things out.

After all, she could have made a mistake. There were lots of bats flying around at sunset. A man doesn't have to keep house for himself—he can always eat in restaurants. Maybe he did work all day on his thesis. You don't have to be a vampire to write about demonology. Many people have gleaming white teeth. And nobody had been bitten in the throat, or killed, or stuff like that. . . .

But something was wrong. She felt it. Nancy knew what Laura thought . . . that she was just burned up because Philip had brushed her off on the date. That she had been reading too much silly stuff in books. That she invented the whole thing just to make Philip notice her.

Well — it was true. She did want him to notice her. He was the most attractive man she'd ever met. If only it wasn't true. It couldn't be true. But Philip had no mirrors. . . .

She went on like that for hours. It was getting dark before she pulled herself together. Laura and Ralph would be going ahead with supper by now.

Nancy got up and started along the path near the lake. She had the jitters, all right; the shadows kept jumping around so, and she walked fast.

All at once something moved out of the shadows up ahead. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Did I startle you?"

He was standing there.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you, my dear." Just standing there, smiling at her. "But say, I've been up at the house looking for you."

"For—me?"

"Yes. I wanted to talk to you. Let's take a walk, shall we?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I have a date — "

"Too bad. I was hoping we might get together. You aren't angry with me about the other night, are you?"

"Not at all." Nancy couldn't figure out what the score was. Philip sounded like an ordinary drip, now. Well, she could handle that one.

They kept walking along the path. It was getting darker now, and she wondered if the clouds would lift. Not that she was really frightened, but —

Philip was rubbing his eye.

"What's the matter?"

"Got a speck in my eye, or something. Have you got a mirror in your purse, my dear?"

"A — mirror?"

"Yes. If you please."

Nancy's hands trembled so she nearly dropped the purse. But she got the mirror out and gave it to him.

He looked straight into it and rubbed his eye.

Nancy leaned over his shoulder and saw his reflection. He had a reflection.

She didn't know what she was doing, what she was saying. The words just blurted out. "You — you looked into the mirror!" Philip smiled and handed the mirror back to her.

"Of course I did. And I found that sprig of hemlock on my doorknob last night, too. The one you put there when you sneaked off before coming into the cottage to make the sign of the cross at me."

"Why —I — "

"Oh, don't look so startled, Nancy! I know all about your ideas. You thought I was a vampire, didn't you?"

She couldn't say a word. She felt as if she would sink right into the ground.

But Philip grinned.

"Just because I work all day and eat in restaurants and walk at night, you wondered about me. My thesis had you puzzled too, didn't it?

"But you're wrong, you know. Vampires wear long black cloaks and during the day they sleep in coffins or grave-earth. You didn't find any cloaks or coffins when you searched my cottage."

"But I — "

"I'm not angry with you, my dear. I just wanted you to get things straight. I wanted you to know that I can touch hemlock and look in mirrors and all the rest."

Nancy looked away. The clouds were lifting from the moon. Like the weight was lifting from her heart.

"I see," she whispered. "I guess you think I'm an awful dope, Philip."

"Not at all." He took her hand. A vampire's hand is cold, but his touch was warm. "I think you're a very lovely girl. You have beautiful hair, Nancy. Did you know that? Look — the moon is rising. Gleaming on your hair. I can see you, now. Nancy — you aren't afraid of me any more?"

"No, Philip. I never was afraid. Not really. I — I guess Laura was right. It was my subconscious."

"Subconscious? Scientific, aren't we?"

"You know. I must have thought up all this vampire stuff just to make you notice me. And besides, vampires are supposed to be tall, dark and handsome — like you — "

Philip held her very close, then.

"You're a very clever little girl, Nancy. Very clever. It's a pity you had to stir up such a fuss over nothing."

"But I didn't mean it, really. And it's all over now. Only Laura and Ralph know."

Philip didn't kiss her yet. He shook his head. "I'm afraid it isn't that simple after all. Like throwing a stone into a pool. Ripples."

"Ripples?"

"Laura and Ralph will talk to people. Make a joke out of it. Laura has, already — she said something to Prentiss. Pretty soon people will start whispering. Wondering. A stranger is always a suspect, Nancy. A reputation is a very flimsy thing. It's no use, my dear. I shall have to clear out of here."

Nancy couldn't believe her ears.

"What do you care?" she whispered. "Let them talk. We'll just laugh at them."

"I'll laugh at them," said Philip. "You won't."

He held her very close and she couldn't see his face. He mumbled against her shoulder.

"Too bad you were such a meddling little fool, Nancy. But I can't let you get away now. It would spoil everything. You've guessed too much." Nancy pulled away, but he held her. He was very strong.

"Philip! Let me go!"

He kept pulling her closer—closer — there was no escape. The moonlight was full on his face now, and for the first time Nancy noticed the change.

"Philip — it's true, then! You are a vampire!"

"Oh no, my dear," he whispered. "I'm not a vampire, I'm . . . just a werewolf!"

Frozen Fear

W
ALTER
K
RASS
used to cut his fingernails over the kitchen sink. Ruby would give him hell if she found any nail parings lying around. Ruby was like that. She enjoyed giving him hell in one form or another.

Krass was used to that, after four years of marriage.

But one afternoon he came home early from the office and found that Ruby had gone out. While rummaging around in a bureau drawer, looking for a tobacco pouch, Walter Krass happened to find some old nail parings.

They were imbedded in the body of a little wax doll—a tiny mannikin with a mop of brown hair and a curiously familiar face. Walter Krass recognized his hair in the doll, and the features had been molded to resemble his own.

Then he knew that Ruby was trying to kill him.

He looked at the little wax figure for a long moment, then dropped it into the drawer again and covered it with a pile of Ruby's handkerchiefs.

Krass padded out of the bedroom and sat down in the parlor. His pudgy little body slumped in the easy chair, and he ran stubby fingers through his sandy brown cowlick.

He felt shocked, but not surprised. Ruby had Cajun blood, and in her hatred of him she would resort to Cajun superstitions. He knew she hated him, of course.

But this attempt on his life was another matter. It could mean only one thing. Somehow, Ruby had found out about Cynthia.

Yes. She knew. And her reaction was typical. Ruby would never think of a separation, or a divorce. She'd rather kill him.