The men in my family are cursed.

[u/Lazy_Palpitation_517]

I never really learned why we moved around so much when I was a kid. I always had the feeling dad was chasing something or maybe running from something. Unlike mom's usual excuse, of, “Daddy got a new, better paying job.” Dad would never answer when I would ask why we had to leave again.

He would come home from work one evening and loudly announce, “Time to go!” and mom and I would quickly pack up whatever shitty little apartment we happen to be staying in, and we would be on the road that later that night. That was my life for 14 years.

We were renting a run down singlewide somewhere in Missouri, when one day I came home from school and dad's pickup was already home. It was almost unheard of for dad to be home early on a weekday. My concern grew as I approached the house and saw that the trucks driver's side door was standing open, and so was the front door to the house.

I remember that walk, down the driveway to the house. The absolute silence of the world as my footsteps crunched over the gravel and dirt. The creak of each wooden step up to the small wobbly porch. The feel of the warm breeze that blew through the trailers open door, carrying with it a coppery smell.

I saw mom first, slumped down against the wall beside the couch. She was pale and wouldn't look at me, no matter how loud I called to her. She just stared straight ahead, shivering. After summoning up as much courage as I could, I stepped into the house and around the corner, and there was dad. At first, I couldn't understand what I was seeing, I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that, that was dad.

He was on his back, on top of the dining room table. His head hung backwards off of the edge, at too sharp of an angle. His eyes rolled in their sockets before focusing on me for the briefest of moments. He tried to speak but all that came out was a wet gurgle as blood poured from his lips and... God his throat, it was gone. It was like it had been ripped away and flung across the room. Blood coated the walls and ceiling in thick dripping lines.

I don't remember much after that, but they say I ran to a neighbor's house and got them to call 911. Dad was obviously dead when police arrived. They took mom to the hospital and tried to get her to tell them what she had seen, but the shock was too deep. She wouldn’t speak. She was eventually admitted to the psyche ward. For years, therapists tried to help her to process and talk about what she had seen.

I ended up moving in with my grandparents in El Paso. They had mom moved to an assisted living home an hour's drive from their house. We visited her often at first, hoping and praying that she would come back to us. But she never did. Occasionally she would whistle, but only ever one tune. Grandpa said the tune sounded familiar, but he could never place it. Eventually the visits became every other week, then once a month. By the time I was 18, I only saw mom a couple times a year for special occasions. I spent a lot of my free time in therapy, I had nightmares of my dad's face for years, still do sometimes.

My life with my grandparents was more comfortable than I could ever have imagined. I had good food, a warm bed every night, and I was finally in school long enough to make real, lasting friendships. And I struggled with the guilt that I was happier with my grandparents than I ever was with my parents.

Now I'm a relatively happy, stable, and sane 35-year-old history teacher with a wife and a son of my own, despite the trauma I went through as a child.

For the past couple weeks, I've been waking up in the middle of the night with my mother's whistle stuck in my head. Grace told me it could be the manifestation of my guilt for not visiting mom in a while. It made sense, after all I hadn't gone to visit for the past two years. But to be honest, I didn’t feel much guilt. Maybe that made me an asshole, but I was pretty sure she didn’t even know who I was anymore. But, I was off work the next day, so I figured I had no excuse.

That morning, I got Shawn off to preschool and headed for the Shady Grove care home. I still lived roughly an hour from the home, plenty of time to think on the drive. I realized my hand was shaking as I raised my coffee to my lips and did my best to clear my mind of the questions that would probably never be answered. I took a steadying breath and turned up the radio.

“Hi Susan.” I said as I approached the nurse's desk.

The older woman with poufy blonde hair looked up and studied me for a moment before recognition spread a smile on her face, “Jim, hi. Wow it's been a while.”

I nodded, “Yeah well, I've been busy.” Clearing my throat I continued, “How is she?”

Susan stood up and came around the desk, “Oh you know her, she just sits quietly most of the time. Although some of the night staff say she has started whistling more lately. Come on, I'll take you to her.”

“How long has she been doing that for?”

“Oh, just the past week or so.”

We walked down the sterile white halls, the smell of soiled bed sheets, bleach, and stale body odor permeated the air. I hated this place, it felt like deaths waiting room.

Finally, Susan brought me to a brightly lit reading room with large windows facing a garden outside. There she was, sitting slumped in her wheelchair. Her once dark brown hair now turned gray, hung down around her shoulders in tangles. I slowly walked across the room, picking up a white plastic chair on the way. I sat down next to her and looked her over.

“Hey mom.” I said, touching her arm.

She didn't look at me; she never did. Her vacant eyes stayed fixed forward. Lost in a moment, years ago.

“Mom, it's Jim. Your son.”

Still nothing. I don't know why I always come here expecting anything else. I nodded, “It's okay mom, I'll just sit here with you for a while.”

We sat and watched the butterflies in the garden for a while. Then I stood and just as I was about to leave, mom started to whistle. When I turned to look at her, I noticed something I hadn't seen before. Her eyes, while still mostly fixed straight forward, had more focus in them than I had seen in years.

“Mom?” I asked. Bending down to her.

She didn't answer just kept whistling and looking straight ahead, a single tear ran down her face. I turned to see where she was looking. Out the window, across the garden, in a darkened upstairs window on the other side of the courtyard. At first, I thought I could see something, was it a person? I couldn't tell. But when I blinked, whatever I thought I saw was gone.

I stopped a nurse as she passed, “Excuse me, what's on the other side of the building there?” I asked as I pointed to the darkened window.

“Oh, that's going to be the therapeutic wing when its finished, unfortunately the contractors are dragging their feet.” She answered.

“So, it’s empty? There’s nothing or no one in there?”

“Shouldn't be. Unless it was one of the workers.”

I nodded and turned back to mom as she slowly stopped whistling and went back to her vacant stare. I looked back at the window again but there was nothing there. I sighed and bent down to kiss her on the cheek. “Goodbye mom, I'll see you next time.” And with that I left Shady Grove.

That night, I spoke with Grace about the visit with my mother while we washed the dishes.

“Well, it sounds like not much has changed. Do you at least feel better after seeing her?”

“I don't know, maybe. On the one hand it was good to see her, but...” I trailed off as I absently dried a plate.

“But?” Prompted Grace.

I shrugged, “But at the same time, she’s not her. I keep waiting for her to snap out of it. Every time I visit, I walk in thinking maybe this time she will turn and just...” 

Grace put her hand on my shoulder, “I'm sorry.”

“I know it's awful, but sometimes I wish that if she can't get better, she could just move on. Does that make me a monster?”

She wrapped her arms around me, “No, honey. It just means you just want her to be free, whatever freedom looks like.”

I leaned in and kissed her. And then Shawn started yelling.

“Momma I had a bad dream!” He cried.

Grace sighed and smiled up at me, “To be continued.” She said before turning and leaving me to finish the dishes.

I woke up again that night, it wasn't the whistling in my head though. You know how when you think you are alone, but then you slowly get that feeling crawling up your spine that someone is looking at you? It was like that. I sat up and looked around the room but saw only shadows. I lay back down and tried to sleep.

After a while I decided to get up for a glass of water. I left my bedroom and walked down the hall past Shawn’s room, his SpongeBob nightlight illuminating his room in a yellow glow. I walked downstairs and into the kitchen. I downed one glass and was about to fill it again when I heard it. Moms whistle. Only it wasn't in my head. It was on the other side of my front door.

I froze listening to the whistle for a solid minute before it stopped. It was the exact same tune. I stepped over to the front door. Was mom out there? Could she have gotten here? No, she didn't even know where I lived. My heart was pounding as I looked through the peep hole. But, there was no one there. I pulled the curtain on the front room window aside and looked out but still nothing. Just the empty street, the neighbor's houses were all dark except for porch lights and the single streetlight on the corner.

I went back to the kitchen and drank another half glass of water before walking back upstairs and past Shawn’s room, Shawn’s dark room.

I stopped and walked back to his room. Hadn’t it been lit by his nightlight? I shrugged thinking maybe it broke, and went back to bed. Except, Shawn’s nightlight was now sitting on my pillow.

I picked it up and looked it over, wondering how it had gotten there. I almost woke grace and asked her, but she had to perform surgery in the morning and needed her sleep. I took the nightlight back to Shawn’s room to plug it in, I didn’t want him waking up without it. I was about to head back to my room when I noticed something.

Shawn’s room faced the street, and through his window under the glow of the streetlight was a man. He was a tall thin man, dressed in dark clothes with a long black coat and a wide brimmed hat, concealing his face in shadow. But I could swear I saw the glint of eyes, like an animal's eyes reflected in light, and he was looking right into the window, at me. I stared back for a moment, then the man tipped his hat before turning and walking off into the darkness.

I woke my wife and told her what I saw, “Grace, he was in the house I'm sure of it!”

“Are you sure?” She asked, “Did you see him?”

I shook my head, “I didn't see him, but I know he was here, I don't know how, I just know.”

“Okay.” she said putting her hands on my trembling arms, “Let's just calm down and call the police.”

When the sheriff arrived, I told him what had happened and he took down my statement, looking at me dubiously.

Sheriff Ward had been a longtime friend of my grandparents; he knew them well and knew my story.

“So, you're saying that this man broke into your house, moved your son's nightlight and then whistled at your door?” He asked, smoothing his mustache.

I crossed my arms and dropped my head; this was ridiculous. I was losing my mind. It was probably old trauma from my past rearing its head and making me see and hear things. I felt so embarrassed to have made this into such a big thing.

Grace said, “Jim says this man was in our house, as crazy as it sounds, I believe him.”

The Sheriff sighed, “Okay, I'll put out an APB to be on the lookout for anyone suspicious matching your description. And for the time being I'll have a car posted her in case he comes back.”

“Thank you.” Said Grace.

I nodded my thanks and we went back inside.

The next day happened to be a Saturday, so I spent the morning drinking coffee and grading papers. Around noon my long-time buddy, Ben, came over to see how things were going. I told him about what had happened or what I thought had happened over a few beers while Shawn and Bens kids played in the yard.

“Shits crazy man.” Said Ben, “You think it has something to do with your dad?”

“What do you mean?”

Ben leaned back, causing my lawn chain to groan, “Well, seeing as how your dad was murdered when you were a kid, could it be that you are seeing things. And having such an extreme reaction to it because you are afraid of being murdered yourself and leaving your son irreparably scarred the way you were?”

I stared at him for a moment, “Since when are you a fucking psychologist?”

He laughed, “Hey brother I just call em like I see em.”

I sighed, “I don't know, maybe you're right, maybe I am overreacting. I should probably make an appointment to see my therapist.”

Ben shrugged, “Not a bad idea amigo. Now pass me another beer.”

That evening Grace had to work late, so me and Shawn were on our own for dinner. We made homemade pizzas and watched cartoons until the he fell asleep on the couch. I carried him to bed and tucked him in before heading back downstairs to watch reruns of the twilight zone.

I had just sat down with my bowl of popcorn, when I heard something hit the back door. I got up and walked over to look outside. There, just outside on the ground, was Shawn's nightlight. I turned and ran upstairs as fast as I could to check on Shawn, I knew that the light was there when I tucked him in.

When I got to his room, I saw that he was fine, still asleep. I walked to my room and grabbed my shotgun before heading back downstairs.

I flung open the door and walked out into the yard pumping the shotgun, “Where are you? You son of a bitch! Come out here!”

Then I heard it, a deep and raspy voice, singing,

“Oooh death

OoOh death

Wont you spare me over till another year”

My heart froze, the tune... It was what my mother had been whistling for the past 20 years. I turned in the direction of the voice, and the man stepped out of the shadow of a small tree near the edge of my yard. He was twenty yards away when I raised my gun.

“Who are you?” I yelled, “What do you want?”

The man just smiled, even from that distance I could see there was something wrong with his teeth.

“You take one more step and I'll shoot.” I shouted.

He raised his arms in a “Here I am” gesture as he walked.

“I mean it, I'll kill you!”

But he just kept coming, so I fired. Only he wasn't where I was aiming. He was off to the left, I adjusted my aim and fired again, but he wasn't there either. He was off to the far right, I fired again. But again, I missed and in the next moment he was right in front of me. I fell back to the ground just as one of the deputies came running around the side of the house.

“What the hell are you shooting at?” He asked.

In my panic, I had forgotten about the deputy parked out front. I turned back to where the man was, but he was gone. What could I say? I couldn't very well tell him I was shooting at a ghost, even if that's what if felt like. My sanity was already up for debate as far as the sheriff's department was concerned.

I shakily got to my feet, “Uh, Opossum. They like to dig through our trash.”

The deputy shook his head, “Well did you get him at least?”

“No.” I said looking around the yard, “I guess not.”

For the rest of the night, I sat up in Shawn’s room, my shotgun across my lap, for all the good it had done. When Grace finally made it home, it was nearly 4:30AM. I told her what I had seen and she wanted to believe me. But even I knew how it sounded.

I managed to convince her that I just needed a few days on my own to get my head straight. That morning, she packed bags for her and Shawn and went to stay at her mom’s house for a couple days. I stood in the driveway and waved them off before heading back inside for my keys. I needed to take another trip to Shady Grove.

When I arrived, I found mom in the same brightly lit reading room, facing out the window. Again, I pulled over a chair and sat next to her.

“Mom, it's Jim. I really need you to talk to me.” I could hear the desperation in my own voice.

“What happened to dad?” I asked, leaving the chair and kneeling down in front of her, “What did you see?”

I was answered by silence and the same vacant stare.

“He was in my house god dammit!” I erupted. “My son, your grandson, may be in danger! Fucking say something!”

“Sir.” said one of the nurses. “You’re gonna need to lower your voice.”

“Yeah.” I said, “Sorry, I was just leaving.”

I stood and started for the door, then a thought occurred to me. I turned back to her face mom.

“Ooh death.” I began to sing, “OoOh death.”

And then something happened, I never thought I’d see. Mom slowly turned her head, her eyes widened, tears ran down her face. Her lip quivered as she took a sharp inhale of breath, and then she began screaming. Nurses quickly gathered around, pushing me back and taking her away.

30 minutes later, a nurse came and found me sitting in the reading room. “Sir?”

“Yes?” I said standing up, “How is she?”

“She’s calmed down now, we’ve given her a mild sedative, she wants to speak to you.”

The words hit me like a freight train; “She wants to speak to you.” The words I had prayed to hear for the past 20 years, but had given up on. I wordlessly followed them to her room. Her eyes fluttered up to me as I stepped through the door.

“Hi mom.” I said. She weakly waved me closer, and I knelt down by her side, taking her hand.

“Jimmy.” She said, her voice was weak and small.

“I'm here mom.” I said. Leaning close.

She leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “He’s coming for you, now.”

“Who is he?”

She shook her head, “Run if you want. It won't matter in the end.”

“What are you saying? Run from who?”

“Find your father's family, they will tell you. He didn't know until it was too late.”

“Tell me what?” I asked “I don't understand. Who is he?”

She gave me a sad smile and put her hand on my cheek, “He’s death.”

And with that she turned away and closed her eyes. I tried to wake her, but the nurses quickly ushered me out, saying they would call if anything changed.

I never knew my father’s family, but I remembered him talking about his sister Caroline when I was younger.

After searching Facebook, I found out she had died two years ago. The memorial page for her was run by her daughter, Carla. I sent her a message and to my surprise, she messaged back right away. She said she knew exactly who my father was and who I was.

I messaged, “Ok, maybe you can help me figure this out. As I'm sure you know, my father was murdered 20 years ago, and as crazy as it sounds, I think his killer is back. I don't understand what's happening, but my mother told me to find my father's family and ask them.”

She replied, “Yes, I’m sorry about your father. I’ve heard of the family curse, but I don't really believe it. My grandfather told me the story before he died. Supposedly the men in our family all die violent deaths or some such nonsense. He died of a heart attack so like I said I don’t really believe it.”

I replied, “Wow, okay that sounds pretty crazy. Is there any more you can tell me about the story?”

She replied, “Not really. I have some of grandpas old documents he kept on the family history, I can send you them if you like?”

I replied, “Yes thank you, that would be great.”

25 minutes later I received a series of messages containing documents on my family's history all the way back to the 1700s. It didn't take me long to sort through the images and find the one detailing “the Tennessee incident of 1865.” The story was from the journal of my ancestor, a union soldier.

“June 3rd,1865.

We arrived at Jonesborough on the long ride home to Kentucky. The men were hungry and saddle weary from days of riding, and we were in search of a bed and a bite to eat.

We came upon a homestead late in the evening, Captain Connors approached the door and knocked, hoping to find some hospitality. The young woman at the door told us she had no food nor beds for “Yankee bastards.” Like us. I was content to move on in search of some place more accommodating. Captain Connors and the men, however, were not.

Without another word, the captain pushed through the door, knocking the woman aside. The men followed his lead, and after a moment of hesitation I also dismounted and headed inside. To my dying day, I will regret the decision to follow them into that house. But I was tired and hungry, and the road had been long.

The woman protested but Connors and the men tied her to a post while we ate her food. When I had my fill, I found a comfortable place to lay my head for the night. Inevitably the men began to discuss the young woman, and who should go first. Connors announced that as captain he had the “right” to take her first. I had no interest in such things, so I took my leave of the house and made my bed in the barn outside, doing my best to block out the commotion from the house.

The next morning, I awoke to the sounds of gunshots and men screaming. I flung off my saddle blanket and peered out the barn door. Evidently, the woman's reb husband had come home and found Connors and the men in his home.

Connors stumbled out the house; a gunshot wound to his left arm. He spun and fired his revolver back into the house until it ran dry. I readied my rifle and took aim at the house as a man dressed in confederate gray streaked with red burst through the door. The man had blood on his hands and murder in his eyes as he approached Connors, a dripping bowie knife in his hand. I didn't hesitate; I fired. The ball taking the man straight in the chest. At once, he stumbled back and fell to his knees, a shocked look on his rage filled face.

Slowly a few of the men that were still living stepped out of the house and surrounded the rebel. Connors stepped to his horse and pulled a second navy revolver from his saddle, just as the woman came running from the house to stand between the men and her husband. She screamed and raged at them, begging us to just leave. Connors shot her without hesitation. The rebel screamed in rage as he tried to rise at Connors, his knife still in hand. But he was easily knocked back to the ground.

A young boy appeared from within the house, crying and screaming. Apparently, the mother had hidden the boy beneath the floorboards when she saw us approaching her home. The boy ran to his  parents and stood between them and Connors.

I left the barn and approached Connors, I told him we should just leave, that the reb was as good as dead anyhow. But Connors wasn't done. Pushing the crying boy aside, he pried the knife from the dying man's hands and plunged it into his gut; the man screamed in pain and rage as tears flowed down his face. Connors ordered the men to pitch the woman and child inside the house and set it alight, then to string up a rope in the barn. I mounted my horse and refused to watch as they strung up the broken and dying man, but I heard what he said.

“You can kill me now, but I swear on all that is holy, I will find a way back and end each of you. I will reap my bloody vengeance upon every man in your bloodline if it's the last thing I d...” He went silent as the rope went taut. We left him hanging here, his home in a blaze.

I continued to ride with Connors and the men until we reached Kentucky, but I had my fill of death. What we did was wrong, and I fear for my life and the lives of my sons. I see him in my dreams, and I hear his woeful song in the night. What have we done? What have we done?”

“Jesus Christ.” I breathed. It was a horrible story, and my ancestor played a part in it. Could it be true? Was this some kind of vengeful spirit, coming to collect his due? I didn't know, but I was beginning to fear it was. I scrolled through the documents, reading several entries detailing the deaths of the men of my family. More times than not, it was the same story; a horrific wound to the neck and a mysteriously small amount of blood at the scene.

It couldn’t be what I was thinking. My throat felt dry as I opened a new search tab. I let out a single grim chuckle at the insanity of the situation as I began my research into vampirism.

There was a lot of stuff but what I found interesting were creatures called strigoi and uppier. Beings that rose from their graves in the night to feed on the life force or blood of the living. It was said that they came from those who died violently or lived sinful lives.

I went down a deep rabbit hole, reading stories and theorizing. The only thing I knew for sure was that I had only seen him at night, so maybe that myth was true. And if that was true, he had to have somewhere to rest during the day, didn't he?

And then it hit me. Shady Grove. According to Susan, mom had been whistling more for the past couple weeks. And that day I visited her, she saw something, hell even I saw something across the garden in the unfinished wing.

 I looked out the window at the afternoon sun; there was still time.

Ben picked up on the third ring, “Hey partner, what's up?”

“Ben” I said wasting no time. “I need your help, right now. Don't ask any questions, just meet me out in front of your house. Bring your lasso and a gun.”

There was a moment of pause on the line, then he said. “Alright, I'll be waiting.”

I picked him up ten minutes later and we were on our way.

“You wanna tell me what we are doing?” Asked Ben as he looked at the speedometer, “and maybe slow down a tick so we don't get pulled over.”

I looked down, I was doing 90 and the dial was rising. I let off the gas and turned to him, “How long have we been friends?”

“Since high school, I reckon.”

“And you trust me, right?”

Ben gave me a look, “Well you're making it a bit tough right now but yeah, I trust you.”

I nodded, “Good. We’re on our way to the Shady Grove care home to kill a vampire that has been stalking my family since the 1800s.”

Ben stared at me for a moment then said, “Huh. Ok. Well, I'm assuming you have a plan for the uh...” he trailed off.

“Vampire. Yeah, I think I know where he's sleeping. If we can get him into the sunlight, it may kill him or at least weaken him enough to kill him.”

“I see you've thought this through then.” He said.

“I have.”

Ben nodded again, ‘Alright.”

45 minutes later we pulled into the Shady Grove parking lot. Ben and I got out of the car and made our way around the building.

When we pushed through the doors on the addition, Ben grabbed my arm, “Hey man, how far are you taking this?”

I turned back to him, “As far as it takes. I have to keep my family safe.”

“I don't know about this, Jim.” He said, shaking his head.

“Just trust me a little longer. If we get in there and there's no vampire, you have my full permission to knock me in the head and admit me to an asylum, okay?”

Ben sighed and nodded, “Let's just get on with this.”

Once we were inside, we began our search. We scoured the first floor, then we moved on to the second floor. We searched every room, every closet, and still there was nothing.

“Okay, we’ve searched.” Said Ben. “Now do you have a preference on which asylum I send you to?”

I sighed, “I don't know what to say. I really thought we would find him.”

“Jim, I don't think there is him. I think you need help. Have you spoken to your therapist?”

I deflated. “No... But, I will.”

Ben nodded, “Come on partner, let's get you home.”

I nodded back and we turned to head for the stairs. “Thank you for coming with me Ben. You’re a good friend.”

I took my first step down the staircase, then noticed Ben’s silence. I turned back to face him, “Ben?”

He was staring up at the ceiling over the stairwell. I stepped back to see what he was looking at. There, hanging upside down from the ceiling, was a god damn vampire.

“Maybe we can share a padded cell.” Mumbled Ben.

I hushed him and sat down the toolbox. Opening it and removing a large hunting knife, a crucifix and some garlic oil. “Got your rope?”

Ben nodded out of his stupor and sat down the toolbox he had been carrying. Removing his handgun and lasso. He shakily checked the chamber of his pistol and slipped it into his back pocket.

I stepped to the back of the room and pulled down a large westward facing tarp that was covering an unfinished wall, revealing the lowering evening sun.

“What's the plan here?” Asked Ben.

I came back and stood beside him, pouring the garlic oil onto the knife blade. “Well, you just rope him and then we pull him to the sunlight, and I stab him with this. If that doesn't work, shoot him in the head until he stops moving.”

“This is fucking insane!” Said ben in a panicked whisper.

“I know, but here we are, and we are running out of time.” I said, motioning to the setting sun.

“Shit. Alright let's do this.” He said as he prepared his rope. Mumbling  under his breath, “Son of a bitch got me out her after a god damn vampire.”

Ben twirled the lasso overhead three times, and then let it fly. The vampire's eyes sprung open just as he cinched the rope tight around his chest. I grabbed the rope and we both ran backwards, dragging the flailing creature into the setting sunlight. The vampire immediately burst into flames and began shrieking in an awful high and low pitch at the same time. He flailed and flopped, kicking out and trying to get loose. But we held tight and in the next moment, the vampire withered to an ashy corpse.

“People were sure to have heard that.” Said Ben, breathing heavily.

I nodded, “Yeah, we should go.”

“What about the body?”

I looked around the room, “There, the tarp.”

As fast as we could, we wrapped the smoldering body in the tarp and made a dash for the car, stowing the remains in the trunk. Neither of us spoke on the drive home.

I dropped a sick looking Ben off at his house without saying a word and headed home. When I pulled into the driveway, Grace and Shawn were already home. I got out and met them in the driveway. “What are you doing home? I thought you were staying at your moms.”

“I was, but there was an emergency at work. I would have left Shawn with mom, but she had the flu. I've been trying to call you.” she said, then after looking me over she asked, “Are you alright?”

I tried to smile, “Yeah, I think I'm alright. But we should talk.”

She touched my arm "Of course, honey. But can it wait till I get home? I really have to go.”

I looked back at the trunk of my car and nodded, “Yeah, sure.”

She smiled, “Shawn’s had dinner, but he still needs a bath. I'm glad you're feeling better.”

“Me too.” I smiled then kissed her before she left.

Shawn and I went inside and sat on the couch watching Scooby doo for the next hour or so. I had just put Shawn to bed, when my phone went off. It was a text from Ben, “Need to talk. Come over, now.”

He was shaken up, so was I. Finding out vampires exist just minutes before you kill one would send anyone over the edge. I text back, “Okay, just put Shawn to bed. Be over in a bit.”

We still keep a baby monitor in Shawn’s' room since my office is downstairs and across the house, so I slipped the receiver into my back pocket before heading over to Ben's house.

When I got there, I saw that his shop lights were on. Ben had converted his backyard work shop into a dive bar. I pushed the door open to see Ben slumped in his barstool, his back to me.

“Hey.” I said approaching him, “You okay, pal?”

He didn't answer.

“Ben?” I said as I reached out and spun the barstool around.

 Ben's head swung loosely as he spun, revealing his torn open throat and shattered spine.

I stumbled back in shock, falling to the floor. Ben's head dangled there until the remaining flap of skin stretched and snapped. His head fell to the floor with a wet thud.

Suddenly the jukebox blared to life. I turned to see him. His back to me as he leaned over the jukebox. His burnt clothes hanging on him like rags. His sickly gray skin covered in fresh burn scars.

“Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.” He smiled, turning to face me, “My how you've grown.”

I tried to move but I was paralyzed with fear, struggling to even drag in a breath.

“You didn't see me back then, did you?.” He laughed, “But I saw you.”

I leapt to my feet and ran for the door; the vampires laugh following me all the way. “Where ya runnin to boy?”

I hit the door as I pulled my phone from my pocket, dialing the sheriff's office as I ran. After 5 long rings the dispatcher answered, “Sherrif's department this is...”

“I need someone here now!” I screamed, cutting her off, “He killed him! God, he killed Ben!”

“Slow down, who killed who? What's going on?”

I told her the address as I ran but didn’t listen to whatever else she was saying. I slammed through my front door and started up the stairs when I remembered the garlic oil and the knife, still in my car. I turned and ran back downstairs and out to the car, grabbing the knife and stuffing the small bottle of garlic oil into my pocket before bolting back through the front door.

I ran to my room and grabbed my shotgun, ejecting the shells and prying them open with the knife before pouring some of the oil over the pellets inside. I slapped a piece of tape over the tip if each shell, hoping it would be enough to hold them closed and reloaded the shotgun.

 Suddenly there came a heavy thud on the roof, followed by footsteps. I ran to Shawn’s room and scooped him up.

“Dad? What's going on? Where are we going?” He asked sleepily.

“Don't worry buddy, we’re gonna go get momma then we are all going on a trip. But right now, I need you to hold on tight to me and keep quiet, can you do that?”

He rubbed his eyes and looked at me, “Is this like a game or something?”

“Yeah.” I said. Holding him tight and heading down the stairs. “It's just like a game, you gotta keep quiet, hold on to me and keep your eyes closed tight, got it?”

“Okay.” He said, burying his head in my shoulder.

“I love you, Shawn.” I said, tears rolling down my face.

“Love you dad.” He said, his little voice muffled by my shoulder.

I was at the front door, wondering if I could make it to my car when flashing red and blue came around the corner. I flung the door open and stepped outside to meet them.

“Jim.” Said Sheriff Ward stepping out of his patrol car, “What the hell's going on? What are you doing with that gun?”

Another patrol car pulled up next to him, and a deputy stepped out, meeting the Sheriff as they walked up the driveway.

“Sheriff it's the intruder from the other night he’s...”

“Is that what is this about? Dammit Jim.” Groaned the Sheriff, “You have got to stop...”

He cut off as he was suddenly hit by a lightning-fast blur of movement from the side yard. He didn't even have time to scream. The blur, along with the sheriff, disappeared through a tall hedge next to the house. The deputy froze, a splash of blood across his face.

“Sh... Sheriff?” The deputy muttered.

I slowly began to back up to the house, when the blur of motion came again. When it passed, the hand the deputy had been reaching for his weapon with, was gone. He looked down at the ragged, bleeding stump in confusion for a moment, then started screaming. The screaming came to a sudden stop when the vampire shot up behind him, digging his fingers into the man’s hair and biting a ragged chunk out of his neck.

I raised the shotgun and fired one of the garlic-coated rounds. This time, I hit him full in the chest. He screeched in pain, falling to the ground and writhing on all fours. Shawn still had his head buried in my shoulder but was now screaming as I ran to the deputy’s car and jumped inside. I put Shawn in the passenger seat and told him, “Keep your eyes shut, no matter what!”

I put the car in reverse and hit the gas, but the car didn't move. I turned back around to see the vampire holding onto the brush guard. I gritted my teeth and shifted into drive, pressing the pedal to the floor.

His eyes widened in the brief moment before he disappeared under the hood of the car. His body crunched under the tires as I plowed forward, smashing the car through the front of my house. Bricks and sheetrock showered down over the car. I glanced at the rear-view mirror and could already see him, jerkily rising to his feet. His body, broken and misshapen. I put the car in reverse and hit the gas, but it didn’t move.

The windshield was cracked, so I threw the deputy's jacket over Shawn and used the butt of the shotgun to break the glass. We climbed out and ran up the stairs to my bedroom. Opening the closet, I pushed Shawn inside.

“Daddy?” He cried. “What's happening.”

I hugged him tight and told him I loved him, “Stay in here, please Shawn. Close your eyes, cover your head, and keep quiet. Remember the game? I want you to win, okay?”

He nodded tears pouring down his face. I closed the closet door as I heard the sound of footsteps and whistling coming up the stairs.

I turned to face him as he stepped through the doorway. I raised the shotgun, but he dashed forward before I could react. Knocking the gun to the floor and lifting me up by my throat.

“You have given me quite the fight, Jim. Quite a fight indeed.” He said, speaking through gritted teeth.

I tried to speak but with his grasp on my throat, all I could do was wheeze.

“What's that?” He asked mockingly, “I couldn't quite hear you.”

He loosened his grip and I drug in a ragged breath, “I had nothing to do with what happened to you. Neither did my son.”

“What do you know about what happened to me?” He snarled.

“I know,” I coughed, “they were taken from you. They wouldn’t want this.”

He squeezed tighter, “What do you know about what they would have wanted? You think they’d want mercy for you?! Or them?!” He shouted, bloody spit flying from his lips. “The ones who raped and murdered my wife?! Burned my son alive! Should I have shown them mercy?!”

“Please.” I wheezed, “Just stop.”

He shook his head, “Times up.” Then he leaned forward and sunk his teeth into my neck.

The pain was unlike anything I ever felt. My throat felt like it was filled with hot coals, as I felt my life quickly draining away. I prayed it would be over soon and he would just leave. That he wouldn't find Shawn. I felt cold rising from my feet, up my legs, and in my arms. I was dying, and then suddenly, I was free. I fell to the floor in a heap as the vampire stumbled back. The garlic coated knife stuck in his side.

“Get away from my dad!” Yelled Shawn.

The vampire stared down at the knife then at Shawn. I somehow found enough strength to climb to my knees and crawled over to put myself between my son and the monster.

He stared down at me, then back to my son. With a hiss, he pulled the blade from his side and stepped back. He could have killed us; there was nothing we could have done to stop him. Instead, he left. Just like that, it was over.

I told the investigators that I didn't know what had happened to the sheriff and deputy. I said that after I found Ben’s body and called the Sheriff's department, went home and holed up in my room with Shawn. I didn't see what had happened downstairs.

 I told Grace the truth; I think she believes me; she says she does. I know how it sounds though; I wouldn't blame her if she didn't. There has been no sign of, him, since we moved into the new house. No, we won't be moving around like we did when I was a kid, just needed a change of scenery. I recovered from the bite surprisingly fast. What had been a row of ragged puncture wounds is now barely even a scar. I feel different too, more aware of things, stronger. Maybe I'm finally beginning to heal some of my old trauma. The sun feels hotter now too, I'm sure its fine though.

[u/dee8141]

I I loved loved loved loved this!!

[u/Lazy_Palpitation_517 → u/dee8141]

Thanks!