Fright Night by John Skipp Read Free Book Online

oughtta take you in on a goddam charge of obstructing justice and nail your little ass to the floor. I could do that, you know? I could do that with ease.”
    “I wasn’t lying,” Charley insisted. He was scared and hurt and angry enough to piss himself and slug Lennox simultaneously. “Jerry Dandrige is a vampire! If you just woulda looked—”
    “Now listen, kid.” Lennox slammed Charley into the side of the police cruiser—not hard enough to damage, but enough to show that there was more where that came from. “And listen good. If I ever see you down at the station house again, I’m gonna throw you in jail. And I don’t mean overnight.”
    “But . . .”
    Lennox wasn’t listening. He pushed Charley aside, threw open the car door and slid inside. The door slammed shut.
    “Please, sir! I’m—”
    The cruiser’s engine kicked in with a murderous roar.
    “—I’m telling the truth! I’m—”
    Rubber and asphalt came together in a squeal of motion. The car fired away from the curb like a bottle rocket, tearing down the street.
    “THEY’RE GONNA KILL ME!” Charley screamed, and then Lennox and his vehicle screeched around the corner, disappearing from view forever.
    The front door of the Dandrige house creaked open. Billy Cole stood there.
    He was smiling.

EIGHT

    T he door went flying inward and Charley followed suit. There was a narrow flight of stairs directly before him. He took them two at a time.
    “EDDIE!” he hollered. “EDDIE!”
    Evil Ed’s room was at the end of the hall. Charley sprinted toward it, not thinking about the members of the Thompson household, not thinking about anything but the coppery taste of horror on his tongue. When he reached Ed’s door, he threw it open.
    Evil Ed was parked in front of his desk. He held a delicate paintbrush in his right hand and a hideous monster model in his left. It was The Ghoul, as advertised in the back pages of Famous Monsters of Filmland. Like the magazine, it was old, and had been out of distribution for many years. Ed had the whole set, treasured them enormously and periodically did touch-up work on their bloody jaws and pasty green complexions.
    He was doing so now, and he didn’t appear thrilled at the interruption. “And to what,” he said, cocking one eyebrow disdainfully, “do I owe this dubious pleasure?”
    “You gotta help me!” Charley gasped, out of breath.
    Eddie sneered. “That’s Amy’s department.”
    “No, no! You don’t understand! The vampire knows that I know about him.”
    “What?”
    “The vampire! He knows . . . or he will when he wakes up. Shit!” Charley glanced at his watch. It was four thirty-five.
    Eddie glanced at his own watch instinctively, then looked back at Charley, disgusted. “What vampire are you referring to? There are so many of them, you know.”
    He gestured snidely around the room. It was a virtual monster museum. Posters of old Karloff/Lugosi/Chaney, Jr. screamfests covered the walls. The rest of his models shared bookshelf space with half a ton of paperback horror novels, a boxed set of vintage Tales From the Crypt, complete collections of Creepy, Eerie and Vampirella and a vast assortment of creepy rubber monstrosities.
    Charley stamped his foot, gritted his teeth and tried to pull himself together. “Look, I’m not kidding. A vampire moved into the house next door, and it’s going to kill me if I don’t protect myself.”
    “Right.” Eddie snorted. “You’re a fruitcake, Brewster, I swear to God.”
    “You’ve got to believe me!”
    “No, I don’t.”
    “But—”
    “Listen.” Evil Ed gestured impatiently with his paintbrush. “I don’t know what your problem is, but it isn’t mine. Understand? Ever since you started hanging out with Amy, I’ve hardly seen you. You never have time, you never have anything nice to say. It seems to me like you sorta wrote me off. So I’m writing you off. Hit the road.”
    “Eddie, please.” Charley’s voice had gotten softer. The