Fright Night by John Skipp Read Free Book Online Page A

truth of his old friend’s words—his ex-friend, from the sound of it—hit home. “I’m sorry. You’re right. But I really need your help. I’m scared.”
    “You’ve got a vampire living next door.” Evil Ed nodded his head condescendingly. “Okay. I can see why you’re scared. Fer sure.” He grinned at The Ghoul and said, dotingly, “You’d be scared, too, wouldn’t you, Punkin’?”
    “Don’t make fun of me!” The outburst of anger seemed sudden, but it had been building for a while. “I’m getting tired of everybody treating me like I’m crazy!”
    “Yeah, tell me about being treated like you’re crazy!” Ed roared back. “Tell me about everybody treating you like an asshole! You don’t think I know what that’s like? You don’t think people treat me like that every day of my life?
    “Well, think again, Brewster! and then think about dragging your tail out the door! You can’t treat me like shit for three months and then just barge in here, demanding that I drop everything and run off to hunt a stupid fucking vampire with you!”
    Tense silence. The two boys stared at each other. Evil Ed Thompson, surprised by his own fury, took a deep breath before continuing in a level, weary voice.
    “You got a vampire, Charley? Go hunt it yourself. You know what to do, right? Unless you’ve forgotten everything about the last four years.”
    Charley mutely shook his head.
    “Fantastic. If you kill it, I’d be thrilled to check out the moldering bones. If it kills you . . . well, I guess I’ll just have to keep my wood stakes handy, right?”
    Silence.
    “You’d like to put a stake through my heart, wouldn’t you?” Charley said softly. “It would make you feel better, right?”
    “Don’t flatter yourself.” Evil Ed turned back to his desk, dipped his paintbrush in the murky green liquid, started dabbing at The Ghoul’s face again. “Get lost.”
    Charley didn’t bother to close the door behind him.

NINE

    A ll the way home, Charley couldn’t stop thinking about what Evil Ed had said. It hurt on so many levels, in so many different ways. You know what to do, right? was the phrase that kept ringing in his ears. Followed by unless you’ve forgotten everything about the last four years . . .
    “Four years,” he said aloud to the empty car. It was funny to count down the days like that, look back over a quarter of his total lifespan and think, Yeah, Eddie and I have been best friends since seventh grade. We used to hang out constantly: playing crazy games, reading comics, watching Fright Night together . . .
    His mental processes stopped with that name. Fright Night. It conjured up images of a million vampire sieges, in glorious color or somber black and white. It conjured up pictures of Peter Vincent, standing tall against the undead hordes that slavered for the blood of the innocent.
    It conjured up scenes of bloody horror, substituting Charley himself for every bloodless victim ever flashed across the screen.
    And it conjured up a battle plan: his only hope of salvation.
    Charley veered left on Rathbone Avenue, whipped sharply into the parking lot of the Super-Saver shopping center. The Mustang screeched into the first available space and died promptly at a twisting of the key. He threw open the door, not bothering to lock it, and slammed it shut as he ran toward the complex of stores.
    He hoped that they had what he needed.
    Darkness had already fallen when the last nail was slammed home. The darkness hung outside the window, chill and bloated as the corpse of a drowned man. Charley stared out into it for a moment, then stepped back to appraise his handiwork.
    The window had been secured with ten-penny nails he’d acquired from Carradine Hardware. Garlic from the Super-Saver was strung around it in garlands, using thread from Reisinger’s. There hadn’t been any holy water, but plastic crucifixes were cheap and plentiful; he’d picked up three, kept one constantly at his side. The