Fright Night by John Skipp Read Free Book Online Page B

hammer and the needle were household property; he’d put them back in a minute, once he was satisfied with the job.
    Other pieces of vampire lore were floating around in his mind. He hadn’t gotten around to whittling stakes yet, though there were some good slats of grape fence out in the garage that made prime candidates. No way was he going out of the house until morning. That was certain. If Jerry Dandrige wanted him, Jerry Dandrige would have to come and get him.
    That was the other thing that made him feel reasonably secure. If everything he’d ever seen about vampires held true, they couldn’t come into your house without being invited. He knew that he sure as hell wouldn’t be sending out invitations.
    His mother’s voice cut through the clamor of his thoughts. “Charley?” it called. “Come down here for a moment, would you, please?”
    “Just a second, Mom!” he called back, feigning cheerfulness. “I just gotta finish something!”
    Quickly he pushed a heavy chest of drawers in front of the window. It probably wouldn’t help, if worse came to worst, but it sure didn’t hurt.
    Then he trotted down the hall, hit the stairs and rapidly descended. The physical work had invigorated him, made him feel more confident. He was almost in a good mood when he entered the living room and said “What?”
    His mother was standing in the living room, a drink in her hand. She was beaming.
    “Honey?” she said. “There’s somebody I’d like you to meet.”
    That was when he glanced at the old quilted chair. His father’s chair, high-backed and nearly heart-shaped, which only special guests had used in the seven years since . . .
    There was somebody sitting in the chair. Charley couldn’t see his face, hidden by the chairback’s curving wings. But the hand that protruded from the man’s tweed jacket was long-fingered, almost feminine. There was an expensive diamond ring glimmering brightly on one pale-white finger.
    Charley’s breath caught in his throat. This can’t be happening.
    His mother’s guest leaned forward, smiled and skewered him with its eyes.
    “Hi, Charley,” the vampire said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”
    Charley’s jaw dangled slackly. If all the saliva in his mouth hadn’t dried up in terror, he might have drooled. All the muscles in his body were jammed. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. He could only stare at the monster before him with moist and bulging eyes.
    Jerry Dandrige was beautiful. There was no way around it. Jerry Dandrige was quite possibly the best-looking man that Rancho Corvallis had ever seen. His smile was impish, and infinitely amused. His dark eyes sparkled with intimate knowledge. Up close, his charisma was overwhelming. Charley could see why the girl in the window had danced with him.
    Now the vampire was doing the same thing to his mother.
    Judy Brewster looked like a teenage girl on the Beatles’ first American tour; all she needed was a mob around her to start screaming and crying and tearing at Dandrige’s clothes. As it was, her basic perkiness had accelerated to fever pitch. She was falling all over herself, giggling and fawning and oozing desire.
    It was disgusting. Worse yet, it was terrifying. Charley had a nightmare feeling that Jerry could drain his blood right there and Mom would ask him if he wanted another drink. And she’d giggle while she said it, he added sickly.
    Jerry Dandrige stood. He was only a little bit taller than Charley, but he might as well have been Goliath. “I’ve been looking forward to this,” he said, moving closer.
    Charley still couldn’t move, but he was dangerously close to soiling his underwear. Omigod, his mind silently intoned, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die . . .
    . . . as the vampire closed to within a foot of him.
    Stopped.
    And extended a hand in greeting.
    “Well, say ‘hello’ to Mr. Dandrige, honey!” his mother piped. She turned, as if confidentially, to Jerry and added, “I don’t know