The Traveling Vampire Show(27)

 

We’d done that ourselves until that year. But when you get to be fifteen, trick or treating can seem like kid stuff.

 

And I guess it is kid stuff compared to a journey to Janks Field.

 

Walking along, seeing those kids on their quests for candy, I felt very adult and superior—but part of me wished I could be running from house to house the way I used to in my infamous Headless Phantom costume, a rubber-headed axe in one hand and a treat-heavy grocery sack swinging from the other.

 

Part of me wished we were hiking to anywhere but Janks Field.

 

Part of me couldn’t wait to get there.

 

I have a feeling Dagny and Rusty might’ve felt the same way.

 

Regardless of how any of us felt, however, there was no more talk of quitting. Soon, we left town behind and walked along the dirt shoulder of Route 3. Though we had flashlights, we didn’t use them. The full moon lit the road for us.

 

Every so often, a car came along and we had to squint and look away from its headlights. Otherwise, we had the old, two-lane highway all to ourselves.

 

Or so we thought.

 

When we finally came to the dirt road that would lead us through the woods to Janks Field, Dagny stopped and said, “Let’s take five before we start in, okay?”

 

“Scared?” Rusty asked.

 

“Hungry.”

 

That got his attention. “Huh?” he asked.

 

Dagny reached into a pocket of her jeans, saying, “Anybody want some of my Three Musketeers?”

 

“Big enough to share with a friend!” Rusty proclaimed.

 

“Sure,” I said.

 

I took out my flashlight and shined it for Dagny as she bent over, pressed the candy bar against the thigh of her jeans, and used her pocket knife to cut it straight through the wrapper. Rusty took the first chunk, I took the next, the Dagny kept the third.

 

Before starting to eat, she slipped the knife blade into her mouth to lick and suck it clean.

 

Rusty and I started to eat our sections of the Three Musketeers.

 

In the moonlight, Dagny drew the blade slowly out of her tight lips like the wooden stick of an ice cream bar. Then she said, “Somebody’s coming.”

 

Those are words you don’t want to hear, not on Halloween night at the side of a moonlit road, forest all around you, the town two miles away.

 

I suddenly lost all interest in the candy.

 

“Don’t look,” Dagny whispered. “Just stand still. Pretend everything’s all right.”

 

“You’re kidding, right?” Rusty whispered.

 

“You wish.”

 

Dagny stood motionless, gazing through the space between Rusty and me.

 

“Who is it?” I asked.

 

She shook her head.

 

“How many?”

 

“Just one. I think.”

 

“What’s he doing?” Rusty asked.

 

“Coming down the road. Walking.”

 

“How big is he?” I asked.

 

“Big.”

 

“Shit,” Rusty muttered. Then he popped the last of his Three Musketeers bar into his mouth and chewed loudly, his mouth open, his teeth making wet sucky noises as they thrust into the thick, sticky candy and pulled out.

 

“What’ll we do?” I asked Dagny.

 

“See who he is?” she suggested.

 

“Let’s haul ass,” Rusty said through his mouthful.

 

“I don’t know,” Dagny said. “Running off into the woods doesn’t seem like a brilliant plan. If we stay here, at least some cars might come by. Anyway, maybe this guy’s harmless.”

 

“Three of us, one of him,” I pointed out.

 

Dagny nodded. “And we’ve got knives.”

 

Still chewing, Rusty glanced over his shoulder to see who was coming. Then he turned his head forward and said, “Double-shit. I don’t know about you guys, but I’m outa here.” He hustled for the darkness where the forest shrouded the dirt road. Looking back at us, he called, “Come on, guys!”

 

Dagny stayed put.

 

Therefore, so did I.

 

“Come on!”

 

We didn’t, so Rusty said, “Your funerals.” Then he vanished into the darkness enclosing the dirt road.

 

“Great,” I muttered.

 

Dagny shrugged in the moonlight. “Two of us, one of him.”

 

I stuffed the remains of my Three Musketeers into a pocket of my jacket, then turned around.

 

And understood why Rusty had run away.

 

What I suddenly didn’t understand is how Dagny could’ve remained so calm.

 

Gliding up the middle of Route 3 was a ghost. A very tall ghost. Actually, a very tall person covered from head to ankles by a white bedsheet. With each stride, a bare foot swept out from under the sheet. But that’s all I could see of the person except for his general shape. On top of his head was a black bowler hat. Around his neck hung a hangman’s noose which served as a weight to hold the sheet in place.