As the first rays of dawn spread across the desert, the ghouls put an end to their ceaseless raspy chattering and fell silent. Legs flopped around in the air in a vain attempt to run for cover. Detached arms twisted to cover their squinting yellow eyes. They squealed in the ghoulish tongue.
"Bugger, I hate this part."
"Well, no point in complaining," another ghoul replied.
"True, true," a head agreed somewhere from the center of the pile.
"Mooof glu tlak," a jawless head seconded.
"See you gents on the other side."
"Any plans?" the head atop the pile asked.
"Oh, nothing much," the buried ghoul replied. "Just float around in the sullen ether. Wait to be called upon again. Review my performance this go-around."
"I thought you did a marvelous snarl."
The ghoul would have blushed had his dead flesh been able.
"Perhaps, but I found your scampering quite sinister. And I wish I had your talent for hissing."
"You're too kind, but really, anybody can hiss. Now that bit of shrieking you did when the werewolf tore you apart, that was genius."
"Gluf fof wukal."
"You flatter me."
"I hear there's a cult in Paris with several openings. What say we float over there and give it a look-see?"
"I don't know about that. Can't say I particularly care for the French."
"Now, now, we fleshless ones can't afford to be choosy."
"Gluf fug gok ruffil."
"Excellent point, fellows."
"Oh, here it comes."
And then the sun poked its way over the horizon, and the melting began. Green flesh liquefied. Eyes oozed from their sockets. Foaming bubbles boiled and burst in loud, popping splatters. The ghouls shrieked their death rattles. Not that any of it was all that painful for things that were already dead, but they were determined to enjoy their last remaining moments of form with a good screeching contest. The goo of their flesh slid off their bones, settling in a thick green paste beneath skeletal remnants. The bones blackened and cracked. The bare skulls uttered one last groan before crumbling into gray dust. The bone dust and the fleshly muck mixed into a putrid syrup that smelled of rotten apples and fresh cow dung.
Loretta pinched her nose. "Damnation, that's a stench. I thought you said they stank when you burnt 'em."
"They stink when you let 'em melt, too. Just not as much."
Loretta went inside and returned with a length of green hose wrapped under her arm. She screwed it into the faucet in the diner's side.
"I appreciate you boys staying around, but you don't need to do it on my account. I can take care of myself just fine."
"Ain't about you. Whoever sent these things here, sent 'em to kill me and Earl. You, too, but mostly us. That makes it personal."
Loretta turned the faucet handle. The spigot groaned, gurgled, then shuddered to life with a loud grinding clatter. She sprayed the slime. It refused to dilute or even break apart, but she managed to push it from the lot into the tall, yellow grass where it stayed hidden reasonably well. A trail of brackish greenish gray runoff was left behind.
"If we're gonna figure this thing out," Duke said, "it's time we stopped waiting around for stuff to happen."
"What do you want me to do?" Loretta asked.
"I need you to check around town. You gotta find out everything about this plot of land. How long this diner has been here. What it was before it was a diner. Any odd history."
"There's a hall of records in Leeburn. And Biff Montoya has a collection of every copy of the Rockwood Examiner. Went out of business three years ago but might have sumthin'."
"Good. And ask around, too. Anybody who might know sumthin' important. In the meanwhile, I'm gonna check this place out top to bottom."
"Lookin' for what?"
"Don't know yet. Anything unusual."
"I already did that when I first opened it back up. I didn't find nuthin'."
"Maybe you didn't know what to look for."
"Well, I was just mainly looking for rats," she admitted. "Didn't think to check for signs of the Devil. Though, come to think of it, there was a loaf of moldy bread that looked to have fallen out of the Lord's good graces." She shuddered at the remembrance.
Duke went back to bed for a few hours before beginning his inspection. By then, Loretta had taken off on her research quest, and he was left by himself in the bunker of concrete unless one counted Earl curled up in his trunk. Duke didn't. The vampire was far more dead and much less undead during the day. Far better company, by Duke's reckoning, but about as useful as a hundred-thirty-eight-pound sack of flour.
Duke began in the kitchen. He was busy digging through the cabinets when his hearing picked up the squeak of sneakers against tile.
Someone called from the front. "Hello? Anyone here?"
He recognized the voice and went to the rectangular window that allowed one to see into the dining area. Tammy stood by the counter. She smiled upon seeing him.
"Earl's not here," he said.
"Oh. Well, I'm not here to see him."
"Loretta ain't here either."
"Oh. So you're all alone. By yourself?"
"Yeah, and I'm kinda busy at the moment."
"Okay. Say no more. I understand."
"Thanks."
Duke went back to sorting through the kitchen's contents. He didn't hear Tammy leave but assumed that was due to the clatter of pots and pans. He quickly learned otherwise. The nubile teenager pushed open the swinging kitchen doors.
"What'cha doin'?"
"Just cleaning things up," he replied.
"Need some help?"
"Thanks, but I got it."
"Don't be silly. I don't mind."
"Fine. You wanna empty that cupboard for me?"
"Sure." She began transferring canned goods to the counter. "So what happened last night?"
"Ghouls."
"Really? Wow. Is that how you got that cut?"
Duke felt the tender pink slash on his neck. "Yeah."
"Was anybody hurt?"
"Nope."
And the questions continued. Tammy proved an efficient helper, but she subjected him to an endless stream of inquiries and comments on topics ranging from bands to movies to boys and favorite foods. Duke, never much for small talk, replied with curt "yes's," "no's," or whenever possible nods or shakes of his head. By the time they finished with the kitchen, he knew more about Tammy than he really cared to.
"Don't you have school today?" he finally asked, his patience wearing thin.
"I cut." She put fingers to her lips. "You aren't going to turn me in, are you?"
Duke half-smiled, despite himself. She had a way about her that made it hard to get annoyed. Even when he managed to work up some irritation, she'd bat her eyelashes or smile or laugh, and every ounce of annoyance would dissolve.
"You want to help me board up the front doors?"
"Sure."
She held the planks in place while he hammered in the nails. After they'd finished, they took a break. They sat at a table, drinking sodas.
"You know, you've got great hands." She reached across the table and grabbed one of his hands. Her own diminutive fingers traced the deep creases in his palm. "Your skin's so rough, like leather. And this scar gives you real character."
She pointed to a subtle scar just beneath the flesh. It was the Sign of the Pentagram, Mark of the Beast. It grew more or less prominent depending on the phase of the moon, but it never went completely away.
"How'd you get it?" she asked.
"Long story."
"Aw c'mon. You can tell me."
"Ran over a werewolf."
"Yeah, right."
"God's honest truth."
He never bothered lying about the scar. Not that many people asked about it. But of those that did, none ever believed him anyway. Coming up with a story, even a rudimentary one, seemed a waste of time and effort.
She grinned. "Even a man who's pure of heart and says his prayers by night. . "
"I hate that movie," Duke said.
"What about An American Werewolf in London? You gotta like that one."
"S'alright."
She leaned closer. The neck of her T-shirt opened to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of the spot between her cleavage. "So what movie do you like?"
"Young Frankenstein "
He pulled his hand from her gentle touch. It wasn't easy, but being a werewolf had taught him the virtues of self-control.
"Duke, do you think I'm pretty?"
He didn't bother lying. She already knew the answer.
"Yeah."
She twirled a strand of her black hair around a finger. "You wanna make out?"
He was not surprised by the question. She was throwing off a mating scent he could smell from a mile away.
"No, thanks. I better get back to work."
He pushed away from the table and went into the back.
Tammy was too astonished to follow. No one had ever turned her down. Not that she'd asked many. Just Chad, and Denise Calhoun's boyfriend, and her physics teacher. The teacher had resisted at first, but he'd succumbed quickly enough. She had always known, always taken it for granted, she could have anyone she wanted. But the werewolf spurned her. The entire concept boggled her so that, even after seeing it, she could not believe it had happened. And yet, the rejection was not an all-together unpleasant feeling. It excited her to realize that seducing Duke would be a challenge.
And she so relished a challenge.