Not that he would be her boyfriend. But if she was ever going to have a boyfriend, she would like him to look like that. Not that boys who looked like that ever looked at girls like her. Hannah knew what she looked like. Small. Average. Quiet. Her nicest feature were her eyes: sea-glass green framed with lush dark lashes. But they were hidden behind her eyeglasses most of the time.
Her mother always accused her of having an overactive imagination, and maybe that was all this was. She had finally let the winter crazies get to her. It was all in her mind.
But then he returned the next evening, wandering into her room as if he belonged there. She gaped at him, too frightened to say a word, and he gave her a courtly bow before disappearing. The next night, she didn’t fall asleep. Instead, she waited.
Three in the morning.
The lights blazed on. Was it just Hannah’s imagination, or was the light actually growing stronger? The door banged. This time, Hannah was awake and had expected it. She saw the boy appear in front of her closet, materializing out of nowhere. She blinked her eyes, blood roaring in her ears, trying to fight the panic welling up inside. Whatever he was . . . he wasn’t human.
“You again,” she called, trying to feel brave.
He turned around. He was wearing the same clothes as the two nights prior. He gave her a sad, wistful smile. “Yes.”
“Who are you? What are you?” she demanded.
“Me?” He looked puzzled for a moment, and then stretched his neck. She could see the wound just underneath his chin more clearly this time. Two punctures. Scabby and . . . blue.
They were a deep indigo color, not the brown-ish-red she had been expecting. “I think I’m what you call a vampire.”
“A vampire?” Hannah recoiled. If he were a ghost, it would be a different story. Hannah’s aunt had told her all about ghosts —she had gone through a Wiccan phase, as well as a spiritguide phase. Hannah wasn’t afraid of ghosts. Ghosts couldn’t harm you, unless it was a poltergeist. Ghosts were vapors, spectral images, maybe even just a trick of the light.
But vampires . . . there was a Shelter Island legend about a family of vampires who had terrorized the island a long time ago. Blood-sucking monsters, pale and undead, cold and clammy to the touch, creatures of the night that could turn into bats, or rats, or worse. She shivered and looked around the room, wondering how fast she could jump out of bed and out the door. If there was even time to escape, could you outrun a vampire?
“Don’t worry, I’m not that kind of vampire,” he said soothingly, as if he’d read her mind.
“What kind would that be?”
“Oh you know, chomping on people without warning. All that
Dracula nonsense. Growing horns out of my head like your sad vampires on T.V.” He shrugged. “For one thing, we’re not ugly.”
Hannah wanted to laugh but felt it would be rude. Her fright was slowly abating.
“Why are you here?”
“We live here,” he said simply.
“No one lived here for years before us,” Hannah said. “John
Carter—the caretaker, he said it’s been empty forever.”
“Huh.” The boy shrugged. He took the corner seat across from her bed.
Hannah glanced at him warily, wondering if she should let him get that close. If he was a vampire, he didn’t look cold and clammy. He looked tired. Exhausted. There were dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t look like a cold-blooded killer. But what did she know? Could she trust him? He had visited her twice already, after all. If he’d wanted to drain her blood, he could have at any time. There was something about him—he was almost too cute to be scared of.
“Why do you keep doing that?” she asked, when she found her voice.
“Oh, you mean the thing with the lights?”
She nodded.
“Dunno. For a long time, I couldn’t do anything. I was sleeping in your closet but you didn’t see me. Then I realized I could turn the lights on and off, on and off. But it was only when you started noticing that I began to feel more like myself.”
“Why are you here?”
The boy closed his eyes. “I’m hiding from someone.”
“Who?”
He closed his eyes harder, so that his face was a painful grimace. “Somebody bad. Somebody who wants me deadNo, worse than dead.” He shuddered.
“If you’re a vampire, aren’t you already dead?” she asked in a practical tone. She felt herself relaxing. Why should she be scared of him when it was so obvious it was he who was frightened?
“No, not really. It’s more like I’ve lived a long time. A long time,” he murmured. “This is my house. I remember the fireplace downstairs. I put the plaque up myself.” He must be talking about that dusty old plaque next to the fireplace, Hannah thought. But it was so old and dirty she had never thought to notice it before.
“Who’s chasing you?” Hannah asked.
“It’s compli—” but before the boy could finish, there was a rattle at the window. A thump, thump, thump, as if some-one—or something—were throwing itself against it with all its might.
The boy jumped and vanished for a moment. He reappeared by the doorway, breathing fast and hard.
“What is that?” Hannah asked, her voice trembling.
“It’s here. It found me,” he said sharply, as if he were about to flee. And yet he remained where he was, his eyes fixed on the vibrating glass.
“Who?”
“The bad . . . thing . . .”
Hannah stood up and peered out the window. Outside was dark and peaceful. The trees, skeletal and bare of branches, stood still in the snowy field and against the frozen water.
Moonlight cast the view in a cold, blue glow.
“I don’t see any— Oh!” She stepped back as if she’d been stabbed. She had seen something. A presence. Crimson eyes and silver pupils. Staring at her from the dark. Outside the window, it was hovering. A dark mass. She could feel its rage, its violent desire. It wanted in, to consume, to feed.
Hannah . . . Hannah . . .
It knew her name.
Let me in . . . Let me in . . .
The words had a hypnotic effect. She moved toward the window and began to lift the latch.
“STOP!”
She turned. The boy stood at the doorway, a tense, frantic look on his face.