Vampires Don't Cry: A Mother's Curse by Hall Ian

Author:Hall, Ian
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: vampire, horror, vampire series, vampire action, horror action, vampire action adventure, horror adult fiction, horror and paranormal
Publisher: Ian Hall

Out of the Frying Pan

Theresa Scholes, February 1959, North of Orlando, Florida

When Valérie shouted “Go!” and the room erupted with a hail of bullets, I didn’t hold back. Leaving my high heels behind me, I ducked low and scrambled towards the nearest window, throwing myself past a fluttering curtain into the night beyond. Keeping myself flattened to the ground, I made it to the corner of the building, then outward to the looming wall.

Once over, I retraced my steps back to the car, determined to retrieve my Căluşari roll, and felt relieved to find the car unguarded. I did a quick circle, but found no trace of men or vampires, so I broke the window, and quickly and quietly grabbed my gear.

Tucking the bundle under my arm, I set off again, mostly east, but keeping my track varied, never working in any one direction, until I reached the main coastal road. Beyond lay some seaside towns, but wanting to put some considerable distance between us, I tracked the road north for another twenty miles, until I stopped at a village near Edgewater to pick up some shoes. I scouted around the back of a dozen houses before I found a pair of anything near suitable. I didn’t need fashion, or even a neat fit, just anything to stop the chafing and battering my feet were taking on the journey. I knew they’d heal, but that didn’t help me that night. Still invisible, sitting on the curb outside putting my new shoes on, I watched a car pull up, and a nice looking guy, maybe twenty, walked past me into the store; neat, well dressed, he even smelled good. I felt instantly attracted. I watched through the window as he grabbed potato chips, then stood at the counter.

“Out late tonight, Hank?” the man behind the stand asked.

“Just finished work, damn thing ran late,” he said, handing over his money.

“You’ll have to get a good woman to cook for you, stop all this easy food.”

“Maybe one day.”

Excellent, I thought. I watched which direction he took out of the driveway, and raced ahead, just far enough to get out of sight, get visible, and walk back to the roadside to thumb a lift.

He slowed before he even got near me, stopping by my side. Leaning over to wind down his window, he smiled. “Needing a ride?”

I got inside, grinning, asking his name, telling him my quickly made-up sob story, and he fell for every single word.

In ten minutes, I stood inside his small house, a hot bath running, and a cold beer in my hand.

Of course, he probably expected something in return, and I gave him his money’s worth.

The next morning, leaving Hank sleeping heavily on the bed, my body considerably richer for the nourishment of some fresh blood, I drove his car north to Jacksonville, where I changed it and headed east in the direction of the panhandle. I dumped the second car with ten miles or so to spare, and ran the last part, getting more and more cagey as I got nearer the house.

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