You Never Know What's Going to Come Through the Door

Author:Fred Schaefer
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: bloodsuckers go shopping, urban horror, vampire, undead teen, classic monster

“Suppose I don’t do what, Margaret?” The tone of his voice remained conversational, but the hairs on the back of her neck stood up; she was on the third arm now, still no luck.

“Keep up with the news, mergers and things like that.” She was trying very hard to be very careful.

“And things like that?” he said. “Just what do you think I’m doing when I should be keeping up with things like that, Margaret?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“But you think you know, assume you know,” he said. “By your response, you implied that you have knowledge of what I do with my time. So tell me, what is it that I do with my days and nights that keeps me so busy, Margaret?”

I will not turn around, I will not let him see my face, she kept telling herself. “Young people like you wouldn’t find business news very interesting, I thought.” It seemed like an innocuous enough answer.

“I don’t believe that’s what you thought at all, Margaret.” She froze; he was speaking right into her ear after moving without a sound. Hot breath scorched her lobes.

For a brief moment, she seriously considered screaming, but some inner voice spoke an old rule of retail, if you don’t have what they want, sell them what you got. Margaret pulled a 38 regular from the rack, it was not exactly what he wanted; the shade of blue wasn’t as dark and the lapels were narrower, but it came awfully close to matching what he was wearing.

Turning around to stand face to face with him, she held the coat up, “I think this is the closest we can come to what you want. It’s hardly a perfect match, but when you consider that your original is now probably more than 50 years old, making it impossible to find an exact equivalent, then I think you’ll agree this will be an excellent replacement for the soiled rag you’re wearing now.” Her heart was pounding.

For a very long minute, the young man stood there only inches from her, so close was he that she got a good look at the spidery black veins under his alabaster white skin. Then he took his dark glasses off, blood red eyes met hers. “I bought that original Howlin & Stritch sport coat in the fall of 1959,” he said. “Since then, it has been replaced seventeen times. Every one of those times, I went into a store, just like this one, and asked a sales lady to help me find an exact match and I always left with what I came for, but I never paid for it, not one penny, not one time. You want to know why, Margaret?”

Customer service, customer service, her mind repeated. Agree with them on anything as long as you get the sale. “Yes, please tell me,” she answered.

“They were about to scream, every damn one of the bitches, when they saw what I was.” He smiled, giving another brief glimpse of razor sharp incisors.

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