Page 34 of My Road Trip with a Vampire: Season One
A low chuckle sounds behind me, and my shoulders tense as the door slams shut. The only light left is the late afternoon sun filtering in through the dusty windows. I dip my fingers into my pocket to grab a rough chunk of raw peridot. I’m shoved forward by a blast of cool air, and the crystal skids across the floor.
“Dude, what are you doing?”
I dust myself off and see a translucent figure standing next to the hearth. It’s a lot harder to see the apparition than it was last night, but I can make out the vintage hat and the jacket that hangs off his shoulders as he braces a hand on the mantel.
“Is this you when you were younger?” I ask, stepping around his barely-there form. I tap the plastic pouch, quietly spilling salt around him.
“Sarah Beth?” he looks up, pure pain on the features I can see. “I’ve been waiting so long for you.”
I think about the woman in the woods.
“Were you supposed to meet her here? Is this where she was running?”
“You’re not her,” he says, and I can feel his sadness echoing off the walls.
I think of how those fingers felt at my neck last night, the rotten breath. I’ve seen this before, ghosts stuck with the regret of what they’d done.
“Did you do it? Did you hurt her?” I ask from my safe space outside the circle. He can’t cross the line of salt.
“Oh god, she died, didn’t she?” he asks. I feel a wave of sorrow so intense it threatens to pull me under. Heartbreak and worry crash through me.
“She did,” a creaking voice says. “She was so so sweet. Sarah Beth. She would have made you a beautiful bride if only she’d just stayed on the path.”
Footsteps sound nearby, but the old man from last night doesn’t appear until he’s right beside me. His icy fingers brush over my hair, and I think I might actually puke. He leers down at my face.
“Reverend?”
The man at the fireplace toes the line of salt. His form flits in and out of my sight as he studies the creep beside me.
I don’t have to know the old man’s history to know what kind of guy he was in his lifetime; I meet plenty of people just like him at the bar. They feel powerful when they make beautiful girls feel bad about themselves. Maybe that’s why he’s so strong for a ghost—he sees me as an easy target. His corporeal form looks nearly solid when he lunges forward, knocking the salt from my hand.
“No, no,” hetsks. “You can stay here and think about what you’ve done. Don’t think whoever was in that tent with you last night will come looking for you. You're not worth the effort.”
The man at the fireplace turns away again, asking for Sarah Beth. Fuck, he’s stuck in a loop. He’ll be no help.
I walk back from the ghost who's looking at me like I’ve done something wrong. I think of death and deep unending darkness calling for him.
“Hey buddy, it’s time for you to—”
The banishment is cut off by a swirl of air, a greenish cloud rising from the weathered floorboards. I run after it as it slithers down the hall and up the stairs. It slips beneath the door. I open it slowly, waiting for him to jump out. I beg my heart to stop pounding so wildly in my ears. I need to have a clear head if I want to send him back to the grave in one shot.
I step lightly, afraid the floor might cave in from age. It’s dark in here. Too dark.
Wood planks cover the window, rusty nails holding them in place.
Nope. Too much. I’m getting out of here. I turn to go, but the door slams, and something metallic clangs, like an iron rod falling into place over it. I run over to twist the knob, but the door doesn’t budge.
Shit.
I keep rattling and banging at the door.
“Somebody help me!” I scream until I’m hoarse, but no one comes.
I sit on the floor, hugging my knees to my face. I need to think. I need to get out, but I’ve been pounding at the door and prying at the windows so hard my fingers are bleeding. I have to come up with a plan, but my thoughts are drowned out by the sound of moaning downstairs.
“Sarah Beth, are you coming?”
I want to shout at the ghost to shut the hell up.
