Suburban Vampire: A Tale of the Human Condition—With Vampires Read online

  SUBURBAN VAMPIRE

  A Tale of the Human Condition—With Vampires

  FRANKLIN POSNER

  © 2017 Franklin Posner

  All rights reserved.

  ISBN: 1545551448

  ISBN 13: 9781545551448

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017906566

  CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

  North Charleston, South Carolina

  This happens to be a work of fiction. That is, it’s all made up, every bit of it.

  Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and is not at all a reflection of real life, no matter what you may wish to think. It’s not all about you, or me, for that matter. I am not a vampire, nor do I play one on TV. Please don’t sue me. Also, please do not allow any of this to dissuade you from purchasing this thing: I need the money.

  To Mom, who ordinarily wouldn’t go in for this sort of thing.

  And Dad, who witnessed horrors far worse than anything I could conjure.

  Well, I want somebody to tell me

  Answer me if you can

  I want somebody to tell me

  Tell me, what is the soul of a man

  Yes, what is the soul of a man

  —Blind Willie Johnson

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Epilogue

  CHAPTER 1

  “I am here to kill everything I see!”

  The madman roared his oath as he dragged the carbine from a dingy-brown gig bag, yanking back on the charging handle. The crowds gathered there on that wet suburban Saturday began to scatter, or to hide, or to simply stay there frozen in terror, as Ralph Stevens started jerking the trigger, sending several rounds toward the assembled masses, thankfully missing the people as bullets shattered windows or pockmarked the fake-marble tiling. Ralph had hoped to bring fear and terror, and he had brought that in spades. Those who could run did, and those who couldn’t were surely condemned to die a death they did not deserve, a death they never saw coming that day.

  And there our hero was, walking up to the guy as though he were going to ask him on a date. Not that he would have actually asked the guy out, as he didn’t really swing that way. Besides, loud, angry, violent men wouldn’t have been his first choice even if he were that way. His ex-wife was angry enough for him, thank you very much. What I’m trying to say is that he walked up to the guy casually, confidently, with no fear of death at all. Not of his death, certainly. Death was now a moot point for him.

  So, how did he get here? Why was he walking right up to an armed madman, unarmed and completely void of fear? After all, fear dominated his life—up until now. But now, everything had changed for him.

  Of course, I’m leaving a lot of questions unanswered. Perhaps we should start at the beginning. After all, that’s where everything starts—the beginning. But even before that, I should probably introduce you to our hero: His name is Scott Campbell. And he is a vampire.

  We cannot start this story without introducing you to a guy named Jack. Tall, dark, and creepy. Chiseled good looks and flowing, long black hair in a fitted black jacket and slacks and a long leather coat overtop all that. Jack is really into black, but then, most vampires are. That’s right—Jack is also a vampire and, in fact, is Scott Campbell’s sire. If you weren’t sure, a sire is the vampire who turns you into another vampire. After all, you have to catch it from somewhere.

  Now, you’re probably asking yourself the same questions Scott himself did for a long time: Why Scott? Of all the people Jack could have forcibly converted into undead monsters, why did he choose Scott Douglas Campbell, middle-aged slacker and humble nobody? And how did he choose him? You know, the whole vetting process for accepting a candidate for vampirism (and yes, there is a vetting process for this, but more on that later) was a big mystery for Scott, especially considering he didn’t know such things were even possible. Scott probably wouldn’t have qualified anyway, if he were processed through legitimate means. (Legitimate, at least as far as vampires go. I know, the two concepts together—legitimacy and vampires—are probably causing you a slight case of cognitive dissonance. Oh well.)

  The simple fact is that Scott Campbell was chosen. He was set up for conversion into the world of the vampire by someone at his place of work. Scott is an IT clerk at a small liberal-arts college in Portland, Oregon. The guy who set Scott up, who set Jack on his trail, also works there but is not exactly a coworker.

  It was a dark and stormy afternoon (no, really, it was—this is Portland, after all) when Jack strolled into the lecture hall at Simeon College. The class had just adjourned, and students were leaving the arena-like facility, packing books and laptops into already overly burdened backpacks as they scattered out into the night. The man at the lectern was a chubby, jovial-looking older fellow with a full white beard and mustache and black-framed spectacles. The guy looked like Santa Claus—in fact, many of his students called him Professor Santa. He always had a smile on his chubby face and a welcoming and open demeanor, which further endeared him to his students. However, he was not tolerant of failure and would verbally brutalize anyone who annoyed him or challenged his world views—always with that smile and those chubby cheeks. Professor Robert Malheur looked up from his lecture notes at the strange, handsome man who was walking down the steps of the hall toward the lectern as everyone else exited.

  “Well, well,” Malheur said. “Four o’clock? You’re out a bit early today, aren’t you?”

  Jack stepped up to the lectern. “This is about the only time I can catch you,” he said in his typical Texas drawl.

  “Well, you could arrange to meet me at any time. Just call the department secretary and make an appointment.”

  Jack shook his head. “Yeah, this ain’t the kind of thing you make appointments with secretaries to talk about. I mean, you know why I’m here, don’t you, Doc?”

  “Of course I know why you are here, Jack. You are here to ask for a favor yet again. And yet again, I’m wondering why I should be concerned with your schemes.”

  “And yet here I am.”

  “And yet here you are. And yet here I am, wondering why I should be concerned about the hobbies of vampires.”

  Cat’s out of the bag, right? But then, that bag was pretty empty, as far as Malheur was concerned. Jack smiled and then asked, “Look, Doc, you have authority in this city, do you not?”

  “Not enough. I should like to remedy that. But I suppose that for now I will settle on being the demon prince of Simeon College.”

/>   “Yeah. Demon prince. I wonder why you don’t put that on your business cards. You know, right under where it says ‘Chair of Philosophy Department.’ That would be epic. Anyway, if you’re too busy to do me a solid here, maybe I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

  Malheur’s cherubic face twisted with anger, only slightly revealing the true nature of the beast within. “Yes, Jack, I am the demon prince of this institution, and I do have authority in this city. As for your insolence, I could call right now upon a legion of demons to come and rip you to pieces. In fact, I could call on Legion himself. He does owe me money—”

  Jack backed away from him. “Okay, okay. Look, if you don’t want to help out here, I understand. It’s just…I’m looking for special recruits for my, um…my band. Yeah, my country-rock outfit. They have to have…talent, I guess…or I’m afraid this won’t work. I’ve heard you may have a good candidate or two.”

  Malheur nodded. “Yes, indeed I do. Now, Jack, you could have made things go a lot more smoothly had you just told me what you wanted. The fact is, I have the perfect candidate right here.” He reached down beside the lectern and picked up a leather portfolio, from which he removed a single manila envelope. He slapped the envelope on the lectern and pointed at it. “There, Jack. There is your man.”

  Jack picked up the envelope, opened it, and removed a photograph. The man in the photo was unremarkable in terms of appearance—male-pattern baldness, glasses, slightly overweight. Not the kind of person who would look like a good candidate for a “country-rock outfit.” Jack glanced over the picture. “Damn, he looks…boring.”

  “Yes, Jack. Boring. A good description. And exactly what you are looking for, is it not?”

  “Maybe. Give me the skinny on chubby here.”

  “His name is Scott Campbell. His friends call him Scotty, a nickname he finds somewhat annoying but is far too genteel to say otherwise. He’s staff here, a desk clerk in the IT department. He’s the only evening-shift employee for IT. Answers calls that come in about various computer issues, and either passes them off to on-call techs or tries to handle them himself, with varying degrees of success.”

  Jack laughed. “A cubicle job? Seriously? Evening shift? Let me guess: he probably spends most of that time surfing the net.”

  “Indeed he does, and not even for porn, if you can believe that. Mostly websites on history, politics, religion, and stuff like that. Forty years old as of last summer. Very recently divorced after a marriage of ten years. I tried to look more into that, but there was nothing untoward involved—no abuse, drugs, infidelity. Just plain old irreconcilable differences. He actually goes to church and even reads the Bible every now and then!”

  “Church? Oh, that’s too rich. Tell me more!”

  “He lives with his mother and apparently hasn’t dated since the divorce came down. I’d call him a slacker, although he’s actually fairly good at his job, but has never tried for a promotion or a transfer to a different position.”

  “Slacker, churchgoing, unmotivated…I’ll bet he struggles with self-image issues, maybe depression or some other nagging inner problem like that. Dang, Doc, you’re making this too easy!”

  Malheur’s posture stiffened. “Need I say more, Jack?”

  “He’s pretty damn close, Doc.”

  “He’s more than close. He’s your man. I have foreseen it. That, and I, too, am familiar with the prophecies.”

  Jack gasped. “Now, Doc, why would you go say something like that? Prophecies? Really?”

  “Do not take me for a fool, Jack. I know what you want. But as I said before, I do not care about the hobbies of vampires. Do with Campbell what you will. Do with the House what you will. I couldn’t give a good goddamn. But know this: you owe me.”

  “What payment do you want? It’s not like I can sell you my soul. Bit too late for that.”

  Malheur stepped up to Jack. Although he was quite a bit shorter than the vampire, Malheur’s commanding presence made up for the difference in height. “You have your purposes for Mr. Campbell, and I have mine. When the time is right, we shall discuss the matter in more detail.”

  Jack nodded. “Sure thing, Doc. You’ve been a great help.”

  Malheur nodded in response. “I know. I will contact you later. You may go now, Jack.”

  Their transaction concluded, Jack the vampire went out into the fading day, and Professor Robert Malheur, the demon prince of Simeon College, returned to his office and began grading papers.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Scotty? Scotty, are you even listening?”

  Rain fell from the oppressive gloom of the mid-October sky, rather typical for a Portland fall, pelting the windows of the small strip-mall Thai restaurant. The heavy gray precipitation weighed further on Scott Campbell’s already heavy heart. And apparently his heavy stomach as well, as he glanced up from the plate of chicken pad thai he was shoveling into his mouth. He did like a good pad thai. In fact, he liked food in general. He thought the pad thai was medicine for his wounded soul, especially today. That was his excuse, anyway. “Yeah, yeah, I’m listening,” Scott finally replied to the attractive woman sitting across the table from him after slurping down a noodle.

  “I’m just concerned about you,” Laura Saarinen-Campbell said to her ex-husband as she brushed a strand of brown hair away from her face.

  “Hey, Laura, I’m…I’m fine. There’s nothing to be concerned about,” Scott said. Although, he thought, if she really had been all that concerned, would she have divorced me? Oh yeah, that’s concern for you. He then told himself not to think that way, since it sounded a bit too snarky, and Scott Campbell is not snarky; no, sir, not at all. He never seeks to offend. “Go along to get along” is his motto. And he didn’t want to drive the only woman he ever really loved away again, now, did he? In any event, he was glad she couldn’t read minds right about then.

  “It’s just that we haven’t talked much about the divorce.”

  What was there to talk about? There really was nothing, except that they were divorced. She had left him, and he was all alone, thanks to that coldhearted bitch. And again, Scott told himself not to think like that, since that was not how he did things. Scott hated harboring resentment, even if he didn’t know what else to do with it. Maybe allowing it to fester wasn’t the smartest thing, but Scott didn’t really think that through. Besides, she had had her reasons for leaving him, some of which were probably pretty good, at least on paper.

  “It seems to me there’s not much to talk about,” Scott said as he glanced around at the other patrons of the little Thai restaurant. He wondered if they were listening. He wondered if they even cared. And he wondered what they were eating. One fellow was having what looked to be a whole fried fish—I’ll have to try that sometime, whatever it’s called, Scott noted to himself as he pushed his wire-frame glasses back up his nose. Darn things did tend to slide down on him.

  Laura sighed. “Why was I expecting otherwise? I mean, it’s not like you talked much during our marriage.”

  “We talked…some…”

  “Scott, you know, when we first met, I thought, ‘Hey, here’s a nice guy. A sweet, caring man, who accepts me despite my past issues. Someone I could really bond with.’ Then you just closed down. Emotionally. You never could be fully honest with me.”

  Honest? Scott was confused, not that confusing him was a difficult task. He wondered what the Sam Hill she was talking about. He thought that he was plenty honest, the most honest guy that a girl like Laura could ever hope to be with. Wow, Scott said to himself. Calm down, Mr. Honesty. Where did that come from?

  “Okay, what do you want me to be honest about, Laura? Please, enlighten me. What do you want me to say?”

  “Anything! Tell me what you truly want in life! What you wanted of me! But you never could. You always hid yourself behind this…silent mask of…I don’t know…whatever. Playing the martyr.”

  “Well, you did leave me, Laura, which kinda builds my martyr street cred a bit.”
Oh God. Scott could not believe he had just said that out loud. Street cred? Seriously?

  Laura’s mouth was gaping. He thought that if she didn’t close it soon, a bug might fly into it. And Scott would have laughed, which, he thought, wouldn’t play well.

  “There you go. I cannot believe you just said that,” she said. “You are almost proud that I left you so that you could play the sympathy card. Well, fine. I could play that card, too, and tell how I was married to an emotionally shut-down, self-loathing man who was more concerned with not offending me than he was with actually loving me.”

  Ouch! Really? Scott whined internally. That hurt! What did I do to deserve that nasty little attack? This isn’t fair! She’s fighting a fight I don’t want to fight! And for which I’ve come completely unarmed! “Uh, so, you think I have issues with my self-esteem?” A bird. Maybe a bird will fly into her gaping mouth if she doesn’t shut it soon. That would be even funnier. But not for the bird.

  “Issues with self-esteem? Are you kidding me? Scott, let me tell you something: you cannot really love someone if you cannot first love yourself.”

  Oh geez. Where’d she get that clichéd load of tripe? Dr. Phil? Oprah? Cracker Jack? “So, you left me because I have low self-esteem? How does that work? ‘Oh, Scott, you have low self-esteem, so here’s a pick-me-up for you: I’m leaving you.’ Yeah, that’ll do the trick.”

  Scott’s bad impersonation of his Laura didn’t help. “Okay, okay, forget it. If you don’t want to be honest with me, let’s change the subject. Are you seeing someone?”

  He just glared at her, hoping that would communicate what he wanted to say without actually needing to talk.

  “Okay, I’ll take that as a no,” she responded, which indicated that he was successful.

  Scott knew he shouldn’t ask. He knew it. But he did anyway. “Are…are you…seeing someone?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.”

  Well, I asked. I probably deserved that. “Oh…yeah…of course. I mean, I knew that.” Scott then wondered if he was going to ask whether the sex was better, too. Now that they were being honest…