An Unattractive Vampire Read Online Free PDF Page A

I’ll keep an eye on Dad” son, Jonathan Moss. Martin and the younger Moss held the lanterns while the elder Moss held Anne, regaling her with tales of his door-breaking exploits.
    “By the time I was John’s age, I’d already racked up thirty-five, not including Ol’ Goody Blythe, who lived in a cave and blocked the entrance with a boulder. And this was all before ’68 when the Massachusetts commissioner ruled that multiple doors in the same lair should count separately. Blasphemy, I say. He just wants to pad his own numbers. I, however, got my hundred honestly—one door at a time.”
    Anne listened to this patiently, not that she had a choice. She was, after all, just an ordinary Puritan woman, guilty of absolutely nothing other than being born female. She would never dream of telling the old man to shut his damn mouth (points) or mentioning that his last dozen doors fell only because his son had climbed through a window and taken them off their hinges. Absolutely not. She was merely terrified and walking back into a cellar she had been in just once, a feat made easier by the new debris.
    “Hold here,” Martin ordered. The others stopped and waited as he alone climbed over a wagon wheel, which definitely had not been there before, and disappeared from sight. Seconds passed, then minutes. Somewhere in the basement, there was a deep growl followed by a soft thud. The two Mosses shifted uncomfortably. Anne was sure that one more unidentifiable sound and the pair would bolt. Fortunately or, from Anne’s perspective, unfortunately, the witchfinder emerged from the darkness. “Bring the girl.”
    “Master Martin, you’re bleeding,” the elder Moss pointed out.
    The witchfinder took a handkerchief from his pocket and covered the small cut that had mysteriously appeared under his eye. “So I am. This way.”
    The three of them clambered over the wagon wheel, slid across a carriage door, and fell right next to the looming Martin. From there, lanterns were raised and the four Puritans looked down into the grave of the vampyr. In the flickering light, Bile looked even deader than usual. His blood shone black, splattered across his white chest. His head had shifted position and now tilted forward and to one side, making it nearly impossible to believe it could still be connected. Even his eyes, which were gray and lifeless to begin with, had clouded over, extinguishing the fire given them by those dark pupils. The effect was so convincing that Anne worried her master might have actually gone too far.
    “Heaven protect us,” gasped Jonathan Moss, crossing himself.
    “Good God,” croaked Benjamin Moss, his eyes wide with terror.
    “The creature is dead. Let us go” did not say Erasmus Martin. He should have. The illusion was flawless, her performance convincing, and when three people all see such a ghastly sight, it is only right that all three exclaim.
    Yet Martin remained silent. The four of them stood in his silence and continued to gaze down upon the body.
    Anne’s mind began to panic.
What is he thinking? Why doesn’t he say anything? What does he know? Does he know? He knows! He must know. If he didn’t know, he would ask, he would question, or he would leave. He hasn’t asked, he hasn’t questioned, and we’re still here. So. He. Must. Know.
    These thoughts expressed themselves on the outside in the form of a shudder. Erasmus Martin took note. Fortunately for Anne, so did Benjamin Moss.
    “Be at ease, my girl. The creature is dead,” he said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Well done. Well done, indeed. Wouldn’t you say it was well done, Master Martin?”
    Erasmus Martin, who had been eyeing Mistress Stevens intently, found his cold, hard suspicions crashing into the optimistic certainty of Benjamin Moss.
    “I”—Martin searched for a word that would appease the elder Moss, without betraying his reservations—“suppose.”
    “Oh, he’s just disappointed,” continued Moss. “He