The Traveling Vampire Show

“Gonna run him over?” Rusty asked.

“If he needs it.”

We waited.

The Cadillac sat in front of us, dark, its doors shut.

Slim looked at her wristwatch. “I know his game,” she said. “He’s trying to make us late.”

“What time is it?” I asked.

“Quarter till twelve.”

“We can still make it.”

“Not if we keep sitting here.”

“If we’re late,” I said, “my Dad’s gonna kill me.”

That got a pretty good laugh from Slim and Rusty.

Then Slim said softly as if speaking to herself, “Let’s just see what happens,” and stepped on the gas. As we bolted from a standstill, she cut into the other lane.

The Cadillac sprang forward and swung to the left, blocking us.

Slim hit her brakes and swerved to the right.

The Cadillac swerved and blocked us again.

We stopped. It stopped.

We sat there in the dark, ten feet apart.

“Screw this,” Slim said. She threw her door open.

“What’re you doing?” I yelled.

“Stay here.” She started to climb out.

“Grab her!”

Rusty didn’t even try. Either he knew better than to interfere with Slim or he was eager for her to handle the situation.

Slim dodged her open door and headed for the Cadillac, taking long, quick strides. I jumped out. “Wait!” I called.

She stopped and waved me away. “Get back in the car,” she said.

“Slim!”

She whirled away and walked straight to the driver’s door of the Cadillac.

I felt my stomach drop as she bent over and knocked on the window.

“Get away from there!” I called.

She knocked again. “Hey!” she yelled.

I hurried between the two cars. Glancing toward ours, I saw that Rusty had scooted over. He now sat in the driver’s seat.

Slim was still leaning toward the window of the Cadillac. As I stepped around its rear, she said, “What’s going on, mister?” From her tone of voice, I figured the window must be open. “Why’re you…”

She suddenly tried to leap backward, but a hand shot out and grabbed the front of her T-shirt. It jerked hard. With a gasp, she stumbled forward and her head plunged into the open window.

“NO!” she squealed.

I ran toward her.

Watching.

Not wanting to believe my eyes.

Slim was inside the window to her shoulders, squirming and kicking, shoving at the window frame with her left hand to keep herself from being dragged in.

Her right arm was already inside the car.

I hit her hard in the midsection.

Tore her out of the window.

Tackled her.

Landed on top of her, smashing her against the pavement, where we almost got run over by the Pontiac. “Get in!” Rusty yelled. The passenger door flew open. “Get in! Quick!”

I scurried up, pulling at Slim. I hurled her into the front seat. Already in motion, the car started to take off without me. I chased it, running in the V of its open door.

“Hey!” I yelled.

Rusty slowed down and I dived in.

Next thing I knew, we were speeding toward town.

I leaned out and pulled the door shut. Panting for air, I sat up straight.

Rusty was stoked. “Holy jumpin’ Jesus!” he said. “Wow! Jeez! Did you see that? They grabbed her. Holy shit! Couldn’t believe it! Shit!” He slapped Slim on the thigh. “They almost got you.”

Slim quit gasping for breath long enough to say, “Tell me about it.”

“You all right?” I asked her.

“I’m here. That’s what counts. Thanks, guys.”

“No sweat,” said Rusty.

Twisting my head, I looked out the rear window. The road behind us looked empty.

“I don’t see ’em,” I said.

“Me, either,” said Rusty.

“When they come, don’t stop. Don’t stop for anything.”

“You betcha!”

“They won’t,” Slim said. “They won’t be coming.” She lifted her right hand and jangled a bunch of keys.

“Holy shit!” Rusty said.

“You got their car keys.”

“It was easy.”

As Rusty raced into town that night, Slim told us that there’d been two men in the car: one behind the wheel and another in the passenger seat. They were strangers to her.

She described them to us—and ten minutes later to my father—as being about thirty years old, white, slender, with crew cuts. They were dressed in blue jeans and white T-shirts. Though she’d only seen them in the darkness for a few seconds, she was fairly certain that the two men were identical twins.

Dad drove off to look for them.

By the time he got out to Mason Road, however, the Cadillac was gone, along with the twins who’d tried to take Slim.

They weren’t found during the weeks that followed, either.

Maybe they’d just been “passing through” and were long gone.

But we were afraid they might be out there, somewhere.

We didn’t talk about it much. Hardly ever. Probably because all three of us had a pretty good idea about what they would’ve done to Slim if they’d taken her away in their Cadillac. We didn’t want to think about it.

Especially since they might make another try for her.

We knew their car.

And they knew ours.

After that night, I kept a sharp eye out for dark Cadillacs. I’m pretty sure we all did, though we didn’t talk about it.

And our car—Slim’s—remained in the garage for almost a month after our close call on the way home from the Horrorfest. It didn’t come out again until the night of the Traveling Vampire Show.

Chapter Thirty-nine