2

They had left Duskerville behind and were on a winding road deep into the forest when Peter saw it: Grandfather’s house.

It was monstrously huge and way high in the air. It had to be, because the roof was the only thing Peter could see over the trees…and they were tall trees. He could see some sort of balcony with a railing on the very top, and there were two small towers that looked more like they belonged on a castle.

“We’re here!” Mom called out. “Get out of that bathing suit!”

“NO!” Beth howled.

“Why not?” Mom argued.

“Stawbewy Shorcake is COOL!”

The car slowed down and turned into a little side street. On the right side of the road was an ordinary house. Actually, that was being a bit generous. It was pretty rundown, with flaking paint, a bunch of weeds on the lawn, at least one cracked window, and a rusty car in the driveway. But all in all, it was a relatively normal one-story home.

On the other side of the street, far away up a gravel drive, was Grandfather’s house.

Now Peter knew why the roof was visible over the trees: the house was four stories tall, if you counted the attic. There were dozens of windows, most of them mismatched in size, and none of them lined up straight with one another. Crazy built-on rooms popped out from the side of the house in the worst possible places.

It was like some giant monster had a baby, and the monster kid just stacked his giant toy blocks at random to build what was supposed to be a house, because no sane human would have ever built it.

The wood had lost its paint years ago, and the weathered gray planks crumbled silently in the sun. The shutters were black and peeling. A couple of tall, gnarled trees grew against the side walls, and overgrown bushes spilled out into the knee-high lawn.

It looked like a haunted house. Or an abandoned building. Or both.

“Oh no,” Peter whispered as a look of horror crept over his face.

“Peter, I know it looks…interesting, but it’s a great old place. I grew up here, you know.”

“You made me leave Carlos and Steven and Ben for this? I left my friends so we could live here?”

“Peter, don’t do this. Not now. Not in front of Grandfather. Smile, okay? We’ll talk about it later.”

Peter looked out the windshield, up ahead of the car. There, standing in the overgrown grass by the front steps, was a crazy old man to go with the crazy old house.

He was tall and gangly like a scarecrow, though a well-dressed one: black pants, white long sleeve shirt, gray patterned vest, a tie knotted under his collar. He looked like he was going to church.

But if his clothes looked dressy, his face just looked scary. Wild, piercing eyes blazed from beneath bushy brows. A scraggly white beard sprouted from his cheeks and jaw. He was bald on the front and top, but thin wisps of hair clung to the sides of his head.

Grandfather Flannagan.

Peter had never met him. Grandma Flannagan had flown out to California a couple of times, but she had died when Peter was four. He could barely remember her. There were some faded photographs of her smiling in front of their apartment, and equally faded memories of a sweet lady who gave him candy when Mom wasn’t looking.

They had never visited his grandparents’ house – at least, not since Peter was a baby – and Grandfather had never visited them. Suddenly Peter wished one of the two had happened, because if it had, he would have fought a lot harder to stay in California.

“Who’s dat scare-wy man?” Beth whimpered.

“He’s not scary…that’s my daddy. He’s nice, you’ll see,” Mom said, though something in her tone wasn’t exactly convincing.

Peter looked in the mirror and smoothed his sandy brown hair, then looked down to make sure his shirt and shorts didn’t have any ketchup or mustard stains. Normally he couldn’t have cared less, but something told him he was about to get a military inspection.

Gravel crunched under the tires as the Honda pulled up to the front of the house. Peter watched uneasily as the old man peered inside the car, straight at Peter’s face.

Mom was the first out. “Hello, Dad.” She smiled, and gave him a little hug.

“Mrm” was his only reply.

She opened the car’s back door and unbuckled the kiddie seat. “This is Beth. Um, don’t mind the bathing suit.”

For the first time in her life, Peter’s sister had nothing to say. She just sat there in Mom’s arms, fingers in her mouth, staring at Grandfather as he stared back at her.

“And this is Peter.”

That was his cue. Peter opened the door and stepped out.

Grandfather’s eyes burned a hole in his skull. “Peter, eh?”

Peter nodded.

“How old are you, boy?”

“N-nine and a half,” Peter stuttered. “I’ll be ten in March.”

“Hrm.” Grandfather turned back to Mom without giving Peter another glance. “So I guess we’ll be moving you in now.”

“Well, we could go on a little tour of the house first. The bags aren’t going anywhere.”

“Hrm.” Grandfather turned and walked up the front steps into the house without another word.

 

“You coming, Peter?” Mom called.

“Uhhhh…I’m gonna walk around outside first, stretch my legs,” Peter replied.

“Okay, suit yourself.”

“Mommy, he’s a scare-wy man,” Beth whispered a little too loudly.

“No, it’s just Grandfather,” Mom said in a hushed voice. “We’re going to go see your new room now.”

Peter waited until they were inside. Once they were gone, he kicked the gravel in frustration.

Freakin’ – dang it – flippin’ –

Thousands of miles to come live in a rundown shack.

Peter shielded his eyes with his hands and peered up at the house.

A huge rundown shack.

It was sort of cool, actually, in a horror movie kind of way.

He just didn’t want to live in a horror movie, that’s all.

Peter circled the house and counted the odd, mismatched windows. After losing count, he backed up almost a hundred feet to try and see that crazy balcony on the roof again.

“Psst,” somebody said behind him.

Peter whirled around.

 

<< Chapter 1 |  Chapter 3 >>

 

PETER AND THE VAMPIRES (Volume One) consists of four stories and is available for the Kindle, the Nook, and on Smashwords.com.

You can download a free Kindle App for your computer, Mac, iPhone, iPad, smartphone, and more by clicking here.

All material is copyrighted 2007-2011 Darren Pillsbury. All rights reserved.