Fright Night For Real

Jerry doesn’t believe in fate. It wasn’t fate that led him to this country some years ago. It wasn’t fate that made him choose the suburbs of Las Vegas over any other more or less decent destination. And it wasn’t fate that left him sitting on the steps of his half-finished house at the prime hours of the night when he should be feeding like a normal vampire with normal vampiric needs. He had fled to the New World because even the name sounded intoxicating. The New World. Anything new sounds exciting, even exotic, when you’re old enough and bored enough. The New World didn’t live up to Jerry’s expectations but that was the thing he had already got accustomed to. Nothing — and no one — had. He had chosen the New World, and it wasn’t his problem whether this choice was mutual. Jerry Dandridge chose the suburbs of Las Vegas because it was a perfect place to rest while Las Vegas itself was an ideal place to feed. The city and the roads leading to it. All roads led to Rome only in Europe. In the New World, all the roads led to the infamous Sin City, which wasn’t that much different from old Rome after all. People there were easy prey, and Jerry was smiling at the thought that he might finally get fat and lazy. He chose the place to nest, and it was a good choice. Now Jerry Dandridge was sitting on his porch, smoking like a peasant, and trying to wrap his mind around that very simple fact that everything was his choice, and still, in the end, it felt like the choice was made for him, not by him. Charley Brewster is a boy next door, and it makes Jerry laugh manically in the cold emptiness of his own facade of a house. There’s a bare minimum of furniture inside, and the house is barely finished. He was meaning to get everything done neatly and with style. As if! Jerry thinks about their first meeting, their first introduction, and feels like writhing in agony. That was an extremely unpleasant scene he suffered to be a part of. The woman, Jane, was eyeing him indecently, and she was such an easy pick, such a low-hanging fruit, that he didn’t even want that. The girl, Amy, was more interesting. Fresher, to begin with, but it wasn’t her who caught his eye. It wasn’t her who made him suck in the air just to taste its sweet freshness on the tip of the tongue. It was Charley Brewster, the boy who smelled of apples. “Hey, Charley.” “Hey, mister Dandridge.” “It’s Jerry.” “Right,” Charley is so very much not interested in him that it is almost offensive. His mind is somewhere else, and Jerry doesn’t need to use any special powers to read him like an open book. The boy is thinking about his friend, Amy, the one with an angelic face and golden hair. The boy is thinking about her perky breasts, about her long legs, and, worst of all, about the way her eyes narrow when she laughs. The boy isn’t thinking about that strange guy next door, that Jerry-guy, who is sitting on his porch and smoking in the dark. Like a creep. “Late-night basketball practice?” “Uh-huh. Something like that,” Charley nods thinking about Amy, and for a moment Jerry is seriously considering killing him on the spot. Ripping good old Charly Brewster’s head off would be easy. “You know how it is.” “Right,” Jerry smiles his most charming smile, the one that makes men and women lust for him, and it doesn’t do shit. Charley is about to walk past him, to the safety of his well-lit house, when Jerry says, “I’ve seen your bike.” “My bike?” “Yeah. It looks like it might use some… you know, help.” Charley sighs, and now he is looking at Jerry. He finally sees Jerry, and the man throws him a can of coke. Charley catches it midair, he has good reflexes, and smiles. “Thanks, Jerry… I was thinking of taking it to one guy… he could take a look at it and…” “I can take a look at it,” interrupts Jerry and opens another can of coke. “No worries.” He can read Charley like a book. What does this dude want? Does he have an eye for Mom? Is it just a move to get closer to her through me? “I used to work in a car repair shop,” lying is easy and comes naturally. “And I simply hate seeing a good thing wasted, you know? I bet your friend will like riding a bike with you.” “Amy has a car, actually.” “Oh, come on, Charley,” Jerry’s grinning now. “It’s not about driving.” “It’s about riding.” “Yes, it is.” Charley Brewster blushes, and Jerry feels like he’s going to jump at him at this very moment. This is obscene, the way this boy blushes. This is private and should not be seen in public, and… “Yeah. I guess… I’d like that. If you don’t mind having a look…” “I most certainly don’t,” Jerry smiles again, and for a moment Charley gets this strange feeling… that he has just seen something in his neighbor’s smile he shouldn't have seen. Something that shouldn’t have been there, to begin with. “I’ll bring the bike tomorrow, okay? So you could, you know… have a look. And maybe give me some tips?” “Sounds great,” Jerry finishes his drink in two gulps and hopes this boy will go inside the house this moment, while he still has a chance to do that. “See you, Jerry…” Jerry nods. And then Charley Brewster says something that makes the vampire’s skin break in goosebumps. “It smells of apples… Huh. Weird.” The door closes behind Charley, and he’s unreachable now. Or, at least, for the time being. “It smells of apples,” Jerry repeats and adds with a sudden weakness in his voice. “Oh, you’ve got to be shitting me…” Jerry Dundridge doesn’t believe in fate. He believes that he is fucked.