8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

1/27

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

2/27

getting cold.

Fine, he said, but just one.

Ones all I need, the hick said. He remembered everyone joining up for the

picture. Brian wore a big smile, like the joke was on him.

(But whos laughing now?)

On the television, he heard that same woodsy drawl and it frightened him. He

screamed until Sharon came into the room.

Are you sure, Brian? Are you certain? Sharon asked. She threw an arm under

his and led him back to the couch as he stood shivering in the living room. His eyes

certainly looked large enough to bug out of his head and she was certain he was in shock.

Sharon ran to the living room after hearing the horrible scream fill the house, leaving a

pot of rice still boiling on the stove. She found Brian in the living room standing like a

department-store dummy. His arms dangled loose, his eyes glued to the television and he

certainly was in shock. His face looked... and the word she thought was, haunted. The

television glowed in the dark room.

Are you sure?

Yes, he said and wet his lips. Thats the guy from the restaurant. Im sure of it.

That... he chose his next words carefully. He suddenly realized that his wife couldnt

hear the madness he retold his brain over and over. THAT GUY stole my mind!

Hes a mind vampire!

Thats the guy from Luigis, from that night I said I didnt feel well. The night I...

I-- he stopped himself and curled up on the couch.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

3/27

Sharon looked at the screen and then back at him. She wanted to say something,

but her mind just went blank.

Brian recorded the Debra Show in the morning and watched it around noon.

Character watchingis what he called it. Hed given up writing that day and headed out

doors, then he went back to writing that afternoon. Before, when he had a writing

schedule, when he was really writing, nothing could pry him from his word processor.

Thats when he could blow out a three hundred page novel in four months. That was

before

(Dont you dare say it! DONT YOU DARE!)

writers block.

(Theres no such thing as writers block.)

Brian Singer, her husband of ten years, had barely written a page. So he came up

for air in the evening and sat down to watch his shows, his character watching. Todays

guest on the Debra Show was a new novelist, one he dreaded instantly.

Rightas block, he murmured amusingly. Sharon looked over, her brow formed

a perfect V and rubbed his arms.

Sorry honey? I didnt hear you?

I said the night I got writers block! That was the night I met this guy! He

pulled the couch cushions to his face and blew hot air in them. His hands shook

desperately. He needed a smoke. He needed his mind back.

Now you stop that, Brian. Every good writer gets a little stumped sometimes.

Youre over-reacting.

Over-reacting? He got up and walked to the television. His face was white fire.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

4/27

Look at this guy. This...hick, and tell me you think he can write anything, less his name

in big block letters.

Brian, how awful! She couldnt help but giggle a bit, that was a good one-liner.

She immediately thought he should write that down. But looking at his eyes and seeing

the serious pain swelling in them made her small giggle a shortyap. She immediately

turned her mood around, nodding and agreeing. Brians hand shook as he held the

remote.

On the Debra Show, new novelist Jack Hume sat on a blue, velvety couch and

beamed when he spoke about the success of his new novel. She looked at him and

remembered bumping into someone who looked like him a few years ago, but this

thinning guy sported a dark Armani jacket and gray tie, and wearing khakis with a blue

shirt. His blue shirt matched the couch. A likely choice of wardrobe. She was sure the

make-up department did nothing to his features, as they were tan and flawless. He stood

tall and sure of himself, a real eye-candy her sister would say. Theres no way wed have

met this guy, she thought.Id remember him. Theres just no way! On the show, Debra

started to ask Mr. Hume about his success and about his life. Sharon listened intently,

both Jack and Brian seemed to be very much alike.

Well, Debra, Jack Hume started. He lifted his feet up on the couch. His thick

New England accent swayed the crowd. I came from Banga, Maine. I was the son of a

preacha man, as the popula song suggests. My parents wanted children to help with the

dair-ee fa-arm. I was the runt of the litta and never worked a day of my life in da-ree. My

father died of a stomach aneurysm when I was three years old and motha sold the farm

and left.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

5/27

Debra took her hand and placed it on his, remarking how sad it seemed to be

growing up without a father. He nodded and shrugged.

I wanted to impress my mom, so I wrote my first short stor-ee based on a pulp

comic book. I used a lot of worden from the comic. My mother read it and smiled, and

told me I should try writing a story of my own. Thats whereAces High came from, my

first short stor-ree. Had a sciencefict-shun element to it.

And? Debra asked. She leaned forward. Sharon did too, but Brian held back

already knowing what was about to said next.

My motha found church. She wanted all of her sons to be preachas. My write-

ten--

was put under the bed. I called them bed-time stories. Brian finished. Sharon

shot a strange look at Brian and then to the screen and then back at Brian.

How did you--

Know what he said, because it happened to me. To me, Sharon, this happened to

me! He took my life, Sharon! My life! Brian got up and grudgingly put on his jogging

shoes. He grabbed his coat from the coat rack and headed to the door.

Where are you going, Brian? she asked. But she already knew the answer.

Just a walk, he said. Just a walk. A late Autumn evening chill escaped into the

house when he opened the door and caught her off-guard. A moment later, she would go

to the window and see him strolling down the gravel driveway, past the row of elms and

then light up a cigarette. From there, in the collapsing light, the cigarette looked like a red

eye bobbing up and down, inspecting the house like a wild animal. She retreated to the

kitchen and caught the rice before it boiled over.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

6/27

*****

His normal hours were six til noon, and then break for lunch and then back again

at two or so. But sitting in his office, staring at four semi-barren tan walls (he decided to

nail up a couple of awards and pictures over the years), his fingers were inches from the

keyboard. They never moved. His fingers dangled a bit and then he rested them in his lap.

He wrote only two words that morning: DAMN IT!

He repeated typing those words over and over until they filled the screen. Once

the page was full, he ached to use the cursor and erased all the words but the first two. He

would stare at them for a while and then repeat the process. He did this all morning. It

seemed to never end.

For the past six months he went into his office and closed the door. There, he told

his wife he needed to tune out the world and write. His waste basket spilled out onto the

floor. The two words pulsed on the screen. He stared at them so long the words burnt in

his mind as he closed his eyelids. He had nothing. Nothing.

You mean you have writers block?

(No, just a cramp, maybe.)

Cramps are for women and their months; youre bled dry my man. Youre

blocked.

He started to leave, putting away his empty notepad, when Sharon knocked lightly

on the door. His agent, Tom Braddock, was on the phone again calling from New York,

some hundreds of miles away in a city he cared nothing for. He called earlier in the

morning, but Brian waved him off like he did most mornings for the past month. Now he

knew he had to take the call.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

7/27

Ok, ok, I suppose youre going to lecture me, Tom? Brian cradled the phone

between his neck and shoulder, grabbing a pen and paper to jot down any notes. Tom had

been

?pleading?

?demanding?

?even crying?

waiting for the next Brian Singer detective novel, one that was promised a year

ago. Hed been waiting one year and four months.

Listen, Brian, Im not trying to push the envelope here, there came a rustling of

papers over the phone. Braddock signed something for his secretary and then hushed her

out of the room, its just you said we have a third of a novel a year ago and you said it

was in the works and you were hammering it out. That was a year ago. What about the

novel?

What about giving me a break, Tom?

Oh, wow, Tom said dryly. There was a long pause and a long sigh. Brian

pictured Tom burying his head in his hands. It was a nervous habit of his.

Like smoking, Brian?

Sorry, about that, Brian. I know youve been real good about getting novels here

on time--

Yeah, about seven so far, not to mention a movie--

Which is why Im calling you. You took a few years off, said you were throwing

some ideas around. So, hows the idea machine running?

How about empty, schmuck!

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

8/27

Hey, Im looking into new formats, writing styles, dont push the process, Tom.

Im not, really, Im just checking on you.

No, you wondering if your cash cow is dry to the bone! Brian shifted in his seat,

looking at the screen again.

Damn it! Scream out at him. He turned the computer off.

Look, I have maybe three chapters of this novel Ive been working on. Its not

much.

And a lie, as well. The novel was horrible. It stayed under his bed, a unpublished

bed-time story he stuffed away for an emergency years ago, along with a pack of Lucky

Strikes. It was unfinished, untitled and probably wouldnt ever be finished, but Braddock

sounded desperate.Its something, at least, he told himself.

Great! I shouldnt have second guessed the best detective-fiction writer on the

market. I am truly sorry to have called you like this, really.

Its ok, really. Brian mocked. He laughed a bit and wiped a bead of sweat off

his nose. Ill have it done in three more months, Tom.

Three months is fine, just send me the beginning chapters. And while I have your

ear, Pendulum Press just picked up novelist Jack Hume, and he wanted to write an

acknowledgement to you in his next book, what do you think?

Brian saw fireworks. Great big red dots flashed in his eyes and he was about to

throw the phone out the window. He steadied himself

vampire

and swallowed hard

mind vampire!

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

9/27

before he came back. Listen, I really--

He said youre an inspiration and he wanted to talk to you about it, personally, if

possible. Hes really good, Brian. I think to acknowledge your work would be such an

honorable thing. But, he had some ideas about writing styles and wanted to pick your

brain.

Brians jaw seized open. His mother would tell him to shut his trap, he was

catching flies.

Pick my brain?

Yeah, you heard him right, pick your brain! Pick the lock in that head of yours

again!

Is there going to be a problem? Braddock shuffled some more papers under the

phone.

Well, lets give it a while, he said. He closed his eyes and sawDamn it! flash in

bright green words.

Great, and that was all of Braddock. Brian sat back, listening to his wife

clanging away in the kitchen, listening to the birds chirping outside and opened a desk

drawer--second on the right-- and shifted the pads and pens aside until he found what he

was looking for.

On the way out the door, he told Sharon hed be back soon. She heard him close

the door, walking past the Civic, past the early morning dew burning up on the thick

grass outside, and strolled down the gravel driveway. He ended up behind the elms. Thick

smoke rings filled the air. Sharon retreated to the kitchen and went back to pot-watching.

It took a long time to boil.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

10/27

Pict-cha, Mista Singa?

Mista Singa? Hello, ya theya? Brian held his cell phone below his ear; his

mind seized up like an old Chevy.

Mista Singa--

Who is this?

My name is Jack Hume. Ya agent, a mista Tom Braddock gave me ya numba.

With Humes thick accent, the words sounded like this:Hoom andBrad-dick.

He did? Well, Im going to call him and let him know that my cell phone number

is not to be given out, and I appreciate--

Been a litta tight, have we? A litta emp-tee?

Brians mouth went dry. Excuse me?

I think ya heard me. Hows the write-ten late-lee? Anything new?

Brian calmed himself down. Hed been outside changing the oil on the Civic,

something he did

(late-lee)

to pass the time, when his cell phone rang. He thought Braddock called back.

Only three people knew his cell phone number... now make that four.

Whats your angle, Hume?

Angle? Thats an interestn word? Angle? I figurd ya say somthn like:His

mind bent around the problem; he bent around it enough that his mind was at the point of

breakn. Isnt that what ya say, mista fan-cee writa?

Brian gripped the phone hard and shook violently. Listen here you pip-squeak,

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

11/27

squat for shit! Im not standing here and listening to this crap from you--

Watch ya next words, mista fancy writea! I might be liable to cause ya to

stroke out or sumthn!

Brian stopped short, his anger flushed away. He suddenly became quite nervous

about Mr. Jack Hume and took a brief moment to calm himself.Did he say stroke out?

Can he do that? Can he--

hes a mind vampire, idiot, what do you think?

Ok, what do you want, Hume? Brian asked.

We should talk about ya new novel. Id like to hear some of it.

Fat chance, and dont call me again.

Tell me, did ya catch me on the tube? They really liked the home stuff, but ya

prob-blee didnt care for it. How did you like your life taken away from ya? Displayd

like them fan-cee awards ya have on ya wall?

He suddenly felt hot and queasy, his stomach turned over and over as he saw big

black dots dance in his eyes. His bottom lip quivered when he realized,somehow, Hume

had been in his room.

hes a mind vampire, idiot, hes been in your mind

He sat down and thought the world became suddenly quiet. In his ears a ringing

occurred, much like before... when he met Jack Hume.

Wha-what?

Have ya writ-ten any late-lee? No? Shame. Dont get overheated while workn

on ya ca. And then the cell phone went dead, the conversation ended on a high-pitched

squeal. Brian laid down, sprawled on the driveway, his ears filled with train whistles. He

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

12/27

lolled his head back and watched clouds tumbled quickly overhead. In the clouds he saw

smoke, a puffy cigarette dangling from one of the billowing formations and Jack Humes

face appearing in it. The smoke filled his head; laughter came at him from all sides. He

thought he heard screaming to, but the world became lots of black dots and then nothing.

****

The Time magazine was outdated about a year or two. She read the same article

over and over. Why do doctors offices carry old magazines?

(To help you get to the other side!)

She wanted to laugh, but her trembling voice wouldnt allow it, not in a hospital.

Not now. Across the row, a little girl sat in her chair backwards peeking over the seat. Her

hair was straight gold. Her dark brown eyes stared curiously at her. Sharon smiled and

waved. The girls eyes flashed big and then disappeared behind the seat. She wanted to

laugh again, but her troubled thoughts pushed an acid taste in her mouth.

The doctor said the fainting spell had all the characteristics of a minor stroke.A

stroke? she asked, not thinking she really understood the doctor. Brian seemed fine an

hour before she found him sprawled flat on the ground, like he had been hit with

something.Like hes making gravel-angels! The doctor finished by saying its probably

heat stroke.

Thank you, when can I see him, she asked.

Soon, the doctor said. His smile filled his face. Thats a good sign, she tried to

say, but the words wouldnt come. The doctor finished with:Hes still asleep.

So she waited to see him, sitting back in her chair and reading the same article

over and over. She was in the middle of reading the same paragraph when a nurse walked

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

13/27

by. Sharon watched her stroll through the lobby, her brown hair pinned up in a nurses

cap, her eyes focused ahead, when she suddenly thought the nurse looked familiar. It

wasnt until she walked by, her face cold and unmoving, that a picture formed. The

woman from the restaurant? The woman with the...hick? She laid the magazine in her lap,

looked at the wall and suddenly felt her legs ache. Shes the woman from that night,

Sharon! Shes the--

Sharon sprang down the hallway, passing the nurses station, passing the doctors,

until she came to Brians room. She walked in

You thought she was there, like a shadow, with a very large needle poking it into

his head

and turned on the lights. Brian laid asleep, breathing heavy under the covers. She

poked her head out of the room and looked around. No one was in the hallway. A fat, red-

headed nurse walked by and peeked in.

You shouldnt be here, I dont think.

Sorry, Sharon said, I just had to be with my husband.

The nurse smiled and walked away.

Your mind is running away from you, Sharon. She told herself. She crept quietly

toward the bed, her hands found Brians as he laid sleeping.

Honey? Brian said, sleepily.

Sssh, now. Im here. She bent closer and saw his lips move.

Dont let her get me, he said in his drugged state.

Who, honey?

But he didnt say anything more.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

14/27

Hes having a bad dream, she tried to tell herself, but her reassurances had no

weight. Fear shadowed everything. Sharon reached over to pull his hair out of his eyes,

feeling the cold sweat on his head, when she saw the marks. They looked like bright, red

finger marks. She touched them and thought they were hot.

Her body froze. The room temperature felt like it dropped and Sharon put her

hands together to rub warmth in them. She stayed with him all night, even when the

doctors came to call upon her, they couldnt seem to pry her away from his bed. She said

she needed to be there. They finally let the matter go.

****

It wasnt until Braddock called, about six weeks later, that Sharon wanted to relay

her fear about her husband.His mind isnt what it used to be, she wanted to say. But the

very words couldnt pass from her lips. Brian had been up all hours of the night writing

(if you call crumbled, hand-written pages in the waste basket writing) for the past week,

and finally gave up. Three weeks after he came home from the hospital, Brian asked his

wife to mail a manuscript to Tom. She did. After that, Brian worked nervously on some

novel, hand-writing it instead of his normal typing. His hands seem to fumble about the

keyboard.

Braddock first said he was glad Brian was improving and hoped he feels better.

Thank you, Tom, she said. But something in his voice alarmed her. He wasnt

sounding cheerful, like his old self. Something wrong, Tom? Did you get his

manuscript?

Sharon? There was along pause. When did he write these pages?

I dont know, Tom. I think a long time ago.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

15/27

Long time ago, like when, this past year?

Tom, I dont know. Sharon thought he shifted the receiver from one hand to the

next.

Ok, Sharon, we have a problem. I dont know if Brian told you this, but I said a

new novelist we picked up, Jack Hume, wanted to put an acknowledgment in his new

book; a book to be published at the end of the month.

Yes, I think Brian mentioned that. She thought of mentioning Brians reaction

to the Debra Show interview,

(Thats the guy from Luigis, from that night I said I didnt feel well... the night I

got writers block! That was the night I met this guy!)

but she let it go.

Well, Tom began, I sent him Jack Humes manuscript. The untitled work he

sent me is practically the same, I mean right down to the plot, except the characters

names are different and the story is told somewhere else... he stopped and the phone

switched hands again. Brians manuscript is plagiarized. I will not stand for this, Sharon.

If he hasnt produced anything yet, then we need to accept that hes not writing at his full

potential.

Sharon slapped her mouth to prevent a small squeak escaping. Outside she heard

Brian working on the Civic, revving the engine. Her mind raced.

Tom, I dont know how to react to this, I just dont. She could see Brian outside

the window walking behind the Civic, and then back to the drivers side, turning the

engine off. He looked around to wave at Sharon, a slight smile on his lips.

Sharon, have Brian call me back. I have some questions, and then the

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

16/27

conversation ended. Sharon hung up the phone watching Brians mood shift. He could

tell something was wrong. Sharons mouth was open ...

... catching flies, his mother would say. Brian dropped the oil rag on the ground

and waved at Sharon. Her face went white, like a cat prancing across ya grave, he

thought. It was another one of his mothers colorful euphemisms. He scratched at the

stubble underneath his chin, trying to keep his mind focused on his work, but his head felt

(emp-tee late-lee)

vacant. He was about to tap on the window when his cell phone buzzed in his

pocket. He hoped it was Tom calling back about the novel so he could explain the

difficulties of getting the characters right, maybe a rewrite was in order, which would

take a month or two longer.

Anything to get him off my back a while, he thought.

When he looked at the name on the phone it only said Maine Call. He pressed

TALK and listened with a heavy heart.

Hello?

Hows the fan-cee writa? Hume said, his voice echoed in the earpiece.

What did you do to me? What did you do? Brian demanded, he turned away

from the window and began walking down the gravel driveway.

Motha called it The Touch, runs in the fami-lee. Only works on some folks.

Give me my life back, Hume! Give it back!

What was ya life? Was it all peachs n cream? Was it ev-ree thing ya hoped for,

mista fan-cee writa? Did ya set fire to the world, like ya wanted to? Like ya told your

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

17/27

wife?

Leave her out of this! This is between you and me! Brian yelled. He kicked at

some rocks and watched them skid across the pavement. Im a damn good writer, better

than you--

That right? Hume interrupted. His breath beat on the phone. Then we should

talk?

The cell went dead.

Hume? Hume!

Brian, honey? Sharon stood in the doorway, her feet were barely inside the

house while her hand rested on the doorknob. Shes ready to bolt inside, Brian mused

over.Ready to call the paddy

(pad-dee)

wagon on you. Brian folded the cell phone and placed it in his pocket.

Brian, was that Tom?

No, it was Jack Hume! My buddy, Tom, gave him my number.

That was Jack Hume? On the phone?

Yes, didnt you hear me, am I not loud enough?

Sharon backed up in the doorway; her hand trembled.

Sorry, honey, hes--

Suppers on the table, Sharon said and then went inside, back to the kitchen,

back inside the dark house.

Brians hands clutched in fists at his sides. His eyes darted upward where the

clouds formed a perfect V in the sky like an arrow pointing at him. No one was listening.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

18/27

No one was trying to understand his life was taken away by some

mind vampire

backwoods hick from Maine.

Motha called itThe Touch, runs in the fami-lee.

Mista fan-cee writa! The Touch.

Brian thought back to the restaurant, to his table, to Jack Hume coming over

A pictcha, Mista Singa?

with his wife. They all hugged in closer while Sharon took the picture

(pictcha perfect pictcha)

and then handed the camera back to Hume. As they took the picture, Brians head

raced and dived and he suddenly felt ill. Memories, like fingernails, scratched away

inside his head and then were gone. Words beat like livid wings and then flew the nest.

He felt sickly. He felt

(The Touch)

drained. Jack Hume drained him; the mind vampire drained his very thoughts and

left him high and dry. A shell within a shell. Brian knew he had to get it back. He had to

get his damn life back

(Did ya set fire to the world, like ya wanted to?)

before Jack Hume took it all. Brian took out his phone and dialed the airport right

away. He got a ticket for the red eye. The lady cashier asked how many would be going.

Only one, he said over the phone. Only one way.

*****

Didnt you hear me! He screamed. His eyes were fury and hate. AM I NOT

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

19/27

LOUD ENOUGH!

Sharon nodded, her hands trembling, her feet inching inside the doorway.If he

comes after me, she thought, if he makes a mad rush at me Ill slam the door and lock it.

She started wondering how long it would take him to run to the back door before she did.

Brian moved a step closer and she clutched the doorknob ready to spring it close as his

fists balled up against his sides. She knew, knew very well in fact, if Brian wanted inside

the house all we would have to do is smash his way in.

Then what? Then what, Sharon?

Her stomach tossed and churned sending an acid burp into her mouth. Her tongue

ached for a drink of water.

Suppers on the table, she said and walked back in the kitchen. She stayed there

while he ate alone, poking her head out from time to time and saw the gray beard he

sported, his uncut hair, and the oily shirt he refused to take off. She spent her recent

nights on the couch because

youre afraid of him, youre afraid of what he might do

he refused to bathe as well. He didnt talk. He didnt say hello. He was a changed

man. He took upon the features of distance, his eyes always searching the clouds and his

head never level. He seemed lost.

After dinner, Brian raced downstairs and worked. Working at what, she didnt

know, because he gave up writing. He gave up on everything.He even yelled when Tom

Braddock called. His lungs were at full capacity that day, thank God they lived on a farm.

Brian yelled at Tom with such anger it shook the windows in the living room. What

would the neighbors think?

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

20/27

After putting away the dishes she heard him close the front door and take off in

the Civic. She walked around the corner and saw his headlights disappearing behind the

elms. Then he was gone. To town, most likely, to get a drink and smoke. But something

nagged at her, call it intuition or call it karma, she thought about looking in his office.

No you dont, if he caught you looking in there hell kill you!

He would say:Ill run ya throo, in that Boston accent he tried. She almost

laughed once, but it was only once. His eyes beamed at her with a cold, hollow stare.

Now, inches away from the doorknob

inches away from certain death, you mean

she listened intently to see if he made it back. In a final leap, she opened the door.

The walls were bare. His pictures and awards were down. On a coffee table he set

up in the corner she poured over newspaper clips and magazine articles. They were all the

same. They were about Jack Hume. She read the headlines:Jack Hume, new author, new

life to novels. Jack Humes best-selling novel makes top lists.

The articles went on and on. She picked up a newspaper and saw a clipping fall

out. It was about Brians last novel. The last time he wrote. The last time he was his old

self. He had underlined his interviews in a red pen. On the articles about Jack Hume, he

had circled paragraphs in red pen and wrote in bold lettering: VAMPIRE!

Her heart stopped.

(He stole my life!)

Oh, my God!

(My life!)

Floating to the floor, she saw a slip of paper with the airport schedule for flights to

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

21/27

Bangor, Maine. It had tonights schedule circled.

After she called the credit card company, she made a call to Tom Braddocks

home phone. Braddock had sent Jack Humes novel to the house for Brian to read. The

return address was for Bangor, Maine. The clock read eight-thirty.

******

He stole my life! My life!

He fumed over this notion for the entire non-stop, red-eye flight to Maine, never

resting, passing up the in-flight movie and the cardboard-tasting meal. He couldnt eat,

sleep or do anything but think of Hume. Hed stole his life, and Brian wanted it back.

Now in the early, dark morning, he sat across from Humes farm house in a rented

car. He snubbed another cigarette out in an aluminum ashtray he took from the local

Pancake House a few miles down the road. He lit another cigarette and watched the

house.

A vampire lair.

The farm house, a modest early Victorian home with a behemoth of a porch,

crouched between two hillsides layered with thinning trees. Silver moonlight peeked

through the woods making the house a hunched monster. A yellow arc light glowed on

the porch. The Morning News washed the farm-house windows in dancing electric. The

vampires were awake.

Brian leaned his head out the window and kept his eye on the cats. Four propped

themselves on the porch. They scanned the woods with glowing eyes.

Damn familiars, Brian thought. He noted them in his textbook lying on the

passenger seat. Beside his notation he penciled the brown and yellow calico cat in the

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

22/27

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

23/27

around and saw Sharon waving at him. Her face looked tired. She arrived at the airport

just a half-hour before his flight, and now standing there he felt a sickening realization

emerging. This is happening! This is really happening! Both of them had tried calling

Brian all night and into the morning. His cell phone was off. Jack Humes cell phone was

out as well. So much for warnings!

Sharon sprinted across the terminal, wrapping her arms around his neck and

finally breaking down in tears. Her wet, blue eyes spoke of a long, agonizing night. They

both agreed, over the phone, that Brian wasnt well.

Hes a fruit cake! Was the very sentiments Tom had in mind, but saying so would

only draw Sharon deeper into hysteria. He thought of this when she hugged him; when

she came very close, face to face. He wanted to say something quaint, like:since your

husband is crazy, lets do the same in a hotel. But he had enough crazy things in his life.

He had the rental car ready for pickup at the terminal entrance as he dialed

Humes agent for directions to his home. The hour pushed into eleven. They had another

hour left to drive.

*****

The familiars slept lazily on the porch. The yellow and brown calico remained

awake, watching the yard. It was time. Brian put his coat on, three stakes hid in its inner-

pocket, and got out. As he walked through the woods and up the dirt driveway, the brown

and yellow calico cat moved to his side. He stamped his foot and chased it off.

Damn familiars, he said. In one of the windows, he noticed Missus Jack Hume

grinning a toothy smile. He didnt wave, but instead climbed the porch steps to the screen

door and peered into the dark house. No lights were on. He moved lightly across the

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

24/27

floor, taking very careful steps while keeping a hand in his jacket ready to retrieve a

stake. He only moved to the edge of the light. Hume sat in a high-back chair in the living

room smoking a cigar. The cigar made his eyes alive.

Ya impressd me, mista fan-cee writa. I took ya for a sap.

Why me, Brian asked. His fingers felt the tip of the stake. He made sure he

didnt draw blood. Vampires can smell blood. Why me, and not some other poor

schmuck.

Ya see, I can smell a mans thoughts from fa away. Yours smell sweeter, lots of

things in that head of yas. Got me hung-gree!

What now? Brian asked. He never felt so alive in his life.

Ya know soon enough, when I take the rest of ya mind. Thanks for bringn me

dina. And as Hume stood up,floated up really, Brian jerked a stake from under his

jacket and held it tight.

Come on then, Hume! He yelled. But a hand gripped his wrist and twisted it to

the point of breaking. Humes wife hovered over him like a shadow, her eyes glowing

red, her cheeks thin and pale. A black tongue rolled inside her mouth before it darted out

like a snake, tasting the air. She raised her other hand to show her fingers now became

two fleshy needles. They hovered close to his head.

Looking into her face, looking at her eyes, he suddenly realized that the missus

was not Humes wife, but...

runs in the fami-lee

sister?

And thats when the sound of gravel spitting in the driveway drew their attention.

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

25/27

It was enough time for Brian to bring out the other stake, but the needle points were too

fast. He felt his head become heavy, as if air were being let out. The stake dropped to the

floor. Train whistles blew in his ears, and thats when he saw Sharon

sharon dont come in room vampire here vampire eat brain my gon

step through the door. But it was too late. Black dots filled his mind and then

nothing.

*****

The tea kettle whistled while Sharon took the cookies from the oven. She poked

her head around the corner and saw Brian sitting on the couch character watching. The

gray beard he sported looked in need of a trim, but then it was still new. He said very

little since the incident at the Humes. Mr. Jack Hume was dialing the police when she

and Tom arrived, walking inside the dark house to find Brian slumped across the floor.

Brian jabbered incoherently as his mouth moved askew. Sharon knelt down and propped

her husbands head on her lap. As she did, something rolled across the floor. They all

became alarmed when a wooden stake emerged from underneath Brians body.

Sharon was grateful Tom took care of the situation. He took the Humes in

another room as he called an ambulance. The ambulance arrived five minutes later as

Tom emerged from the dark hallway. The Humes followed, but then retreated to another

part of the house. Her first thought was that the Humes were Mennonites or something.

The whole house lacked electricity.

Honey, do you want some cookies? She called out again. Brian didnt answer.

He breathed a heavy sigh, his mouth gaped open...

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

26/27

catchin flies momma say to me, mamma knows lots of things but I cant think of

them late-lee.

On the television, Brian caught the rest of Humes newest interview, thinking that

Humes eyes looked weird, like they werent eyes at all, but tiny slits in a gray, narrow

snout. The snout poked around, slipping a black tongue in and out, tasting the air, waving

to the audience with mandibles for hands. The camera turned to Humes wife. Brian

turned his head. He couldnt see her. To look upon her would drive him

batty momma say

insane.

Hume answered another question: Ya see, I promised the missus Id set the

world a fire, that became the story behind this novel,Breaking Point.

He paused, his tongue slipping in and out again tasting the air: I also dedicated it

to my new friend, Mista Brian Singa. Hes a man who can write the lingo. When I read

his stuff, its almost like I can get inside his head.

Sharon brought a plate of cookies to the living room and found the couch empty.

She placed the cookies down and saw Jack Hume on the television. He looked stunningly

handsome in the black Armani jacket he wore.

Brian?Brian? She called out. She came close to the window, thinking Brian

was in the driveway smoking again. But the smoke looked black and heavy. It towered

higher and higher. She froze instantly.

The Civics windows were washed with fire. It burned endlessly. On the television

she could hear Jack Hume finishing his interview:

Hes a fan-cee writa. Hes on firea, that Brian Singa is!

8/14/2019 -16,886 Word Count

27/27

(March, 2008.)