Prologue
Near this side of the middle of nowhere lay a small town named Barnhoff. The town was in the middle of flyover country. So called because people from either coast literally looked down upon it as they flew over on their way to somewhere they thought was more important. Barnhoff lay deep within the midwest, square in the middle of the proud state of Osage, which lay somewhere between Texas and the Dakotas. I’m sure you’ve heard of it.
If you haven’t heard of it…well, it’s never too late to learn. You see, Barnhoff might seem like your typical farming community on the outside. A one road town that has very little in duplicate. One gas station. One grocery store. One lumber yard. But what they do have in duplicate are churches and hospitality. The Catholics have their brick steeple behind the elementary school. The Baptists their white steeple behind the public library, which also doubled as a small movie theater. There was also a non-denominational church on Main street, between the bank and the insurance agency. But that one was small and mostly consisted of Lutherans who didn’t have the numbers to form a church of their own. The other thing that town of Barnhoff had in duplicate, which, I can assure you, is a quite recent development, was vampires.
Yes, vampires. The blood-sucking, travel-by-night, ancient spawn of Satan. Or so the church-goers would have you believe. Why would a tribe of vampires be drawn to such an ordinary, boring, midwestern town like Barnhoff? Well, that’s an interesting story.
Chapter One
In an occurrence that was highly usual, the town of Barnhoff was quiet. It was early morning and most of its inhabitants were still asleep. The highway too far from town to be heard. The only noise was the hum of the streetlights. And the sound of approaching footsteps, from the one living thing that seemed to be awake.
Jonathan Schaefer walked down Barnhoff’s Main Street, which was aptly named, for unlike many places it really was the main street. Everything important, or as important as it got, was on the two lane street that ran through the middle of town. Including his grandmother’s coffee shop. Which was now his coffee shop.
It was nearly October and the warmth of summer was finally beginning to fade. The late twenty-something wore a red zip-up hoodie. He kept the hood pulled over his head, hiding his messy brown hair, which he hadn’t bothered to comb after he had rose from bed. He wore a fashionably distressed pair of jeans and an equally but less fashionably distressed pair of tennis shoes, which proved insufficient to keep his feet from getting wet and chilly as he walked.
He passed by the entrance to the bank and approached the white picket fence in front of the non-denominational church. He glanced up, discovering that he wasn’t the only living soul up this early after all. A couple of old ladies, contemporaries of his late grandmother, were heading outdoors, fresh from their early morning social. They spotted him approaching and smiled widely beneath their elaborate pink and blue hats. He nodded back, knowing full well that as soon as his back was turned they’d start casting aspersions upon him.
Next he passed the insurance agency, which was owned by a japanese family. They had moved into town at some point when he had been away, living in downtown Shawnee with his mother. They were good neighbors, especially since he employed their daughter at his shop.
Finally Jonathan arrived at his shop’s storefront. The brick, double-story building was in better shape than most of the downtown area, which had seen its heyday end fifty years ago. Yet it still possessed a slightly forlorn appearance. The entrance was a bright red door, inset against the front wall. Next to the entryway was a wide window, upon which was painted in gold and white “Schaefer’s Coffee and Pie.” The paint was cracked and faded, but still highly legible.
Jonathan inserted his keys and opened the front door, a bell above it ringing cheerfully, announcing his presence to the empty room inside. The interior of the coffee shop consisted of a row of tables next to the window, two more tables against the far wall, and a row of stools lining the bar. In the corner, next to the short corridor that led to the kitchen and bathroom, was a small wooden platform. His grandmother had used it for public speeches from the city council and poetry readings every other sunday. He intended to turn it into a stage for live music, but he had yet to install a sound system.
He walked over to the wall between the bar and the short corridor that led to the back of the shop, flicking the light switch. The new l.e.d lights quickly lit up the room, although they were encased in the same glass enclosures his grandmother had installed thirty years ago. Next he entered the kitchen, flicked on its lights, and got started with grinding the coffee beans. Minutes later, as he was filling the coffee pot with water, he heard the bell ring above the entrance.
“You’re early Aki,” he called, not bothering to look up. His one and only employee was still in high school, and while he would love to hire someone who could work on more than just the weekends, he then would have to fire Aki. He couldn’t afford two employees and he didn’t want to piss off the one family in town that didn’t already dislike him. Plus, his grandmother had initially hired her before she had died.
“Who is Aki?” came a deep, mature, feminine voice, very much unlike Aki’s higher pitched tone. Jonathan started and turned round, bending down slightly so that he could peer through the bar towards the entrance. He couldn’t spot the speaker, despite the brightly lit room.
“Not you,” Jonathan answered. “I know the door wasn’t locked and the lights are on, but I literally just got here. Coffee isn’t ready yet.” He went back to work, emptying the water into the basin, inserting the pot beneath it, and finally flicking on the brewer. At last he turned towards the stranger. She seemed to melt out of the corner and into his field of view. Black hair, shoulder length, cut precisely. A black leather jacket over a white t-shirt. Tight black jeans, with small rips and tears. Black leather boots. Her arms were crossed over her chest, revealing pale white skin. Her eyes gazed at him, black as coal. Jonathan wanted to laugh. He hadn’t seen someone this goth in years.
“I don’t want coffee,” she said, her voiced measured and even. She looked to be in her mid twenties, perhaps close to his own age. But she did not carry herself that way. She approached the bar, staring him down as if he were an interesting plant she had never seen before. One that didn’t smell quite right.
“Well, we’ve got tea. Hot or iced. Or I can make some breakfast, if you want food. Do you want a menu?”
“No,” she said. “I need information.” Jonathan found himself staring into her eyes, unable to look away. At least at first.
“Well, this is a coffee shop, not an information shop,” he said, folding his arms across his own chest, and feeling himself beginning to grow cross.
She frowned, her inscrutable and neutral expression cracking for the first time. “I want information,” she said, her eyes widening and staring into him. He felt himself, once again, being drawn inwards, like he was falling into her eyes. But, just as before, he snapped out of it.
“Try google. The wifi password is ‘ThrawnOwns,’ capital ‘T’, capital ‘O’. If you sit in the corner and don’t bug me I don’t mind if you hang about.” Jonathan turned away from the woman and opened up the fridge, removing a carton of eggs and a package of bacon. His regulars would be in soon, a father-son pair that worked at the nearby brick plant. They always ordered the same thing.
“Who are you?” she asked loudly. There was a power in her voice that caused him to turn and answer, despite his desire to ignore her.
“Jonathan Schaefer,” he answered. “I own this place.” She continued to stare at him, her head turning slightly as if she were a cat appraising a new toy.
“Is that all? You’re not just a boring little boy in a boring little shop? How do you resist me?”
“Look, this is getting weird,” Jonathan said, raising his voice at last. “I haven’t seen you around before, which means you must’ve taken a wrong turn off the highway, but I don’t have to stand here and…and…put up with whatever it is you’re doing. If you aren’t going to stop bugging me I need you to get out, before my actual customers start showing up.”
“Fine,” she said. “But you haven’t seen the last of me, Jonathan Schaefer. I will return.” She spun on her heels and headed out. Although he could hear the bell ring and the door open he had trouble following her back as she departed. Like he couldn’t focus on her for some reason. He rubbed his eyes, figuring it was his horrible sleeping habits finally catching up to him.
“Whatever. Wierdo. I will return, Jonathan Schaefer,” he said, mocking her deep and authoritative voice. “I will return for your soul!” he shouted as he cracked open the first egg and deposited its innards into a whisking bowl.
A japanese girl emerged from a one story brick house a few blocks from the center of town. She wore a dark grey hoodie over a t-shirt and black jogging pants, the hood down. A pair of earbuds emerged from beneath her collar. Her black hair was tied back in a ponytail, held in place by bright pink hair ties.
She locked the front door and headed down the short path that led to the street. The sun was beginning to shine, golden yellow light erupting from between the houses and tall oak trees on the other side of the street. It was sunday morning and there was hardly any traffic on the streets. It was too early for the church goers, although it would be less than an hour before they too emerged.
Aki checked her training shoes, as her socks tended ride down and chafe on her heels. She needed new socks but it was such a long drive to Shawnee City. The only store in town that sold clothing was a dollar store, and she’d wear her clothes until they fell off of her body before she bought anything from there.
She took off at a jog as she reached the street. There were no sidewalks anywhere in town except on Main Street, so she had to run down the side of the road. She jogged for a short while until she turned on Main Street and went south. She passed the Barnhoff High School, which was also the Middle School, and headed towards the center of town. Suddenly she had reason to pause.
The old dilapidated storefronts on the other side of the street were suddenly not so empty. A half dozen trucks and utility vans sat parked in front of what once was a pharmacy and department store more than a generation ago. A dozen or so men and women walked in and out, carrying ladders and tool boxes inside. It was the most activity she had seen downtown since this year’s Homecoming parade.
One of the workers turned and stared at her, and she suddenly felt a very eerie feeling creep into her stomach. She began to jog again, hurrying until she reached Schaefer’s Coffee and Pie. Jonathan was busy inside, cooking breakfast for a father-son pair that worked at the brick plant just outside of town. They sat at the bar, the father reading a newspaper and the son on his smartphone. Jonathan looked up at her as she entered, the ringing bell giving her away.
“Ah, about time, Aki,” he called. “Get your apron on, we need to get started on today’s pies.”
“Alright, alright,” Aki sighed. “I’m still early you know,” she said as she entered the kitchen and began tying her apron around her waist.
“You’re the one who wanted more hours on the weekend,” Jonathan said as he deposited eggs and bacon onto two plates for the two customers.
“I like money, but I don’t like waking up in order to make it,” she said, shrugging. She opened the fridge and began looking at the ingredients Jonathan had brought in from the city. She wished she could go with him on those trips, if only to get away from town for a bit.
“Same here,” he agreed. “At least it’s actually you this time.”
“What’s that mean?”
He handed the plates off to the customers before answering. “There was some strange woman in here earlier, right when I opened up. I thought she was you at first.”
“Maybe she was with those people across the street,” the father said, his voice deep and gravelly.
“What people?” Jonathan asked.
“Oh, you mean those construction workers?” Aki asked. “They are going into one of the old buildings down the street.”
“Yeah, they showed up right as we parked. Didn’t you hear the news? The Wilter family sold the pharmacy.”
Jonathan and Aki both tried to ignore that people in town permanently called the building across the street ‘the pharmacy’ even though it been out of business for twenty years.
“The woman that came in here wasn’t a construction worker,” Jonathan said at last.
“Well, she might’ve been with them any how,” the father said. “I heard from the Johnson’s that the people bought the whole block. But, you know, they aren’t exactly people.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jonathan said, frowning. He hoped very much that his two most frequent customers weren’t racists.
“They’re vampires,” the father whispered, as if one of them was hiding inside the coffee shop.
“What?!” Aki practically shouted. She instantly ran from the kitchen towards the window. She edged towards the wall, peering through it, just out of sight behind the blind.
“What would vampires be doing this far west?” Jonathan asked.
“Ever since they went public they’ve been moving around a lot more,” the son answered, speaking up for the first time. He stared at his phone, even as he spoke.
“But it’s daytime,” Aki said skeptically. “If they were really vampires shouldn’t they all be getting burned up in the sunlight?”
“Nah, that’s just in movies,” the son revealed. “People on reddit say that they are just weaker in the daytime, more like regular people.”
“I’m surprised the city council approved of it,” the father added. “I’m surprised they’d let in that sort. I bet they used their words on ‘em.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Jonathan said, growing angry, although he did not know why. “No more talk of vampires. It’s too early in the morning for that kind of stuff. Eat your breakfast or you’ll be late.”
“Yes, sir,” the father said, smiling in amusement.
“Aki, get away from the window,” Jonathan ordered, sighing in annoyance. “Get back to work.”
“Aww, but I want to creep on the vampires,” she whined sarcastically. Jonathan cleaned the burners of the stove absent-mindedly, the woman who had entered his shop earlier suddenly intruding into his thoughts. Had she been a vampire?
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