The rest of the day went by in a flurry of activity. There was an extraordinary number of customers, including a lot of townsfolk who didn’t normally frequent Jonathan’s shop. Most of them were snooping on the construction work going on down the street, which they couldn’t stop talking about. Of course it would be unseemly to hang about spying, and so the coffee shop became their excuse to be downtown.
Not that Jonathan was complaining. The extra traffic was just the shot in the arm he needed to fund some of the changes he hoped would bring in a younger crowd. He hoped that once he got a decent sound system he might be able to attract some bands from Shawnee City to travel the forty five minutes. And hopefully bring their hipster crowds with them, eager to get out of the city for a night.
Just as the townsfolk didn’t stop coming in, neither did the construction work pause. By the time he closed up, at four o’clock in the afternoon, they were still at it. He locked the front door to the shop and gazed across the street, allowing himself to snoop at long last. He peered at them, trying to discern any detail that would mark the men and women working as anything other than human. Other than their constant, indefatigable activity, and perhaps their paler than usual skin, he couldn’t spot anything. He shrugged and turned down the street, hoping that the buzz would continue for a few more days. If business kept up at its current pace for a week he could make a serious dent in the loan payments he had inherited from his grandmother.
Jonathan arrived at the home he had also inherited and immediately began preheating his oven, intending to heat up a frozen pizza and stream a british tv show. He sat in his living room, which was occupied only by a couch, a coffee table, a half-sized bookshelf, and his tv. He turned on the tv, but couldn’t keep his focus long enough to pick something to watch. Instead his thoughts lingered on the strange woman who had visited his shop in the morning.
He reached beneath his coffee table and retrieved his laptop. He fired it up and opened his web browser, queuing up a video site. He typed ‘vampire’ into the search bar. The screen populated with results, most of the top hits being news stories about the huge public reveal early this year.
There had been an announcement concurrently from the New York Times, Washington Post, and Wall Street Journal, followed by a media blitz. Supposed vampires had submitted to interviews across every major news organization. Most people thought it was some kind of elaborate media hoax, a publicity stunt for some hollywood movie. But it turned out to be real, all the ‘sightings’ on social media were legitimate, and Congress even provided the floor to a vampire representative, who gave a speech outlining what was real and what was myth.
Jonathan refined his search, bringing up the Congressional speech. He hit play and listened as the woman, who identified herself as a Clan matriarch, whatever that meant, began to introduce her species to the world. His oven beeped from the kitchen, indicating it was preheated. While he was removing a pizza from its plastic wrapping a knock came at the door.
“One second,” Jonathan called. He shoved the pizza into the oven, strode into the living room and paused the Matriarch’s speech, and then answered the door. He swung it open to reveal Emerald Stanton, a woman in her mid forties who thought herself a pillar of the local community.
“Hi,” she greeted, her face lit up with the kind of exaggerated smile you only wore when you were speaking to someone you really disliked, but didn’t want them to know you disliked them. “How are you today Mr. Schaefer?”
“Again, just call me Jonathan,” he said.
“Right. Well, I’m stopping by to announce an emergency town hall meeting at the Baptist Church.” She handed him a flyer printed on yellow paper. On it, in an overly huge and italicized serif font, was printed “Emergency Meeting! Barnhoff First Baptist Church, 6:30 pm. Hosted by the Barnhoff Chamber of Commerce and Board of Education.” He couldn’t help but notice the tens of crosses she had used to make a border around the edges of the paper.
“I’m not interested,” Jonathan said, shaking his head.
“I really think you ought to attend,” she said, shaking her greying red hair, which she had continued to perm despite the turn of the twenty-first century over fifteen years ago. “All of the leaders in the community will be there, including the City Manager. It’s about…you know…the newcomers.”
She said the last part in a whisper, as if someone might be hiding in the bushes outside of Jonathan’s house.
“You mean the VAMPIRES?” Jonathan asked loudly. “The town meeting is about the VAMPIRES that are moving in downtown. Are you sure they are actually VAMPIRES? Because I don’t think VAMPIRES are supposed to be in daylight?” He raised his voice each time he used the ‘v-word’, causing her to widen her eyes and nearly begin to shoosh him.
“Yes it’s about…them,” she answered, in a near panic. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why isn’t the meeting in the community center?”
“Well, you know. They won’t be able to come if we have it at the church.”
“Yeah. I don’t think that’s a thing,” Jonathan said, trying really hard not to begin laughing.
“It’s a serious matter,” she said, growing angry. “Your grandmother would understand.
“You aren’t going to shame me into doing anything by bringing her into it,” Jonathan said, now growing angry himself. “She wouldn’t approve of going around knocking on doors and raising hell about new people moving into town. Really, this is ridiculous.”
“They aren’t people,” she said urgently. “And she went to Sabbath every Sunday of her life. She would understand our concerns. You are a member of the local business community now, and the Chamber expects your attendance.”
Jonathan frowned. Emerald might be a ridiculous woman, but she was an influential member of the community. She had the ear of the City Council and the Manager. If he pissed her off she could very well make sure he would never get the permits he needed approved in order to have live music and alcohol in his shop.
“I’ll be there,” he relented.
“Six thirty,” she said, smiling triumphantly. “See you there.” She promptly turned and headed towards the next house. Apparently she was knocking on every door in town.
“I hate people,” Jonathan said, sighing audibly.
Jonathan showed up at the Baptist church a couple of minutes past six thirty. The church was a classic country parish; white walls, a small steeple, imitation stained glass windows depicting the twelve apostles on each side of the pews. He pushed open the front doors, which creaked loudly, ruining his attempt at slipping in unnoticed. Heads turned towards him. The church was about half full. Apparently Emerald’s canvassing had only been partially successful. She stood at the front of the church, some of the other Chamber of Commerce officials behind her.
Jon went around the last pew and walked down the side aisle. He felt a brief chill in the air as he rounded the corner, but ignored the sensation. He settled into the pew that was third from the back, as far back as he could get without appearing to get as far back as could get. The terrible woman smiled wickedly at the sight of him, triumphant at her apparent skill in cajoling him into attending. She apparently hadn’t begun her speech yet, for she began by clearing her throat into the microphone behind the lectern.
“Ahem,” Emerald began. “Thank you all for attending this very urgent community information sesssion” Her eyes scanned the crowd, taking final note of who had showed up for the meeting, and who had not. “As you all know, the pharmacy and the old general store were sold this week. While that normally would be happy news…I regret to inform you that it was bought by vampires.” She lowered her voice at the last, still apparently afraid, even inside the perceived safety of the church.
“The city council had already approved work permits and business licenses. The speed of that approval, without the chance for community comment, is alarming. That is not how our government is supposed to work!”
“The mayor and other members of the city council were asked to attend this session, however, most of them have not returned my calls.” She scowled visibly. “I would like to take this moment to remind everyone that the next city council meeting is the last tuesday of the month. We should all plan on attending and making the concerns of this community plain.”
With that Emerald stepped away from the microphone, temporarily at least. She glanced towards two of her friends, who were very much like her in demeanor, if not appearance. Each of them picked up a box and stepped down from the sanctuary and approached the center aisle. The moved down the rows, handing out white tri-fold pamphlets. As he was the only one in his pew the usher gave an extra pamphlet to the man in front of him, who turned round in order to hand it back to him. Although he had not recognized the back of his head, Jonathan suddenly remember the man was a farmer who owned sixty acres just to the northwest of town. He remembered that the farmer owned a red international tractor, which he used to pull the hay ride every fall during the harvest parade.
Jonathan nodded his thanks and took the pamphlet. On the front page was printed in large red text “Vampires in America: What You Should Know.” He turned the brochure over and glanced at the back page. A logo and small print near the bottom revealed the pamphlet’s origin. “Citizens for a Safer America.”
Emerald began to speak, essentially reading through the contents of the brochure. Jon rolled his eyes and stood, earning a glare from the front. He raised the pamphlet over his head in a show that he was taking it with him, attempting to appease her on some level. He intended to throw the thing away as soon as he got outside. As he headed towards the back he once again felt a chill.
It was dark as he pushed open the doors and stepped outside. Moisture was thick in the air, portending rain. Moving quickly he took off down the path leading to the sidewalk and began to head home. As he prepared to cross Oak street he noticed someone standing on the other side of the street, beneath the streetlight. It was an enormously tall man, with broad shoulders and thick arms. He seemed to be staring right at Jonathan.
Jonathan unconsciously stuffed the brochure into the back pocket of his jeans and quickly crossed the street, heading towards the strange man. He put his hand inside of pocket, reaching for his pocket knife. Jonathan avoided eye contact as he approached and then passed the man. As he moved down the street he let out a sigh of relief. And then felt someone grab him from behind.
The man had his hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. Somehow he couldn’t break free, or pull away. He had his hand clenched around his knife but he was unable to pull it out of his pocket. In fact he couldn’t move his arm at all.
The man looked Jonathan up and down. His face was pale, he had no eyebrows. He had pupils but they were such a light shade of grey they almost appeared silver. The man leaned forward, sniffing the air.
“Get off me,” Jonathan shouted, attempting once more to break free. For a moment he felt the man’s iron grip on his shoulder weaken, for a moment he could move his arm. He pulled out his pocket knife but the blade was still retracted. And the man’s grip clamped down once more, and now Jonathan felt his whole body freeze up.
“Who are you?” the man asked, his voice so deep it seemed to reverberate inside of Jonathan’s body.
“Get off me,” Jonathan repeated, although his demand was decidedly less stoic. The man leaned closer, his face inches from Jonathan’s neck. But before the huge man could do anything further he was grabbed from behind.
Jonathan was thrown to the backwards. He tripped on the curb and fell, landing hard on his hip. But his attention was was on the man and the woman who had just confronted him. The woman who had visited him at his shop.
Despite being more than a foot shorter than the man, and much less bulky, she held the man’s hand in her grip, squeezing tight. From the pained expression on his face he was almost as helpless in her grip as Jonathan had been in his.
“What are you doing here?” the man asked, his voice frantic as he tried to pull his hand free.
“I could ask you the same,” she replied. Suddenly the man reversed his attempt to free his hand from her grip, pushing instead of pulling. At the same time he aimed a kick, intending to stick his knee into her ribs. But the woman anticipated his move. She spun and pulled his arm, throwing the man off balance and tossing him. He struck the light pole, which bent against his mass. “You should quit while you’re ahead.”
The man growled but seemed to agree with her sentiment. He turned and fled, vanishing almost as soon as he exited the streetlights range. When he was gone the woman turned and stared down at Jonathan. She straightened her leather jacket and then approached, offering her hand.
He took it, reluctantly, and she hoisted him to his feet. He suddenly felt all the pain that the adrenaline coursing through him had pushed aside. “Thanks,” he said, his eyes still wide with surprise.
“Your welcome,” she answered matter of factly. “Where do you live?”
“Um…” he stuttered, unsure of whether he ought to volunteer information like that.
“I might have scared that one off, but their interest in you will not wane,” she said. “Would you like to walk home by yourself?”
“No, I think I’d rather not,” Jonathan said, smiling slightly despite his anxiety. “Um, my name is Jonathan.”
“Yes,” she said, seeming to agree with him rather than regard his name as new information.
“…and yours is…”
She frowned, apparently unhappy with the convention that one must reveal your name if another offered theirs. “You can call me Antinea,” she said at last.
ThisFicWriter 