Hi, everybody! (Hello, Dr. Nick!) Excuse me, I have The Simpson's on the brain…oh well. Here's my Author's Note! The incredibly talented Mr. Stephen King owns the original idea for 'SALEM'S LOT, along with the characters Mark Petrie, Ben Mears, Father Callahan, Dr. James "Jimmy" Cody (if I mentioned him…I can't remember), Mark's mother, Dud Rogers, Kurt Barlow, Richard Straker, Susan Norton, Sheriff Parkins & family, the McDougall's, Danny Glick, Eva Prunier, and anyone else from the TNT version of 'Salem's Lot. I own everybody else. So basically, you can't take the ideas for any of the characters from this story unless Mr. King or I say so…OR THOU SHALT SUFFER THE WRATH OF….ME….(or Stephen King's lawyers). Either way, I would be afraid if I were you. Very afraid.

PROLOGUE

Dud Rogers, the local gib, sat next to Mike Ryerson's backhoe. Tears streamed down his face as he scrawled the word 'Jerk' on the front of it. The flames from the dump behind him were slowly painting a red rim around the sky, creating an unearthly glow. Suddenly, Dud felt something. He couldn't exactly put his finger on it, but he felt it just the same. He turned to see a man standing with his back towards him, facing the smoldering garbage. "Dump's closed, mister!" Dud shouted.

"I'm just watching the fires." The man turned, the light from the blaze reflected in his glasses. And yet, even after his face was engulfed in the shadows of his wide-rimmed hat, the eyes continued to glow, just for an instant. Dud didn't notice. "Scares the animals away."

"Just the rats," Dud called back. "Smokes 'em from their holes."

"Where will they go?" The man's voice was deep and comforting.

"I guess they'll find another hole…" Dud took a few steps towards him. "You from around here?"

The man smiled. "Just over the hill." He kicked over a few mounds of garbage. "What are you writing there?" He indicated Mike's backhoe.

"Nothin'…" Dud quickly sidestepped in front of the spray painted words. The man didn't say anything; he just continued to stare intently at Dud. "Mike's been my best friend since junior high! It's his backhoe; I'll wash it off…" He turned around and looked helplessly at the white letters that seemed to almost burn.

"No, leave it." The man didn't take his eyes off Dud.

"I didn't do anything wrong…!" Dud launched into an explanation, determined to make this new man understand that Dud was a good person, that Dud wouldn't hurt anybody. The man just continued to walk towards him. He just smiled sympathetically at Dud.

"Say, aren't you one of the fellas who bought the Marsten place?" Dud asked, peering into his face.

"Very good."

Dud gave him a lop-sided grin. "Are there any ghosts in that old house?"

"Ghosts?" The man's brow furrowed, then he smiled. "No, no ghosts…"

"I didn't think so!" Dud said proudly. "Well, it's always nice when someone comes by to, you know, shoot the breeze, but the dump closes at six and it's half-past nine now, so…"

"Dud…" The man was directly in front of him now, no more than a few inches away. He took off his glasses slowly. How the man knew his name, Dud didn't know. He also didn't care. "I notice that you're limping? Curvature of the spine?" Dud's smile faltered. "Does that bother you?"

"No, I can work fine." Dud answered immediately.

"I meant, in other ways."

"No…" Dud replied hesitantly, with less enthusiasm. The man stared at him critically. "Well, girls…just girls…"

The man smiled grimly, knowingly. "And their boyfriends, and the other kids?"

"Sometimes…they laugh!"

"What were you to say if I gave you the chance to be equal to those boys and girls…or maybe even a little more? Would you take it?" His eyes were locked on Dud's.

"Equal…?" The bottle of spray paint fell to the ground with a soft thud.

When he was finished with Dud, Kurt Barlow stood in the dump for a few minutes, admiring the last of the smoldering fire. A rat scampered past his feet and ducked into an already existing hole near the rubble by Dud's splayed legs. "The rats will find another hole…" Barlow glanced down at Dud's face. An expression of frozen terror stretched the skin around Dud's cheeks tautly. "But sometimes, Master Rogers, rats come back after the flames are out…"