Candy Mulder...The Vampire Slayer? (4/4)
My watcher, Thomas Winford, groaned softly. He snatched the piece of paper from my hands and examined its message thoroughly. He was shaking his head so hard, I was sure it was going to fall off.
The piece of a paper was a note that a certain evil vampire by the name of Raphael had left speared to the door of one of my kitchen cabinets. He'd abducted my parents a few hours after I slayed three of his goons, the majority of a group calling themselves the 'Fearsome Quartet'. Cheesier than an afterschool special I know, but he took it personally. He kidnapped my parents just an hour or two after the last fiend got away, to inform him, I guess.
My job as the vampire slayer wasn't turning out to be much of a picnic. I had had no idea what I was really getting in to when three months ago, Winford, who's sort of my technical support-cum-physical trainer, approached me and kindly told me about my sacred duty. Slaying vampires. On the Hellmouth. Which, when added together, equal REALLY TOUGH JOB.
Just my luck that I'd get this type of responsibility. My uncle once told me the Mulders are cursed. Of course, my uncle Bill doesn't approve of my father much anyway, so what good could he possibly allocate to his family? Uncle Bill claims that the Mulders attract trouble, and that once my mom got involved with my dad, it cursed her as well. And Uncle Bill claims not to be superstitious. I wonder what he'd say to my being the slayer?
I thought about this as Winford paced and swore. I was leaning against a shelf stacked full of musty volumes. Winford's library was meticulously catalogued, but most of his books needed a thorough cleaning. Anyhow, I was thinking about my Uncle Bill's rather low opinion of my father because I was trying to avoid thinking about daddy. Mom, too, for that matter. I was trying not to think about the fact that the note Winford was reading was written in blood. I was trying very hard not to think about the fact that Raphael had killed two slayers this century. I ws trying very, very hard not to think about having to save my parents. That's because I was not too sure I could do it.
My father, who labored for years investigating elusive cases called the X-Files for the FBI, has a sort of 'Let's get it on' attitude that was essential for his field of expertise. My mom on the other hand has the kind of attitude that can only be characterized as 'Look before you leap' - which was why she was assigned, at first, to debunk my father's work. So you can see my dilemma.
One side of me wanted to rush headlong into the situation. Run all the way to the Bronze, where my parents were being held, pin that sleazoid Raphael against a wall and claw his eyes out with my crucifix. That was my father talking, Fox Mulder on full combat mode.
Then there was the other side of me, telling me to take it calmly, logically. That side of me wanted to hear what Winford had to say. It wanted me to think about all possible consequences to come up with the perfect plan of attack. That was mom, Dr. Dana Scully-Mulder, rationalism to the extreme.
What was I to do? I was confused, tired and above all, scared. I wanted my mother to step out from behind one of the musty shelves and tell me it was all some practical joke. Or better yet, give me one her lengthy lectures punctuated with the words "There is absolutely no scientific evidence to prove..." and her trademark eyebrow raise.
I began to pace, following my watcher up and down the aisles made by the shelves of books. We would've looked pretty ridiculous, except that there was no one to see us and we both had sad, twisted expressions on our faces.
Abruptly, Winford stopped and I walked smack into his back. "This can't be good." he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Like, no duh. "Like, no duh, Winford." I replied, feeling exasperated. All that pacing and he came up with *that*? Since when is a bloodthirsty vampire kidnapping your folks a *good* thing? I began my pacing anew, Winford giving up to collapse on a chair.
He finally sighed and said, "There's no way to avoid it, Candy. You have to be the one to save your parents."
Uh-oh. "I...I have to do it?" I stopped walking and stood staring at my watcher.
"You are, of course, the perfect choice. Raphael *is* a vampire - albeit a cruel, crafty one, but a vampire, nonetheless. It's your duty."
"But, but..." I stuttered. I rang my hands. "Can't we just call the cops or something? Or better yet, the feds. My folks were in the FBI, remember."
Winford began his marathon head-shaking again. "What would we tell them?" That shut me up.
What *would* we tell them? My father spent most of his life screaming at the top of lungs (not literally) for someone to believe in his crazy theories. Where had that gotten him? No, Winford was right. This was my job, my responsibility. I bit my lip and asked, "Got any stakes?"
The Bronze was dark and deserted when I arrived loaded down with a tote bag filled with vials of holy
water, sharpened stakes, a mallet and garlands of garlic. Winford had elected to stay behind in his VW Beetle - the 'get-away' car according to him. If you ask me, he was just too cowardly to come inside. Or maybe not. Maybe he knew me better than I did myself. And how much I needed to do this on my own.
I took a deep breath and adjusted the strap of the tote bag. Who ever thought that vampire-slaying implements could be so heavy?
As I walked towards it, the door to the Bronze swung open with an eerie creak. That gave me one big chill, but I swallowed hard and kept going. My father never walked into a room scared. The best piece of advice my father ever gave me was when I was six years old and too scared to climb into a tree to retrieve a stranded kite. I made it halfway up, but paused, paralyzed with fright, on a limb holding on for dear life, tears streaming down my cheeks. "I can't. Daddy, I can't." I sobbed. Why didn't he just come up and rescue me?
My father just stood there. He had his arms crossed across his chest, and a slight smile on his face. It was a sunny weekend in the middle of September, and the park where we were at was crowded with screaming kids and tired-looking parents. But I was oblivious to everything but the fact that I was going to fall off and break my neck. "Daddy!" I hollered. It felt like I was slipping. I wrapped my arms more tightly around the limb, although the bark scratched.
My father's gentle voice spoke to me in soothing tones. "Sam, it's all right." I could hear him coming closer. Looking up, I saw the red and yellow kite just inches away from my face.
"Look, Sam." My father still spoke calmly, softly. "You see the kite, don't you? Your goal is in sight. Reach out, Sam, reach out and grab it. Believe in yourself."
I didn't do it right away, but I did it, finally. I shimmied up the tree, pulled the kite out and managed to get back down. That was my father's best advice - "Believe in yourself."
I certainly needed to heed his words now. I took a deep breath and kicked the door open wider, for
good measure. "Come out, come out where ever you are!"
The door banged shut behind me. "Samara?" someone's voice called out uncertainly.
It was my mother. "Mom? Dad? Where are you?" I ran towards the sound of her voice.
I heard footsteps approaching me. Suddenly, he was there. The vampire from my watcher's book, minus the blood-red symbols he had decorated himself with.
"Hello, little girl." he said, in a mock-gentle voice. He walked towards me, making a heavy, ominous sound with his thick boots. "Come to get your mommy and daddy?"
He snapped his fingers and my struggling parents were brought in by a henchman. My mother was collected, but obviously angered by this unprovoked attack. She kept trying to brush the vampire off. My father was trying to punch the henchman, but the goon was keeping him at arm's length. I turned to Raphael. "Let them go. You don't want them."
He smiled, a secret, scary smile that made me think of the two slayers he had killed. Winford had spared me the details, but I knew, just by looking at him, that he had made their deaths as prolonged and painful as possible. The way he was looking at me at that moment, I also knew that he was thinking that three was a charm.
"You're frightened, aren't you?" he asked, as if he had read my mind.
I focused on my parents, who were strangely quiet, watching our exchange. "Let them go,"I said again. "Or else."
He laughed, a creepy sound that echoed faintly of nails across a blackboard and the thunk of a heavy body falling down the stairs. "You're the youngest slayer I've ever met, did you know that? The last one I knew... she was twenty-four. What are you, twelve?"
He was toying with me, trying to throw me off my guard. I started towards my parents, but the henchman hissed. My mother tried to pull away and he grabbed her back like a treasured rag doll. "What's happening?" my mother screamed. She hated being out of control.
"I SAID, let them go. NOW." I tried to sound like I was majorly confident, although my hands were shaking and I couldn't feel the lower part of my body.
"Sam, what's all this about?" my father asked.
He eyed the preternatural thug.
"Mom, dad, I want you to trust me." I looked at Raphael out of the corner of my eye. He was standly patiently, waiting to see what sort of plan I was hatching.
I swung the tote bag around in front, slowly unzipped it and reached inside. "Now!" I yelled.
My father reacted quickly. He pulled my mother towards me as I tossed a wreath of garlic around the buffoon's neck. He roared in anger and pain, then staggered off into the darkness. Raphael was looking at me, a humrous glint in his eye. I knew that garlic was useless against a vampire as strong as he was. He needed to be staked - and now.
"Mom, dad, go outside. My wat...uh, my teacher has his car outside. Get in and tell him to take you home." I ordered them. I was rooting throught the tote bag with one hand. Raphael was advancing slowly, the sly cat approaching the mouse.
"Samara, what's going on?" My mother placed her hand on my arm, suddenly the concerned mother/doctor.
I looked up. Raphael was still coming towards us. It's almost funny, except that I know the kind of psycho Raphael is. There's a century's worth of literature on his bloody exploits. "Go, now, please! Dad!" I turned pleadingly toward my father.
Understanding was on his face. He took my mother's hand and left with, "Take care of yourself, Sam."
I planned to do just that. I finally located the freshly-sharpened stake and the mallet. It was in the nick of time too, because Raphael was hissing down my neck. I held up the stake. "Back off, mister."
He grinned, showing his pointed teeth. "You watch too much television," he chided. "You know how there's too
much violence on tv?"
He stepped towards me. "You're about to experience that firsthand."
He lunged at me and for the briefest second, I was scared. But I remembered my father's words. I flung myself out of the way and staked him in the back. He exploded in a cloud of dust and was gone. I hadn't even gotten to use my mallet. Or exchanged any witty rejoinders.
I collected my things and left the Bronze, shutting the door behind me gently. I was prepared to walk home, but Winford was still parked outside, with my parents in the back seat. "What are you still doing here?" I asked Winford. "You were supposed to take my folks home."
My mother got out of the car and hugged me. "Honey, I know I can't even begin to explain... that. But I'm glad you're safe."
I looked at my father over her shoulder. He gave me a conspirational wink, and I knew that after this, I didn't have to worry about fitting in. If I could kill a vampire that had been menacing the world for over a century, how hard could making friends be? "Let's go home. I think this slayer stuff is okay," I added to Winford. He smiled at me as I realized how corny this all was.
But I didn't really mind.
THE END
My watcher, Thomas Winford, groaned softly. He snatched the piece of paper from my hands and examined its message thoroughly. He was shaking his head so hard, I was sure it was going to fall off.
The piece of a paper was a note that a certain evil vampire by the name of Raphael had left speared to the door of one of my kitchen cabinets. He'd abducted my parents a few hours after I slayed three of his goons, the majority of a group calling themselves the 'Fearsome Quartet'. Cheesier than an afterschool special I know, but he took it personally. He kidnapped my parents just an hour or two after the last fiend got away, to inform him, I guess.
My job as the vampire slayer wasn't turning out to be much of a picnic. I had had no idea what I was really getting in to when three months ago, Winford, who's sort of my technical support-cum-physical trainer, approached me and kindly told me about my sacred duty. Slaying vampires. On the Hellmouth. Which, when added together, equal REALLY TOUGH JOB.
Just my luck that I'd get this type of responsibility. My uncle once told me the Mulders are cursed. Of course, my uncle Bill doesn't approve of my father much anyway, so what good could he possibly allocate to his family? Uncle Bill claims that the Mulders attract trouble, and that once my mom got involved with my dad, it cursed her as well. And Uncle Bill claims not to be superstitious. I wonder what he'd say to my being the slayer?
I thought about this as Winford paced and swore. I was leaning against a shelf stacked full of musty volumes. Winford's library was meticulously catalogued, but most of his books needed a thorough cleaning. Anyhow, I was thinking about my Uncle Bill's rather low opinion of my father because I was trying to avoid thinking about daddy. Mom, too, for that matter. I was trying not to think about the fact that the note Winford was reading was written in blood. I was trying very hard not to think about the fact that Raphael had killed two slayers this century. I ws trying very, very hard not to think about having to save my parents. That's because I was not too sure I could do it.
My father, who labored for years investigating elusive cases called the X-Files for the FBI, has a sort of 'Let's get it on' attitude that was essential for his field of expertise. My mom on the other hand has the kind of attitude that can only be characterized as 'Look before you leap' - which was why she was assigned, at first, to debunk my father's work. So you can see my dilemma.
One side of me wanted to rush headlong into the situation. Run all the way to the Bronze, where my parents were being held, pin that sleazoid Raphael against a wall and claw his eyes out with my crucifix. That was my father talking, Fox Mulder on full combat mode.
Then there was the other side of me, telling me to take it calmly, logically. That side of me wanted to hear what Winford had to say. It wanted me to think about all possible consequences to come up with the perfect plan of attack. That was mom, Dr. Dana Scully-Mulder, rationalism to the extreme.
What was I to do? I was confused, tired and above all, scared. I wanted my mother to step out from behind one of the musty shelves and tell me it was all some practical joke. Or better yet, give me one her lengthy lectures punctuated with the words "There is absolutely no scientific evidence to prove..." and her trademark eyebrow raise.
I began to pace, following my watcher up and down the aisles made by the shelves of books. We would've looked pretty ridiculous, except that there was no one to see us and we both had sad, twisted expressions on our faces.
Abruptly, Winford stopped and I walked smack into his back. "This can't be good." he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Like, no duh. "Like, no duh, Winford." I replied, feeling exasperated. All that pacing and he came up with *that*? Since when is a bloodthirsty vampire kidnapping your folks a *good* thing? I began my pacing anew, Winford giving up to collapse on a chair.
He finally sighed and said, "There's no way to avoid it, Candy. You have to be the one to save your parents."
Uh-oh. "I...I have to do it?" I stopped walking and stood staring at my watcher.
"You are, of course, the perfect choice. Raphael *is* a vampire - albeit a cruel, crafty one, but a vampire, nonetheless. It's your duty."
"But, but..." I stuttered. I rang my hands. "Can't we just call the cops or something? Or better yet, the feds. My folks were in the FBI, remember."
Winford began his marathon head-shaking again. "What would we tell them?" That shut me up.
What *would* we tell them? My father spent most of his life screaming at the top of lungs (not literally) for someone to believe in his crazy theories. Where had that gotten him? No, Winford was right. This was my job, my responsibility. I bit my lip and asked, "Got any stakes?"
The Bronze was dark and deserted when I arrived loaded down with a tote bag filled with vials of holy
water, sharpened stakes, a mallet and garlands of garlic. Winford had elected to stay behind in his VW Beetle - the 'get-away' car according to him. If you ask me, he was just too cowardly to come inside. Or maybe not. Maybe he knew me better than I did myself. And how much I needed to do this on my own.
I took a deep breath and adjusted the strap of the tote bag. Who ever thought that vampire-slaying implements could be so heavy?
As I walked towards it, the door to the Bronze swung open with an eerie creak. That gave me one big chill, but I swallowed hard and kept going. My father never walked into a room scared. The best piece of advice my father ever gave me was when I was six years old and too scared to climb into a tree to retrieve a stranded kite. I made it halfway up, but paused, paralyzed with fright, on a limb holding on for dear life, tears streaming down my cheeks. "I can't. Daddy, I can't." I sobbed. Why didn't he just come up and rescue me?
My father just stood there. He had his arms crossed across his chest, and a slight smile on his face. It was a sunny weekend in the middle of September, and the park where we were at was crowded with screaming kids and tired-looking parents. But I was oblivious to everything but the fact that I was going to fall off and break my neck. "Daddy!" I hollered. It felt like I was slipping. I wrapped my arms more tightly around the limb, although the bark scratched.
My father's gentle voice spoke to me in soothing tones. "Sam, it's all right." I could hear him coming closer. Looking up, I saw the red and yellow kite just inches away from my face.
"Look, Sam." My father still spoke calmly, softly. "You see the kite, don't you? Your goal is in sight. Reach out, Sam, reach out and grab it. Believe in yourself."
I didn't do it right away, but I did it, finally. I shimmied up the tree, pulled the kite out and managed to get back down. That was my father's best advice - "Believe in yourself."
I certainly needed to heed his words now. I took a deep breath and kicked the door open wider, for
good measure. "Come out, come out where ever you are!"
The door banged shut behind me. "Samara?" someone's voice called out uncertainly.
It was my mother. "Mom? Dad? Where are you?" I ran towards the sound of her voice.
I heard footsteps approaching me. Suddenly, he was there. The vampire from my watcher's book, minus the blood-red symbols he had decorated himself with.
"Hello, little girl." he said, in a mock-gentle voice. He walked towards me, making a heavy, ominous sound with his thick boots. "Come to get your mommy and daddy?"
He snapped his fingers and my struggling parents were brought in by a henchman. My mother was collected, but obviously angered by this unprovoked attack. She kept trying to brush the vampire off. My father was trying to punch the henchman, but the goon was keeping him at arm's length. I turned to Raphael. "Let them go. You don't want them."
He smiled, a secret, scary smile that made me think of the two slayers he had killed. Winford had spared me the details, but I knew, just by looking at him, that he had made their deaths as prolonged and painful as possible. The way he was looking at me at that moment, I also knew that he was thinking that three was a charm.
"You're frightened, aren't you?" he asked, as if he had read my mind.
I focused on my parents, who were strangely quiet, watching our exchange. "Let them go,"I said again. "Or else."
He laughed, a creepy sound that echoed faintly of nails across a blackboard and the thunk of a heavy body falling down the stairs. "You're the youngest slayer I've ever met, did you know that? The last one I knew... she was twenty-four. What are you, twelve?"
He was toying with me, trying to throw me off my guard. I started towards my parents, but the henchman hissed. My mother tried to pull away and he grabbed her back like a treasured rag doll. "What's happening?" my mother screamed. She hated being out of control.
"I SAID, let them go. NOW." I tried to sound like I was majorly confident, although my hands were shaking and I couldn't feel the lower part of my body.
"Sam, what's all this about?" my father asked.
He eyed the preternatural thug.
"Mom, dad, I want you to trust me." I looked at Raphael out of the corner of my eye. He was standly patiently, waiting to see what sort of plan I was hatching.
I swung the tote bag around in front, slowly unzipped it and reached inside. "Now!" I yelled.
My father reacted quickly. He pulled my mother towards me as I tossed a wreath of garlic around the buffoon's neck. He roared in anger and pain, then staggered off into the darkness. Raphael was looking at me, a humrous glint in his eye. I knew that garlic was useless against a vampire as strong as he was. He needed to be staked - and now.
"Mom, dad, go outside. My wat...uh, my teacher has his car outside. Get in and tell him to take you home." I ordered them. I was rooting throught the tote bag with one hand. Raphael was advancing slowly, the sly cat approaching the mouse.
"Samara, what's going on?" My mother placed her hand on my arm, suddenly the concerned mother/doctor.
I looked up. Raphael was still coming towards us. It's almost funny, except that I know the kind of psycho Raphael is. There's a century's worth of literature on his bloody exploits. "Go, now, please! Dad!" I turned pleadingly toward my father.
Understanding was on his face. He took my mother's hand and left with, "Take care of yourself, Sam."
I planned to do just that. I finally located the freshly-sharpened stake and the mallet. It was in the nick of time too, because Raphael was hissing down my neck. I held up the stake. "Back off, mister."
He grinned, showing his pointed teeth. "You watch too much television," he chided. "You know how there's too
much violence on tv?"
He stepped towards me. "You're about to experience that firsthand."
He lunged at me and for the briefest second, I was scared. But I remembered my father's words. I flung myself out of the way and staked him in the back. He exploded in a cloud of dust and was gone. I hadn't even gotten to use my mallet. Or exchanged any witty rejoinders.
I collected my things and left the Bronze, shutting the door behind me gently. I was prepared to walk home, but Winford was still parked outside, with my parents in the back seat. "What are you still doing here?" I asked Winford. "You were supposed to take my folks home."
My mother got out of the car and hugged me. "Honey, I know I can't even begin to explain... that. But I'm glad you're safe."
I looked at my father over her shoulder. He gave me a conspirational wink, and I knew that after this, I didn't have to worry about fitting in. If I could kill a vampire that had been menacing the world for over a century, how hard could making friends be? "Let's go home. I think this slayer stuff is okay," I added to Winford. He smiled at me as I realized how corny this all was.
But I didn't really mind.
THE END