The Ghoul Fighter

His cold rotting breath gags me, and if it wasn’t for the deadly struggle I’m engaged in, I’d certainly pass out from the stench. Hunched over me on the floor, he’s like a wild animal preparing to tear out my throat. I hang on desperately to his shoulders fending off his fangs. My only salvation is to get the gun my partner has slid to me across the floor from where he still lies semi-consciousness. I need to get that gun with the silver bullets. The vampire stoppers.

My adrenaline pumps hard as I work my hands deliberately along his shoulders to his neck. When I reach it I wrap my fingers around his throat and squeeze hard. He chokes – a small sign of vulnerability. I hold him in this grip with my left hand and reach out with my right for the gun. My eyes remain locked on his while my hand flails about the floor playing blind man’s bluff searching for the pistol. After an unbearable time, I feel it brush the steel barrel causing the pistol to spin a half circle placing the handle grip at my fingertips. I waste no time. I scoop it up, swing it to his chest, and pull the trigger twice. The gun bangs both times, but its explosive gasses merely ignite a smoldering fire on his shirt. He snarls.

“No! My head! The temple! Shoot there!”

I bend my arm and place the hot barrel against the side of his head and pull the trigger again. This time the weapon blows a hole in his skull and the blast propels his body onto the ground next to me. I get up on shaky legs and straddle his writhing body. Blood foams at his mouth, his face is filled with agony, his voice is reduced to a hoarse whisper.

“Hurry...please!”

“I’m sorry Brad,” I cry, “may God help you.” I sight along the barrel and deliver the final shot. He feels no more pain.

I stagger over to my dazed savior. He is up on one elbow staring blankly at the floor. I help him to his feet.

“C’mon,” I say, “it’s not over with yet.”

And we delve into the chore of decapitating a vampire. And there is blood. Lots of blood. Blood everywhere. We’re up to our elbows in it. Our shirts, our pants, are soaked dark red. The floor has become a shallow pool of it. It penetrates our shoes, it squishes between our toes. How much blood does severing a vampire’s head produce? A lot, apparently. A carpenter’s rip saw might not be a good choice for removing a vampire’s head, but it’s all we have for the job at hand. All we have? I momentarily stop on a backstroke and stare incomprehensibly at the saw in my hands. Where did this come from? 

When the coarse metal teeth rip through the last bit of tendril I grab a handful of hair and swing the lifeless head to my friend. I can’t continue on, I ask him to finish. He understands my pain. He stuffs the gaping maw to overflow with garlic bulbs, wraps the head in burlap, and then places the gruesome parcel in an unpainted pine box. He nails the lid on. We will need to bury it.

“Thanks,” I say. “That should do it.”

“Not quite,” says he, as he turns from the box tilting his head exposing the fresh puncture wounds on his throat. A chill runs up my spine. He hisses, bares horrific fangs, and flies at me. Damn! Here we go again!

                                *    *    *   

The room is dark, and with the exception of an imperceptible whimper, silent. I give myself a moment to let my sobs subside before I look at the clock: almost eleven. A few hours ago at dusk, the gloomy winter sky had washed the room a forlorn gray. Now through the window’s dingy glass, I see Venus shining bright in a crystalline sky, portending a cold night. As if on cue a relay clicks from another part of the house and a subtle fiery roar erupts. Warm air will be spewing from the floor ducts soon, not enough to make the drafty old house homey warm, but enough. My mewling has ended. I lay quietly savoring the moment.

I continue to reawaken and as my eyes adjust to the darkness I make out familiar forms: a TV, a desk and chair, a standalone bookcase jammed full with paperbacks, cardboard boxes with clothing draped over them, threadbare drapes tightly fastened closed across a picture window, the recliner I lay upon, an unlit floor lamp. When you’re alone and unemployed this is all the furnishings you can – want to – possess. All that remains is a computer notebook containing ghoulish stories resting on my lap, its screen gone to hibernation black hours ago.

I’m back again safe – but am I really sound?


Battling nocturnal demons is an avocation I accidentally stumbled upon one night after imbibing for several hours in horror stories. As I dozed off afterwards the stories continued working on my mind and the resultant dreams were so vivid, so real, it was like a psychedelic trip. But a good trip. An exciting trip. And the only drugs I needed were my distressed mind and the stories. I tried again the next night. And then the next, and then the night after that. Each night I learned how to improve my nightmarish adventures to make them more visceral. I selected gorier stories. The more horrific, the better. The dreary winter evenings and the sparse, dilapidated house I rent provided the eerie atmosphere. I lowered the heat, I lit a candle. Being broke and unemployed with no prospects of work, gave clarity to my soul. I've gotten good at it. Real good. And most importantly, these nightly excursions into phantasmagoria help to keep my mind off the daytime ghouls.

The daylight bloodsuckers are the ones I have the most to fear from. They suck the life out of me. They have taken from me and I have nothing left to give. Still they come for more. They pound incessantly at my door, they haunt my phone, they send threats through the mail. They want, they want, they want. I’ve given them all I’ve got, and still they demand more. All I have left is despair. When you’re alone and out-of-work, you don’t have much; but you still have the landlords and the bill collectors. And they are insistent. Man, are they insistent. There is no escaping them.

I cannot find a gun with the proper silver bullets for these daytime vampires. I will need to get one. But for now, well, for now...I prepare for tomorrow night’s adventure.