Lisa Francis was in the kitchen washing the dishes when the phone rang.

“Joss, honey, can you get that for me?” Lisa called. She couldn’t answer. There were dishes to wash and dry. She couldn’t be in two places at once.

“Josephus Anthony Francis!” the mother of four hollered to her eldest. “You will come down right now and answer the stinking phone!”

“Coming!” he said, leaping down the stairs to the living room.

“Francis residence, Joss speaking,” he said, picking up the phone, panting. “What? H-hold on... Dad? Dad! You better come quick! Mom!”

“What is it?” Leonard Francis said, poking his head through the door that led to his home office.

“Aunt Doris... It’s... These are her final moments... Alicia and Uncle Max are just waiting, counting minutes.”

A plate crashed to the floor.

“What?” Lisa Francis said, running to the living room. “Doris is dying?”

Aunt Doris and Uncle Max weren’t Joss’s real aunt and uncle. He just called them “Aunt Doris” and “Uncle Max.” They were his godparents. Maxentius and Doris Brandon were good friends of the Francis’s. Lisa and Max were like brother and sister.

“Joss, you’re coming with us,” Leonard Francis said, grabbing the car keys. “Aunt Doris is your godmother. You ought to be there.”

“I’ll tell Roxie to watch Luke and Helena while we’re out,” Lisa said, starting up the stairs.

“Hurry!” Leonard hollered to her.

“Will we make it?”

“I hope so,” Leonard Francis said, sighing.

Doris Brandon had been sick for three weeks. She was pale and weak, her legs like water, her knees like butter. She looked like she hadn’t seen the sun in weeks. They thought she would recover—through rest, good food, medication, supplements—and now this? She was dying? What sort of disease was this that took a victim in only three weeks? Was this something new? Something Max and his colleagues at the hospital hadn’t discovered yet? Something the WHO hasn’t discovered yet? Was this a new horror of medical science? What was this?

“Max, what is this?” Leonard Francis thought aloud.

 

Alicia Smallman wiped her tears as she watched the dying Mrs. Brandon. She was like a mother to her. And she couldn’t do anything for her “adoptive mother.” The Brandons had no biological children. They had been trying—even before they wed. And after they wed. The nursery was still an empty room, painted in pretty baby colors. The crib remained empty. The toys unused, unplayed. Nothing.

They’d stopped trying, and now, the nursery is Maxentius Brandon’s study. It had been repainted and refurnished to make it a doctor’s office. He had one at the hospital, but this was bigger. Most doctors were like that. One office at the hospital, another at home. Most of the time, the ones at home were more spacious, more elegant than the ones they had at the hospital.

Alicia was one of Maxentius Brandon’s “adopted” children. Another was his godson Josephus. He considered all four Francis children his “children.”

When asked if they had any children, the Brandons would say they had five. Alicia, Josephus, Roxanne, Luke, and Helena. Later they would say they had no biological children but that those five were theirs. Most acquaintances would be confused. Some would get the idea.

Alicia was Dr. Brandon’s assistant—answering the phone, arranging and filing papers, typing up reports. And now, for the past three weeks, Alicia had been Mrs. Brandon’s caregiver. Her personal nurse. She had lost the use of her legs and was wheelchair-bound, but despite that fact, she refused to be pitied. She became angry when she was pitied. She wanted to be useful, to still be active. She didn’t need pity. And so she helped—in any way she could. Now she couldn’t help. There was nothing they could do.

“Can’t we do anything, Dr. Max?” Alicia wailed.

“I... I’m afraid not,” Max Brandon said, shaking his head, his voice weak. “There’s nothing more we can do. Her time is up.”

Alicia was about to say something when the doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” she said, wheeling herself toward the elevator to the first floor.

She swung the door of the elevator open and steered her wheelchair towards the living room, maneuvering her way around furniture, until she reached the foyer. With a shaking hand, she reached up for the knob and opened the door.

“Alicia!” Joe said, as soon as the door flew open. He squatted down and held her in his arms.

“Where is she?” Mr. Francis asked.

“Upstairs,” Alicia whispered. “I’m afraid she won’t make it. I’m afraid you’re late.” This she said between sobs.

The Francis’s ran up the stairs, leaving Joe with Alicia. He held her for a long time and then got back on his feet. He was wiping tears too.

Joss’s chest was heaving when he reached the master bedroom where his Aunt Doris lay dying.

“How is she?” Lisa asked. For an answer, the doctor shook his head and broke down. Lisa shook her head too.

“No,” Joss whispered.

Leonard Francis laid a hand on his friend’s shaking shoulders.

“Len, come with me,” Max Brandon said, turning to his friend. “Come with me. We’re going to look for coffins.”

Leonard could only stare. He stood like a cold, marble statue. He wasn’t sure he heard his friend right. They were going to shop for coffins? He was still too shocked to process everything. Only three weeks earlier, their friend was strong and happy. Now she was gone.

“She looks like she’s just sleeping,” Lisa mused softly.

“We thought her dying whilst she slept, and sleeping when she died,” Alicia quoted, as she sat in her wheelchair, just outside the bedroom door.

Joss nodded.

Mrs. Francis wiped a tear.

 

“Because God has chosen to call our sister from this life to Himself, we commit her body to the earth, for we are dust, and onto dust we shall return. But the Lord Jesus will change our mortal bodies to be like His in glory, for He is risen, the firstborn of the dead. So let us commit our sister to the Lord, that the Lord may embrace her in peace and raise up her body on the last day.”

So Father Hall prayed. And the congregation murmured, “Amen.”

“Weird,” Roxie whispered to her brother.

“Sh! Be quiet!” Joss scolded, “We’re at a burial.”

“Never mind,” Roxanne muttered. “I’ll tell you later.”

Joss rolled his eyes. Leave it to Roxie to be rude at a funeral. She always did that. Joss recalled a time when she burst in a fit of laughter—at a time when people were to be sober and respectful. Mournful. Roxanne Haley Francis had tears in her eyes, but not from sorrow. She had remembered something very funny. Their father had to pull her out of the chapel and give her a scolding she would never forget.

The prayer for the dead was said, the Lord’s Prayer had been said, the coffin had been lowered into the ground.

Father Ryan Hall said the final blessing. It was now time to go. The crowd dispersed. The reception was at the Brandon residence.

Roxie caught her elder brother by the wrist. Joss turned around, caught by surprise.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Roxie asked.

“What’s weird? Wh-what are you talking about?”

“Didn’t you notice? As soon as the roses touched the coffin, they wilted. Don’t you find that weird?”

“It’s just your imagination,” Joss told her. The girl had a very strong imagination, which everyone found childish. She was supposed to be past the age of active imagination. She was a high school freshman for crying out loud! She was no child. She was changing into a young woman. But her imagination wasn’t.
“Oh, yeah?” Roxie said, defensive. “What about the wreaths at the chapel? They wilted as soon as they were near the coffin! I can’t be the only one who noticed that.”

Joss suddenly stopped walking.

“Wait—you...” he said. “But... I thought I was going nuts there!”

The wreaths of flower did start to wilt as soon as they were in close proximity to the coffin—and not just the beginning stages of wilting—these were decayed. Full-blown, final stage decay.

“Oh, thank God!” Roxie said, sighing with relief. “You saw it too!”

“That certainly was weird—though I didn’t see the roses.”

“I saw both,” Roxie said, nodding.

“Roxie! Joss!” Lisa Francis shouted, “Let’s go!”

The two oldest Francis children walked to the car, where their younger siblings and parents were waiting. For the long ride to Brandon Manor—it was a nice, rich Georgian-style house—Joss was silent, mulling things over. And so was Roxie.

 

The food had been eaten, the drinks had been consumed. Maxentius Brandon had been comforted—at least temporarily. Stories had been exchanged. Tears had been shed. Jokes had been told and laughed at. Goodbyes had been said.

Now only the Francises remained.

“Joss,” Dr. Brandon called. “Before you go, I want you to come with me.”

“Alright,” Joss said, nodding. “I can’t be gone too long, though. Dad’s waiting.”

“This won’t be long, I promise.”

Joss followed his godfather to his office. Once there, Maxentius Brandon sighed heavily.

“I will take revenge on the vile demon who took her.”

Joss wasn’t sure he heard his Uncle Max correctly. The vile demon that took her life? But hadn’t Aunt Doris died of a disease? A disease yet unknown to science?

“Aunt Doris was murdered?” Joss said in shock. This was a new thought to him.

Uncle Max nodded.

“Poisoned?”

He shook his head.

“How? How’d she die?”

In answer, Max Brandon pulled down a volume from his shelf. The World of Dracula: Tales of Vampirism From Around the World.

“What’s this?” Joss asked, confused. Vampirism? Surely, Uncle Max didn’t believe that, did he? He’s a surgeon, for Pete’s sake! These are legends! Maxentius Brandon was a man of science—modern medicine. What was a book about vampires doing in his library? This was insanity!

“What do you know about vampirism?” Dr. Brandon asked.

“Well,” Joss said. “I know vampires kill their victims, draining them of their blood. And then their victims turn into vampires themselves.”

“Exactly.”

“But Unc—”

Dr. Brandon ignored his godson.

“And what’s found on their throats?”

“T-two...” Joss said, clearing his throat. “Two tiny puncture marks on their throat?”

“Good,” Dr. Brandon said, nodding.

“But Uncle Max! You’re not seriously suggesting Aunt Doris was bitten by a vampire, do you?” Joss said, incredulous. He was hearing none of this. This was ridiculous.

Max tossed him a picture. It was a picture of Doris Brandon’s neck. On it were two puncture marks. He couldn’t believe it.

“You can’t be serious,” Joss said, shaking his head. “Tell me you’re not serious.”

“Unfortunately, I am.”

“A vampire? Here? In 21st century Chicago?”

“Believe me, I was doubtful as well, at first. But this is too strange to be a coincidence.”

“Maybe someone wanted to murder her using an ice pick? Someone who believes in vampires?” Joss suggested. He was grasping at straws. “Ice pick wounds tend to look like vampire bites, you know? Someone who wants people to think it was a vampire...”

“Ridiculous,” Max Brandon said.

“You can’t tell me you believe in vampires, Uncle Max,” Joss said, feeling lightheaded. This was too much for him.

“I do now,” Max said. “I’ve started looking into it ever since your Aunt Doris was bitten. There is no other way to explain it.”

“Maybe a bat from the woods?”

“I’ve thought about that too,” the doctor said, shaking his head. “But no, it’s not bats. There would've been a public warning otherwise. Besides, we're a little bit far from the closest woods.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I want you to help me, Joss,” Maxentius Brandon said. “For me. For your Aunt Doris. Help me stamp out this demonic Nosferatu.”

“You need rest, Unc,” Joss suggested. “You’re tired. This is all in your head.”

“I wish to God it was,” Max said, sighing. “But it’s not.”

“No! You’re crazy! There are no vampires, Aunt Doris died of a mysterious illness! That’s all there is to it!”

Suddenly, they heard a scream. A girl’s scream. Was it Helena? Was it Roxie? Alicia? Was it his mother?

There it was again!

“Alicia!” Joss shouted, heading for the door, the good doctor at his heels.

2: The Man, The Mist

Leonard Francis stopped honking and ran as fast as he could the moment he heard screaming.

“Stay with your brother and sister,” Mrs. Francis instructed her eldest daughter.

She ran inside. What could it be?

The screaming was increasing in intensity. It was growing more frantic. Joss, Dr. Brandon, Leonard and Lisa Francis, all ran, helter-skelter in the direction of the screams. It was on the first floor. It was coming from Alicia’s rooms. Even though the Brandons had installed an elevator just for her (she lived with them, away from her abusive aunt), she still preferred to sleep on the first floor. She loved the garden. And the French doors in her room led to it. That’s why she chose it.

“Alicia?” Dr. Brandon said, bursting in. “What is it child? What’s going on?”

“What happened?” Mr. Francis asked.

The poor, shaken girl could only point. Her hand was shaking. Her arm was shaking. Hell, her whole body was shaking. She was as pale as Death Himself. It was clear she had seen someone or something outside.

Bravely, Joss stepped outside, opening the doors. Mist crept into the room, drifting along the floor, as he did so. He looked around. Nothing. No one. No sign of an intruder. He shivered from the cold, went back inside, and locked the doors. This was getting weirder and weirder. Why was their fog in June? There shouldn’t have been any fog. It was too hot for fog to form. Fog usually made an appearance in the fall or winter when it was getting cold. But not June. This was unusual. Something was wrong here. Something was definitely wrong.

“What was it?” Dr. Brandon asked when Alicia had calmed a bit. “What did you see?”

“I... I didn’t s-see m-m-much...” Alicia stammered. “All...I saw... All I saw was a man... He... He was wearing b-b-b-black...”

“Did you see his face?”

“N-no... I just saw his eyes.”

“His eyes?” Joss said.

“They were red.”

“Red?”

I seem to have stepped into the pages of Bram Stoker’s Dracula, Joss thought. Or a vampire movie.

“I think it’s best we stay here,” Mrs. Francis said. “Max will need the company, Alicia will need the protection.”

“And the kids?” Mr. Francis asked.

“We can take them to the Smiths,” Joss suggested.

“No,” Mr. Francis disagreed. “We are not bringing them to your girlfriend’s place.”

“You heard what Mrs. Smith said last time!” Joss protested. “She didn’t mind! Mr. Smith doesn’t mind. And admit it—Helena likes Jordyn. She’s a great babysitter.”

“Fine,” Mr. Francis said with a sigh. “I’ll pick up our stuff then drop the kids off at the Smiths’s.”

 

Joss’s phone chirped. It was a message.

 

Babe? What’s going on?

Your dad came by and asked if we could watch the twins.

He said it was an emergency. Is everything alright?

 

Joss quickly texted back, his deft fingers dancing across the phone’s keypad.

 

Not now, babe. I’ll call you later. I’m in the middle of something.

 

“Joss!” Dr. Brandon said sternly. “Are you listening to me?”

“Huh? Oh! Yeah...” Joss said absently.

“No, you weren’t, you little liar,” his godfather said, with a shake of the head. “What was it that Alicia said she saw?”

“She said the man had red eyes.”

The doctor nodded.

“I think this may be our guy.”

“You seriously don’t believe in this BS, do you, Unc?” Joss said. “I mean, you can’t seriously believe in the existence of vampires.”

“Do you think science can explain everything?” Maxentius Brandon asked, scrutinizing his godson. “Do you?”

“Well, there are things that...”

“Logic?” the good doctor said, as if reading the boy’s mind. “You think logic and reason can explain everything. Psychology. Guess what! This defies logic.”

He parted the heavy curtains and motioned with his hand outside.

Josephus Anthony Francis was silent.

“How does logic explain that? Fog and damp cold in blasted June! Wake up, boy! There are things that science and logic can’t explain!”

He had stepped into the pages of Bram Stoker’s gothic novel. That was the very same thing Professor Van Helsing had said to his student Dr. Seward. There were things science could not explain. He thought of it all. A psychological condition that made the person think he was a vampire... Delusions... Mental illness... Perhaps some crazed lunatic who had escaped from the ward... A murderer who believed in vampires? Who made it appear like a vampire did it to throw the police off?

He gave up. He was ready to accept his godfather’s ideas, no matter how crazy they were. Seeing he had won, Dr. Brandon nodded.

“Read to me the section about the forms a vampire can take.”

Joss flipped the page.

 

According to legends from around the world, the Vampire is a shapeshifter, capable of assuming a multitude of different forms. However, the Vampire is restricted primarily to animal forms, most notably a bat, a wolf, a rat, or a mist. The Vampire is able to assume these forms at will. In some cases (usually fictional cases), the Vampire is able to take the form of a monstrous man-beast form of the bat or the wolf.

 

Mist! So they did have a vampire on the loose! He read on...

 

The Vampire is able to dissolve into the form of a vaporous mist at will. While the creature’s ability to become a mist is rarely mentioned in folklore, it is feared greatly by the people of Hungary, some other parts of mainland Europe, and the Orient. While the creature’s ability to travel for any considerable distance is limited in this form, it is able to move in complete silence, to leave its grave (through finger-sized holes in the earth), to slip through the slightest openings with ease, and to escape from vampire hunters in pursuit of the creature. The Vampire is also unable to be physically harmed in this form, as projectiles just pass right through the vapor.

 

“So he escaped us by turning into mist?” Joss asked.

“Most likely,” the doctor-turned-vampire-hunter nodded. “Or he could have vanished into the night, making himself invisible.”

“Or turned into a bat and flew off,” Joss suggested.

“That’s also possible.”

Joss’s phone chirped again.

 

Tell me what the hell is going on, pronto, or I am breaking up with you.

 

“Excuse me,” he said to Uncle Max, excusing himself. He stepped outside and pressed 3 on speed dial. Jordyn’s number. She picked up at the first ring.

“What the hell is going on?” was her first greeting to him.

“Don’t laugh at me or think I’m a nut who belongs in the loony bin,” Joss answered.

“Just spit it out, Josephus Francis!” Jordyn said through gritted teeth, irritated.

“Alright. Promise me though...”

“Alright, alright, I promise. I won’t laugh at you or think you’re mental.”

There was a long pause. Then...

“We have a vampire. Secure your doors, hang garlic or rosewood on your windows, have crosses at hand, everything you can do to protect yourself.”

“What?” Jordyn asked. “What the hell are you talking about? Vampires? What...what is this? Some sick joke? A...a horror movie? What is this?”

“Jordyn, babe, look... Just do as I tell you, alright?” Joss said with a sigh. “My brother and sister are there, your parents... They need protection.”

“Alright,” Jordyn conceded. “But you really don’t believe in vampires, do you? I mean, come on! We’re in 2013—nobody believes in vampires anymore. Everyone’s fallen in love with vampires.”

“Edward Cullen is not a real vampire,” Joss reminded her. “Real vampires don’t sparkle in the sun, they burn, they turn to ashes.”

Maxentius Brandon interrupted.

“Actually, vampires can survive daylight. They’re just weak. They lose whatever powers they have. They’re pretty much mortal and vulnerable in the day. The ash thing is Hollywood. But they don’t sparkle either.”

Joss continued.

“We’re dealing with a real, actual vampire here. The dangerous kind, the ancient kind.”

“Tell her not to open any doors or windows whatever happens,” Dr. Brandon said again.

“Don’t open any—”

“I heard it. Right. So close all windows and doors, keep them closed.”

“And hang garlic or a branch of wild rose on the window.”

“Keep a cross handy,” Dr. Brandon suggested. “And a pistol.”

“A cross and a pistol,” Jordyn repeated. “Got it. Anything else?”

“That’s it for now,” Joss said.

“I love you,” Jordyn whispered.

“I love you, too, babe,” Joss said, then hung up.

“So,” Max Brandon said. “Time to get to work. There’s a box of garlic in the kitchen. Open it and place the garlic around the French doors and windows of Alicia’s bedroom below. Place some around her bed too.”

“And the guest rooms?” Joss asked.

“I’ll take  care of that,” Dr. Brandon said, nodding. “Just secure Alicia’s room. I’ll take care of the rest.”

Joss nodded. Then shook his head. If someone saw them right now, they would be deemed crazy. Seriously? Decorating the house with strings of garlic cloves? Who would do that in this day and age? The superstitious, that’s who.

Still, the doctor and his godson set off to work, securing the house from the threat of the demonic Nosferatu.

This house will be a safe house tonight.

“Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day,” Joss quoted. “Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.”

“There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling,” Dr. Brandon chimed in.

“Amen,” Joss said, solemnly. “Hitherto shall he come but no further.”

They were safe from the plague of the Nosferatu now, like the Israelites being safe from the plague of death on the firstborn because of the blood on their doorposts and lintels. Tonight was a Passover of sorts for the Brandons and Francises.