The Vampires of Petersville, Maine

The Vampires of Petersville, Maine

Elaine Waldron

Copyright © 2012 by Sandra Elaine Waldron

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter One

Erica Jones stopped just short of walking into DANNY’S ARTS AND CRAFTS that faced out over the bay of the small New England community known as Petersville, Maine. There was a HELP WANTED sign in the display window. She figured the job wouldn’t pay much, but she was desperate – Had just left a very controlling husband back in Texas, taking a bus in the middle of the night, with only a few things packed in a small suitcase.

After telling her aging mother and father – her parents had had her in their early forties – goodbye at the bus station, she had traveled halfway across the country, hoping that Nathan would not be able to find her; afraid that if he did, he would kill her, especially now that she had finally found the nerve to leave him. In her suitcase and small purse were all the belongings she needed to survive. She had saved a few dollars here and there when she could hide it from Nathan, tucking it away when he was in one of his drunken stupors; finally managing to save up two thousand dollars.

She was brought to the present, as the door opened and a very attractive young man – mid-twenties, informally dressed in a red shirt and jeans, with short light-brown hair casually combed forward over his broad forehead – asked her if she was just going to stand there or would she like to come in.

Oh! Coming in, she quickly responded. Guess I was daydreaming.

Deep dimples appeared as he smiled, apparently mildly amused. Good!

She stepped on by him – immediately noticing his wonderful but very exotic scent – and nervously glanced around. Only one other person was in the store, a stately and strikingly pretty woman, late forties or early fifties, dressed in a dark-blue pantsuit and platinum hair in a twist. She was looking at frames. Had to be a customer.

The young man extended a hand. I’m Danny Morana, the proud proprietor of this little establishment. Can I help you with something?"

I’m Erica Jones…and I have to confess that I am desperate for a job. She breathed apologetically and gave a back nod towards the display window. Noticed your sign.

His hooded, hazel eyes held her gaze as he spoke. I do need someone. What do you know about art?

Well, I’ve been painting with oils and pastels since I was in the eighth grade, and I took art as a major in college. Back in Texas.

Thought that was where you were from. Accent kind of gives you away.

Again, apologetically, she confessed, I didn’t quite finish my courses though. Got stupid and married a man I shouldn’t have. Anyway, that’s history now. I want to start a new life here in Maine.

I take it you can begin right away?

She bobbed her head enthusiastically. Oh yes!

His sparkling eyes seemed to be almost laughing. How about now? Or is it too short a notice?

Erica was a little surprised but after taking a moment to fully comprehend what he asked, she managed a yes.

The older woman walked up with a couple of frames and stood in front of the register, eyeing them expectantly through silver-framed eyeglasses.

You ready, Ms. Peters?

Abigail, the woman quickly responded; her gaze his way bordering on the flirtatious. I’ve been in here enough times. How long do I have to keep reminding you, call me Abigail, Mr. Morana?

Yes! You have told me, he replied, smiling amiably. But you persist in calling me Mr. Morana. So, the way I see it, in order to honor your request, you have to quit calling me Mr. Morana. You have to call me Danny.

Okay. I concede. Danny it is. She smiled politely Erica’s way but her eyes followed Danny.

Wriggling his fingers, Danny indicated for Erica to follow him behind the register, and told her she could put her purse underneath the counter, which she did. At which time she couldn’t help but notice how perfectly organized and straight everything was. Apparently, he was a neat-freak.

Abigail spoke to Erica. You’ll like it here in our little community. And let me be one of the first to welcome you. She extended a well-manicured hand – nails polished a muted pink – across the counter.

Erica accepted. Thank you. You can call me Erica.

You, too, may call me Abigail. I am here often, as Danny can testify. Her eyes went to Danny. Am I not?

Almost daily, Danny agreed. She keeps me in business. He bagged the two frames in large, white plastic bags for Abigail and handed them across.

Erica wondered if Danny was aware that the woman seemed to have an interest in him, even though she was quite a bit older than he, but if he did notice, he wasn’t showing it. However, she was very attractive for an older woman and probably had been with much younger men.

I’m loaded, Abigail said, turning to Erica, as she took her wrapped frames. You probably noticed the old Victorian style home at the edge of town when you rode in. Sits on a cliff overlooking the bay. My place. Cemetery’s just across the street, rising up the hill into the woods. Town’s named after my great grandfather. Jonathan Peters – Hence Petersville, Maine.

Oh! I did notice it. Steel gray. Looks like a small castle.

That’s the one. If you are ever lonely and don’t mind the company of someone a tad bit older, you are welcome to stop by anytime. Just me, my maid and butler, and sometimes my gardener, who doesn’t live on the premises.

That’s very kind of you, Abigail. I may do that.

Grinning pleasantly, she raised her free hand slightly in gesture. Have a great day!

You too.

Danny rushed over and held the door open.

See, Abigail said. Danny here is just too nice. Always the gentleman. She walked away with a satisfied smile.

Danny returned and grabbed up a price list from under the counter and handed it over. You might want to check over these. Stuff it in your pocket and take it home, if you feel you need to. I try to keep prices on everything, but the tags seem to have an uncanny knack for coming off. And it might save you time, if you commit them to memory.

I’ll do that, she replied, folding the paper and slipping it into her back jeans pocket.

He took her on a tour of the rest of the store. Showed her where he worked in the back. There were shelves stocked with frames of all sizes, designs and colors. He quickly let her know that all the frames he sold were handcrafted by him.

These are beautiful! she observed, running a finger over the fine gold finish and skillfully cut design of one of the frames. You definitely are talented.

He smiled, pleased. Thank you! That’s what I do when I’m not waiting on customers or painting. He waved a hand in the air. Come this way. He took her to a room even further back. There was no doubt that he used it for painting. Beautiful landscapes and a few very well-done portraits virtually lined the walls. I can’t take credit for all these, he said. A few are those of some of my most talented students."

Oh! You teach art, as well?

That I do. Thursday evenings. An eyebrow hiked. You said you majored in art. Do you teach?

Haven’t professionally. Just helped a friend out here and there. However, it is something I had planned on doing when and if I ever finish school. She looked off as though remembering something and spoke with an air of wistfulness. But my life kind of fell apart. Things don’t always happen the way you want. She turned back, facing him. Sorry.

Oh! No apology needed. I hope things work out for you here.

A bell tinkled over the front door.

I believe we have a customer. Want to test the waters?

She was a little anxious, but couldn’t afford to say no. Really needed the job. Certainly.

He held out a hand, indicating for her to go ahead. It was a young woman just wanting to buy some oil paints. Danny hadn’t really gone over that section with her yet, but she was very familiar with the different brands; so she smiled at her new boss and went for it, walking straight over to where the oils were kept and did her best to make polite conversation, while the woman chose what she wanted.

The woman quickly selected three tubes: three shades of ochre, two red and an ultramarine blue. Seeming perfectly satisfied, she handed Erica her Visa, and then Erica let Danny help her as she was not familiar with how he worked his credit charges.

Done, the woman appeared perfectly happy and left with her purchases.

Erica shrugged, unsure.

With an amiable smile, Danny assured her she did just fine. In fact, he was impressed at how well she handled herself with her first customer. Second to getting hired, that made her day.

The day seemed to fly by for Erica and it was closing time before she realized it. She was almost sad when Danny glanced at his watch and said she could go, but he would see her promptly at nine in the morning when he opened up. She thanked him, retrieved her purse and left. He locked up just as she stepped out.

Now what was she to do? She was hungry. Needed to eat. There was nothing to eat in the small apartment she had been lucky enough to find when she arrived earlier that morning. Had thought she would have to look for hours, maybe even days, believing she would have to spend a night or two in a motel. Luckily for her, though, that had not been the case.

Oh well, she said to herself. I’ll go home first and get something to eat later.

Almost the instant she had stepped off the bus at the small bus station, her eyes had fallen to the newspaper stand that was just outside the door, where there was a stack of want ads. She quickly picked up one and saw there was an apartment for rent on the very street she was on, Bay Street, the town’s main thoroughfare, a strip that fronted the rocky shoreline. After asking around, she learned it was only a few blocks away and hurried off to see if it was still available.

She was greatly relieved to learn that it was.

A sweet, mature woman by the name of Gladys Hillside, with kind eyes and short, mousy-brown hair, had seemed more than glad to show her the back part of the house that she had turned into an apartment after her husband had died a few years prior. Said Erica was in luck. The man who had been living there had moved out only two days before.

After walking down a long hall, as one entered the apartment from inside, there was a small refrigerator and cooking stove on the left of the large room and, on the right, was a three-quarter bed and a moderate sized dresser. A bathroom door was to the far side of the bed on the right, and one could see past the bed and out the sliding glass door to the driveway, and a large yellow house with white trim. Behind it was a small, garage apartment of the same colors.

Mrs. Hillside confessed she was glad to get a woman renter this time. Although the former tenant had been nice enough, it sometimes made her a little uncomfortable renting to a man, since she lived there alone, otherwise. Her son and daughter, grown with families of their own, had moved off to California with their spouses and children.

The big house was old and struck Erica as being full of New England flavor, as did most of the homes around; although she was sure the sliding glass door was a fairly recent addition, probably added when the rear of the old house was turned into an apartment.

Erica was glad she didn’t have to go through the big house every time to enter her apartment. She followed the hand-laid sidewalk of smooth marble stones that made the way around to the right and backside and stuck her key in the glass door lock, turned the key and slid the glass door open. Stepping inside, she slid the door shut and locked it, tossed her purse on the bed and went to the bathroom to pee. Done there, she returned to her room and laid her small suitcase on the bed and commenced unpacking. Something she had meant to do earlier. About halfway through, there was a knock on her door that led to the rest of the house. Had to be Mrs. Hillside. She quickly went to the door. The sweet-faced older woman smiled and asked her if everything was okay. She’d been worried about her, since she had knocked on her door earlier and she wasn’t there.

I got a job! Erica said, explaining. I should have phoned you. I know I told you I didn’t expect to be gone very long. I’m sorry.

Seeming genuinely pleased for her, Mrs. Hillside said, So soon! Why that is wonderful! And don’t worry about it. I don’t want you to feel like you have to tell me everything you do. After all, I’m just your landlady.

Not just. Hopefully, we’ll be friends, as well.

Mrs. Hillside beamed at that. I hope so, too!

Erica gestured with her hand, Would you like to step in? Was just unpacking. Meant to do it earlier. I never thought I’d land a job right away.

That’s okay, hon. I was just wondering. Would you like something to eat? You haven’t had dinner, have you?

That’s very nice of you. You’re right. I haven’t eaten. But you don’t have to do that.

Nonsense. I confess that I didn’t invite old Mr. Brown in very often to eat. Made me feel a little awkward. He was a little cranky. She smiled. Cantankerous, I believe is the word. He seemed to enjoy my cooking, always cleaned his plate, but after a time or two of his sour disposition, I ceased with the invitations. However, you seem like such a nice young lady. And I do have to admit that I am a bit lonely. She sighed. So, I would be tickled if you would share the pot of Irish stew I made. It’s good. She smiled encouragingly. No charge. On me.

Sounds wonderful, Erica said. I am really hungry. And I love Irish stew.

Great! Mrs. Hillside’s face practically glowed. Wash up and come on out to the kitchen. We can eat in there where I have a small table. No point in putting everything on the large table in the dining room.

Kitchen’s fine with me. I’ll be right there.

See you in a few. I’ll go set your place. She hurried off.

Erica shut her door, closed her suitcase and went to wash her hands. She would finish unpacking after dinner.

Showered and clothes changed, Danny turned off his flat screen on the living room wall and slipped into his black leather jacket. His thirst was strong; hadn’t fed since the night before last. And the urge to drink the new girl’s blood today had been close to overpowering.

Her scent was incredible, beyond enticing! Thinking about it, he could almost taste her blood now.

Had he not been a vampire for many centuries, he might not have had the willpower to stifle the urge to bite her neck and feast on her blood the minute he picked up her scent. But he’d been around for over two thousand years and had learned to control the powerful urges within. Something young vampires had a lot of trouble with.

Fortunately for him, there hadn’t been many other vampires in the small community of Petersville, other than Abigail; the main reason he had finally decided to settle here permanently, after coming and going and coming for years. He had gotten kind of tired of moving around. Then, the last time he had returned, she had suggested that he stay and he did.

Abigail, obviously, had the entire town under her spell; none of them ever seemed to notice the small fact that she never aged.

It was amazing to him that Abigail had gotten away with living here so long. It was vividly apparent to him that she had compelled them all into believing she’d only been here a normal lifespan; a ruse that even he would have difficulty in maintaining, but he had decided that if she could do it, he could too.

And up until recently, he had killed off any new, really vicious vampires that happened to come around, not wanting any competition and also not wanting to be discovered. However, lately, there was a new vampire in the community that appeared to be planning on staying for a while. There’d been several mysterious, unexplained (by the human authorities) deaths in the past few weeks.

Although Abigail hadn’t brought it up yet,