Jake Martins ran down the alley, clutching the bag full of money tight against his chest. Distant now was the sound of sirens, scouring the streets for sign of the Duke Station robber. It was a dark and cloudy night, which gave Jake hope. With a head start it would be impossible to locate him in the labyrinth of back alleys and side streets known as downtown New York. Soon they would have a helicopter searching from the sky, using its skylight to pinpoint the criminal; but by that time Jake would have found a suitable hole to crawl into to wait out the storm.
His ski-mask was pulled back away from his face to let the cool night air get to his hot skin. In the movies he watched the criminals wore ski-masks to keep the police from getting a view of their faces. This was the first place he’d ever robbed, so he had decided to trust Hollywood and use the mask—it seemed a far better venue than the panty hose he’d seen in a few movies. But the mask had blocked his field of vision, not to mention suffocating him. Now after his experiences he knew that Hollywood had gotten it wrong. There had to be a better way. Maybe he would find it before his next robbery.
Without realizing it, Jake Martins began laughing. Only twelve years old and already a fugitive from the law.
During the entire night, the only person to get a clear view of the thief’s boyish face and short-cropped dark hair was a homeless beggar named Horatio Pulez who happened to be residing in the doorway of one of the many apartment complexes. Even if the drunk remembered Jake’s appearance when he awoke from his alcohol induced sleep, who would believe him? Who would believe an old homeless man begging for money with Jim Bean on his breath?
Jake slipped down a side alley behind one of the gigantic office buildings and slowed down to a walk. By now he was far enough from the sirens that running was useless. Hiding was the only important thing now, and it was one of his best skills. One doesn’t survive six weeks alone in the inhospitable streets of the Big Apple without being good at disappearing. All he had to do was find an empty office building to hide in, wait until sunrise, and then hitch a ride out of the city on the next Big Grey Dog. By this time tomorrow he would be somewhere near Chicago with enough cash to live comfortably for a couple years.
Jake walked for another ten minutes, trying to get his bearings. He had never been this far from the center of town, so he didn’t know any of this area. He finally came to a four lane road that he recognized. By his estimation he was about five minutes away from a bus stop. Across the road was a small building—at least compared to the concrete mammoths surrounding it—with a For Sale! sign on it. It was in decrepit shape, and Jake assumed it had been on the list for a number of years, waiting for a buyer to fix it up. For Jake it was perfect: a few miles from where the robbery had taken place and close to where he needed to be the next morning. Plus it looked like none one could break into it. The front door had boards nailed across it, as did all the windows, but Jake saw an alley running beside it. There might be basement windows he could slip into, or an ancient kitchen door he could jimmy open. Either way he had found his hiding place.
He waited until the traffic died down—it would be senseless to work so hard to avoid the cops and be spotted by a passing pedestrian—and then ran across. The smell of rotten garbage assaulted him, making his eyes water as soon as he entered the alley; he loathed every breath he had to take. There was another smell as well, less tangible but no less pungent. It was something he had experienced before but couldn’t identify.
There was no reason to worry about that now, he had other things to take care of. He scanned the side of the building and finally spotted what he was looking for: a half-circle window at the base of the wall, caked over with dirt. He set the bag of cash on the ground and pushed against the window. Nothing, not even a budge. Jake sighed, looked to make sure no one was nearby, and kicked at the window. With any luck no one would be near enough to hear him.
The window gave, falling into the darkness beyond and shattering on the floor. Jake froze, feeling goose bumps crawl over his skin. Somewhere a dog barked and a trash can rattled. He expected a voice to speak up and say ‘That’s it kid. It was a good run, but we’ve got you now’ but there was no one.
Just relax, he told himself, letting out a breath of air he realized he was holding. No one is going to look close enough to see a missing window in this alley. You’re safe. He picked up the bag of money, closed his eyes, and slid into the darkness beyond.
His first impression was that he entered a tomb. It was a moonless night, but it was still a transition of night and day going from the streetlights to the basement. The nauseating garbage drifted away, but the other smell grew stronger. Jake’s mind fought to place it from his memories, but he kept drawing a blank. It was sweet, tangy, and bitter all at the same time, threatening to overwhelm him.
He stood where he was, not moving until his eyes adjusted to the dim light. They did, slowly, taking in the surroundings bit by bit. His nerves were on edge, and everything was a monster to his overloaded mind. It took every bit of his willpower to stay in the darkness.
“Easy now,” he whispered, then winced. The sound was painfully loud to his sensitive hearing. “I’m free of the cops now. This is the easy part.” Somehow, he didn’t believe that.
Finally, his eyes adjusted. He pondered waiting by the window the rest of the night and leaving at dawn, then changed his mind. He was too nervous to sit still; besides, he wanted to find out what that smell was.
The basement was sprawling and open, but in the darkness, he could only see a few feet in front of him. As he moved toward the center of the basement he began passing many untouched items. Most of what he saw were antique couches and empty shopping carts, all covered in layers of dust. The smell continued growing, as did his sense that something was wrong. It became so strong that he had to fight the urge to throw up. He had passed the point of turning back, however, and it seemed that a force was pulling him onwards. He took another step forward and felt his foot slide on water—it had to be water. What else could it be? One of his hands flew out and caught the edge of a table, slipping on the ancient dust. It was just enough for Jake to keep his balance. He dropped his bag of money, but for the moment it was the farthest thing from his mind.
Without thinking about it he stepped back and bent toward the fluid. It certainly wasn’t water Jake knew without a doubt that this was what he had smelled, but he still couldn’t figure out what it was. He felt a shiver course down his spine and he asked of the darkness:
“What is this smell?”
“Blood.”
The answer came in the form of a deep voice behind him. Jake screamed and fell forward into the puddle. He slid through it and came up covered in the sticky fluid. One of his hands had caught a hold of a plastic bag lying in the center of the pool. When he squeezed it more blood spilled out on him.
He stumbled to his feet and pulled the gun out of his pocket, whirling to face the owner of the voice. Whoever it was he was standing right behind him, not hindered by the slick liquid at all. Jake raised the gun up to fire and felt it snatched from his hand before he could pull the trigger. He felt something hard—probably the man’s other hand, but he couldn’t be sure—plant against his chest and throw him backwards. He hit something hard at his lower back and intense pain shot up his spine. He cried out in agony, and then kept on crying.
“Please,” he said, sobbing. “Please don’t kill me! I have money, and you can have it all, just please don’t kill me!”
“Shut up,” the man said, still holding the gun. He eyed it for a moment, and then turned back to Jake. “Where did you get this?”
“I stole it,” Jake said, then added, “from my dad.” He was too afraid to lie. The man smiled.
“I’m sure it’s very effective against most things. But I’m not like most things. Unless you hit me right in the heart you would never be able to hurt me,” the man said, tossing the gun toward the far corner of the room. Jake didn’t reply. The man took a few steps back and then crossed his arms. In the dim light there was a red reflection on the man’s eyes…or at least Jake hoped it was a reflection. Those eyes—red or not—seemed to be looking right through him.
“I am curious to know why you are here,” the man said. “And why you have a sack full of money.”
“I took it,” Jake said, hesitating only a heartbeat. “I was planning on hiding here.”
Even in the darkness Jake could see the man smile. It was a grin, actually. He—it—made a tsking sound. “That was a bad move.”
“So, I’m beginning to realize,” Jake said, sliding along whatever was holding him up toward his right. “Then if you don’t mind, I think I’m going to go…”
The man started laughing. It was a chilling sound, and Jake was certain he’d never heard anyone laugh like that before. “Nice try kid, but I would suggest you stay right where you— “
But Jake had had enough. He took off toward the window, leaving the forgotten money bag where it had fallen. Or at least he started to run; he hadn’t taken more than a step before a hand grabbed his arm, pulling him back with supernatural strength. The hand yanked him around, turning him face to face with his captor. He got his first clear look at the man—if it was a man, which he was sure it wasn’t—and saw pale skin, dark hair, and red eyes. Not bloodshot, red. Jake started crying again, and tried to beg for his life.
“Silence!” the thing yelled in his face. “Normally I enjoy playing with my food before the meal, but I’ve been living off of blood bags for far too long.”
Jake continued sobbing and tried to push away, but he might as well have been pushing against a brick wall. He saw two things in those last two seconds. The first thing he noticed was what he had bumped into a few moments ago. It was a long wooden box set on a small platform. A coffin, Jake thought, except it didn’t look right. It wasn’t like the coffins he saw in theatres, with the two openings. One for viewing and the other for putting the body in. This one was just a box, probably with padding inside for its occupant’s comfort.
The other thing he saw were the sharp teeth—canine teeth—coming out of the man’s gums as his mouth lowered toward Jake’s neck. Jake closed his eyes and began screaming, felt the teeth enter the soft flesh of his neck…
And then everything went black.
