"Yep."

I'd better quit talking about it, he thought. Then he thought, why?

The guy's certainly in no position to steal my story. And it might be worthwhile to get an outsider's reaction.

Everybody will know about it anyway, after tonight, when we turn Bonnie over to the police. "Want to hear about it?" Larry asked.

"Sure!" He took a sip of his drink and leaned forward like a kid eager for a spooky tale.

"Well, it all started a few weeks ago when Jean and I went out in the desert to explore a ghost town with some friends. Peter and Barbara. They'll be coming over for dinner in a little while, so you'll have a chance to meet them."

"Great."

"In fact," Larry said, "how would you like to join us for dinner?"

He hoped Jean wouldn't object. Probably not. She had a roast in the oven. There was undoubtedly more than enough to feed an extra guest.

We'll get him to stay for the big event, if he wants. Have an objective observer.

"I hate to impose," Hal said.

"We'd be glad to have you. This is a rather special occasion. You'll see why, once you've heard the whole story."

"Well, I'd be delighted to stay. If it's all right with Jean."

"She'll be happy to have you."

Hal shrugged. "If it's okay with her..."

"Great. Okay." Larry took another drink. "So, the four of us went to this ghost town about an hour's drive from here. It's called Sagebrush Flat."

As he told the story, Hal watched him and drank. Sometimes the teacher shook his head as if he couldn't believe his ears. A few times he murmured his astonishment. After finishing the part about bringing the body home, Larry left the room briefly to refresh the drinks. Then he sat down again and resumed his tale. Carefully leaving out the details of his infatuation with Bonnie. Concentrating on the facts. He enjoyed Hal's reactions. The man was clearly fascinated.

"And so," he finished, "tonight's the night we finally pull out the stake. Right after dinner."

"Holy shit," Hal muttered.

"You're welcome to stick around for it. You can play the role of the disinterested observer."

"Get myself killed?" He laughed. It sounded a trifle nervous.

"I don't imagine it'll come to that."

"No, I don't, either. I may be superstitious, but I don't think I'm ready to believe in the existence of vampires."

Grinning, Larry nodded. "If she comes to life, I guess we'll all be in for a shock."

"I'd certainly hate to miss it, though."

"No reason you should."

Excusing himself, Larry went down the hall to his bedroom. He found Jean putting on makeup. She wore her jumpsuit, boots, and scarf. "Are they here?"

"Not yet. But Hal Kramer is. He came by to see Lane and bring her some assignments."

"That's certainly above and beyond the call of duty."

"I think he felt a little guilty. He was afraid her absence might have something to do with Saturday night."

"He did keep her out awfully late."

"Maybe he thought she got sick on the pizza. Anyway, it was nice of him. I've asked him to stay for dinner."

Jean frowned in the mirror. "Won't that kind of put a damper on things?"

"I told him all about it."

"You told him about the vampire? "

"Sure. Why not? It's no big secret. Or it won't be, once we've called the police."

"Still, you shouldn't have... You're always blabbing, Larry. God."

"What's the big deal?"

"I'm not saying it's a big deal, just that I wish you'd be more careful about what you say to people. Everybody doesn't need to know our business."

"I just wanted to get his reactions."

"Now he'll probably think we're all nut cases."

"Hardly. He was blown away."

Jean sighed. She glanced at her wristwatch. "Well, what's done is done. I just wish you'd-"

"I know, I know."

"Right, you know. Anyway, Pete and Barbara should be arriving any minute. Would you like to make sure Lane's about ready?"

"I shouldn't leave our guest abandoned..."

"It'll only a take a minute."

Wishing Jean wouldn't be so negative about everything, he left the room and went to Lane's door. He knocked.

"Yeah?" she called.

"Are you decent?"

"Yeah."

He opened the door. Lane was still in bed, hidden under the covers except for the back of her head. She didn't look at him.

"I thought you'd be up and dressed by now."

"I had a relapse."

"Do you feel good enough to have dinner with us?"

"I don't know."

Concerned, he went to the bed. He sat down on its edge and stroked Lane's hair. She looked up at him with solemn eyes. Her face was slack and pale. "Are you okay?"

"If I was okay, I wouldn't be lying here."

"I mean, do you think it might be something serious? Maybe we'd better get you to a doctor."

"I don't need any doctor. I'll be fine."

"I really hate to see you like this, honey."

"I'm sorry.

"Look, if you're not up to having dinner with us, we could bring it in for you."

"Are Pete and Barbara here yet?"

"Not yet. But Hal's still here. We've asked him to join us. For dinner and for the big event."

Closing her eyes, Lane muttered, "Wonderful."

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing. I just feel awful, that's all."

He gently caressed her cheek, then stood up. "It'd be nice if you can join us. It's up to you, though. Wouldn't want you barfing on the table."

Lane didn't crack a smile.

She is sick, Larry thought.

"Like I said, we'll bring you something."

"Thanks."

He went out to the hallway and closed her door, feeling depressed.

It's probably nothing serious, he told himself. But he thought, What if it's spinal meningitis? Or bone cancer? Or... Knock it off!

Jean was no longer in the bedroom.

He found her in the living room, sitting on the sofa near Hal, saying, "I know the whole thing sounds crazy, but..." She looked up at Larry.

"Lane's feeling worse. She might not make it out for dinner."

Jean scowled. "I'd better go see her. Larry, why don't you get Hal another drink?"

Her mother shut the door when she left the room. A few minutes later Lane heard the doorbell. That would be Pete and Barbara arriving.

She heard faint, cheerful voices. Some laughter.

It all seemed too weird to be real: the group drinking and eating and having a merry old time while they prepared to conclude their business with the "vampire," never suspecting they had a real monster in their midst.

The Devil hath the power to assume a pleasing shape.

Kramer hath a pleasing shape, all right. God, if only they knew what he was really like.

Lane imagined herself getting out of bed and going into the living room. "Hey, guess what Kramer did to me." Then he gets out his "sharp friend" and has at them all. Maybe Dad and Pete could nail him, but he was sure to cut someone.

She pictured the straight razor slashing a quick gash across her father's throat.

I'm not going to risk Mom and Dad, she thought. Better to let him keep on messing with me than...

Lane suddenly realized how vulnerable she was, lying in bed with nothing on but her nightshirt, and Kramer in the house.

They're probably all drinking. Kramer says, "Mind if I use the facilities?" Somebody points out that the John is just at the end of the hall. Of course, nobody escorts him. He excuses himself from the group and comes straight to my room for another round of threats and feelies.

Lane climbed out of bed. She turned on the lamp. At her dresser she took panties from a drawer and put them on. Though flimsy, the snug fabric felt shielding. She pulled off her nightshirt and stuffed it into a drawer. Shivering, she slipped into a bra. As she fastened its hooks, she remembered the times she'd gone to school without one, hoping to attract Kramer's attention.

You attracted it, all right.

Had nothing to do with that, she reminded herself. Kramer picked me before I started anything.

For additional protection Lane put on a T-shirt. At the closet she took a pair of thick corduroy pants off a hanger. She stretched the T- shirt down to her thighs, drew the pants up over its tails, and fastened the waist button and closed the zipper. Now, to get at her skin, Kramer would have to yank the shirt up out of her pants. She slipped a belt through the loops and cinched it tight. Then she put on her big, plaid shirt. She buttoned its front but didn't tuck it in.

She glanced at herself in the mirror.

Not exactly armor, but a lot better than the nightshirt. If Kramer paid another visit, he would have a tough time finding any bare skin below her neck.

Lane climbed into bed. She pulled the top sheet and blanket up to her chin. It felt strange to be completely dressed beneath the covers.

Not only strange, but hot.

Better a little discomfort, she thought, than to let that slimy bastard put his hands on me again.