Now you see him

...and now you're different

I’m nine years old. Alone. Hiding in the dark. And I’m terrified…

It’s way past my curfew, and the streetlights have been on for at least an hour.  It’s a school night, and my parents haven’t seen me since I left the house this morning.

But that ain’t the half of it.

I’m backed into a corner, crouched on the cold dirt floor of a dark, musty garage.

My legs are cramped beneath me. The cold bites my knees through my jeans.

My mouth is dry, and my eyes burn as I strain to see through the cobwebs and the dust swirling in the air.

No light…except for thin moonbeams slicing around the ominous figure standing in the narrow doorway right in front of me…blocking my escape and shouting at me through the darkness.

“You in there,” it says, rattling its fist.

Collar turned up against the cold.

Steam shooting through its nostrils like a dragon.

“Come out, now!” it yells.

But I can’t see its eyes.

“Not safe for you!”

Eyes… black as the night sky.

“Come out!”

I’m really scared.

What should I do?

Photo by Keagan Henman on Unsplash

First, let me tell you how I got here

Every kid in the neighborhood knew the stories. And his name said it all.

Vladamir Draeger.

“Vlad the Vampire,” we called him. “Count Dracula Draeger.”

It was fun to say…all those r’s to roll. It even sounded creepy.

“Vladamir Dracula Draeger.”

Blinds pulled tight. Never an open window. He hardly ever came out of that old house. And even when he did, he was covered head to toe. Long pants, old overcoat, scarf, hat, and thick black wraparound sunglasses.

The Invisible Man.

Weird.

Joey swore he’d seen his face once—pale skin, sharp teeth.

“The old guy can’t leave the house during the day,” Joey said.

“The sunlight would burn him alive.”

“He’s a vampire, man…like for real.”

Joey. Bugg-eyed Joey.

I didn’t believe ole’ Bug-eyes. Not really.

I mean, everybody knows Vampires aren’t real. Like, not really for real.

But still, Vladamir Draeger?

Something about the old guy felt... off.

But not so far “off” that I’d back down from a double-dog-dare from Bug-eyed Joey.

“You just gotta sneak into his garage. Grab something—anything,” Joey said. “Maaaan—then you’ll be a legend.”

Boy, I wanted that.

So that night, on my way home from Joey’s, with old man Draeger’s place all dark and quiet as usual, I figured, why not?

I could sneak into his old garage, grab something quick, and be out before anyone noticed.

“Double-dog-dare THIS! Bug-Eyed Joey LeBeau.”

Of course, I was a little scared. Who wouldn’t be? But it was so easy. The old wooden garage door wasn’t even locked. It creaked open with barely a pull.

“…sneak in, grab something quick, and be out before anyone notices.”

The inside smelled like old newspapers and dirt. The floor was littered with tools.

“Ain’t nobody used this garage in years,” I figured.

Then I heard it.

Footsteps. Slow at first, crunching the gravel outside.

I ducked under the workbench, held my breath, and waited.

“Who is in there?” an old, angry voice grumbled.

"Come now!" it yelled. “It’s not safe! Come out!”

The door pushed open. A dark shadow stretched across the floor.

“You in there,” it said, rattling its fist.

Steam flared out through the dragon’s nostrils.

“Come out, now!” it yelled.

But I can’t see its eyes.

“Not safe for you!” it warned.

Then, the beast pushes through the doorway and steps inside.

My legs launch me forward before my brain can engage.

I bolt, bounce off the door frame, slam into its side, and we both tumble to the gravel in a heap.

My collar tightens around my throat, but I scramble like a kicked dog and run—feet pounding pavement, cold air searing my lungs.

I run and run until the night swallows up everything behind me.

Then, I didn’t tell a soul

I sure wasn’t going to tell Joey about it. He’d never let me live it down.

But it wasn’t over.

The old man, the house, his musty old garage—I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About how he never leaves his house. The whispers.

He almost caught me, too! What would he have done?

What was it about this old man? Who was he? What was he?

---

I rode past the house day after day, even when I knew Joey wasn’t home.

Always the same—dark curtains pulled tight, not a hint of life from inside.

I was a little scared, but not as scared as I should’ve been. Something kept pulling me back.

Then, one night, I learned something incredible.

I’m out riding through town when I see old man Draeger’s car pull into the pharmacy parking lot. My heart jumps into my throat.

Without thinking, I pedal across Wayne Rd., slip in through the back door, and creep through the aisles like a spy, hanging on every word.

Mr Cobb, the pharmacist, I can hear his voice drift from the front.

“Vladamir! You know I could’ve brought these to you. I drive right by every night.”

Vlad the Vampire, his laugh is soft. “It’s a beautiful night,” he says. “The fresh air. It is good for me.”

“How’s the arm?” Mr. Cobb says. “You didn’t say how you fell. Not out tinkering with those shutters again, I hope. You know my oldest boy Charlie—he’s pretty handy. I can send him…”

Vlad pushes back with wrinkled hands. “No! No,” he says. “It’s nothing. Slipped. That is all.”

My chest tightens.

“Okay, okay,” Mr Cobb laughs, then lowers his voice.

“How’s Elena?” he says, all soft.

I stand a little taller and peer over a row of NyQuil to get a look.

The old man smiles. A real smile.

“She is holding up just fine, as always,” he says. “Thank you for asking.”

Elena? There’s a Mrs. Vampire?

No way!

---

Now I really can’t stop thinking about him….and her! What does she look like, I wonder!

I start riding past the Draeger’s more often, circling the block just to see if I can catch a glimpse. I don’t know what I’m looking for, but I keep coming back.

Then, one afternoon, I see him again—Vlad, hunched over the trunk of his car, struggling to lift something heavy—a big brown bag.

Before I can stop myself, I’m pedaling toward him. My heart’s in my throat, but I pull into his front yard, jump off my bike…

“Need help?” The words tumble out before I realize what I’m saying.

The old man turns toward me, but I can’t see his eyes—those dark black glasses.

His mouth, a flat, thin line, starts to move. For a moment, I’m sure he’s going to recognize me—chase me off, call the cops.

But then, he nods, a small, almost grateful nod. “Well… you are a nice boy, then?” he says…like it’s a question he already knows the answer to.

I grab a bag from the trunk. It's lighter than I expected—just groceries—but I notice my hands are shaking.

I hand him the smaller bag, and together, we carry them inside.

The house is cool and dark, the air thick with the smell of old books and warm bread.

"Vlady?" A voice calls from the back of the house, soft and gentle. "Is that you? Who do you have with you?"

I freeze.

My heart’s pounding again. What if she knows? What if it’s a trap?

His voice is calm. “Elena,” he says, “we have a visitor.”

I stand there, waiting for something to happen. Waiting for him to say something—for her to say something, do something—anything.

But nothing happens.

Elena is kind, gentle, and so small. “Sit, please,” she says, motioning to a worn leather wingbacked chair.

She could be someone’s grandmother, and this house is nice. It feels… normal—a place with photos on the walls and old books on the shelves.

And him—Vladamir. He’s no vampire. Not a monster. Just an old man with trembling hands, an old overcoat, and dark glasses that keep the sun from burning his skin.

Mustard gas, I learn.

Some factory accident they don’t want to talk about in a country they left long ago but still call home.

Elena tells me that mustard gas burns your skin and makes sunlight unbearable, like a thousand needles stabbing your skin whenever you step outside.

“It will never go away,” she says. “It stays in your lungs, in your blood…”

“It is our shadow that never leaves,” Vladamir says.

I sit in their quiet living room, ashamed, angry, confused…and wondering what I’m going to tell Joey.

“It’s almost supper time,” Elena stands, raising her palms like a prayer. “Your mother, she must worry. But you come back, yes?”

I thank them both for inviting me in and promise to visit again a little earlier next time.

Outside, I no sooner lift my bike when I hear Bug-eyed Joey screaming from the end of the block, “Hey! Hey! Wait up!” he yells.

I pedal toward him, but he’s already quizzing me.

“You… you went inside?” he says. Bug-eyed Joey is truly bug-eyed now. Slack-jawed, eyes wide. “…and you’re alive?” he says.

I shrug. Try to play it cool.

“Yeah, just helping out, ya know? Carried in their groceries. They’re not vampires, Joey.”

“Them!” Joey screams. There’s more of them?!”

Joey’s face twists in disbelief.

“Not vampires, huh? Says you! They’re definitely vampires, man! They must’ve hypnotized you or something.”

I roll my eyes and shake and my head.

Bug-eyed Joey.

I wasn’t about to tell him about the mustard gas and their lonely life…I knew he wouldn’t believe me.

“They’re just old, Joey,” I said. “They’re not monsters.”

But ole’ Bug-eyed Joey wouldn’t let it go.

“Definitely vampires, man!” he says.

“No, Joey. They’re not.”

But Bug-eyed Joey keeps at it as I pedal away, his voice trailing behind me, calling out,

“You’re a legend, man! The first to ever go inside the Vampire’s lair!”

I can’t help but smile.

Let him think what he wants. Let him keep his stories.

I know the truth.

We’re the real monsters, Joey.

We can all be real monsters sometimes.

---

I love you guys! 💖

Be good to one another. 🤗

—Paul