Johnny Frankenstein Sword of Dracula

We haven’t had a big snow since 2010, and February of 2017 was promising to be no different. And yet, that night, we were having a nice snow, big wet heavy flake and no wind, the kind of snow where everything is still and silent. Kind of snow we should have had at Christmas.

I was standing amidst the trees of the Illinois Prairie Path, just east of Villa Avenue, in Villa Park. The town I grew up in. From my vantage point, I could see the small playground area, the village museum, and the Unicorn comic book shop I used to go to.

There had been a slow string of disappearances along the path, occurring at night, all before 10 pm, people out for a walk, or walking their dog, those folks that power walk even when it’s freezing. Males and females, no connections to each other. Four missing so far, the police say no signs of struggles, no witnesses, just 2 dogs found wandering and dragging their leashes. These disappearances had all been four days apart. They’d all occurred somewhere between where I was standing and Ardmore Avenue.

Just north of my position are three bars. DiMito’s, Double D Saloon, which despite the name, is a nice enough place, bands in on the weekends, outdoor beer garden. Then there’s Josephine’s Martini Bar, which is in the old bank building. Upscale, a piano player, out of character for this town. North of that is Mahoneys’, an uninviting dive populated by less than blue collar locals. Which is an improvement over its previous incarnation, Friends and Company, a biker shit hole noted for fights, police raids, and fat blondes named Debbie. Or Candy. Take your pick. I was wondering why whomever or whatever was behind these disappearances hadn’t taken any of the passed out drunks in the alley behind Mahoney’s. Way easier targets than a sober person in good health. I held my spot another five minutes and then started walking west on the path.

The Illinois Prairie Path is a big long bike trail that starts in Melrose Park and goes west to Wheaton, where it splits, one branch south to Aurora, and another north to Elgin. It was established along the route of the long gone Chicago, Aurora, and Elgin electric train line. The line was closed in the early 50’s when busses replaced commuter trains, and by the 60’s the busses were gone because everyone owned cars. Now they’re looking for clean public transportation, and an electric commuter line’s looking pretty good. Go figure.

I took my time, leisurely strolling along, watching with my night vision. A couple was walking ahead of me, at about 30 yards, heading in the same direction. All the same, I pulled my collar up on my long coat, and lowered the brim on my fedora. If these folks turned around and saw me, the scariest thing I wanted them to see was my height.

I was there on my own accord. No one was paying me for this. And I certainly had mixed emotions about being here. But when strange shit happens in your home town and your business IS strange shit, you gotta represent.

Villa Park has always been peculiar. Some kids I went to school with killed their mom, put her in a suitcase, and threw her in Salt Creek. It’s the home town of noted wife murderer and ex-cop Drew Peterson. Once one idiot in Villa Park tried to assassinate his girlfriend’s husband with a crossbow. In 1980, on five different occasions, an elderly person was found dead in their car, sitting in

the K-Mart parking lot. No injuries, no heart attack, no stroke, just dead. A Latin King gang member was found outside my apartment building hacked to pieces by a machete. It wasn’t me, and I was human at the time. There’s been UFO sightings, lights and saucers and triangular craft. A guy who lived in my building claimed to have been abducted by the greys. A black bear, way out of its normal range, roughed up a guy when he tried to shoo it away from his building’s dumpster. It was later caught, and it was surmised the bear had been following the Chicago Northwestern tracks, eating the grain that falls off the grain cars. But that’s all old news.

The reason I’m here is older.

In 1946, a Nosferatu named Gregor Varna arrived in Villa Park. His Daylighter, Carl Birdwell, had purchased a home on the east side, on Park Avenue, facing what was then the Ovaltine factory. I could throw a stone and hit it from where I was at. Birdwell set up shop as a piano teacher, in a day and age when people sent their kids to piano teachers. This allowed him to line up potential victims for his master. The Catholic pastor, Father McNamara from Saint Alexander’s, recognized the signs, and sought to eliminate the threat. Aided by some area teens, they located Varna, and drove him out of his house and into his fallback position, hidden deep in the bowels of the Ovaltine factory. Varna was cornered, but that far below ground, the rising sun wouldn’t harm him. Which put his pursuers in a dangerous position. To stake him and decapitate him, they’d have to close with him. So instead of risking those kids’ lives, McNamara sealed Varna in with the appropriate blessings and wards against evil. Birdwell took the fall for the deaths, and as the insanity plea is nigh impossible to pull off here, he was ultimately executed.

Times change. McNamara never considered that apparently. He never shared that information with his fellow priests. The population grew, old businesses closed, new businesses opened. The Ovaltine factory was expanded and updated in the early 70’s. The work crews cracked thru the walls into Varna’s prison, allowing him access to the surface. Without a Daylighter to troll for him, he was forced to hunt on his own. He’d slip in and out at night, victimizing the teens who’d hide in the underbrush of the then undeveloped Prairie Path, smoking weed and drinking Annie Greensprings. This time, a couple of cops, and a teacher from Willowbrook High School went after Varna, and staked him. Which is only half the battle.

Nosferatu are a particularly loathsome form of vampire. They are pale and gaunt, and usually hairless although sometimes they have strands of white hair hanging from their heads. They have long bony fingers with claw-like nails, and their fangs are up front instead of in the canine position. They’re the naked mole rats of the undead. Speaking of rodents, they like to control hordes of rats and spreading plague. They can’t change forms either. While some types of vampires can move about in daylight, Nosferatu can’t. They don’t burst into flames like in the movies, instead they calcify and crumble. They don’t come back from that. But like every other type of vampire except the Lilitans, staking them only immobilizes them. Thanks to the movies though, people think that’s enough.

Varna laid dormant in his “tomb” again until they tore the majority of the factory down. Now it was the 80’s, and the local teens who believed Ozzie was some kind of prophet rather than a drug and booze addled idiot, would sneak into the ruins for sex, drinking, and ad hoc Satanic rituals. Someone pulled the stake, and released Varna back into the population. Varna didn’t kill all of them, just one, and made the rest of the little pukes his acolytes. They’d go out and kidnap kids, little kids, for his sustenance. Doctor Velsig and Hal had gotten wind of it, but by the time they made it out here to look into it, some locals had beaten the crap out of the acolytes with baseball bats, and clergy from several of the different churches made sure to destroy his coffin, and chase his ass east across the Route 83 bridge into Elmhurst and the rising sun. Per the people involved, Varna fell, and crumbled to dust. This proves that A, Villa Park is really the Twin Peaks of the Midwest, and B, you want religions to stop fighting each other give ’em a third party to gang up on.

But disappearances every four days is about right for the feeding patterns of a young vampire, and a Nosferatu can’t pass in public. That would explain not going after most modern vampires’ preferred menu item, drunk skank. It might be that Varna left progeny. I could be wrong, I mean, regular maniacs kill people like this WAY more often than anything on the Darkside. Besides, it could be aliens. I haven’t met the little grey mothers yet and I’d like to see their reaction to the big grey motherfucker.

The folks up ahead reached Summit and turned south, leaving the path and headed what I assumed was back home for them. I continued on, and I reached Saint Alexander’s. I’d gone to school there in junior high. Mixed memories. Mostly bad, some good. Wasn’t real popular with my classmates. Or the nuns. Or the teachers. Except one, and that’s the start of my pattern of involvement with women I can’t have.

Y’know, come to think of it, grade school and high school were pretty shitty, too!

With a few strides, I’d reached the clock they placed at the intersection of the path and Ardmore. It was almost nine. Just south of me was two more bars, Stulgen’s Park Avenue Tap, and the Ardmore Lounge. Both dives. Y’know, for a small town, this place has more bars and churches than any three towns in DuPage County. Messed up on liquor or messed up on the Lord. I scanned around. No one in sight except a few smokers standing by the door at Stulgen’s. I turned and started back. No sign of the police. You’d think they’d have a car parked here, with a few cops placed at the two old station buildings at least.

I scanned ahead, looking for anything or anyone hiding by any of the trees along the way. Not a one. It’s times like this that I envy those “spirit of vengeance” types. Not only do they get bitchin’ motorcycles, they’re drawn to their targets. Me, I gotta go find them or make myself a target.

I crossed Summit, and as I again approached the old train station that the town museum is in, I spotted someone lurking under the canopy on the west side of the building. Whomever it was, they were intently watching one of those winter jogger types. You know, those women that wear a ski jacket, stocking cap, and glove, but from the waist down, just leotards and sneakers. Too cold for that if you asked me. She was on the east side of the path’s intersection with Villa, jogging in place while she waited for traffic to clear.

I moved off the path and approached, moving from tree to tree, keeping my eyes on Mister Stalker. Traffic cleared, and the jogger crossed the street. The stalker tensed up, ready to pounce. I grabbed him from behind, clamping my hand over his mouth and lifting him up against the wall in one clean move. I held him up off the ground, hard against the wall, keeping him silent, while his arms and legs flailed. Strong, but not strong enough. The jogger ran past, unaware of her narrow escape.

After she was out of hearing range, I dropped my hand away from his mouth.

“Boy, did you pull a Munson! You’re one of Varna’s progeny, aren’t you?” I asked.

He struggled but couldn’t break free.

“Look, buddy.” I began. “You can forget about that hypnotism stuff because it won’t work on me. You aren’t strong enough or fast enough to get free and run. You can’t outfight me. It’s been a long time since Varna was around, and they turned the old factory property into upscale apartments. A nice family currently owns his old house. So, you aren’t hiding in his old lairs. Since you weren’t here when I walked thru before, you came out of the attic space of the station here. That access panel up there. Bet you just popped it open and got a new home. You know who I am?”

“Frankenstein.”

“Good. You rat faces usually work alone, cuz baby, aint nothing sexy about you. Thought you’d return to Varna’s old hunting grounds. He must have turned you in the 80’s. Probably, you were one of his little stooges. I’ll make this quick.”

I pulled his head off. At least I assumed him was a him. It’s kinda hard to tell with Nosferatu. That stops any vampire. I dumped his body in the big drum trash can, pulled the lighter fluid out of my coat pocket, and soaked him. Then I lit him up, and sprinted with the head back to where I parked the Monster, behind the old unused post office.

Suddenly, being back in Villa Park, which is crap alive backwards, was making me claustrophobic. It was like all I could do was take short small breaths. My throat tightened, and I could taste metal. I sat behind the wheel for maybe ten minutes collecting myself. I had to get the hell out of town. Too many bad memories.

Casually, slowly in the falling snow, I drove over to 83, and then north to Irving Park Road. I took that all the way back home. After parking in the garage, I went out back and burned the head.

When I got upstairs, Alice was on the sofa with the afghan, watching American Horror Story on demand.

“Which season are you watching?” I asked her.

“Season three, Coven.” She replied. “How was your night? Did you find what you were looking for?”.

“Yeah. Pretty much what I was expecting. Dispatched quietly with no one the wiser. The disappearances will go unsolved, but no more will happen.”

“You are so good at your job. No wonder I married you.” She laughed, giving me a slug in the shoulder.

“How’s Rhiannon doing?”

“Baby’s just fine. She’s sleeping. Rhi was a little cranky earlier. At first, she didn’t want to nurse, but she got over that. Thanks for letting me sleep in this morning. I needed it. I’m sure after this, if I have any other kids, I won’t be so out of it.”

“More kids?” I asked.

“You never know. That “urge” thing might come on me again, and we made such a beautiful baby this time…”

“Well, that’s interesting. What brings this on? Looking to lose your Sisters of Sappho membership card? Y’know, you do get roadside assistance and towing with that.”

“You are too funny!” Alice said, punching my shoulder again. “No, Bernice called today. You sure you want to listen to this? It’s one of those “how was your day” women’s stories that I hear men hate having to hear.”

“No, go ahead. Put the show on pause, and I’ll get us some juice.”

“OK. Bernice called me on my cell. She said that she saw that little blurb in the Daily Herald about us getting married. It had a picture some fan of yours took while we were in Saint Charles. Anyway, Bernice said she wanted to call me, but didn’t have the courage, and then she saw the paper and thought it was too late, but then she decided to call anyway.”

“You say that like you don’t believe her.”

“I lived with her for two years. I know her. She didn’t think about me one minute until she saw the paper, and then sat around stewing in it until she couldn’t bear it anymore and called.”

“Here, it’s that white grape juice. So, what did she say next?”

“Oh, she said it’s not too late and she was sorry and it had to be some kind of publicity stunt, you and me being married. I told her no, it wasn’t a stunt, and we got married because I was pregnant.”

“Did she drop the phone when she heard that?”

“Maybe. There was this silent pause, and then she said “WHAT?” I said I was pregnant. She paused again and said “Were pregnant? I hope you had an abortion.” I was rather expecting that answer. Despite being a high school PE teacher, she’s not big on children. I flatly said that no I did not. Then she said “Omigawd, is it human?” Now I was starting to get a little pissed off. So, I told her no, she’s not because neither of her parents are. I also said that Rhiannon is a beautiful little baby that looks perfectly normal and has green eyes.”

“I’m proud of you. See, that’s why you’re gonna be the bestest mom. You took the mature stance. Me, I’d be knee deep in insults and provocative statements.”

“Oh ho ho, wait, there’s more!”

“Just like ginsu knives?”

“Yep, just like ginsu knives. She told that this wasn’t me and it’s that witch thing, and she talked to some Wiccan she knows who said that we could reverse it with sage smudging and chanting to Sofia.”

“Sofia? Like Sofia Loren?”

“No, this made-up goddess that they worship. I told her Wiccans are so full of shit they stink. They can’t cast spells, they can’t enchant people, they can’t call down the elements…”

“Well, that is true. They have no power at all. Basically, they’re a buncha hippies. Oh well, I’ve never seen one not scream and run away fast when any of the real deals show up.”

“So, she goes on to say I must be doing it for the money. I told her no, I live off my inheritance and my salary as partner in the agency, I’m not paid for my companionship. Then she says “Oh but you’re gonna get divorced, right?” and I said maybe, we discussed it. Johnny doesn’t want to stand in the way of my happily ever after. She tells me “Cool, so get a divorce, get half, let your mom raise the kid, and we can still hit Burning Man.” Then she says that there’s job openings in her school district and she can put in the good word.”

“Let your mom raise Rhi? Jeez don’t let Gert hear that! She’d break out the band saw again. Burning Man. Jesus fucking Christ, your mom would take her to Wicker Man!””

“That’ what I said! I told her that I’d changed careers and was making way more than the school system pays, plus I was having fun. Then I let her have it. I said that that’s MY daughter and no one’s raising her but me. Bernice started that but but but crap, but I cut her off with we talked about possibly divorcing so I could get back into dating, but it would be after Rhi’s old enough and mature enough to understand we aren’t mad at each other, still love each other, and most importantly love her. Besides, if we did, daddy would still see her every weekend.”

“And her next round of complaints?”

You’ll love this! “But she’d be a teenager! By that point. I’ll be 46 by then. You’ll be close to 50.” And I said that yes that is true, but she would look 46, while I would still look like I’m 35. I’m going to look 35 for a real long time, long after Bernice is dead. So, she’s silent, wrapping her head around that one, and I let her have it with that I might want more children and my family doesn’t believe in adoption, and I want any of my children to all have the same father, so invitro is out. Like how I did that? Chopped her argument out from under her before she got them loaded up.”

“You owned her like a boss!”

“Damn right I did! Then I let her have it. I told her “Look Bernice, Johnny is my best friend. He’s in a lot of ways my only friend. He cares about my welfare. He makes the extra effort for me and a lot of people. He makes me laugh when I’m feeling low, even when he’s feeling low or banged up, which is a lot of the time considering his job. He’s a wonderful father. Yeah, he’s not human. But really, neither am I.” Then she asked me if I could try to not be a monster, and I said “My God, Bernice, do you know what you sound like? Want to try and pray it away?” Then she asked how I could be happy, being homosexual but living in a straight household. I pointed out that regardless of sexual orientation, once someone becomes a parent, there is scant little time for watching TV let alone sex. Besides, divorced or not, I’m free to wander later on. I said that the big guy understands our situation, which is more than she did, that I guess I just wasn’t as far along the Kinsey scale as she was, and not being an immortal, she just doesn’t get it.”

“The Kinsey scale? What’s the Kinsey scale?”

“There was this researcher named Alfred Kinsey. He said that you couldn’t just divide the world into sheep and goats, straight and queer. Even adding bisexual wasn’t really descriptive enough. So, after some exhaustive work, he published his findings in the Kinsey Report. He broke it down on a 1 thru 6 scale, with absolutely heterosexual at 1 and absolutely homosexual at 6. Most people fit somewhere in the middle. There was an X heading for people who had no sexual identity. Since then, others have researched this further with 1 to 10 and 1 to 20 scales, factoring in gender identities, as well as sexual orientation changing during the course of someone’s lifetime. This is ongoing as they refine the metrics. On the Kinsey scale, I’m a 5, or maybe a 4.”

“So. that would mean?”

“Most people aren’t really gay or really straight. It means that I can love who I want and fuck who I want and it’s no one’s business. That means that, well, unless we can’t stand each other anymore, we’re stuck with each other. Besides, who else is going to be there for me two hundred year from now?”

“Ah, so then you do love me?”

Alice jabbed me in the shoulder again.

“Hell yeah I love you, you big gargoyle!”

“I love you too, Alice. I just like hearing you say that. I’ve only heard that twice before in my life, and both times it wasn’t true. So, did Bernice give up?”

“What? Oh yeah, she said I was breaking her heart, which ignored the fact she left me. I told her good bye and hung up. I don’t know, do straight women do that too?””

“Yeah, I had a girlfriend once who dumped me, then eight months later wanted to hook up again. Not really, she was doing it mostly for the drama. Straight guys do it too. And gay guys. I used to work with a guy named Ernie Saloga who was gay, and he had this on again off again boyfriend that would routinely rain drama into the poor guy’s life. Being an asshole is pan-sexual. Let me know if she shows up in a grey coat with a boom box over her head.”

“John Cusack’s hair is longer than her’s. You look tired tonight, weary.”

“My Depression acts up from time to time. Killing the fanger didn’t bother me, but going home brings up some crap memories.”

“Hey, THIS is home. WE are home. Speaking of home, how’s the work in Wayne going?”

“Rehab’s going OK. Probably two weeks more, they say. That’s the thing about rich folks, they go ahead and move out before they sell the old place. The house was on the market since 2010., so there’s naturally some work needing doing.”

Alice turned off the TV.

“C’mon, I can watch that tomorrow. I’m tired and your beat. Let’s get some sleep, sonny Jim, before the baby wakes up.”

I walked into my room. Instead of going to her bedroom, Alice followed me into mine.

“Don’t get any ideas,” she smiled, “I’m too worn out, but you’re so warm, and I like feeling the rhythm of your breathing.”