Vampires - Part III
In the three years I lived in my Cambridge apartment, I don’t think I ever lost my fascination with the Hogans who lived directly across from me. The only time they ever seemed to leave their house was at night; during the day, the house was silent, unreadable.
THIS IS PART 3 of a FOUR-PART STORY
Image: Pexels | Jimmy
As usual, the Hogan house was in inky darkness. Suddenly the front door flew open, and there was a loud thudding sound as what appeared to be a body was flung down the steps. A voice yelled “Fuck you!” and the door slammed shut.
Sander and I looked at one another in alarm. As we watched, the body, which was lying in the dirt at the bottom of the steps, managed to rise to standing. It was Joe Hogan, paterfamilias, a large, stumbling shape as big and broad as a linebacker. I’d never actually seen him before, but I’d heard enough to know it was him. He scrambled up the steps and began pounding on the door. From inside, his wife Eileen yelled, “You’ll never come in here again!” Her voice was deep and booming, no nonsense. As if to taunt him, the front door light came on, flickered, and was doused.
Joe ran around to the side of the building to try another door. A loud, cackling shriek came from within. “You’re not getting back in here,” bellowed Eileen. We could hear her shouting orders at her daughter Joey to lock all the doors and windows. There were slamming sounds as the lights kept flickering on and off. Poor Joe continued to make his circuit around the house. We could see him pause at an opening that must have led to the basement, but no luck … that door had been sealed off as tightly as a drum. Joe roared something in anger and flung himself up the front steps, where once again he battered the door with his fists. To no avail, of course.
For me and Sander this was great theatre, and we watched from my study window, mesmerized. How would the drama end? Well, we didn’t have to wait long.
After perhaps fifteen minutes more of screaming and yelling and door pounding, Eileen came out with a baseball bat. She raised it threateningly, and with a cringing yowl Joe fled down the steps.
“Goddamn bitch!” he shouted. But he was very unsteady on his feet. He tripped and tumbled face forward on the last step, landing in a heap in the dirt.
The heap didn’t move. We couldn’t even tell where it was in the darkness. Suddenly all the noise and commotion stopped. No one opened the door to see what had happened to Joe. For all we knew, he was dead … or perhaps just dead drunk.