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It was almost midnight. Only a few lamps were on; Charles did his best to cultivate a mildly spooky atmosphere for this party. Clusters of people, mostly men, were holding drinks and talking, the low sound occasionally punctuated by laughter.
Gene propped his hand on the side of the dining table, grinning. “Marc, I vant to suck your blood,” he said in his cartoonish Dracula voice. His fake fangs showed when he talked, unnaturally white; his actual teeth were stained with red wine.
Charles laughed, placing a hand on Gene’s shoulder. “Oh, Gene, with the amount of booze in it, you’ll just get even more drunk.”
Gene leaned in against Charles’s costume toga and pretended to bite his neck. “Aaa!” Charles exclaimed, a smile on his face.
Brett was slowly sauntering back from the kitchen, a clear drink in her hand. “Oh, what are you two doing?” She was wearing a short black wig and her dress was white, topped with a collar necklace made of rows of teal beads.
Gene withdrew from Charles. “I’m sucking his blood!” he drawled. “I’m Drrracula!”
“I can tell.” Charles grinned. “I could tell all night long, Gene.”
They fell back into easy conversation. It was always nice being around both Brett and Gene. Two of his dearest friends. Charles wished he could see Gene more.
“Hey, that was a nice party,” another friend said, stopping in front of Charles. “Your couple’s costume with Brett is so funny. I mean, Marc Antony and Cleopatra? Marvelous. Well, I just thought I’d say goodbye. My husband probably wants to see me.” He gave Charles a small peck on the cheek.
“Goodbye, dear,” Brett said, and that friend did the same to her. He gave a small wave, then went through the door.
More friends started leaving. The party seemed to be winding down.
Brett took a little chocolate out of a tin. The wrapper crinkled in her hands before she popped it in her mouth. “I’m going to stay with you to the end, Charles,” she said as she chewed. “I don’t want to leave yet.”
“Me neither,” Gene said, dropping the Dracula voice. He adjusted his high collar. “Brett and I will be the last to leave. I’ll make sure of it.”
“Not like you have a choice since you both got in my car after taping,” Charles said.
Realization dawned on Brett’s features. “Oh, that’s right!” She swallowed the chocolate and finished the last of her drink.
“I wouldn’t let you drive in your current state anyways,” Charles continued. “I probably shouldn’t be driving either. But I know just what to do once everyone’s left so we can sober up.”
“What?” Gene asked.
“There’s a spooooky abandoned house just down the street.” Charles wiggled his fingers.
“In Beverly Hills?” Brett exclaimed.
“Yes,” Charles said. “We should go. It’ll be perfect for Halloween!”
“I’ve never been to a real haunted house before,” Brett continued.
“I didn’t say it was haunted,” Charles said. “Just spooooky!” He wiggled his fingers again.
“There is no evidence for ghosts, Brett,” Gene added.
“You’re no fun. I’m drunk enough to believe!” Brett laughed.
Charles’s friends continued to leave, and before long, it was just the three of them. Brett ate another chocolate.
Charles went into the kitchen, rummaged in the junk drawer, and pulled out three flashlights. He handed them to Brett and Gene, keeping one for himself.
Charles grinned. “Are you ready for a scare?”
“Well, sure I am,” Gene said. “There will be no ghosts, though, Brett. You don’t need to worry. It’s just an abandoned house. That’s all.”
“Oh, I’m not worried at all, Gene,” Brett said. “I might even ask out a ghost for all I know. Have a nice haunted dinner date.” Her eyes twinkled. “I’m single, you know.” She winked at Gene, then hooked her arm with Charles’s, leaning into him.
They made their way out of Charles’s house and onto the winding canyon road, Brett’s arm still linked with his. She really wasn’t that stable in her walking. Definitely drunk. The autumn air was only relatively cool—it was Southern California after all—but on this light-starved street, it felt so much colder on Charles’s skin. And the walk couldn’t be more than five minutes, but it felt far longer. Charles dreaded the possibility of seeing a car. This narrow road was crowded against the hillside with no sidewalks. It was not meant for pedestrians, especially not at night. There would be no place to go except squeezing along the side and hoping the driver would see them.
“Here we are,” Charles said. They stood in front of a large house, its white stucco barely evident. They shined their flashlights on it, revealing that it was practically a mansion, done in a Spanish style. Ivy grew up the arch framing the porch, a partially collapsed orange tile roof above it. The yard was nothing more than dirt and parched vegetation.
They went up the cracked driveway. Charles unhooked his arm from Brett, and he got on the porch, stepping around a clump of roof tiles. He pulled open one of the unlocked double doors with a bit of effort. It screeched open in a stiff movement.
With the shattered window providing only meager light, it was even darker inside. They had no choice but to rely on their flashlights. The living room was vast; the ceiling felt as if it never ended. Charles shined his light up to reveal a cobweb-crowded ceiling and a second-floor balcony overlooking the room, the railing collapsed. A staircase led up to it.
Everywhere the paint was peeling. The cushions on the couch were torn, the springs bare. Books no longer sat upon a shelf but rather were in a disarray on the floor. There were no decorations on the wall except for a wooden cross under the balcony.
They padded across the living room, broken glass crunching beneath their feet. Charles immediately regretted not changing out of his Roman sandals into more protective shoes, but it was too late now.
“Have you been in this house before?” Brett asked.
“No,” Charles said. “I just see it every time I pull onto my street.”
They slowly made their way through the threshold into the dining room, cramped with stately wooden chairs and a long table. Charles touched a cobweb, making him frantically shake his hands.
A shuffling sound.
Charles hesitated. He glanced around. “What was that?”
“Oh, it’s just a rat or something.” Gene marched into the kitchen, flashing his light around. “See. There’s nothing in here.”
“I think it’s a ghost.” Brett’s voice was soft.
“No, it can’t be,” Gene announced. “There is no evidence for them. You know they aren’t real.”
Brett slowly shook her head. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Gene.” Brett linked her arm with Charles once again as they remained in the dining room, crowded against a chair. Meanwhile, Gene was looking around the kitchen.
Charles whispered to Brett, “I think they might be real too.”
“You do?”
Charles nodded. He had never seriously considered it before but casually thought they might exist. Perhaps it was just the ambiance, but he could almost think that this place was genuinely haunted.
“See?” Gene declared. “I have looked all around the kitchen. No ghosts.”
“That says nothing!” Brett exclaimed, her brows drawn together. “What if you can’t see them?”
“Just come into the kitchen.” Gene beckoned Charles and Brett towards him.
They slowly made their way into the room. Shards of plates were strewn atop the counters.
“Why are the cabinets open?” Brett asked.
“Probably just some hooligans vandalizing the place,” Gene said.
The shuffling sound returned, but louder.
Charles’s eyes widened. He felt Brett tense up beside him.
“Just a rat,” Gene said. “Just a rat.”
They cautiously crept through the kitchen. And they ended up in a hallway. There was absolutely no light in it except what came from their flashlights.
“Oh, it’s so narrow!” Brett commented. “I don’t like that one bit.” She let go of Charles’s arm and got behind Gene, Charles in the back.
As they went down the hallway, Gene opened the doors and shined his light into different rooms. “Bedroom, bedroom. Those are some big beds. Bathroom.”
“Let’s not go into the bathroom,” Brett said. “A haunted bathroom would be the worst.”
Gene stopped, looking behind him. “I’ll say it again. It’s not haunted! Just a bit eerie, that’s it! Ghosts aren’t real!”
“I think I’m starting to believe Susan,” Charles said. “This place is giving me the creeps.”
Brett let out a nervous laugh. “Oh, honey, even here I’m still Susan!”
Charles squeezed Brett’s shoulder. “Forever and always.” He decided to keep it there, up against her collar necklace, the flashlight in his other hand. She seemed genuinely frightened. Charles didn’t like seeing that one bit. Perhaps he should’ve thought through this more.
Gene continued moving, the others following him. “I want to go up to that second-floor balcony,” Gene said. “Look out at the living room in all its glorious abandoned splendor.” He opened another door. “Oh look, there’s a back staircase! Let’s go up.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Brett said.
“Me neither,” Charles agreed.
“Will you stop being so scared and just go up with me?” Gene said. “I find this place truly fascinating. I wonder what kind of rich person lived here at one point. Maybe we can learn more.”
Brett sighed. “All right, Gene. I’ll trust you. But if anything happens—”
“—Nothing will happen.”
They began following Gene up the staircase, the steps creaking beneath their feet. The stairs' grimy shag carpet touched Charles's bare feet through his sandals.
Charles said softly, “I’m sorry I had you do this, Susan. I wasn’t thinking about how creepy it really could be.”
“It’s truly fine, Charles. I hope I’m just overreacting. I did drink a lot.”
“I hope we are just overreacting.”
They got to the top of the staircase. “Another hallway,” Gene said. “I bet this will lead us to the balcony.” They kept following Gene.
The shuffling sound once again.
Charles and Brett stopped, Gene continuing ahead. “Did you hear that?” Brett said.
Gene hesitated. “No. You’re probably just imagining it.”
“I heard it too,” Charles said.
The floor creaked.
“Wait. I heard that,” Gene said. “But it’s probably just a rat or something.”
“Keep telling yourself that, honey,” Brett remarked.
They crept along far more deliberately. And Gene was silent. Perhaps fear was finally getting to him. The quiescence hung in the air and choked them.
The hallway opened into a space that overlooked the living room, the collapsed railing in view. “Well, here we are,” Gene said. He went up to the balcony and observed the living room.
“I don’t want to stand by the balcony,” Charles said. “I just don’t trust it.”
“I really don’t either,” Brett added. The two of them went up against the cracked wall, the main staircase in front of them. Charles lowered his hand from Brett’s shoulder and wrapped it around her. Gene didn’t answer.
The creaking grew louder. Charles heard his quickening breath, and his other arm encircled Brett. He pointed his flashlight to the side: the direction of the sound.
Gene was still looking out at the living room, silent. Charles felt like cogs must be turning in his mind; to Gene, ghosts must not be real, so what could it be? A random man who has made a home in the mansion? Oh, that’s probably it. Ghosts aren’t real. It has to be that. But what could he want?—
A deafening roar filled the room. Charles let out a gasp, and Brett shuddered in his arms. A door burst open. They all moved their flashlights to it. And out emerged a man with bushy eyebrows that fused into an afro that ended in a distinctive widow’s peak. He had shaggy sideburns and was wearing a black suit and cape.
Gene was frozen, his eyes round. “Who are you?”
Charles was instinctively squeezing Brett close to him. He felt how tense she was, and he was certain he was the same.
“Good evening. I am Prince Mamuwalde.” His voice was deep and orotund. He strutted across the room, every step of his boots audible on the wooden floor. “I see you are dressed as Count Dracula. The man who has cursed me to this terrible existence.” He grimaced. “You make a mockery of what has happened to me.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Gene quavered, “but I have nothing to do with it!” He slowly backed away until he was inches away from the edge of the balcony.
“Gene! Don’t fall off!” Charles shouted.
Mamuwalde’s lips drew back in a snarl, showing his fangs.
“Oh—” Gene’s arms shook in fright. “You’re a vampire, I guess. Look, I had nothing to do with whatever this is. I was just dressed as Dracula for a costume party. It’s Halloween, after all—”
Letting out a ravenous growl, Mamuwalde began closing in on Gene.
“Let me go,” Brett murmured. Charles released his arms from her. She darted down the stairs until she was out of sight. What was she doing? She couldn’t just be leaving Gene! Horror wound its way through Charles at the thought. But Susan wouldn’t do that. Right?
Mamuwalde reached in and untied Gene’s cape. It dangled across the balcony. He began to pull away Gene’s collar. Mamuwalde bared his teeth—
Brett ran back up the stairs carrying the cross decoration from the living room. She held it out in front of Mamuwalde, striding towards him.
Mamuwalde desperately tried to shield his eyes. He let out a pained howl, stumbling away from Gene. Brett’s gaze was intent. She stepped towards Mamuwalde until he was backed into a corner, collapsing against the wall. She knelt down, holding the cross against his face, and a sizzling sound arose. He cried out, shaking his arms. Then his arms fell, and he started to become ever so slightly translucent. The screaming became drawn-out, reverberating as if they were in a far larger room. And then silence. The sizzling ceased. Mamuwalde vanished, his clothes collapsing on themselves as if nothing was in them.
Brett stood up, the cross shaking in her unsteady grasp.
The roar returned, this time echoing across the room. “You have released me from my corporeal form.” Charles looked around, searching for a clear source of the voice, but it seemed to come from everywhere at once. “I no longer thirst for blood. I can do little to harm you now. But this is still my mansion. So get out!”
“Let’s go!” Charles exclaimed.
Brett dropped the cross; it clattered on the floor. They all dashed down the balcony stairs into the living room. Charles pulled the front door open, narrowly avoiding the tiles on the porch as they made their way onto the driveway.
They briskly strode away from the mansion onto the dark winding street. They then made their way around a hill until the house was no longer in sight. Afterwards, they stopped in the street. Charles finally felt like he could catch his breath. He placed his hands on his thighs. “So,” he said. “I guess that sobered us up.”
“I can’t believe that worked!” Brett said.
“I didn’t even notice that cross,” Gene added. “That’s quick thinking on your part.” The corners of his mouth turned up, and he gently stroked Brett’s back. He faced his head towards her. “You might’ve saved my life, Brett. Or at least prevented me from turning into a vampire.”
Brett was beaming. She put a hand on Gene’s shoulder and leaned against his side, bending her opposite leg.
Charles stood up straight. “Well, Gene. It’s time to face the facts. Both vampires and ghosts are real.”
“I guess so. Even vampire ghosts. I didn’t know that could ever be a thing.” Gene attempted to adjust a nonexistent collar. “Hey, I forgot my cape. But I’m not going back there!”