They Come by Night

Chapter 2: Come By Night-1

Chapter 2: Come By NightTy

Birthdays sucked, for me at least. Each one meant another year where I didn’t grow any taller, didn’t look any older than the year before, and it had been like that since I was ten. Rather than sugarplums, visions of me still being carded when I was thirty danced in my head, and always at the worst of times.

Take today for instance. It was my sixteenth birthday. All my friends were talking about going for their learners’ permits, or going for their road tests, or going to choose their first car. Not to say I couldn’t do those things too, but would I even be able to reach the gas pedal or the brake, without those blocks of wood taped to them so my feet could reach them?

On top of being such a runt, there was that birthmark on the side of my neck. Shaped like a tea stain but too dark for a strawberry mark, it looked like someone had cut my throat and I’d bled all over myself. Turtle neck shirts and sweaters had helped at first, but they were a b***h in hot weather. Cover-up worked better, but when I sweated, it ran, and the results were it looked as if I hadn’t bothered to wash my neck.

And if that wasn’t enough, there was the fact that since my tenth birthday I’d been unable to tolerate anyone touching me.

So here I was at sixteen, no sign of puberty in sight, no girlfriend, no boyfriend, or a desire for one, but at least the choir mistress of our church was happy because my voice was still in the soprano register.

I sighed and let myself into the house where I lived with my dad. It had been the two of us for as long as I could remember. Not that my mother was dead, or anything like that. The one time I’d got up the courage to ask about her, Dad had said it was because one day she’d just decided she didn’t want to be married to him, and she’d left with my four older siblings.

Dad was a good man, and plenty of the moms would watch him with interest when he showed up for parent/teacher conferences or any of those occasions at school that called for parental involvement. To tell the truth, so did some of the teachers, although I wasn’t supposed to know anything about that.

So I couldn’t see anyone not loving him. I thought maybe it was just that Mom didn’t want me, and since Dad did, she’d left us both.

There was nothing I could do about that, so…I just didn’t think about it.

I was real good about not thinking about some things.

Dad loved me, and that was all that mattered to me. He made sure I had a good lunch in my lunchbox or money when we were having pizza at school, a clean handkerchief in my pocket, and milk money until we realized I was lactose intolerant. Then he made sure I always carried lactase, the enzyme supplement, with me.

Sometimes, though, I’d look up from my homework to ask him a question, and find him watching me with the saddest look.

“Dad?”

He’d smile and shake his head. “You’re growing so fast, Ty. Before we know it, you’ll be in high school. Now, what did you want to know?”

I’d smile back at him and ask my question, but inside I’d feel cold, because I wasn’t growing.

What was Dad really worrying about?

* * * *

“I’m home, Dad,” I called. Because of the time, I knew he’d already be home from the construction site where he worked.

“You’re late, Ty.” He appeared in the front foyer. A single glance, and our relationship was obvious to anyone who cared to look, from the cleft in both our chins, identical straight noses—although Dad had a bump in his from the time he’d broken it back in the day—and high cheekbones, down to the blue-black hair and midnight blue eyes. The biggest difference was in our size, because while he was six feet tall, I was still four foot nothing. “I was starting to worry. It’s getting dark.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Coach kept me after practice.”

“Why?”

“Dunno. He gave me a note for you.”

“Ty, what have you been up to?”

“Nothing, Dad. Honest.” I wasn’t concerned, not really. I was a good runner, and I made good grades, unlike some of the jocks, so Coach wasn’t worried I’d be put on detention just before a big meet and ruin the team’s chances of rising up in our division.

Dad grinned at me, but he didn’t ruffle my hair like most dads would. “Give me the note.”

I pulled it out of my backpack and handed it to him, then went into the kitchen to pour myself one of the protein shakes Dad kept in the fridge for me. I was hoping they’d help me grow, but so far no luck.

I’d almost finished chugging it when I heard, “Ah, damn.”

“Dad?” Before I could bolt to the front part of the house, he came into the kitchen. His face was pale, and the muscle in his right eyelid twitched rhythmically. I set down the glass. “What is it?”

“Your coach saw you while you were in the shower.”

“You’re not saying Coach is perving on me, are you?” I tried to smile at my little joke, but my stomach felt as if I were on a roller coaster going down a four hundred fifty-six foot drop at a hundred and twenty-eight mph.

“Of course not.”

Of course, “of course not.” Coach was a great guy, after all. But why had he felt the need to send a note to my father?

“Tyrell, you’re not stupid. You’ve seen the other boys.”

“Ye-yes?”

“Today’s your birthday. Happy birthday, by the way.”

I blinked, totally confused. “Oh, thanks, Dad.”

“Your gift is inside.”

Probably another pair of Nikes. That was what he always got me for my birthday. I didn’t outgrow them, but they wore out from all the running I did.

“Anyway, didn’t you ever wonder about it? You’re sixteen now and yet your voice hasn’t changed, you haven’t had that growth spurt, and your chin and chest and…and groin are still hairless.”

I was relieved he didn’t say anything about my d**k not growing either. “I…I never stopped to think about it.” To tell the truth, I’d been afraid to think about it, afraid I was some kind of freak.

I’d hoped if I ignored it, it would go away.

“Your coach wants me to take you to see an endocrinologist.”

“Yeah, Dad?” I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to see a doctor, any more than I wanted to know what was wrong with me, certain it was incurable and I wasn’t going to live to see sixteen. Well, seventeen, now that I’d actually reached my sixteenth birthday.

“And a dermatologist.”

“Why?”

He came to me and raised his hand. In spite of myself, I flinched. In all my life, he’d never struck me, and I couldn’t see him striking me now, but for the past six years I hadn’t liked being touched.

Dad knew that. If he thought it was necessary…The shake I’d downed felt like it was going to make a return appearance.

His fingers settled just under my right ear, then lightly ran down the side of my throat over the mark I’d had since the day I was born.

“Oh. That.” I shivered and backed away a step. No one ever touched that mark—it kind of freaked them out.

“I’m not going to take you to see anyone.” He stared down at his fingers, and then closed them in a tight fist.

“Daddy?”

“It’s time for me to explain the facts of life to you.”

I could feel my face going up in flames. “I know them, Dad,” I mumbled.

He didn’t pat my shoulder, even though he might have wanted to. “You may, for the average person.”

I was too embarrassed to pick up on his emphasis of average. Much as I loved him, the idea of talking about s*x with him—blowjobs, hand jobs, f*****g—just skeeved me.

“First off, there’s nothing wrong with you. And I’m not saying that because I’m your dad and it’s my job to tell you things like that. You are normal. You’ll go into puberty when your body recognizes the time is right.”

“Then why—”

“Y’see…The thing of it is…” He didn’t seem to know where to begin, and I felt my gut clench and my sphincter tighten. “You’re just not a normal.”

I stood there frozen. Oh God, this was going to be bad. I knew it. I was a freak. I was a—

“You’re a sabor, Ty.”

I’d opened my mouth to scream a protest, but that stopped me dead. “Huh?” I blinked and swallowed again. “A what?”

“A sabor. Come and sit down, son.” He tugged on my shirt sleeve until I sank down on a chair beside him.

“Is that, like, French or Italian?” I frowned. “I thought we were Romanian, way back when.” I tried to smile, but it wasn’t successful.

“Oh, Ty.” He was so solemn.

I swallowed for a third time. “What’s a…what’s a sabor, Dad?”

“The literal translation isn’t important. It’s what the word actually represents. Give me a minute to gather my thoughts, okay?” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “You’re going to think I’ve lost my mind,” he muttered. “Okay, this is the way it is. And don’t say anything until I’ve finished, okay?”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Okay. First off—” The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” I volunteered hastily. I knew it was trick-or-treaters. I’d always thought it was pretty cool to have a birthday on Halloween. I opened the door and faced the usual ghosties and ghoulies, as well as Freddy Kruger, Daryl Dixon, and Darth Vader. I handed out candy bars, chatting with each of the kids about their costumes.

I waited there, hoping more kids would show up, but no such luck. And there was only so long I could delay, so finally I closed the door before Dad could yell about heating the whole neighborhood and went back to the kitchen.

“So, what’s for dinner, Dad?”

He raised an eyebrow, and I sighed.

“Okay. You were saying?”

Before he could resume the conversation, the doorbell rang again. Where had these kids come from? There’d been no one—

“Dammit!” Dad growled.

This time he went to answer it, and he came back too soon for my peace of mind.

“Maybe we ought to hold off on this, Dad? I mean, you’ll just get to the good part, and we’ll have to stop to give out candy.”

“No, I left the bowl on the front steps.”

And the kids in our neighborhood were used to going by the honor system.

“Okay.” I sighed and waited.

“Now, what do you know about the Black Plague?”

I frowned at him. We were having a history lesson? “Um…it was black?”

He shook his head. “What passes for education these days? All right, let me give you a quick recap. It began in China or Central Asia or maybe even Africa in the late 1320s—there are different schools of thought on that. Wherever it started, within thirty years it had traveled from China to the Crimea to Europe, and the population was decimated by almost sixty per cent, not only because of the disease, but because those left behind were faced with widespread famine. There weren’t enough laborers to farm the wheat, oats, and hay, and the result was crop failure. Even what livestock was left—well, there weren’t many of them either.” He took in my wide-eyed expression. “Y’know, your history teacher should have covered this with you.”

“Social Studies, Dad.”

He waved it aside. “Now, the general populace weren’t the only ones to suffer. There were others…”

“Sure, the priests and nobles and what not.”

“Uh…not exactly. Okay, there’s no other way for me to say this, so I’m going to come right out and tell you—there really are beings called vampyres.”

My mouth dropped open and he held up a hand.

“You promised to hear me out.”

I nodded, although my mind was boggling. Dad really expected me to believe vampyres walked among us? I stared into eyes identical to mine. Well, yeah, I guessed he did, and since he’d never lied to me, and since I knew he wasn’t nuts, I supposed I’d have to believe him.

When he saw I wasn’t going to challenge him, he continued. “By the year 1400, there had been approximately a hundred million deaths. This put a severe crimp in the food supply. For the vampyres, you understand?”

I nodded again.