Here Be Monsters - By M T Murphy Page 0,6

said finally, releasing Tim from her grasp. She held out her hand, revealing the six bullets that formerly occupied the pistol. “I had planned to allow you to decide between yourselves who lived and who died. The battle between a man of virtue and a cowardly scoundrel is always entertaining.” She placed the bullets in Tim’s hand.

The metal door swung open behind them.

Tim and Barry both looked to the door, hoping for a savior.

The blonde executive bodyguard stepped inside, dragging a young security guard behind her by his throat. The man was struggling, but she held him effortlessly.

“Ah, Sylvan,” Lucifera said. “There you are.”

The woman smiled and nodded. “I figured out how the gun made it inside. Barney has been a bad boy.” She hurled the man like a bowling ball, sending him sliding across the floor on his back.

Lucy halted the man’s progress by stomping on his throat. He grasped her foot and tried to pry it free, but he couldn’t budge her. “I know Mr. Barrington is the culprit,” Lucy said, ignoring the squirming man under the sharp heel of her Salvatore Ferragamo boot. “His bad intentions follow him like a poisonous cloud. There is no place in this building where I cannot hear his convoluted, scheming thoughts.”

“You can read minds?” Tim asked.

“Yes,” she said with a wink. “Now, Tim, would you like to see what the fuss is all about?”

Nash retrieved an old photograph from a package on the floor and presented it to him.

He cautiously took the picture and held it up so he could see it better in the weak lighting. It showed the lobby of what appeared to be an old movie theatre. From the way people were dressed, the photo was probably taken some time in the 1930s. Most of the crowd was walking to the right, but four individuals were walking to the left: an extraordinarily tall man, a blonde woman with spiked hair, a feral-looking, shaggy-haired man, and a beautiful dark-haired woman in an evening gown. They all appeared to have glowing eyes and fangs. Tim wanted to believe the eyes and fangs were the result of some sort of a problem with the development of the image, but it was amazingly crisp and clear otherwise.

He was also painfully aware that three of the individuals in the picture were standing in the room at that very moment.

“Photographs do not lie,” Lucy said. “It is simple to trick the human mind and make it fail to notice our eyes and fangs. To our great annoyance, we have discovered that electronic equipment is not so easily fooled.”

Tim looked up from the photograph to find that Lucy’s eyes were burning with green fire and her smile was now punctuated by two very sharp fangs. He took a trembling step backward.

She pointed to the picture. “That was taken in New York on February 12, 1931, after the premiere of the film Dracula. We were heading to the rear exit to avoid the crowd. Nash and Sylvan went out to feed, and Mickey—he is the dashing though somewhat shaggy one—took me dancing. I have so few pictures of us all together. I would have gladly paid a million dollars for this if Mr. Barrington had chosen to come to me directly.”

“I’m sorry,” Barry said, “I…”

Lucy ignored him and lifted the security guard off the floor. With a hiss, she tore into his throat with her fangs, forcing him back to the edge of the incomplete wall of Barry’s tomb. Blood poured from his ripped neck and she gulped it down.

When she’d had her fill, she hoisted the man up and over the bricks, dropping him at Barry’s chained feet.

“For the love of God,” Barry gasped. “He’s still alive.”

Tim could hear the man wheezing and gurgling as Barry stomped on him and kicked him in the darkness.

Lucy licked the blood from her fingers. “Fear not, Mr. Barrington. He shall likely perish before you do.” She pointed a still-bloody finger toward the pile of bricks on the floor. “Mr. Nash, if you would be so kind,” she said.

Nash picked up the trowel and spread a layer of mortar on the top of the unfinished wall in front of Barry. Working quickly, he stacked the bricks on that level and spread another layer of mortar on top of them.

“Miss Romana, you can’t just leave me here,” Barry screamed.

“Actually, I prefer Lucifera.” She produced a handkerchief and daintily wiped the excess blood from her hands and face. “Five other individuals