Del pressed his face to the mouldy carpet and clamped a hand over his own mouth to muffle his wheezing. He wanted to hide his eyes but the voice inside his head said, No, keep it in sight, or it’ll be on you in a minute. If you lose it, you’re dead.

He looked over at his brother. Bart must have had the same thought, for with an agonizing slowness they both raised their heads enough to peer beneath the bottom rail of the banister.

It stood in the doorway below, dark and featureless, a stickman dripping his shadow across the dusty tile. It had fallen silent upon entering and now looked around the room like a praying mantis, craning its neck mechanically, sniffing the air. Enough moonlight spilled through the doorway that, when it turned, they could make out individual features. The face had that same withered, skeletal appearance as the thing in the cellar, the same dark greasy hair, the same prominent brow and aquiline nose, now grown stark with the shrinking of its countenance.

The same. Del looked at its wrist. Sure enough, it hung limp and crooked, and a shard of bone gaped through the flesh. But how? How did it get out ahead of us?

The thing wore remnants of an old-style frock coat around its gaunt shoulders, and its vest and trousers were likewise threadbare and nearly rotted through. Its tall riding boots had given out near the sole, allowing long toenails to peek through the rift.

Del watched the creature stalk about the entry hall, its walk a stuttering caricature of walking and yet almost casual in nature. Like a man on a stroll. It looked at the bare walls and muttered under its breath. It sneered at the graffiti on the study doors and wiped at it with its sleeve. And, for the moment, it did not seem to be looking for the two boys. It was as if something had over­ridden its hunger. But what? Del wondered. Nostalgia? Maybe that was it. Maybe it just hadn’t seen its house in that condition before.

Its house? Of course! “Sebastian Danner,” Del whispered unconsciously, realizing a split second too late how even a whisper would be amplified in the silence. Realizing that he had just given them away.

The vampire turned slowly, looked up at them and smiled, showing yellowed dog teeth. “Good going, dickhead,” Bart snapped at his brother. He triggered the flashlight, and the vampire flinched at the sudden brightness in its eyes. “Get out of here!” the older boy demanded. “Leave us alone!”

It cleared its throat and laughed again. “Come,” it motioned with a toothpick arm as it came to the foot of the stairs. “Come. Boys.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

More laughter. It cleared the first step.