Peter And The Vampires (Volume One)

      by Darren Pillsbury / Fantasy / Horror

Peter And The Vampires (Volume One)
PETER AND THE VAMPIRES
(Volume 1)

Darren Pillsbury

Copyright 2011 Darren Pillsbury, www.DarrenPillsbury.com
Cover copyright 2011 Ronnell D. Porter
Layout design by 52 Novels, www.52novels.com

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com (or another online retailer of ebooks) and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, used, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from Darren Pillsbury.



Contents

Peter and the Dead Men
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
Peter and the Vampires
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
Peter and the Changeling
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
Peter and the Swamp Monster
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
And now, an excerpt from the next novel in the series:
Excerpt: PETER AND THE WEREWOLVES
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12


PETER AND THE DEAD MEN

1
Five days after leaving California, Peter Normal was about to see his new home for the first time.
He hated it already.
Peter sat in the front seat of his mom’s beat–up Honda, his forehead pressed to the window, and watched the small town of Duskerville go by. It was so different from what he was used to. A two–lane road that stretched through miles and miles of forest, broken occasionally by a farm or clump of houses. The actual town itself had seven blocks of shops, five stoplights, two grocery stores, and one movie theater. Peter knew this because he had counted them all.
Most of the storefronts looked old, like something out of black and white television shows. Leave It To Beaver or Andy Griffith. Not many people were out. A few men in short–sleeve shirts, a woman in a flowered dress. And a tall, strange man in a black suit and hat, with an ancient face and grizzled beard. Who was also carrying a pitchfork.
Curiously, nobody on the street seemed freaked out by that.
This was nothing like California. There, it was buildings and condos and malls stacked up against each other as far as the eye could see. Lots of people, lots of traffic, lots of excitement.
No guys with pitchforks.
“But what about my friends?” Peter had complained when his mother first told him they were moving.
“You’ll make new friends, honey,” Mom said.
“What is there to do there?”
“Well, it’s really close to the ocean.”
So far, the only water Peter had seen was the rainstorm they’d driven through two days ago.
As upset as he was to leave his friends behind, Peter never griped again about moving. He didn’t want to make this any harder for Mom than it already was. She tried to hide it from him and his little sister Beth, but she was having a really tough time.
But Peter knew; he’d known for a while. She had lost her job as a legal assistant when her boss retired five months ago, and she hadn’t had any luck getting a new one that paid enough. They lived in a two–room apartment in not–that–great a neighborhood. Beth slept in the bedroom with his mom, and Peter slept on a fold–out couch in the den. Daycare for his sister was expensive during the school year. During the summer, Peter had to watch his two–and–a–half year–old sister (which was a lot like fighting World War III over and over again every day) while Mom went out on interviews. But school was starting soon, and she still didn’t have a job. Sometimes, late at night, he could hear his mother crying softly in the bathroom where she didn’t think anybody could hear her.
Before he could get too sad, Mom’s voice yanked him out of daydream world and back to the here and now. “Beth, you have to take off your bathing suit now, we’re going to meet your grandfather.”
“No!” his sister yelled from her toddler seat in the back of the car. All around her was piled the junk they’d brought from California — suitcases, Mom’s computer, boxes of toys.
“Beth, you cannot wear a bathing suit everywhere!”
“NO!”
His sister was …difficult. That was the nice way of putting it. Her latest thing was wearing a yellow Strawberry Shortcake bathing suit — everywhere. Twenty–four hours a day, seven days a week. To bed, in the bath, to the store, to the movies, to the park. Everywhere.
It wasn’t so bad in the summertime. You expected little kids to wear bathing suits in the summertime. But this had been going on for six months. The bathing suit was worn and frayed in places, and it was more gray now than yellow. Mom washed it every couple of days, and Beth would sit by the washing machine and read stories to it as it swirled around. Usually she would wear it straight out of the washer, wet and dripping, rather than bear to part with it for the 15 minutes it would take to tumble around in the dryer.
At the moment she was wearing it over a pair of shorts and a white t–shirt. When it got a little chilly — which it was in the car, with the air conditioner going — she would wear it over her other clothes. Not under. Nope, the entire world had to see her love for Strawberry Shortcake.
Mom struggled to keep her voice calm. “Beth, we have to make a good impression on Grandfather since we’re going to be living with him now. And I would rather he not see you wearing that bathing suit over your regular clothes.”
“He wike Stawbewy Shorcake!” Beth protested. “I wike it!”
“I don’t,” Peter said.
“You don’ count!” she shouted as she pointed and bared her lower teeth at him.
Peter sighed and turned back to the window. When dealing with Beth, unless it was really important, it was easier just to ignore her. Mom hadn’t learned that yet.

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