The Girl With Crooked Fangs
Copyright 2016 Amy Cross
All Rights Reserved
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, events, entities and places are either products of the author's imagination or are used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, businesses, entities or events is entirely coincidental.
Kindle edition
Dark Season Books
First published: May 2016
“One day she has to learn the truth. About what she is, and where she came from. And about what she's going to become.”
For the past sixteen years, John Farmer has hidden his daughter Izzy from the truth. Living a quiet, uneventful life in a small town, he's kept her as far away as possible from the madness that killed her mother many years ago.
But nothing stays hidden forever.
An ancient vampire has come to town. Wounded and in pain, the creature hides in the old gold-mine beneath the forest. Unfortunately for John, this particular vampire has a very urgent need to get hold of Izzy. As her body starts changing and her true nature is revealed, Izzy must deal not only with the truth about her parents, but also with the growing threat that lurks at the edge of town.
And her only ally is a girl who loves dynamite.
The Girl With Crooked Fangs is the first novel in the Vampire Country series.
Table of Contents
Prologue
Part One:
Growing Pains
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Part Two:
Hunger
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Part Three:
The Road to Nowhere
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Part Four:
A Pain in the Neck
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Part Five:
Dynamite
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Part Six:
Another World
Chapter Fifty
Chapter Fifty-One
Chapter Fifty-Two
Chapter Fifty-Three
Chapter Fifty-Four
Chapter Fifty-Five
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Epilogue
The Girl With Crooked Fangs
(Vampire Country book 1)
Prologue
Once upon a time, while trying to do something else entirely, a wealthy industrialist accidentally built a train line that ran straight through the heart of the Sobolton forest.
Charles Edward McGurdy the Third had actually been attempting, back in the 1890s, to establish a gold-mine. Due to a series of drunken misunderstandings at various social gatherings, McGurdy had become absolutely convinced that a massive amount of gold could be found beneath the forest. He'd sunk his entire inherited fortune into an extensive project that involved buying up vast tracts of land, digging deep beneath the forest, and searching for the gold.
His enthusiasm was very, very human.
Thinking ahead, he'd also ignored the advice of his engineers and had ordered the construction of a two hundred mile rail line running directly through the forest, so the gold could be transported once it was found. Twelve years and tens of millions of dollars later, not one nugget had been discovered and the project ran out of money. The mines were abandoned and the workers went home mostly unpaid, and – having lost everything – Charles Edward McGurdy the Third ended up penniless and alone on the streets of New York, and thus became Charles Edward McGurdy the Last.
Again, the story of Charles McGurdy was a very human story. Few other species produce men who could squander such a vast fortune in such a short period of time.
So McGurdy was gone but the train line remained, winding its way through the dark forest, with trees on either side just a few meters from the rails. And sometimes, not often but sometimes, trains still passed through the forest.
Slowing as it reached a bend, the hulking MkVII engine creaked as it followed the rails, hauling twelve coal-laden carriages in its wake. Two tired, bored faces could just about be seen through the cab windows at the front of the train, but the real action was further back, at the rear of the last carriage, where a scruffy-looking man was quickly gathering up his meager possessions into a sack. Muttering to himself under his breath, the man climbed down the steps and took a deep breath, before throwing himself off the rear of the train and landing hard, letting out a grunt of pain before rolling away from the tracks and then sitting bolt upright. He watched for a moment as the train creaked and groaned its way around the bend, and then he heard the engine picking up speed again. For the next couple of minutes, he sat on the ground and watched the train disappearing into the distance, until finally it was gone and the rails stopped humming, and he was left all alone in the dark, quiet forest.
Feeling a knot of pain in his belly, Mick Daniels grabbed his sack and got to his feet, before turning and heading off between the trees.
Mick had read all about the old drifters who once rode the rails, sneaking onto the backs of freight trains so they could snag free journeys. The life had sounded romantic and adventurous, so after finishing his post-graduate studies Mick had decided to take a year off and copy the ways of the old-time hobos. Two months out from Philadelphia, his twenty-four-year-old body was already starting to feel the strain, but he absolutely refused to give up on his dream and he figured that the fun and poetry would kick in soon, even if so far the entire trip had been rather lonesome. He'd met no other rail-riding hobos, and instead he''d spent most of his time lurking in freight depots and getting chased away from yards. He'd managed to hitch a ride on a few trains, but these had mostly been noisy journeys that had sent powerful vibrations through his body until he'd been forced to jump off. Consequently, he was still searching for the Jack Kerouac, Tom Waits lifestyle, although he hadn't yet given up hope.
Even now, wandering alone through a dark forest in the middle of nowhere, he remained optimistic. He was searching for something he didn't understand, some kind of meaning or enlightenment that would make sense of his life, and he was simply assuming that he'd know it when he found it. This, too, was a uniquely human way of wasting time.
“Gold mine,” he muttered finally, stopping as soon as he saw the old sign nailed to a tree. “McGurdy Prospecting Company. No tre
spassing.”
He paused, before a smile slowly crept across his face.
“Gold mine,” he said again, setting off again and this time quickening his pace. A gold mine sounded suitably old-fashioned, and he felt that perhaps, for the first time, he'd stumbled upon a relic of the America he'd been seeking.
Sure enough, a couple of minutes later he found himself at the bottom of a small hill, and there were several more McGurdy Prospecting Company signs nails all around, warning people to keep well away. Nestled at the foot of the hill, a tunnel had been burrowed deep underground, complete with wooden beams and arches, and as Mick stepped closer he looked down into the darkness and felt a shiver at the thought of men having once worked in such a place. Spotting something hanging on the wall, he dropped his sack and wandered over, only to find an old, rusty pick-ax supported by a set of nails, next to a sign warning workers that anyone caught trying to smuggle gold out of the mine in their pants would be fired on the spot and reported to the company's private police force.
“Gold mine,” Mick said for a third time, as his smile grew broader. “An actual, old-time gold mine.”
He knew he should keep moving, but curiosity got the better of him and he took a few steps along the dark tunnel. The air was colder now, and he had no flashlight, but he figured there was no harm just taking a quick peek at the place. The ground seemed solid enough beneath his feet, and moonlight lit the way for several meters until, finally, he reached the threshold of darkness. He paused, feeling the cold air against his face, imagining the tunnel stretching out for miles and miles ahead, and he found himself imagining the lives of the old miners, who he figured had once worked long, back-breaking days with pick-axes, scratching gold from the tunnel walls. This, he felt, was even more romantic than the lives of the rail-riding hobos. A real, old-time gold mine.
“Hello?” he called out, and he grinned as he heard his own voice echoing back at him.
Taking a deep breath, he tried to think of something funny to say.
“Hello?” he shouted again.
“Hello?” his voice echoed over and over, as if the echo was traveling along the dark tunnel and into the depths of the mine.
Chuckling, he took a few more cautious steps forward, making sure to check for any hint of a sudden drop. As his eyes became a little better adjusted to the darkness, he was able to make out an old lamp hanging from a hook on one of the tunnel's support beams, although when he took it down he quickly found that there was no way to get it working.
“Hello?” he shouted.
“Hello?” his voice echoed.
He chuckled again, still trying to think of something funny. Finally, he started singing a version of Lionel Richie's Hello, although the effort petered out once he realized he didn't really know the lyrics. Still, he enjoyed hearing his voice echoing through the dark mine, and he felt a little disappointed that he would be unable to explore any further. Although he was tempted to go deeper and see what he could find at the end of the tunnel, he knew he'd be taking a risk, so with a sigh he decided he'd have to turn back.
“Hello,” a voice said suddenly, just as he turned to leave.
Mick froze, and now the air seemed even colder than before. He told himself the voice had been a trick, maybe a stray echo that had somehow gotten detached from the rest and had ended up getting belched back at him, but deep down he already knew that the voice hadn't been his own, and that it had seemed very close, perhaps just a few meters away. Slowly he turned and looked into the darkness, and he swallowed hard as he imagined something watching him.
“Hello?” he said cautiously.
“Hello.”
He swallowed again, finding that his throat felt much drier now. Waiting, he realized he could hear a faint scrabbling sound, as if something was inching closer.
“Um...” He paused, not really knowing what to say but feeling a growing fear that perhaps he'd disturbed some kind of ghost. Or, worse, a murderous hobo. “I didn't mean to interrupt,” he stammered, taking a step back. “I was just passing, so I'll be on my way. I'll just...” He took another step back. “I'll just get out of here and -”
Before he could finish, he realized he could just about make out the shape of a man in the darkness, stooped and crippled, shuffling along through the cold air. He could hear a series of gasps, too, as if the effort was almost too much for the man.
“So I'll be going now,” Mick continued, “and you can get back to... I don't know, whatever you were...”
His voice trailed off as the man inched closer. A face was starting to emerge from the darkness, with old eyes, and a mouth that seemed to have something dark caked around the edges.
“Okay,” Mick added, not wanting to sound scared, “good luck and all. I won't tell anyone I bumped into you.”
With that, he turned to hurry out of the tunnel.
Outside, there were no birds on the dark trees. If there had been birds, however, they would surely have taken flight as soon as the scream began to ring out. It was the kind of scream that would send any animal scurrying for safety, but few living things had dared approach the mine for some time now, so the scream simply filled the empty spaces between the trees, drifting as far as the train tracks that glistened in the moonlight. If anyone had been around to hear the scream, they would have heard its pitch increasing, and they would have noted that after a few minutes it became more guttural and pierced, less like a human and more like a wounded animal. And a true scream connoisseur might have recognized it as the scream of a man whose blood was being drained from his body through two small puncture wounds on his neck.
In the distance, far beyond the scream's reach, the lights of a town burned bright through the night.
PART ONE
GROWING PAINS
Chapter One
Two weeks later
“Gah!”
Leaning back against the cubicle door, Izzy let out another groan. The pain in her gut was getting worse by the second, and it was definitely both stronger and sharper than the day before. Icy sweat was dribbling down her face as she tried holding her breath for a moment, desperately hoping the pain would go away, only to let out another gasp as it came rippling back at full force.
“Gah... Dammit!”
The pain felt like a hand was reaching up from the pit of her belly, a full-sized, actual hand with long, crooked fingernails. She knew it wasn't a hand, of course, but that was the only way to describe the crippling sensation of something clawing at her gut, slicing jagged nails through her intestines and sometimes squeezing tight, as if it was trying to burst her from the inside. Sometimes the fingers even seemed to reach her ribs, tugging on bone and flicking at the underside of her heart, threatening worse to come.
“Stop,” she whimpered, with tears in her eyes as she turned and looked over at the toilet bowl. “Please...”
Although she hated the idea, she knew what she had to try next. She'd been putting it off all morning, but the time had come...
Crawling across the tiled floor, she leaned over the toilet and reached two fingers into her mouth, hoping that maybe she could relieve the pain by vomiting. She wriggled her fingers around for a moment, reaching deeper and deeper, before finally retching a little. This, it turned out, actually made the pain even worse, and she gripped the sides of the bowl for a moment longer as she squeezed her eyes tight shut, hoping that the latest wave of agony would quickly pass. The stench of bleach was overpowering, but not enough to make her vomit, so she shoved her fingers down her throat again, desperately trying to -
Suddenly she heard someone knocking on the cubicle door.
She froze, with her fingers still wedged in her mouth.
“Now?” she thought, trying not to panic. “Seriously? Now?!?”
“Is anyone in there?” a shrill, grating voice called out after a couple of seconds, knocking again. “Hello?”
“Use another one,” Izzy gasped, taking snatched, deep breaths as she pulled her fingers out of her
mouth. She could feel the pain twisting again in her gut.
“Yeah, cool,” the voice continued, with a hint of a giggle, “but I'd actually like to use this one. It's, like, my favorite.”
Another voice could be heard now, giggling a little further back.
“Go to hell, Violet,” Izzy hissed through gritted teeth. “Just leave me alone!”
“Do you want I should call the school nurse or something?”
“No! Whatever you do, don't do that!”
“But it sounds like you're, like, dying in there.” More giggles. “I feel like it would be the responsible thing to let someone know about your constant bathroom problems. Like, everyone's noticed. Everyone's wondering what's wrong with you.”
Realizing that the pain seemed to be settling a little, Izzy took another deep breath and got to her feet. Her legs felt weak, as if they might buckle at any moment, but the sweat on her face suddenly seemed to be drying and she was starting to think that the worst had passed, at least for now. This was how it always went. Horrific, indescribable pain for fifteen minutes or so, and then sudden, blessed relief.
“I think I'm gonna go ahead and call the nurse,” Violet continued, as someone else giggled nearby. “That would be the responsible thing to do. I wanna be a good citizen of the school, don't I?”
Grabbing some toilet paper, Izzy wiped her mouth before hitting the flush and then opening the cubicle door, only to find Violet grinning at her and Annabel watching from over by the dryer.
“I'm fine,” Izzy said firmly, although she knew full well that her voice sounded a little weak.
“Are you sure?” Violet asked. “You look white as a sheet!”
“I'm fine.”
“You're not pregnant, are you?”
“Go to hell,” Izzy muttered, pushing past her and heading toward the sink, where she quickly washed her hands. After a moment, she splashed some cold water on her face.