Free An Unattractive Vampire by Jim McDoniel Page B

others to do so. That meant this was vampire business. Not a job for Rusty, then.
    “Who are you?” asked Vermillion, his voice artificially deep and gruff. “Why are you here?”
    “A friend,” said the man, baring a pair of very real fangs as he did so, “who is here to make you the offer of an unlifetime.”

Chapter 9
    Catherine Dorset was knitting in her head. She was making a sweater for her sister. She had never actually managed to knit anything except scarves, but that was the beautiful thing about the mind—you didn’t have to worry about ability or skill or knowledge. Everything came out exactly the way you wanted it to. Which was ugly, because her sister had given her an ugly sweater three Christmases ago, and revenge was a sweater best served bright and unwearable.
    Knitting was just the beginning of Catherine’s big night in. Afterward, she intended to replay her favorite versions of Jane Austen’s novels. Then, she would do her yoga meditations, maybe sing some karaoke or play her guitar before settling down for a night of sweet dreams. All in all, an impressive evening for a woman in a coma.
    Catherine Dorset had been trapped inside her own head for the past four years. She didn’t really remember the accident that had put her there, but she had heard it described by the doctors enough to get the gist. A car, an intersection, and a drunk driver—really, that was all she cared to know. The exact number of broken bones and cranial bruises was irrelevant, in her opinion. In fact, that was really the only good part about the coma; she never had to feel her injuries. Then again, that might have been the morphine drip. In which case, there was no good part to being in a coma.
    Catherine was halfway through her ugly sweater and considering moving on to watching
Pride and Prejudice
when she sensed a presence in her hospital room. This wasn’t such an unusual occasion. Catherine was always aware of nurses and doctors coming and going. Since her family had stopped visiting after the first year, it was the only outside stimulus she had to look forward to. Occasionally, they would talk to her about the world or their lives or hospital gossip. She knew a lot of hospital gossip. If she was really lucky, they might even turn the TV on for a while. It may well have been a sad existence, but she supposed it was better than nothing.
    This new visitor, however, didn’t make a sound. No talking, no humming. She couldn’t even hear the person breathing. If it weren’t for the clattering noise of her chart being picked up, she’d have sworn she was imagining the whole thing. Even so, as her mystery guest was obviously not going to give her any stimulus, she decided to put her knitting away and indulge in some Regency-era romance. 21
    “How are you not dead?” said a voice.
    It shocked Catherine to hear it, partially because she hadn’t expected it, partially because it sounded so gravelly and sick, but mostly because it was coming from behind her. Since in her real room, she was lying on her back in a bed, it meant that either someone was under her bed or . . .
    Catherine turned around to find a tall, hideous stranger in her mind. His head was mostly bald with wispy white hairs coming off in irregular patches. His skin was gray, wrinkled, and peeling. Veins bulged and joints protruded. His eyes were clouded like that of a corpse, except in the center, where they were unbelievably black. It was a personage that Catherine would never imagine on her own. She didn’t like those kinds of movies.
    He stood there, where he couldn’t possibly stand, and took in his surroundings as if unsure what he was seeing. He reached a curious hand toward the teddy bear Catherine had possessed since she was four.
    “Can—can I help you?” she blurted out just in time to stop him actually touching Mr. Boysenbeary with his . . . Well, it wasn’t often you could use the word
talon
with a human being, but in this case, the