LITMIR.BIZ

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the catacombs were created as an afterthought.” Grandpa looked to the ceiling. “Wow, they worked hard on this, shoring up the floor above to create vertical walls under this place. It would take a small army of construction workers to do it, from my experience in this business.”

      “Maybe just a few builders with incredible strength,” Rachael said, thinking aloud.

      He examined closely, taking a small pocket knife to scratch along the surface. He smiled. “Hold on. They aren’t really stone walls at all. It’s only a heavy coat of stucco material over a hard concrete wall. Plaster, to give it the appearance of stone.”

      “What was the reason, Grandpa?”

      “Alexa, it means that instead of building an actual stone vault they gave it this facade, like something you might see at Disney World. Those Disney guys are great at it.”

      “You say this is something built in recent years, and not back in the days of Count Dracula.”

      “Yes, assuming there was a Count Dracula, Rachael.”

      “Well, Grandpa, you know that story told about a nasty person called Vlad.”

      “‘The Impaler’? Yeah, I read all about him, too.”

      They touched ground at the bottom of the long stairway, a well-packed floor of moist sandy soil. Someone before them had dimly lit the cavern with smoky lanterns spotted at various points along the walls.

      Grandpa stopped and took a look around. “Yep. It is like the old horror movies of the thirties. I watched those films when I was a kid and they scared me out of my wits! Actors like Bela Lugosi, and Boris Karloff.”

      “Who?”

      “Alexa, I suppose the names would not mean a thing to you. Long before your time. Long before your mother’s time, now that I think of it.”

      “Can we talk about scary guys another time?. You are creeping me out,” Rachael said.

      They looked around and up ahead. There, in two long rows, they discovered the crude wood coffins.

      “Oh dear,” Alexa whispered. “It really is a tomb.”

      “Maybe...maybe they are all empty, Lex.”

      “Then again, maybe not.”

      “I hate to be the one to mention this but there is only one good way to find out. We need to open each one.”

      “Grandpa! You have GOT to be kidding.”

      “Nope, Alexa.”

      “No way am I going to touch those boxes.”

      “Look. You two wanted to find this Isaac Fromme guy. Now you have your chance.”

      “There are so many of them.”

      “So I guess that means we better get started if we want to find the answer today, girls.”

      Grandpa began at the end of the row and lifted the first lid. It partially raised up and then crumbled in his grasp.

      Both girls screamed.

      “Oops. Guess some of these crates are quite old.”

      “Be more careful!” Alexa cried.

      Inside the first box they discovered nothing but moldy soil.

      “Moving right along...” He continued with the next one, a bit more gently this time. The lid dropped off its hinges and--again--there was nothing there. “Anybody want to keep score?”

      “Just keep going, please,” said Rachael.

      The third box appeared more resilient to his prying motion. The lid opened, still secured by its hinges, but revealed no corpse.

      “Nobody home again. Maybe he went out for a bite, girls.” Grandpa laughed at his little joke.

      “That is not amusing.”

      “I know, Alexa. I want to keep it light so the three of us do not decide to run out of here screaming before this is over.”

      He lifted the next lid. This burial box was, again, in relatively good shape. Granda judged it to be an inexpensive coffin of pine, a very old conifer. Perhaps a product of The Pinelands, as folks called the local state forests in this neighborhood.

      “Here is one guy who invested very little money into his--” Grandpa stopped mid-sentence.

      There he was. The elderly gentleman. Stretched out serenely on a bed of soft earth. Mr. Isaac Fromme in the flesh! All three stared--dumbfounded--for the moment.

      “Is this Isaac Fromme?” Grandpa asked, for he was not present for identification that night at the lake.

      Both girls peered in again, and then nodded. They would never mistake the face of that injured man they found, despite the fog and gloom of that fateful evening.

      “It is, Grandpa. The mysterious Isaac Fromme,” said Alexa.

      “Mystery solved then.” Frankly Grandpa could think of nothing else to say at this moment.

      “He looks so peaceful,” Alexa said. “Do you think he is really dead?”

      Grandpa shrugged. “I could think of a few ways to check, but none of the options thrill me at the moment.”

      “What should we do?” Rachael asked.

      Her question needed no answer. At that point Alexa noticed a slight movement from his chest. “Did you see that? Is he breathing?”

      They observed and detected the faint rise and fall. Yes, Isaac Fromme was indeed alive.

      “Perhaps our body heat around him could be the stimulation he needs to touch off a few vital signs, girls.”

      Suddenly his eyes opened, staring straight ahead. Alexa screamed and grabbed Rachael’s arm.

      “Ow! Quit it.”

      “Sorry, Rache.”

      The colorless face continued to gaze, scarcely breathing. Alexa looked up to her grandfather, as if to ask permission.

      “Try talking quietly to him. Say his name, at least,” said Grandpa.

      Conflicting advice for a man with a bag full of wooden stakes to drive through a vampire’s heart at any instant, Alexa thought.

      “Mr. Fromme? Alexa. I am one of the Casaday girls. We want to help you. Again.”

      For the moment he simply stared straight ahead, a wide-eyed look on his face, Alexa remembered later.

      “How are you feeling, Mr. Fromme?” Rachael said. “What happened to you?”

      As Rachael and Alexa asked these simple questions, Grandpa investigated the surroundings. He picked up a glass vial on an ornate wood table nearby and examined it. The container held a small quantity of red liquid. He shuddered at the thought of what that crimson fluid might be.

      A weak smile came to the lips of the man in the wooden box. “You came to rescue me. You really did,” he said in a hoarse whisper.

      “Mr. Lasnikov sent us an email that said you were here,” Rachael told him. “He told us we could dig up the key and come down here and--”

      “Why would he tell you?”

      The Casaday sisters looked at each other.

      “We really have no clue,” Alexa said. “The important thing is, we found you and people will finally believe us when we tell them what we saw that night.”

      Mr. Fromme attempted to lift himself from the crude box, but he had no strength. “No. This is not the way it should be, girls. I appreciate your great pains to rescue me, but to tell someone? This cannot happen at the moment.” He looked around to study his immediate surroundings. “Did you discover a small vial? My elixir of life?”

      “Your

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