Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter

His weakness! His ineptness! He failed to protect his family. Thought only of his own needs, and left others to their cost. Had he simply gathered us and fled to some far-off territory. Had he merely asked our neighbors for some small advance against future work. But he did nothing. Nothing but sit idly. Silently. Secretly hoping that somehow, by some miracle, his troubles would simply disappear. No, it needs no further elaboration than this: had he been any other man, she would be with me still. This I cannot forgive.
Thomas, to his credit, seemed to understand and accept his condemnation. He hadn’t mentioned the word “vampire” since that night. Nor had he pressed Abe to talk.
Sarah had taken the girls to help her clean Mr. Gregson’s house that Monday afternoon, and John was off fighting some imaginary war. The two Lincolns were at work on the roof when a horse approached carrying a child on its back. A plump child in a green coat. Either that or a very short man. A short man with dark glasses and… one arm.
It was Jack Barts.
Thomas put his hammer down, his heart just about thumping a hole in his chest at the thought of what Barts could want now. By the time he climbed down and began walking to meet their unexpected guest, Abe was already halfway to the cabin. Barts handed Thomas his reins and dismounted with some difficulty, hanging on to the saddle horn with one arm while his stout legs struggled to find the ground. Having done so, he found the fan in his coat pocket and put it to use, cooling his face. Thomas couldn’t help but notice that there wasn’t a bead of sweat on him.
“Simply dreadful… dreadfully, miserably hot.”
“Mr. Barts, I—”
“I must admit, your letter surprised me, Mr. Lincoln. A happy surprise, to be certain. But a surprise nonetheless.”
“My letter, Mr. Ba—?”
“Had you written it earlier, perhaps the unpleasantness which transpired between us might have been avoided. Terrible… terrible thing…”
Thomas was too confounded to notice Abe walking toward them with a long wooden object in his arms.
“You’ll forgive my haste,” said Barts, “but I should like to be off at once. I have business in Louisville which must be attended to this evening.”
Thomas couldn’t think of a thing to say. Not a damned thing.
“Well? Do you have it, Mr. Lincoln?”
Abe joined them, cradling a long, hand-carved chest with a hinged lid. A tiny coffin for a slender corpse. He stood beside his father, facing Barts. Towering over him. Leering at him.
“Strange,” said Abe, breaking the silence. “I hadn’t expected you during the day.”
Now it was Barts who found his brain tied in knots.
“Who is this child?”
“My son,” said Thomas, petrified.
“It’s here,” said Abe, raising the chest. “All of it. All one hundred dollars, just like the letter said.”
Thomas was sure he’d misheard. Sure this was a dream. Barts looked at Abe, suspicious. Bewildered. A smile spread over his face.
“My God!” said Barts. “For a moment I thought us all mad!”
Barts began to laugh. Abe opened the lid—just enough to slip his hand inside.
“Good boy,” said Barts, laughing heartily now. “Let us have it then.”
He reached his hand up and ran his thick fingers through my hair. I could think of nothing but the way my mother had done the same when she read to me. I could think of nothing but her sweet face. I glared down at this man. This creature. I joined him in laughter as my father stood helpless—a fire spreading through my chest. I felt the wooden stake in my fingers. I could do anything. I was a god.
These are the last seconds of your life.
I have no memory of driving it in—I only remember that I did. His laughter ceased and he took an awkward step. His eyes turned black in the space of a single blink, as if the inkwells in his pupils had suddenly shattered—the spill contained behind glass. His fangs descended, and I could presently make out a faint blue web beneath his skin. It was true. Until that moment there had been room for doubt. But now I saw it with my own eyes. Now I knew.
Vampires were real.
His arm rose, and his stout little hand instinctively grabbed the stake. There was no fear in his face yet. Merely a puzzlement, as if he was attempting to sort out just how such an object could be attached to his body. He presently lost his footing and collapsed into a seated position, where he remained for a moment before falling the rest of the way onto his back.