The First Battle, and a Long and Lonely Night
The wheels of the carriage rattled as they raced through the dark streets.
"Are you certain you saw this?" he yelled above the clatter.
"It was like it was really me! And then it wasn't me!"
"Well, at the very least, there won't be any harm in checking."
They were silent for a while, the only sound the clatter of steel horseshoes upon pavement and the rattling of the wheels.
"Switch!" he called suddenly, and simultaneously pulled her over to his side, slid under her to her side, and somehow managed to hand her the reins.
"Whatareyou doing?" she screamed.
He said not a word, but took a key from his pocket and opened a compartment under his feet. He tore off his jacket, pulled off his tie and ripped away his shirt with such force the button popped off. He pulled from the compartment one of Prof. Frink's black dusters. He set it between himself and Lisa and took out a complex jumble of belts and holsters and guns, and worked to fastening it on. Once finished, he kicked off his shoes and worked to lacing up a pair of black boots. He donned the black jacket, shut the compartment, and yelled "Switch" once more.
"Do you have your gun?" he yelled.
"No, but I have my vampire mace!"
"Grab a pistol of some sort!" he called, jerking his head towards the compartment. She opened it, and after some frantic looking picked a semi-automatic pistol.
They arrived at the Simpson's family home. The carriage screeched to a stop. Brian pulled the parking brake and hopped out. Lisa followed. Realizing that she was in heels, she kicked them off and put them in the carriage.
Brian jogged around to the back of the carriage and opened a compartment. He took out two swords, one a katana, one a broadsword, and a hefty backpack. He tossed her the broadsword and they ran to the front door.
Lisa knocked on the door.
"Mom? Dad?" she called.
Brian drew one of his guns, a grave look on his face. Lisa tried the door. It wasn't locked. She looked to Brian-he nodded-and they went in.
Up, up, up the stairs they went. Lisa remembered how she used run down the very steps she climbed every morning for breakfast, or to answer the door, and how she could always retreat up them to the sanctuary of her room.
At the top of the stairs she turned left to her parents' room. She reached for the handle, then, recalling the threat of her vision, she girded the sword about her waist and pulled out her pistol from her purse. Reaching with her left hand, she opened the door.
"Mom? Dad?" she called into the dark.
Snoring. Her dad's thick, rattling snoring. Relief began to wash over her. She heard her mother stirring.
"Mom!"
Marge was pulled across the threshold of slumber.
"Huh? What!"
"Mom!"
"Lisa!" she gasped as she sat up. She turned on the light and grabbed her robe.
"Homie, wake up, Lisa's here!"
"Huh? Lisa?"
Marge rushed over to her daughter, a look of sleepy surprise on her face. She saw the pistol she held, and she wore a look of great dread.
"Lisa…what's going on?"
Lisa opened her mouth to answer, but before she could speak a shrill scream filled the air. No questions were asked. Homer, roused from his sleep, pulled his rifle out from under his bed, along with Marge's katana, which he passed to her as they dashed after Lisa.
As she flipped on the light, Marge saw a young, brown-haired man tossed from Eric's room and into the wall. A stream of blood trickled from his forehead. It was Brian. A tall, gaunt figure appeared in the doorway. It turned. Its face was white as marble, and, though vaguely human, bore an alien and predatory look upon its face. Seeing the three, the face contorted into a freakish mask, a wrinkled and stretched death mask, with rubies set in its sockets. Lisa fired her pistol. The shots flew wildly, the farthest one striking the floor near Brian's foot. A few hit, striking in the gut and crotch before she ran out of ammo. The fiendish creature howled as it reeled backwards and into the room. They ran to the doorway. The creature, hunched over, its red eyes gleaming, stood at the foot of Eric's bed as another sat on it, apparently binding the boy with ropes as he struggled fruitlessly. A third beast stood by the open window, crouching like a wolf.
Homer let loose a volley from his rifle. The vampire on the bed was set flying. The silver bullets, filled with holy water, exploding inside him. He was ashes before he hit the ground. The wounded one rushed at him, claws extended from the tips of his fingers. He caught him on the cheek, slicing the yellow skin. Dazed, Homer threw a clumsy punch. The vampire, not nearly hit by it, kicked him and threw him sprawling on the floor. Flushed by his victory, did not see the pommel speeding towards his face. Marge drew her katana, the pommel hitting the monster in the nose, and swung downwards. The swing missed, and the thing jumped back. Rushing after it into the room, Marge could swing the sword more freely. Shwing, shwing! Only once did the blade make contact, barely slicing the soft skin of the stomach. But the pain, the hot pain and the cold, greased blade, filled the thing with fear. Its mortality, which it once thought dead, now stared him in the face. He turned and leapt out the window, over the head of the third vampire. Seeing the drawn blade and Lisa's reloaded pistol, and the slowly recovering Homer and Brian moving to their feet, the third creature fled.
Maggie came, a baseball bat in hand, a look of grim determination on her face.
"Oh honey!" cried Marge as she rushed over to her. She looked so afraid.
"Mmm-mm-mmm-mrrr!" called Eric from the bed where he was still tied up.
"Oh, sorry boy."
"Daddy," he whimpered softly.
"I suggest we all stay in your bedroom," Brian suggested as he rubbed his bruised forehead, "we can lock the door, hang up a couple'a crucifixes, sprinkle a little holy water…we'll be alright."