Willie sat on the window seat that looked out to the front entrance. Dressed in sweat clothes with the red muffler hiding the bruise on his neck, the young man waited for the law to show up, not knowing if the knot in his stomach was in anticipation of talking to a police officer or from his cold breakfast of bitter, black coffee and Spam, which he ate out of the can. He might as well buy dog food next time; it was cheaper and tasted the same.

With a tarnished spoon, Willie stabbed at the potted meat until it was mush and decided to pretend it was crab imperial.

Don't be guzzlin' down that delectable feast, He imagined Jason was sitting beside him, correcting for the millionth time, his partner's atrocious table manners. Enjoy fine food when you can, but don't get used to it, 'cause your next meal is goin' to be slop.

Willie fought to focus his thoughts on such innocuous musings and avoid his real feelings. The vampire, dead or awake, could hear everything he said, spoken or unspoken. He had no right to private emotion and owned nothing, neither his past nor his future.

A feeling of surreal numbness overcame the young man as he leaned against the window pane and closed his eyes. He was back in that mental corridor, only the lights were dim now and Barnabas' portal was shut tight. Could he transmit thoughts through the closed door? Willie didn't know. He turned and crossed his own threshold, envisioning the room in which he sat as if his eyes were open. Upon closer examination, the servant discovered he did have a door, but it was open all the way, all the time. If he could shut it, Willie was convinced he would regain some semblance of control over his life. . .

The boy wrapped his fingers around the heavy, wooden door and pulled. Harder. Using his entire body weight as leverage, he pried the door from where it nested flush against the wall until it moved. It was a fraction of an inch, but it definitely moved.

Outside the window came the sound of gravel crunching on the driveway. Willie opened his eyes to see a patrol car pull up in front of the house. Deep breath. No big deal, this was just a small town badge. He waited half a minute after the officer knocked before answering the door so it wouldn't look like he anticipated the arrival.

"Yeah?" The pale young man looked drowsy and a little confused.

"Sheriff Patterson," the portly policeman introduced himself and referred to a notepad. "Are you William Loomis?"

"Yessir. Is somethin' wrong?"

"Mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"No, 'course not. C'mon in."

Willie escorted him into the parlor and scooped his breakfast from the window seat, apologizing for the mess. He offered Patterson a seat and a cup of instant coffee, which the sheriff declined as he, glancing uncertainly about the ramshackle room, got straight to business.

"I'm investigating some incidents at two dairy farms over the past few weeks. Do you know anything about them?"

"Yeah, I read all about it in the paper. Somethin' killin' off cows?"

"Or someone. Witnesses say that someone has a white pickup truck."

"Oh," Willie replied with sudden realization. "I have a white pickup truck. Is that why you're here?" Patterson nodded, scrutinizing the stranger. "But a lot of people drive those."

"That's true, and I'll talk to them, too, but you're the only one from out of town and who has a police record." Willie looked away in shame. "Ex-con, aren't you?"

"Yessir." He flashed big, round eyes and spoke with a hint of distress. "But I didn't hurt your cows, honest; why should I? I got a g-good job here workin' for Barnabas Collins, fixin' up this old house." The officer again eyed the room with skepticism, taking note of the mounds of melted candle wax on every surface, splintered paneling and peeling wallpaper. The handyman shrugged. "It needs a lotta work."

"Can you account for your whereabouts yesterday between 11 pm and 1 am?

"Yeah, I was right here in bed. Mr. Collins can tell you, I been real sick—bronchitis, sore throat and some other stuff. Doc Woodard said I haveta stay in 'cause it's real contagious." He coughed in the sheriff's direction. "Sorry."

Patterson took a step away, covering his mouth. "Then why were you seen yesterday in several stores?"

"Only 'cause I hadda get supplies. I kept my scarf wrapped 'round my face the whole time," he demonstrated, covering his nose and mouth, but let the muffler drop when he went into another coughing fit.

"I'll be moving on," the sheriff initiated his retreat then stopped. "One more thing. Let me see your leg."

"Huh? W-what for?" The lawman gave him a look that said just do it, so Willie put his bare foot on the armrest of the nearest chair and pulled up his sweatpants.

"How did you know which leg I was talking about?"

Willie shrugged. "I didn't. Here's the other one." He switched legs and saw Patterson observing the bedbug bites. "Yeah, don't get too close 'cause I gotta that nasty rash all over. We're not sure what it's from."

The sheriff backed away towards the door. "Loomis, I don't want to see you in town until all these things are cleared up. You're going to cause some kind of epidemic."

"Yessir, I mean no, sir. I don't wanna hurt nobody."

Patterson exited to the porch with an expression of undisguised relief. Willie followed to the doorway.

"Sheriff? I was just wonderin'. It said in the paper that them cows died from losin' blood, but who would do that? They said it could be some kinda ritual, like with witches. Do you think that's what it is?"

"I think they want to sell newspapers and take advantage of over-active imaginations," he snapped. "Halloween is over; this is the real world."

"I hope so, 'cause that sounds scary. Bye, Sheriff. Good luck."

Willie closed the door and watched from the parlor window as the patrol car pulled away. Talking to the police was always nerve-racking, but there was something about successfully bullshitting someone, especially a cop, that made the erstwhile grifter feel a little more like his old self.


With renewed confidence, Willie devoted the day to casting out those over whom he held dominion: bedbugs, mice, cockroaches, spiders and rats. Although it was obvious the mansion would never be completely pest fee, by nightfall many battles had been won, and in the kitchen, a cage stuffed full of juicy rats was left out for the master's meal.

Beside the cage, the servant had placed an empty bucket. "You can put the dead ones in there," he explained to Barnabas, "like you was eatin' crabs. Then I'll dump 'em out in the woods later." Willie then left the vampire to dine in private, hoping that the rodents would be enough to satisfy him.

The next day he was cornering a particularly vicious little bastard when there came a knock at the door. He answered it to find his former partner standing there with a small bag in his hand.

"Pardon, but I heard a rumor that a gentleman friend of mine was stayin' here, so I've come to pay a call."

"Jason…" He retreated slightly into the doorway. "Uh, hi."

Willie wasn't allowed to let people in, especially a visitor for himself, but whatever was in that paper bag smelled damn good, and his olfactory instincts overpowered his better judgment. He stood in the doorway without further comment.

Barge in. Go on, push me outta the way, like you always do. After a moment, Jason did just that.

"Sorry, I didn't recognize you wearin' that apron and holdin' a broom there." The Irishman took himself into the parlor and sat, always at home wherever he went.

"The scuttlebutt at Collinwood is that Willie Loomis never left town, like he was paid to do. First, Miss Winters tells us he's workin', workin' mind you, for Mr. Barnabas Collins. Then, doesn't Mrs. Johnson take me aside and tell me you've been lurkin' at the kitchen door, scroungin' for food."

Willie silently scrutinized the old man, who was looking dapper these days in yet another new suit and spoke like a snob, pretending like he had never eaten out of a trash can.

"That was an accident. I just went to borrow somethin'."

"Well, it doesn't seem proper, does it?" Jason remarked as he tossed the bag at the young man and produced a beer bottle from his trench coat pocket. He popped the top with the opener on his key ring and handed over the ale as well. Willie sat on the floor and tore open the bag. Wrapped in white butcher paper was a warm oyster po' boy sandwich on French bread. The kind they make at the Blue Whale Tavern.

Willie paused to let the aroma linger briefly in his nostrils before stuffing his mouth to capacity with the first bite. The older man observed him for a moment before continuing.

"You're welcome, and I'm fine, thanks for askin'. I've come into a bit of employment meself. Dear Liz has offered me a handsome post in the family business: public relations, oh, and somethin' I've always wanted: me very own Swiss bank account." The Irishman beamed with pride; Willie nodded his approval and took another bite. "There's only one snag. You were paid to hit the high road, and here ye be."

"Mmmjfth."

"Swallow."

"This j-job sorta just came along, and I'm not botherin' anybody. I'm sorry about the money, Jason, I spent it—most of it, anyway."

"It won't do; you still make people nervous, just bein' here. Liz is most put out about it; she's asked your Mr. Collins several times now to get rid of you, but he acts like he can't see to let you go."

"'Cause I'm doin' good work. When Mr. Collins is done, he'll get rid a' me."

"Really. And what service do you provide that could possibly be of interest to Barnabas Collins, I wonder." He looked suspiciously at Willie who chose to take another bite of sandwich and avoid the question. "Well?"

"I dunno," the servant shrugged. "I'm pretty good at spottin' rats."


Willie stood dutifully by his master's coffin at the appointed time of sunset. With feline grace, Barnabas alighted from the casket, caught his servant by the throat and pushed him away. This was becoming the vampire's traditional greeting. Willie landed on his butt and slid across the room till he hit a wall.

"What was that for?" The young man rubbed his neck. Barnabas was clearly in need of his equivalent of morning coffee.

"I do not need to justify myself to subordinates," he growled. "You will learn your place."

"Okay, okay." The boy got to his feet, brushing dirt from the seat of his pants. "But how will I know what's right and what's wrong if you're gonna hit me either way?" he grumbled.

"I did not strike you!" The vampire grabbed his shirt front, raising his hand as Willie tried to protect his face. Barnabas waited until the servant lowered his arms before delivering a clout that landed him back on the floor.

"What'd I do?" Willie whined in confusion.

"That was for answering back." Barnabas left the room.

In the few minutes it took the servant to get up and make his way to the kitchen, the vampire had devoured every single rat; there were fewer caught that day. Barnabas sat at the table, by the light of a single candle, as his attendant picked up the body bucket and placed it by the door, after which he remained on the far side of the room.

"This is not a permanent solution," the master said at length, pointing vaguely to the cage, despondency in his voice. "I find it unsatisfactory."

"I know. I can tell." Willie sat on the work counter, in the darkness, out of the way.

"What is to be done?"

"W-well, I been thinkin' about it, if that's okay." The vampire nodded. "Ya know, it's d-deer huntin' season, they're just gonna starve out there in the woods if ya don't thin the herd before winter. Anyway, that's what I read in the paper. The only problem is, I can't catch a live deer, so, y-you'd have to do it yourself." There was no response. "You prob'ly don't wanna do that."

"I am weary of animals. I need human blood." Willie retreated further into the shadows. "Not yours. I want fresh, untainted, human blood."

Slightly Soiled, that me.

"But, how ya gonna do that, Barnabas? The police are still lookin' for that last girl."

"You will find someone from a different place and bring her to me."

Willie's leg started to tremble, even more than the sounds coming out of his mouth. "No, I don't wanna bury any more b-bodies…please. Sir."

"The victims need not die, unless I wish it. Their wounds will quickly heal, they will forget the incident and return to their normal lives."

"…If you say so." Willie looked skeptically at the vampire. That had not been his experience thus far.

"Tomorrow evening, then."

"I'll go now." Willie jumped down from the counter. He didn't want to go to bed and leave a hungry vampire ever again.