How do you kill a vampire?
It was a question Grigore Nicolau first asked when he was 4 years old. He was hardly unique. Many of the boys he knew growing up in his hometown wondered the same.
There was no shortage of answers. A wooden stake through the heart. Exposure to sunlight. Cut off the head while the creature is asleep — then boil the head in vinegar, of course.
Now, inside a dimly lit underground chamber near the village where he was born, Grigore was about to discover if there was another way. A 20th century way.
“I have been waiting for you,” Grigore heard a voice call from the darkness. It was calm, confident, steady.
“You knew I was coming?” asked Grigore, blinking to see if he could make out the figure ahead of him.“How is that possible?”
“There are certain advantages to having been dead for seven centuries,” said the voice. “Advantages a mortal would not understand.”
A tall slender figure dressed in a black turtleneck and black jeans emerged from the shadows and stood beneath one of three light bulbs that hung from the ceiling.
“No cape?” asked Grigore.
“Come now,” said the figure, tilting his head. “It is 1987. Vampires are no different than people. We change with the times.”
“No, you don’t,” said Grigore, drawing closer as he realized he was trembling. “The truth is you and your kind always have and will always target the weak — children, the elderly, the infirm — never the strong.”
The vampire yawned and said, “So — you came here to kill me, didn’t you?”
“I came to purify my birthplace and to purify the earth,” said Grigore, burying one hand in the pocket of his coat. “My family should have done this centuries ago.”
“The Nicolaus have always been a worthy adversary.”
“For the most part,” Grigore agreed, “but you were always one step ahead. Your kind are very ingenious. That, however, ends today.”
The figure smiled. “I believe it was Petra, your great great grandfather, who first tried,” he said. “I still bear the scar of his crucifix. But he was wrong.”
“Enough!” shouted Grigore. “I know all about my family’s history. You chose the wrong Nicolau to cross this time.”
“What makes you think such a thing?” asked the vampire. “You are foolish, mortal.”
“I mean,” said Grigore, “that choosing my grandmother — my 96-year-old grandmother for God’s sake—” He let the words trail off before adding, “She was my last — my only — living relative. And you killed her.”
“Did I? I do not remember.”
“No matter. It is time to dispose of you.”
The vampire laughed “I do not think so, Grigore Nicolau. It seems you have come unarmed. I see no wooden stake. I see no silver bullet.”
“Wooden stakes are so… medieval,” said Grigore. “I have something better.”
Producing a black box the size of a cigarette pack from his pocket, he held it up to the light.
“And what is it that you have there, Grigore?”
“A launch mechanism,” answered Grigore, twisting the key on the unit. A moment later there was a deafening roar outside and dust fell from the rafters.
There was confusion in the vampire’s eyes.
“What have you done?” asked the vampire.
Grigore said, “You were right that things change.”
“I do not understand.”
“You don’t have to,” Grigore replied, looking at his watch.
***
The communique from Tass, the Soviet Union’s official news agency, the following day was that an explosion at a natural gas processing plant in an uninhabited area of Romania occurred at 11:05 p.m. October 22nd, 1987, which resulted in “several deaths and the destruction of the plant.”
Satellite imagery from the American spy satellite I-244, however, concluded that the area where the plant supposedly existed was actually the village of Karthik — and that the village and the surrounding area had disappeared following a brilliant flash.
The top-secret KGB report for the General Secretariat of the Politburo concluded that Colonel Grigore Nicolau not only used his position as commander of the 309th Brigade / Soviet Strategic Missile Force to steal a functioning RT-2PM Topol intercontinental ballistic missile and launch vehicle, but that he and everything within a one-quarter mile radius of his position also instantly vaporized when the device was detonated.
The report added that when agents searched the colonel’s Moscow apartment, they found a sheet of paper with the word Karthik circled in red ink next to a half-empty martini glass. Next to it was the word “Purification.”
They were never able to conclude the meaning.
The author of several short stories and two published novels, At the Wolf’s Door and Incident at Jonesborough, Chaz Osburn spent 17 years living and working in western Canada before returning to the U.S. in 2023. His background is in the newspaper and magazine business — he’s held positions as a reporter, editor and publisher — and in PR. He now lives in Traverse City, MI.
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