The Chronicles of Malcolm Harris: Fear No Evil

Copyright © 2009

Put on the whole armor of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil.

Ephesians 6: 11

I dedicate this novel to my greatest fan, my wife Debra, and the many early fans who have stayed with me during this long journey. My special appreciation to my early fans, Kerry, Patricia, Sandy, Pat, my sister Karen, my mother Gladys, and others too many to name.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

This is a revision of my earlier work. There are many accounts of vampires, both mythological, and those who have experienced something they cannot explain outside the realm of reality. This is an entirely fictional tale. Sometimes I wonder who is the bigger monster, man himself or the ones he invents to explain things we cannot? I wanted to tell the vampire story from an entirely different point of view, the view of my character. In Bram Stoker’s Dracula, the story is magically told in separate views, each from the characters perspective. I thought it was ingenious to present their stories as entries from their diaries and telegrams. I wanted to not retell the myth of the vampire, but to recreate it such that the vampire would be more understood for the creature that I saw it as, a very lonely and misunderstood creature with a nature that compelled it to do monstrous things.

Prologue

Blood was all over the victim’s blouse, and it was running down her arms. She ran for the balcony doors, tugging on the knobs in a state of hysteria, screaming and sobbing. I thought she was going to make an escape when the hand that created the original wound found its victim by the throat and picked her up off the floor and held her in mid-air. The coughing and gurgling sound she made sickened me. She clawed away at the vampire, as she struggled and kicked. Then the woman in black opened her mouth and licked her red lips. As the victim’s eyes grew as big as saucers for the last time, the vampire set her down on the tiled floor. Then she relaxed her grip with the one hand and in one swift, deliberate motion with the other, she pushed the victim’s head back and sunk her fang-bearing jaws into the girl’s neck.

I had to watch this and listen for what seemed a half hour. The sucking and gurgling noises nauseated me. The smell of fear dissipated from the room, as did the girl’s life force. I said a prayer for her and myself asking forgiveness that I could not interfere. My tears of sorrow and shame ran down my face while I just stood there until she was finished feeding. Then she did something I will never understand. When she finished, I saw her kiss her victim on the cheek as if to say good-bye or to say thank you for her sacrifice.

Then she stood up, turned to face me with that beautiful face which now had color to it, and said, “Please forgive me!”

The woman in the black gown had changed, and I found myself in doubt of my own sanity. I put my hands to my face so that I would not have to look at her or anyone else for that matter. Between my fingers, I could see her fangs disappear; her claws retract and recede back into her slender fingers. The burning glow in her eyes where the pupils are supposed to be, disappeared as one would blow out a candle. Her eyes were a dark violet again. She was no longer hungry. She was satiated.

CHAPTER ONE - TIP OF THE ICEBERG

January 1999

Before I get started, I just want to make one thing perfectly clear. I am not crazy! Nobody, not even a mad man, could make up what I am about to tell you. Do you believe in ghosts? Demons? Angels? Okay, how about vampires? I do. Yeah, really, I do. If I had not lived through all of this, it is possible I just had the nightmare of the century ... eight centuries, to be more accurate! Yes, I suppose that I would be insane if it were not for my faith in Jesus and everything that He means to me. Because of Him, I shall live forever. At least I will live with Him. This is my story...

My name is Malcolm Harris. I am a reporter for a local television station WBFS, in Miami, Florida. My station called one morning with an assignment to cover a story about missing pets. Apparently, somebody found them. It was January 1999, the last year before the much-anticipated Y2K crisis. I remember it so well. I walked out of my house to cover this story just like any other only to meet my neighbor out by the curb. My neighbor and I are complete opposites on many issues.

“You should be glad the homeowner’s association doesn’t tell you to take off all of your religious stickers!” Mike Hamrick hollered out to me as I began to get into my car. He was already out pretending to do something in his lawn only to spy on his neighbors to report them at the next association meeting.

“It’s my first amendment, Mike! Give it a rest, will you? It also part of my religious freedom.” I stopped the car before rolling out into the street, waiting for his caustic reply, which came immediately. “You Christians are alike. Just a bunch of hypocrites! What is it about your faith that should make me want to give it a rest?” He put his lawn tools down and paused to light up a cigarette. “I will give you a rare opportunity. You have until this cigarette is done before I will cut you off. I know you Bible thumpers love to talk so start talking!” He lit up his favorite carcinogenic source. He had caught me off guard, as I had not prepared for this rare opportunity to give my testimony to my diehard atheistic neighbor. Then again, I am not one to turn down an opportunity.

“Mike, you’re my neighbor. You know I don’t harbor any ill will to you or your family. I am a man of faith. It’s that simple. I believe in Jesus Christ. I believe what I believe because I have felt the Holy Spirit in me. I’m baptized, both of water and of the spirit. Christ is very real to me. His gospel is truth to me. His path and his teachings are acceptable to me. It’s why I believe what I believe. I don’t say you have to believe it too, but I think you would be a much happier human being if you did. It works for me and would for you too. That is all Mike. That’s all.”

“Wow! Malcolm, that was quick! What? No literature? No trying to get into my house? No exorcisms to perform? I am surprised!” Mike was very sarcastic, very anti-religious, even more anti-Christian, and somewhat anti-social. Mike was divorced and had been very bitter ever since the divorce. His wife had run-off with a minister and that was the only real reason he had for despising me. I represented something he had come to hate.

“Mike, I have to run, but I will talk to you anytime about our differences regarding faith. I know about your divorce, and your wife. I can understand your pain, but I am not the cause of it. I am merely someone whom you’ve projected your hate upon.”

Mike was silent for a moment. I could tell by his face that he knew I had gone straight to the nerve of his problem. He hated Christians and religion because he felt it had robbed him of his wife. I would have like to have been able to tell him that he had drove her away with his drinking and abusive nature, and she had found a man of God who had exhibited a weakness and violated his own vows. The minister’s marriage suffered and perhaps he had his own issues.

“Malcolm, we do need to talk someday, just not this day. I am in a bad mood, which is why I started in on you so early this morning. Sorry.”

“Mike, I have an assignment to cover. When I get back, we will talk. Are you gonna be alright?” I could see his tired eyes watering, as he was no doubt thinking about what I said. The man either was reliving his pain or had a hangover.

“Yeah! See you later.” He turned away and walked into his house as I pulled out of my driveway. Across town, a story was waiting.

It seems that there had been an increase of pet-abductions going on around Dade County. Now if it had been just big dogs, I would have guessed that there was a ring of dogfighters getting more dogs for their stables. There were many dogfight fans in Dade county and surrounding areas lending to the local history regarding that ugly sport. However, all kinds of breeds of dogs and cats were coming up missing.

I parked next to my camera crew’s truck already on the scene when I arrived. My engineer and camera operator were ready to film a house that the police had surrounded with yellow crime scene tape.

“Nice of you to join us, Malcolm,” Kevin said as he heaved his camera upon his shoulder.

“Well, Kevin, I just got the call. How about cutting me some slack, huh? I haven’t been to the station yet. Any other stations here yet?”

“Not yet, but they will be. Hey Rico, let’s get a sound check before Malcolm has to go on!” Rico was sorting out cables and microphone equipment.

I went across the street to the meet with the investigating officer in charge. I saw the familiar face of Lt. Luis Martinez and thought it strange to see him here. “Lou! Good to see you again! Why are you here for this kind of stuff? This isn’t your usual kind of case.”

He came over after seeing me outside the police crime tape.

Lou and I had a history from way back on many occasions. Because of our association, this officer became one of my most trusted friends and sources of information. I always called him “Lou.”

He greeted me with his usual Cuban accent, “Malcolm, my friend! I need to speak to you. Off the record! I think this is in your arena.” He had a bad habit of waving his hands in the air as he spoke quietly in a guarded manner. “Listen very carefully. For the record, I cannot give you anything but what I will officially give in my press statement. I will let you film the inside before we are ready to bring out the dead animals. But listen to me, my friend! This cannot hit the air yet. I need you for a special consultation.”

“Dead animals?” I asked, startled.

My crew was approaching me on the other side of the police line. “Rico! Kevin! Hold off for a second. Just wait there. I’ll call you when I am ready!” I yelled back at Kevin. I could clearly see that their presence was giving the police a case of nerves.

Lou continued talking as we walked in the front door of the spacious home. “My friend, it seems the real crime scene was in one of the bedrooms that had been converted to something of a slaughterhouse. We have a CSI team in the back bedroom right now working it for blood types, fingerprints, fur fibers, anything.”

“Lou, I know my crew is making you nervous so don’t worry, everything is off the record until you say it isn’t. Just like always.” He knew he could trust me to ask what I could tell and not tell first. We had always worked together this way. I knew deep down I was on to something here.

At this point, it was just curiosity on my part. I was interested in what had gone on in the room where someone had slain the dead animals. Lou was very much aware I was a consultant regarding information on cult practices and the paranormal. There is a dark story regarding how that came to be.

He whisked me off to the side, away from the peering of neighbors. “Malcolm, this is going to be ugly. Very ugly, my friend.”

He began to tell me a story that was the beginning of my nightmare. “Somebody in this neighborhood picked up a phone and called metro-police about a man named Francisco Cordero. He’s in the back of one of our cruisers currently. A couple of our officers came out to investigate strange sounds coming out of this house. It seems Francisco was just acting a little too suspicious for his neighbors. We’re not sure exactly who called the tip in, but they apparently thought he was just too secretive. This Cordero character lives in a modest house, hires out his lawn maintenance, and has things like groceries and such delivered frequently. The neighbors rarely see Cordero, mostly pulling out of the driveway in a minivan with dark-tinted windows. The minivan would always pull in and out of the garage, and the neighbors said they never actually saw Cordero because he would not leave the vehicle until the garage door was shut.”

“How did you find out about this?”

“The neighbors told our detectives, who told me. We came because the neighbors complained that though Cordero never made a sound, the animals made quite a lot of noise. So, when the uniformed officers showed up, they weren’t prepared for what they found.” He shook his head in disgust. As he did, he lit up a cigarette. “Our officers arrived earlier this morning, knocked on his door, and informed Cordero that his neighbors had filed a complaint. Seems Cordero is an alien resident from Colombia. He had a legitimate visa, so we did not call INS. We asked about the animals and Francisco had denied that there were any animals on the premises. We wanted to search the place, but he refused entry to us. We threatened a search warrant if he did not give us permission. Then the “probable cause” clause kicked in. One of the two officers had an acute sense of smell and picked up a familiar odor. They asked Cordero if he had been smoking, and of course, he denied it. Then they found a butt in an ashtray on a coffee table. The butt gave them all we needed to search the house immediately. What they found was not what they were looking for. What they found was a lot of dead animal carcasses. After popping the questions of what this was all about to Francisco, they got nothing. Francisco Cordero immediately went to the silent mode. They read him his rights and arrested Cordero for suspicion of cruelty to animals, possession of drugs and drug paraphernalia. Stay with me my friend. I need your help. You know about these things. Listen, I knew this kind of story is what you do well. That is why I called your station. I asked for you specifically.”

When Lou finished talking to me, a lot of commotion and excitement was filling the air. I could sense anger, disgust and fear from the dozens of neighbors lined up across the street. However, the fear seemed tangible. In a case like this, the neighbors would be all over this person’s front lawn. They would be craning their necks to see if something were there, no one else had seen yet. However, on this day, nobody was even willing to cross the street. It also seemed that no one was willing to talk to the press either, regarding Francisco’s habits or his newly discovered passions. Lou left me to go inside the house.

For the time being, I wanted to interview some of the neighbors. I managed to convince an elderly couple to talk to me after the police took Cordero away. The wife had been a champion busybody from the early part of her life it seemed.

“I have been watching that man for weeks. Look, I even wrote it down.” She had been keeping records of Cordero’s actions since she started hearing the animal noises. I examined her note pad. “You are very thorough, that is for sure. The animal noises ... tell me about them.”

And talk she did! I hardly had to ask a question. She was very thorough.

“Kept me up late at night,” the elderly woman squawked.

“People around here go to work in the morning, you know,” she fumed, folding her arms across her chest.

Francisco Cordero had been living there for approximately 3 months. Apparently, Cordero had many friends that dropped by close to midnight, several times a week. As I wrote some notes down, the woman continued with her informative tirade.

She complained, “Why do all these people have to come over this late at night? Don’t they have homes to go to?”

“It isn’t against the law to party at night, even if it is a school night.”

“Weekday or not, there is a lot of loud, strange music that comes out of that house at night and those people, always carrying stuff in their arms. Looked like black choir robes or something, but I tell you they weren’t singing any hymns over there!”

It was about that time I got an awfully bad feeling. The words of witchcraft, black magic and voodoo whirled around inside my head. I had read about the occult a lot, studying all I could about it without someone calling me a practitioner. Remember, I am a Christian. I do not do that stuff. Now I knew why Lt. Luis Martinez had called for me.