once. Had fun and friends once. Now they don’t.
Well, he had freedom once, because I opened his shutters. And now he won’t. So there.
But even so, she was afraid. Afraid of how high up she was. Of how height meant nothing to him. Of what would happen next.
Don’t be a weakling, Althea said to herself.
She wrapped her arm in her sweater and punched the window. The glass shattered with a crystalline cry and fell to the stones below. Vicious triangles of windowpane remained in the wood. They glittered in the sun, like vampire teeth.
“You’re nothing but glass,” Althea whispered to the shimmering fangs. “Nothing but glass.”
The window gave up its fight and let itself be lifted easily and quickly.
And the outside shutters, as if not wanting to be destroyed, submitted to her reaching fingers and let themselves be swung inward, and allowed their clasp and ring to meet, partners forever joined.
The tower room was much darker now. The remaining window faced north. No rays of sun ever came in that window. A little daylight filtered through, but when Althea stood in front of this last window, there was not even enough light to cast her shadow.
It weakened her, as if without a shadow she were without soul as well, without courage and without hope.
After a terrible silent struggle, the third window submitted to her. She did not have to shatter it. For the third time, she thrust her body out to grab a shutter. Leaned way out over the hard stone, tilted dangerously to grasp the wooden rim. The temperature outdoors had dropped severely. She was chilled, her fingers cold to the bone.
These shutters seemed positively eager to close, almost slamming her fingers between them. These shutters want to be shut, thought Althea, and her hair crawled. Why? Did the shutters themselves have a scheme in mind? Had they plans? Plans for Althea?
Darkness was deep.
Only the door to the tower room let in any light, and that was from the ceiling fixture in the downstairs hall. She faced the door, trying to gain strength. But it was electric light, manufactured light; it lacked the power of the sun to nourish life; it gave Althea nothing.
That’s all right, she thought. I have enough. I will finish this.
She surveyed the tower. The glass was black now, backed with the closed shutters. But there were three more sets of shutters: the inside shutters. And they were the ones that counted.
The chill and the foul-smelling damp that was the vampire swirled around the room, like invisible dervishes spinning, knowing time was up, knowing they would fall to the floor and never spin again.
“I have you now,” said Althea. She was triumphant: rich and solid with victory.
She swung the first inside shutter to its closed position.
But it would not go all the way. It resisted. With muscles of its own, it pushed Althea back into the center of the empty room.
The six inside shutters regarded her with their dozens of louvered eye slits.
She threw herself at a different shutter and pushed with all her might. To her surprise it closed without a murmur. She reached for its companion shutter to bring that to the center and bolt them; they were to be coupled by long, thin, black bolts, but when she touched the second shutter, the first returned to its open position against the wall.
Althea’s arms were not long enough to reach both shutters at once.
There was no way for her to slide the bolt that would hold a pair down.
The slats of the shutters curved upward into catlike smiles of contempt. You can’t close us, said the shutters to Althea.
She threw herself at first one shutter and then another, one window and then another—but she could not close a single pair.
A laugh like broken glass spun out of the tower room, through the door, into the hall …
… and the tower room door, the door that led away from the attic and down the stairs, closed by itself.
Closed tightly and forever.
Her exit was gone.
She had planned to shut the vampire
Well, he had freedom once, because I opened his shutters. And now he won’t. So there.
But even so, she was afraid. Afraid of how high up she was. Of how height meant nothing to him. Of what would happen next.
Don’t be a weakling, Althea said to herself.
She wrapped her arm in her sweater and punched the window. The glass shattered with a crystalline cry and fell to the stones below. Vicious triangles of windowpane remained in the wood. They glittered in the sun, like vampire teeth.
“You’re nothing but glass,” Althea whispered to the shimmering fangs. “Nothing but glass.”
The window gave up its fight and let itself be lifted easily and quickly.
And the outside shutters, as if not wanting to be destroyed, submitted to her reaching fingers and let themselves be swung inward, and allowed their clasp and ring to meet, partners forever joined.
The tower room was much darker now. The remaining window faced north. No rays of sun ever came in that window. A little daylight filtered through, but when Althea stood in front of this last window, there was not even enough light to cast her shadow.
It weakened her, as if without a shadow she were without soul as well, without courage and without hope.
After a terrible silent struggle, the third window submitted to her. She did not have to shatter it. For the third time, she thrust her body out to grab a shutter. Leaned way out over the hard stone, tilted dangerously to grasp the wooden rim. The temperature outdoors had dropped severely. She was chilled, her fingers cold to the bone.
These shutters seemed positively eager to close, almost slamming her fingers between them. These shutters want to be shut, thought Althea, and her hair crawled. Why? Did the shutters themselves have a scheme in mind? Had they plans? Plans for Althea?
Darkness was deep.
Only the door to the tower room let in any light, and that was from the ceiling fixture in the downstairs hall. She faced the door, trying to gain strength. But it was electric light, manufactured light; it lacked the power of the sun to nourish life; it gave Althea nothing.
That’s all right, she thought. I have enough. I will finish this.
She surveyed the tower. The glass was black now, backed with the closed shutters. But there were three more sets of shutters: the inside shutters. And they were the ones that counted.
The chill and the foul-smelling damp that was the vampire swirled around the room, like invisible dervishes spinning, knowing time was up, knowing they would fall to the floor and never spin again.
“I have you now,” said Althea. She was triumphant: rich and solid with victory.
She swung the first inside shutter to its closed position.
But it would not go all the way. It resisted. With muscles of its own, it pushed Althea back into the center of the empty room.
The six inside shutters regarded her with their dozens of louvered eye slits.
She threw herself at a different shutter and pushed with all her might. To her surprise it closed without a murmur. She reached for its companion shutter to bring that to the center and bolt them; they were to be coupled by long, thin, black bolts, but when she touched the second shutter, the first returned to its open position against the wall.
Althea’s arms were not long enough to reach both shutters at once.
There was no way for her to slide the bolt that would hold a pair down.
The slats of the shutters curved upward into catlike smiles of contempt. You can’t close us, said the shutters to Althea.
She threw herself at first one shutter and then another, one window and then another—but she could not close a single pair.
A laugh like broken glass spun out of the tower room, through the door, into the hall …
… and the tower room door, the door that led away from the attic and down the stairs, closed by itself.
Closed tightly and forever.
Her exit was gone.
She had planned to shut the vampire
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