In the Land of the Lawn Weenies by David Lubar Page B

But I didn’t see any blood.
    â€œJust the coat?” I asked.
    He nodded. “I love this coat,” he said, running his fingers along the wounded section.
    â€œBetter it than you,” I said.
    He didn’t reply.

    We walked back toward town, pausing to rest on a bench at a bus stop. We were just at the edge of the wooded area. “You know what would have happened if he’d bitten you,” I said.
    Jay nodded.
    â€œBut we made it.” I looked back up the hill at the house, still not completely believing what we’d been through, or that we had actually escaped.
    â€œI owe you one,” Jay said, touching the tears in his collar.
    I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to me or the coat.
    We sat in silence. This was not the time to discuss the things that had happened.
    I glanced at Jay. He was running his fingers inside his jacket collar. Suddenly he made a choking sound like he had swallowed something just a bit too big to get down in one piece.
    The collar of his jacket rippled for an instant.
    Jay must have known. He reached for the zipper. He tried. He really tried to escape. The collar snapped around his neck. The ends of the collar stabbed at his flesh. The zipper pulled tighter. Jay grabbed at his throat and gasped.
    I reached out to help him. The flap of his pocket slashed at me, almost cutting my hand.
    Courage goes only so deep. I ran.
    But there was still some courage in me. I didn’t race to the bottom of the hill. I ran for the house and the cross. I hurried through the rooms and down the steps, feeling my way through the basement in total darkness, waiting each instant for
the vampire to grab me and hurl me to the floor. My hands met warm softness instead of the hard wood of the coffin. For a moment, I didn’t understand. Then, thinking back to the fireplace at home, I knew what I was feeling. It had all become ashes. The vampire and his coffin—everything on the slab of stone had turned to ashes. All but the cross. My hand met the metal buried among the remains. I grabbed the cross and I ran back down the hill.
    I was too late.
    Jay lay on the ground, unmoving, his face pale and drained. There was a hole on each side of his neck. That tore a hole in my heart. But there was one other part much worse. There was one thing that made me clutch the cold, small cross with all my strength.
    Jay’s jacket was gone.
    Out in the trees, in the woods beyond the bench, something rustled and fluttered.

THE SUBSTITUTE
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    J ane scurried through the classroom door-way and slipped into her seat just before the late bell rang. She felt her face flush as she listened to the voices of the other students and wondered how much of the chatter and laughter was aimed at her. She sank deeper into her chair and glanced toward the front of the room to see if Mr. Muller had noticed her arrival.
    But Mr. Muller wasn’t there.
    â€œI’m Mr. Pringe,” the man standing by the blackboard said. He paused to run a hand through his uncombed hair. “Mr. Muller couldn’t be here today. I’m your substitute. I’m sure we’ll all have a mar-velous time.”
    An instant wave of excitement flowed through the class. Jane could sense the kids around her trying to figure out what they could get away
with. She knew that some substitutes were like iron rods with legs, not letting the kids have any slack. Others were as easy to manipulate as wet clay. It was almost as if they wore signs saying: “Play tricks on me.” That was fine with Jane. If the kids were busy torturing a substitute, they might leave her alone.
    But this substitute didn’t take attendance, or do anything else that gave the class an easy chance to play a trick on him. He got right to work.
    â€œI know how much you kids like science,” Mr. Pringe said, “so I’ve set up a little demonstration.”
    He reached behind the desk and hauled up a