Sunshine of Your Love

Written November 17 2024.

I didn't feel like actually finishing this story, so I just uploaded the first couple of chapters I wrote and maybe I'll come back to it someday. The basic premise is supposed to be "Salem's Lot but with lesbians". I also wanted to try out mixing in some scripted parts in between the prose, which was a lot of fun actually. Hope you enjoy it despite its possibly indefinitie incompleteness.

This story contains descriptions of animal remains, blood, violence. If you feel like this might upset you, please do not read further.

Part One: The Finale

Mike was cowering under a table. It was a big, heavy wooden table. Cobwebs connected its legs with the thick table board. They moved in the draft of his nervous, rattling breaths. He tried to breathe more quietly, but it only made him dizzy. He couldn’t see much to begin with in the dark basement, but now his vision became blurry too.

He looked out from underneath the table. Table legs and half-stocked shelves surrounded him and boxes and old furniture cloaked in white sheets like cheap Halloween costumes. He didn’t hear anything, but that didn’t mean much. When the Count rose up from his coffin, he didn’t make a sound either. He’d have to go back past the coffin to make it out of the basement. He’d have to try, at least. For them.

He looked left and right and slowly, crouched close to the ground, moved along some large wooden crates back toward the coffin. The room was barely lit, only some candles and an old oil lamp, which gave everything an eerie dark yellow look. Where the hell did Jake drop his flashlight? Why didn’t they bring more?

He reached the edge of the crates and look around the corner. The coffin was big, black and surrounded by a mountain of lit candles. Jake’s and Danny’s lifeless bodies were lying next to it. The floor was soaked with their blood. Somehow, it didn’t seem real to Mike. I gotta get out of here, he thought. But I can’t even call the police, another voice in his head replied. They wouldn’t believe me.

He crawled toward the coffin and his friends’ corpses. Jake’s head had been bloodily ripped off. His cross necklace was missing, thrown somewhere into the darkness probably. Shoot, Mike thought. He crawled on towards Danny and started rummaging in his pockets. His hand closed around something solid. Bingo, he thought and pulled out a round object. It glittered in the low light. “Your lucky silver quarter may come in handy after all, Danny,” he whispered.

He looked around. Alex was the one with the stakes, but he ran who knows where to once he saw the Count rise from his coffin. Mike would have to give him an Indian burn for bringing shame on the Pine Street Boys if he made it out alive. Something pointy should do, right? He looked around. Old vases and paintings of men with white ponytails and shelves full of empty preserve jars. No convenient sets of armour holding spears or anything. He crawled on toward the dark hallway leading to the exit.

Vanishing into darkness, he had to feel his way forwards, stopping every once in a while to survey his surroundings. He made it to the stairs. Almost there, he thought. On all fours, he crawled up the steps, testing each wooden plank first to make sure that it held, when– creeaak. “Shit,” he said and clasped his hands onto his mouth. He didn’t make a sound. He waited in near total darkness.

Nothing happened.

He crawled on until he could feel the basement door above him. He reached out to open it and – it didn’t open. What? He thought. Alex, you prick. He pushed against the door with all his strength, but it wouldn’t budge an inch. He tried to throw his whole weight against it, but that only produced a loud rattling sound, which made him stop and listen again.

He backed down. Through the house then. Mike crawled back down and into the basement again, towards the coffin, towards Jake and Danny. Towards the Count. But he had to.

Back in the main basement room, he crawled towards Jake’s corpse again and started rummaging around in his pockets too. Come on, he thought, you’re the smart one, you’ve got to have brought something else that can help us. Mike was wrist-deep in Jake’s cargo shorts when he heard something. A sound. An indistinct, quiet sound above him. He looked up.

The Count look back down on him. A long, pale face poking out of a black cloak that clung to the ceiling somehow. He grinned, showing two long canine teeth. Mike started to run.

He made it about five steps before the Count dropped down in front of him. A large, menacing creature that even looked imposing even with his stoop. “Little Michael Zimmerman,” the Count said. He had a slight lisp. “Not trying to run away, were you?” His W’s sounded more like V’s.

“No,” Mike said. He stood up. “We came here to kill you and I’m going to finish you off.” He slowly put his hand in his pocket.

“You want to kill me?” he contorted his mouth into a grotesque grin. “How do you plan to kill me if you do not even have a stake?”

“Well,” Mike said. “Eat this!” He pulled out Jake’s silver coin and held it up to the Count’s face.

The Count looked unimpressed. He extended his clawed hand and grabbed onto Mike’s head. Shoot, Mike thought before his head exploded.

Part Two: Six-month Anniversary

Interior – Roadhouse – Night

An old roadhouse just on the edge of town. The atmosphere is dingy. Most surfaces stick. The light is low and music is playing softly in the background. Oldies. The Eagles, mostly. In a little booth in the corner sit two women. One tall, broadly built with short hair and a half-full beer in front of her. Her flannel shirt and the denim jacket carelessly thrown on the seat next to her mark her clearly as a homosexual. The other is slightly less tall with long curly hair and big nerdy glasses. Doc Martens are just so visible under her long skirt – she too bears the mark of the lesbian. Her coke is still mostly full. They are talking. It’s the taller one’s turn.

CHRISTINE

I’m sorry for taking you here for our six-month. I haven’t been here in years and, honestly, I remember this place being a lot cozier. Also blurrier, to be fair.

AMY

No, it’s alright. I like it. I like the atmosphere.

CHRISTINE

What? Eighty percent nitrogen, twenty percent cigarette smoke?

AMY

I think there’s trace amounts of weed in there as well.

Christine laughs. She grabs Amy’s hand and squeezes it.

AMY

Honestly, it’s alright. I don’t care if the tables are sticky or the beer tastes like soap.

CHRSTINE

You don’t drink beer anyway.

AMY

Exactly. That’s why I don’t care.

They both laugh. Their eyes linger on each other’s.

AMY

Did you use to come here to pick up chicks?

CHRISTINE

(raising her eyebrows)

You still have a very weird image of what I was like a couple of years ago. No, I didn’t pick up chicks here. I didn’t pick up chicks at all. I used to come here when I was on leave from the coast guard and meet up with friends. Drink beer. Talk. Same as us now.

AMY

Probably not the same as us though, right?

CHRISTINE

(laughing)

No, you’re right. Not really.

She takes a sip of beer.

CHRISTINE

(slightly wistfully)

And now they all moved away.

AMY

And you moved back in.

CHRISTINE

And I moved back in. Well, I couldn’t do that shit forever. You’ve seen pictures of how dead-eyed I looked back then. I wouldn’t have made it another year. And do you know how difficult it is being the only lesbian in the coast guard?

AMY

More difficult than being the only girl in a Catholic all-boys school?

CHRISTINE

(raising a finger)

The only girl that you knew of.

AMY

(laughing and shielding her mouth with her hand)

Well, not even that, to be fair.

They both laugh.

CHRISTINE

I love you.

AMY

I love you too.

Exterior – Roadside Overlook – Night

An overlook by the side of the road. It’s almost a full moon and there are few clouds in the sky. The large satellite’s light shines on a peaceful small town nestled in the wooded hills of New England. Since it’s almost midnight, only a few lights remain: some single-family homes that haven’t gone to sleep yet and a couple of shops along the town’s main street illuminating their displays. The steeple of the local church is clearly visible. You can see single houses sticking out of the woods outside of town.

A car pulls into view. An old pickup truck, whose flaking orange paint looks almost gray in the pale moonlight. One of its taillights has a loose contact and flickers slightly. The truck pulls onto the side of the road.

Interior – Christine’s Truck – Night

The inside of the truck. It looks used. The leather seats are torn in places, bleeding stuffing. A toolbox sits in the back, surrounded by blankets, a shirt and other stuff. Instead of fluffy pink dice, two plastic skulls hang from the rear-view mirror. At least three pairs of sunglasses are stuffed into the center console and more might be hiding in the various nooks and crannies of the vehicle.

Christine is in the driver’s seat. Having turned off the car, she folds her hands in her lap and looks down. Amy sits beside her, body slightly turned towards Christine.

CHRISTINE

Thank you.

AMY

For what?

CHRISTINE

(looking up at Amy)

I’ve had a wonderful half year. Thank you for everything.

AMY

You don’t have to thank me. I love you.

CHRISTINE

I love you too. It just feels like saying that is not enough. I– I don’t even know how to put it into words. I feel so lucky that I met you. You fill my life with so much… life. I don’t know.

AMY

(putting her hand tenderly on Christine’s shoulder)

It’s alright. I know that you love me. You show that all the time, even if you don’t say it directly.

CHRISTINE

(smiling shyly)

I know I’m not too well with words.

She feels around in the pocket of her jacket and pulls something out.

CHRISTINE

I wanted to give this to you. I know it’s… it’s kitschy or whatever, but–

AMY

Let me see it then.

CHRISTINE

Here.

She hands Amy a small silver locket on a chain. It’s heart shaped. Amy looks at it and smiles. She looks at Christine.

CHRISTINE

It’s– it– you can open it. I, er– you know what, I could still return it, if you don’t–

AMY

You’re so precious, you know that?

CHRISTINE

I– er…

AMY

I love you, Chrissy.

She leans over and gives Christine a kiss on the cheek.

AMY

Can you put it on me?

CHRISTINE

It’s got a little clasp there, it’s not that difficult. I don’t–

AMY

(smirking)

You’re an idiot.

CHRISTINE

I– yes, I know. I am. I’m sorry.

Amy hands Christine the tiny locket. She leans over and puts it around her girlfriend’s neck, struggling with the oh-so-easy clasp for a few seconds. She sits back down and sheepishly looks at Amy.

CHRISTINE

(sheepishly)

You’re very pretty.

AMY

(smiling)

You too.

A few seconds pass.

AMY

Wanna make out?

CHRISTINE

Yeah.

They go in for the kill.

Exterior – Roadside Overlook – Night

We see the overlook again. The truck is still there. The interior lights are on and we can see indistinct movements (although we are of course not oblivious to their nature). The sound of sirens has been building up in the distance and, suddenly, just as we become aware of it, a police car whizzes by, taking the sound back with it into the dark woods.

Interior – Christine’s Truck – Night

Inside the truck again. Hands still on each other, the two lovers have just pulled away from their embrace. Amy’s hair is ruffled and her glasses sit lopsided on her nose. Christine’s shirt has been unbuttoned just enough so that her sports bra is visible. She looks a bit shocked.

CHRISTINE

What the fuck?

AMY

It’s just the police. Calm down.

CHRISTINE

That wasn’t j u s t the police. That old fuck is never in a hurry except to get to the roadhouse. The sheriff’s never used that siren in his life.

Christine picks up the carabiner which she uses as a key ring from the dashboard.

AMY

So what? It’s probably a break-in or something.

CHRISTINE

Nah, that road only leads to the old sawmill and a couple of old houses. Nothing to break into. This has gotta be something serious.

Christine puts the keys into the ignition. She looks over at Amy with a slight grin on her face.

CHRISTINE

Wanna go check it out?

AMY

No. What the fuck?

CHRISTINE

But why not?

AMY

(somewhat annoyed)

Honey, I wanna go home and have sex. We can go on an adventure some other time. It’s probably just a break-in or a fire or something.

CHRISTINE

Okay. Alright.

Christine turns the key. The truck springs into life. Its sputtering sounds like a person that was just saved from drowning spitting out water, but it does turn on eventually. Christine turns around and pulls the truck out onto the road.

AMY

(annoyed)

You’re going in the wrong direction.

CHRISTINE

We’ll just drive by to see what’s up. Then we’re going home. I promise.

AMY

(loudly breathes in and out)

Okay.

CHRISTINE

I love you.

AMY

Mm-hmm.

Part Three: Seeing What’s Up

The road was much too dark for Sheriff Keegan, but that didn’t slow him down. He’d been cycling down that road to the old sawmill back when it was just called the sawmill and the road wasn’t made of asphalt yet. That was almost fifty years ago, but the point still stood. He knew his turf. This was his town and if three kids disappeared in one night and the only surviving one said they’d been killed by a monster, he’d have to check at least, even if it was after hours. And also, if he drove faster, he could get back to the roadhouse quicker.

He pulled into the driveway of the old house. It was a two-story wood house, practically a mansion, built back when the economy was booming, years before even he had been born. Now, it was dilapidated and crooked. The windows probably made it look like it had a face once, in the way some houses do. Now it was a skewed frown.

He turned the motor off. The sudden absence of the siren felt disorienting. He picked up his notepad from the passenger seat. The top page read:

“Alright,” he said. He tore off the top page and stuffed it into his back pocket, picked up his flashlight and opened the door. With a grunt, he got out of the car. He pointed his flashlight around. Woods and the house. A couple of invisible crickets. Impossible to make out any tracks on the forest floor. “Well,” he muttered, “can’t put it off any longer, can I?” He went around the house.

The basement entrance was covered with two heavy-looking wooden doors. A thick stick was shoved behind the door handles, so they wouldn’t open from the inside. One end of the stick was sharpened. He pulled it out and held it up to his face. “My god, these kids really thought they were vampire huntin’.” He pulled open the doors with another grunt and shone his light down into the cellar. Stairs and flagstones beyond those. No light, no sound. One step at a time, he descended.

The basement was empty. A small, cleared area around the entrance, some furniture and boxes and rows of empty shelves. It looked abandoned, though a lot less dilapidated than the outside might suggest. He pulled out his note and squinted at it under the bright light of his flashlight. “Hello? Daniel?” he shouted. “Jack? Mike? Any of you there?” He didn’t get an answer. He walked around a bit looking at the old furniture and already turned around to go back up when something glittered in the beam of his flashlight. He bent down to pick it up. It was a small golden cross on a chain. “Huh,” he said and put it in his back pocket with the note.

He grunted again as he made it up the final step back out into the woods again. When he came back to the front of the house, another car had parked next to his, a pickup truck. “The hell,” he said and walked toward the truck. Two people were standing next to it. A woman in a skirt and a tall one in a denim jacket and combat boots that he thought was a man on first look. He shone his flashlight on them. They squinted and held their hands up to shield their eyes. He pointed it down a bit again.

“Morning, sheriff,” the tall one said.

“Bit early for that, I’d say,” the sheriff said. “What’re you two ladies doin’ out here this late?”

“Wanted to check out what the fuss was about,” the tall one said. “You passed us by the overlook. Sounded like you were in a hurry to get out here.”

“Well, it’s a police investigation, you know?” His mouth was dry. “Who are you two anyway?”

“Christine Peters. You busted me for weed once when I was in high school.”

He chuckled at that. “You must’ve been slow that day then.” He squinted at her. “Wait, you Chuck Peters’ girl?”

“Yep,” Christine said.

“My God. And I thought you looked like a boy there for a second,” he laughed. “How’s your old man doing?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she replied.

“Oh well. And who’s your girl friend there?”

“Amy Waldorf,” Amy said.

“You’re not from here, are you?”

“No,” she replied.

“Oh well,” sheriff Keegan said. He took off his hat and wiped across his large forehead. It wasn’t a particularly hot night, but he was still sweating tons. “Got a missing person’s case here, maybe. Some kid said his friends went missing here. Probably turn up by morning though, I’d reckon.”

“Sounds serious,” Christine said.

“Yeah. Had to check it out, you know. Already looked in the basement. All empty. Nothin’ down there.”

A moment of silence. Amy shuffled her feet, kicking leaves around.

“Want us to help you search the house?” Christine asked. Amy threw her head back and muttered something under her breath.

“Nah, it’s fine,” the sheriff said. “That kid said there was a vampire in there or somethin’ like that. You know how kids are. It’s probably just…” He looked around. “You know there’s homeless around here, right? They squat in those houses. Kids must’ve seen some man and run off into the woods. They’ll turn up by the morning, you know?”

Christine and Amy looked at each other with expressions somewhere between discomfort and pity. Silence passed between the three of them. The sheriff let out a cough which sounded medically concerning. “I’m goin’ back now,” he said. “You two young ladies go back home now too, you hear me? These woods can be dangerous.” He began walking to his car. “And don’t you worry ‘bout those kids, they’ll turn up. I ran away for a couple of days when I was a kid too and look at me now.” He cackled at that.

“Alright, sheriff, you take care,” Christine said and waved him goodbye.

They watched the sheriff reverse toward the road. “Can we go home now?” Amy asked as soon as the sheriff had driven off.

“Don’t you wanna see the vampire?” Christine asked impishly.

“No, I really don’t. I’m cold.”

Christine hugged her. “There. It’ll be even less cold in the house.”

“I don’t think that’s true. Have you seen it? There’s no windows.”

Christine pulled away. “Give me five minutes, okay? I just wanna go inside and look if there’s anything there.”

“No, I won’t let you go in alone.”

“Then we got a deal?”

Amy groaned. “I hate you,” she said and grabbed Christine’s arm.

The steps leading up to the front porch creaked as they stepped on them. The front door was slightly ajar. Christine shone along the wall with her flashlight. The wood was old and overgrown with mold. “This looks like a ghost house,” she said. She pushed the door open. Disappointingly, it did not creak.

They went in. “I really don’t want to do this,” Amy said quietly.

“Don’t worry. You got me,” Christine tried to reassure her. “I did Karate in middle school. I can protect you.” Amy chuckled a bit at that, but not without rolling her eyes.

The hallway looked crooked, as if something in the walls tried to twist it around. The tattered remains of a carpet covered the floor. They inched forward and looked into the rooms to their left and right. “Can we please go back?” Amy whispered.

“One second,” Christine said, “I think there’s something in there.”

They went into what must have once been the living room. Heaps of wood that might have once been cabinets lay along the walls. A surprisingly intact chair sat by the window. Christine shone her flashlight around the room. Her beam settled on a pile of white objects in one corner of the room. “Looks like bones,” she said.

She went over and bent down. Amy watched her from the doorway. “Looks like animal bones,” Christine said. “Raccoons, I think. Must be quite fresh. Come and look.”

“Do I have to?” Amy asked.

“They’re just bones,” Christine said. She picked one up. “Look. I think this is a raccoon skull. Or maybe a cat? I don’t really know.”

Amy looked over Christine’s shoulder. “What’s that?” she asked.

“A thigh bone maybe? I didn’t pay much attention in biology class, I’ll be honest.”

“No, I mean those lines.” She pointed at the ground. Christine followed her finger. Underneath the bones were bone-white lines on the dirty dark floor. Christine touched one. “Don’t touch it,” Amy hissed.

“It’s just chalk,” Christine said. She held her fingers up to her nose. It didn’t smell of much. “Probably recent.” She stood back up to look at the lines from further away. “Gimme a second,” she said. Heaps at a time, Christine started clearing the floor of bones, or rather pushing them out of the way. Skulls rolled around the edges of the room. After a minute or two, she had cleared the corner of bones. They stood around the edge of the chalk lines. “That’s a pentagram,” Christine said. She walked around the edge of the drawing. A five-pointed star inscribed into a circle, around six feet across. “It’s recent, so this wasn’t drawn when the house was still inhabited. Quite recent, I’d say.” She stopped. “Isn’t that a satanic thing? I don’t think this was some homeless guy like the sheriff said, I’ll be honest. Probably some teenagers going up here and killing some raccoons to scare each other or show how tough they are. It’s stupid, but we did stupid bullshit like that when I was in high school too.” She looked down at the pentagram.

“Chrissy,” Amy said.

“Yeah,” Christine replied. She looked up at her girlfriend.

Amy had picked something up in another corner of the room and held it up to the light now. “Did those teenagers bring the human skull themselves or did they find it here?”

Part Four: School Days

Exterior – School Entrance – Morning

A low brick-and-concrete building sitting at the edge of a driveway. A sign on the canopy above its front entrance identifies it as Green Hills Middle School. The building itself looks a tad loveless, drained of color. You can see a sports field in the middle distance behind the school, adjoined by trees. The sky is grey and angry – it will rain later. There are no people.

Interior – School Corridor – Morning

An empty corridor inside the school. The floor is made out of rubber and the walls are raw brick. The doors to the classrooms are painted bright yellow. A huge board shows news about upcoming school events and a job offer for a new janitor. The lights are harsh and bright white. There is no one around, but you can hear a quiet murmur in the distance.

Interior – Gymnasium – Morning

The middle school’s gym. The floor is made of greyish-green linoleum, which, combined with the flickering white fluorescent lamps, makes everything and everyone look a tiny bit sickly just by being in here. Rows and rows of chairs have been placed on the floor with a tiny stage and a speaker’s podium being erected at one end of the gym. The whole room is brimming with people. Students are filing in, sitting down or standing in their cliques and talking. Likewise, teachers stand by the sidelines, talking in small groups or sitting in the front row. The stage is empty, until–

The door to the gym bursts open. A man in a U.S. Marshal’s uniform enters and walks to the stage with sure steps. He looks slightly pudgy and his almost bald head desperately clings onto some white wisps around the edges. Nevertheless, his eyes show a cold, hard determination. He walks up the small stairs to the stage taking two steps at once and positions himself in front of the speaker’s podium. Behind him another middle-aged man in a brown tweed suit and an only slightly younger woman with a very practical haircut and sensible outfit sit down; the principal and vice principal respectively. The U.S. Marshal surveys the crowd. The front row is filled with the school’s teachers, including Christine wearing a tracksuit, her own kind of uniform. Behind that rows and rows of school kids, their faces blank. Were they worried? Apprehensive? Interested?

DEPUTY MARSHAL MYERS

I am Deputy Marshal Myers of the United States Marshal Service. To get it out of the way straight away: I am here because of a missing persons case. As you have no doubt heard by now, on the night of Friday to Saturday, three boys went missing. Their names are Daniel Garcia, Jack Washington and Michael Zimmermann. They were last seen near the sawmill outside of town. A police investigation is already under way, assisted by the U.S. Marshal Service.

The marshal looks out over the crowd. His expression is stern, but by no means grim.

DEPUTY MARSHAL MYERS

These boys were your classmates, your friends, even your siblings. If you have any information that could help the police find them, please talk to your teachers, your parents or the authorities. Thank you.

The marshal nods and steps away from the podium, trading places with he principal. He looks noticeably more nervous and his forehead is visibly sweaty.

PRINCIPAL BROWNING

Thank you, deputy. As you just heard, the police are already looking into the disappearance of Jack, Daniel and Michael. I just want to repeat his advice, that if you have any information about where they could be, please tell us. It’ll help the police find them sooner. As it stands–

In the front row, Christine is thinking hard. She is clearly chewing on the insides of her mouth, eyes staring intensely at nothing.

Exterior – Running Track – Noon

The running track behind the school’s gym. It’s a standard running track made of that rubbery red stuff that kids like to scrape their knees open on. A class is doing laps around it. The sky has cleared a bit, although sheets of dark grey are still drifting by sometimes. The ground is a patchwork of wet and dry spots. Christine is standing by the side of the running track, cheering on her students as they make it around the final bend in the track. They walk toward a giant cage with footballs in it and start practicing their throws on the field. She keeps watch over them for a few seconds, before walking off toward the bleachers. She pulls out her phone. It’s busted up and the screen is cracked in several places. She starts texting Amy.

CHRISTINE

Those kids still aren’t back. Sheriff was wrong.

AMY

i know. we just had a police officer come by our office and tell us

CHRISTINE

We too. US marshal came by the school. Got the whole school together in the gym.

AMY

sounds serious

CHRISTINE

Yeah.

I’m gonna sign up for the search.

AMY

like searching in the forest?

CHRISTINE

Yeah.

AMY

okay.

CHRISTINE

You think we should tell the police?

AMY

about what?

CHRISTINE

The skull we found in that manor. The satanic stuff and all that.

AMY

i rly don’t know, i don’t wanna get involved tbh. and police probably found it already

CHRISTINE

What if they haven’t? This is serious. We need to help if we can.

AMY

i know

you can tell them if you want to

CHRISTINE

Okay. Will do.

Love you.

AMY

love you too <3

Christine turns off her phone and slips it back into her pocket. Her students are still practicing. She takes a stroll around the bleachers; students sometimes come here to smoke after school, which she knows from personal past experience. No one is there. It is the middle of fourth period after all. She looks around the ground. A few cigarette stubs and an empty can of soda. She picks it up. As she turns around to go back to her class, she notices something scrawled on the concrete base of the bleachers. Next to the initialized love confessions and badly spelled curse words is a pentagram. The words “SATAN RULES” are scrawled above and below it. The “N” is backwards and the “U” looks more live a “V”. It’s almost comical. Still, a shudder runs through Christine. She goes back to her class. Along the way, she throws the empty can toward the trash can by the bleachers. The can bounces off the overfull trash can, which is stuffed with more empty cans and pizza cartons and plastic packaging. It lands on the ground and slowly rolls around as Christine gets her students to start forming teams.

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