Saša wasn’t at her usual place that day. Čmelak sat alone on a concrete bollard, his head down, watching as the drops of blood fell onto the coarse grains of tawny sand. At the other end of this pile of dust, dirt, stones and dog shit, which the locals called a sandpit, some toddlers wandered around, smaller than Čmelak and probably just as harmless.

Čmelak didn’t want to go home. Certainly not today with the state his nose was in, releasing red gunk every minute which was impossible to stop. Čmelak’s nose seemed to be just built that way, although Čmelak had no idea why.

All he could do was wait with his blood-stained handkerchief crumpled in his hand.

He didn’t want to go home. He knew his mother wouldn’t feel sorry for him, and there was certainly no way she would if she were to find out that it was punishment for Čmelak’s bad behaviour. For his lack of discipline and for not carrying out his duties.

But I’ll always have duties, and duties and the world are apparently about to end before our very eyes, thought Čmelak, so what is the point in carrying out duties when I still haven’t managed to engrave something with my knife onto the elevator’s painted metal panels?

So the only thing he could do was wait and then throw away the bloody handkerchief on the way home, and then quietly and inconspicuously get a new, clean one from the wardrobe.

He was roused from this gloomy, spiritual lethargy by a loud electrical buzzing coming closer and closer from behind.

It was Jindřich. A tall, pale boy, older than Čmelak, serious and sad, twisted like a knot by disease. And from what Čmelak could remember, he seemed to be getting worse and worse. Apparently there was even a time when he could still walk. He had always been very tall for his age, pale, with a noble face etched into the form of an ascetic, a saint. His face was the only thing that remained of him. If it hadn’t been for that, he’d never have been recognizable now in his wheelchair.

Čmelak looked at Jindřich and remembered the time when he could operate the wheelchair himself. He had even been able to stand up and lean against a pillar so that he could lend his wheelchair to the other children for a while, who’d then go up the hill, race down in sharp turns, having the time of their lives, while Jindřich seemed to enjoy standing for a while.

On one occasion when he was propped up against something and the little brats were playing with his wheelchair, Čmelak, who had never been brave enough to go on the wheelchair with the other children, asked what had actually happened to him.

“I’m a vampire slayer.” And he said it in such a calm, clear voice, no hint of bragging, but modestly, as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world, as Čmelak might say, “I’m in primary four.” And because he said it in such a way, humbly and honestly, Čmelak immediately believed him. Of course, of course! Why didn’t I think of it before, a slayer, yes!

“How many of them have you already…taken down?” asked Čmelak. Admiration suddenly began to well up inside of him and, try as he might, he couldn’t prevent it from entering his voice.

“I’ve lost count,” said Jindřich smiling, and once again modestly, humbly, as though they were talking about killing flies.

Čmelak’s glowing face gave out a clear signal: Hero!

“It’s not important how many I’ve killed. What’s important is how many I still have to get rid of, how many of them are still walking among us.”

“How many?” exhaled Čmelak.

“A fair number,” said Jindřich seriously and stiffly, and his face began to twitch slightly from disgust. Čmelak shivered and for some time later he’d remember Jindřich’s words about vampires and why it was necessary to stand up to them. Apparently vampires used to live in castles in the middle of forests, they slept in coffins and only went out at night. At that time, hunting vampires wasn’t as important and necessary as today. It was more of a sport. A horrible one, but a sport. However, as people began to leave the forests for the towns, seemingly to settle there for good, they unwittingly lured the vampires with them. And the vampires adapted to town-life surprisingly quickly. They started to understand the town. They listened to its voices and came to realize that although millions of lights twinkled on the surface, there was a shadow in its heart and darkness spread through its veins. They became a part of it and began to transform it into their own image.

“They captured people, adults like your mum and dad, they sucked out their brains and stole their bodies.” As Jindřich became more heated his arms began to wave about in the air like swords. “Then they turned off the lights in their apartments and hid there in the darkness. They melted away into the shadows of the streets, alleys, underpasses, bus stops, hedges in the parks, apartments, houses, just like yours.”

“Oh…” said Čmelak looking down the hill just as a bunch of screaming kids fell out of Jindřich’s wheelchair.

“But they won’t get you, will they?”

“Each job carries its own risks, greater or smaller, it goes with the territory as they say.”

“But what you’re doing is great,” said Čmelak appreciatively. Then he thought for a moment and when he looked again at Jindřich’s beautiful, serious face, he said in a solemn voice, “But they’ll not get you cos you know what you’re doing!” And it sounded almost like a prophecy.

For a moment it seemed as though Jindřich was going to crack and finally laugh out loud, but the corners of his mouth merely twitched and then his noble, saintly face returned.

“Of course I do…”

That was some time ago. Now if it wasn’t for that pale face Čmelak probably wouldn’t have recognised him. They had destroyed him.

Jindřich made a few more jolts in his lunar module towards Čmelak. He exposed his pale, anguished face to someone who knew and understood.

Finally Čmelak said, “It was the vampires, wasn’t it?”

The corners of Jindřich’s mouth began to twitch once more and with some effort he said:

“I’m in a bad way, my friend. They almost got me this time.”

“No, not yet!” said Čmelak, shaking his head.

“It might not take that long now,” continued Jindřich. “They’re in my house, they tracked me down and got into my hideaway. It took me ages to figure out how they managed, because our whole apartment was made vampire-proof, an excellent seven-trap insurance. Everything was in order, undamaged, functioning, but even so I felt as though they were inside and that they were slowly starting to work on me. But how in God’s name did they get in? You can’t imagine how it was eating me up. And then it dawned on me one day.”

With a loud click the lunar module came even closer to Čmelak.

“Those bastards have got my parents!”

“No…” Čmelak didn’t want to believe it.

“For some time now these monsters dressed in human skin have been taking me to a place which looks like a hospital, but which in reality is the vampires’ base. There they drug me and I’m entirely powerless, being watched by the vampires right in front of normal people putting tubes into me which are attached to strange, large machines, and even though they appear to look worried about me, those machines are sucking my blood. Slowly, ever so slowly, they’re stealing the life from my body, they enjoy it and they allow me to suffer as revenge for all of those devils that I sent to hell.”

Čmelak gaped with wide frightened eyes which reflected a painful compassion…

“So what are you going to do?”

“You can see for yourself that my situation is practically hopeless. If I told anyone, they’d just laugh at me and say that I was an ungrateful so-and-so for talking like that about my parents, that I was crazy. I’m cut off, barely crawling and no-one believes me… There’s only one thing left – I have to kill them!”

“Kill your parents?!” shrieked Čmelak.

“Not my parents, you idiot. The vampires that have replaced them. I need to take care of them before I’m so weak I can’t even move this. Or have you forgotten what I am?”

“No, you’re a vampire slayer,” said Čmelak.

“I have to kill them and I’ll do it. And I’d advise you to watch out for your parents as well, keep a close eye on them because they don’t know what’s really going on in this world. It’s easy for them to make a mistake and then it’ll be too late.

Čmelak looked down at his shoes dumbfounded.

“Here,” said Jindřich less harshly, “lend me your exercise book and I’ll draw you a plan for one of my vampire traps. Maybe you’ll need it one day.”

Čmelak enthusiastically took out his exercise book and gave Jindřich some coloured pencils. Jindřich could barely move his hand now and so the drawings were more like terrible scribbles. But Jindřich looked happy and Čmelak said to himself that he had to grow up a bit and become smarter like Jindřich to understand it all. But that time would come and when it did, Čmelak would be ready. In the meantime he carefully put his exercise book back into his bag.

“I have to go now. They’ll be waiting for me and I don’t want to arouse any suspicion…”

The buzzing started up again behind Jindřich and the wheelchair set off again, then it stopped once more and Jindřich called out to Čmelak,

“If I were you, I wouldn’t let them see that nose bleed of yours!”

And then he was gone.

 

It was quiet at home during dinner. Čmelak was silent as usual, though today he had a special reason, which was in front of him in his soup bowl on the table. The soup had a strange, repellent colour, reminiscent of soiled underwear, and there was something swimming in it which Čmelak couldn’t tell for certain was dead or not. Just trying to make out what it was absorbed his imagination entirely.

Every time he tried to cut into one of those things with the edge of his spoon it would pull away and sink. It was starting to give him the chills. When he tried to get another one, he was surprised at how skilfully it hid itself under the surface. He plunged the spoon into the liquid and came against something else, something large, stiff — he dug into it and it bubbled to the surface. He fished out one of the pieces, something was dripping from it, it was trembling and sobbing from pain, the remainder of its body bleeding in the wild whirlpool…

Maybe that’s how things will look at..? thought Čmelak, imagining the end of the world, which had been one of his favourite games for some time. He was finally starting to enjoy his food…

The world would burst and boiling water would rise up from the depths, which would have a terrible stench, the most awful stench in the world, like, like…like a boiled onion! That sludge would reach as high as where Čmelak could get to if his mum allowed him to climb the tree in front of their house. The neighbours on the ground floor and first floor would be goners in no time. Quickly, but painfully. The sludge would flood all over them, it would toss them from side to side, battering their bodies against the walls of their apartments, they’d cry out for help in vain, it would pour into their mouths, filling them so much that they wouldn’t even be able to spew it out…

But wait, you said they’d be boiling! So at the point when the current is battering their bodies against the walls they’d more likely be boiled, red, as red as…as a carrot, as a boiled carrot. And just as mushed up. And those who try to hide from this boiling water in the fridge will be alive for a few more days until they’ve eaten all the food that’s left there. And all that they’ll find there will be beans, yuck, mushy green beans in yoghurt, urgh, and they’ll have to eat them to survive, eat until they can make their way out… Wait, but wouldn’t they suffocate in the fridge? Whatever, basically everyone on the first and maybe the second floor will be goners in no time. Including Novák. Even though he lives on the third floor, he’ll be lying drunk and unconscious on the ground floor. It was just as well Čmelak and his family lived at the top. They won’t feel the heat.

All of those who survive will gather together on the roofs and think that they’ll stay alive if they can hold out until the sludge cools down. The fools. From above them will appear, what did those guys call him, there will appear that, em, Creator! The Creator will appear and alongside him will be battle squadrons of his bodyguards, with wings of course, though maybe they’ll look a bit different to how he drew them yesterday, who’ll fire into the people who’ll be so pressed together on the roof that one shot will kill two? Three? Maybe ten at once!

Bang! Bang! Rat-a-tat-tat, arrrrggghhhh, everyone will scream and fall and crash into each other into the sludge, where the boiled people will be floating red-belly up, just like these things here, and the Creator will bring an enormous silver spoon from the sky and scoop up those people into his enormous mouth which will hang amongst the clouds, like this, mmm, mmm, he’ll gobble them up one after the other with relish. The people will try to hide under umbrellas and under jackets,and they’ll also bang on the door of our apartment, but we won’t let them in, ha-ha! And then suddenly giant drops of blood will fall from the sky with a splash… Drops of blood?

“What are you picking at in your soup?” asked his mum, looking at him closely.

“For God’s sake, look at the states of you. What’s wrong with your nose? Don’t look, just run to the bathroom. I mean, it was dripping into the soup. Yuck!”

Čmelak pinched his nose and quickly made his way from the table.

“What have you been doing?” he heard his mum behind him.

He’d say nothing, of course he’d say nothing. That’d be for the best. It was always the best thing to do because Čmelak didn’t know how to lie. He rinsed his face with water. His stupid Čmelak nose, that was how it always was.

“What’s wrong with that boy?” she anxiously asked his dad. His dad just shrugged.

“Have you been poking about in your nose?” he shouted after Čmelak in the bathroom.

“No!”

Čmelak breathed out. Fortunately that hadn’t been the right question.

“Maybe he’s ill? He doesn’t eat anything…” said his mum confidentially to his dad.

It was her typical reaction. Most of the emotional reactions towards her children stemmed from two things. Illness and hunger. Then she at least knew that if he was hungry, she’d give him food, if he was ill, she’d make tea with honey, send the child to bed, phone up the school and apologise for his absence, take out some tablets from a tube. Maybe she’d be happiest if her children were always ill or hungry. She’d make soup and tea and know that she was looking after them, loving them!

Čmelak plugged his damaged nostril with a piece of cotton wool. Soon it would turn pink with blood and look like candy floss from the funfair, except that it wouldn’t taste like that. When he returned, his bowl of soup had been taken away. Thankfully, thought Čmelak with relief. And he said nothing.

Before turning out his bedroom light he was allowed to draw for a while. He sat in his pyjamas at the table, in front of him was some paper, his nose bleed had stopped, there were some coloured pencils, and he could hear his father leaving for work.

He then began to feel sad and a little bit sorry for himself.

All of that from one of Krutas’s slaps. It was a treacherous weapon as it hurt twice over, and that second internal pain wasn’t any better than the first one.

He whimpered a little, but not too much. He didn’t want to set off his nose again. He took out his little jack knife from his hideaway. For a while he tried to distract himself by sharpening it and then he hid it away again. He wasn’t going to draw any more today as he wasn’t in the mood.

Slowly the second pain began to eat away at him inside, turning into dullness and emptiness — just as happened with every slap. It was quite an evil weapon. They should ban it…

He went into the living room to see his mum who was sitting on the armchair in front of the television. He wasn’t bothered about what was on. He sat beside his mum on the armchair and cuddled up to her, putting his arm around her neck, embracing her, a ten-year-old boy in pyjamas with thousands of dancing coloured balls, squeezed in tightly beside her, knowing that it wouldn’t last long.

After about thirty seconds his mother started to nervously fidget and after a minute she apologised, got up, shook off the clingy Čmelak and headed to the kitchen for something. She left the room, nervously pulling at her hands, she had a lump in her throat and itched all over. He didn’t know what she had to do in the kitchen that was so important. He didn’t know why she couldn’t stand the touch of jumping coloured balls on her body, he didn’t know, he didn’t understand, after all she had so much love!

Čmelak lay curled up in a ball. The pain was gone. Only dullness, darkness and emptiness. He looked into the darkness in front of him, which spread out behind the television, behind its annoying light, into the vast darkness, and just the same nothing was hiding there, and he thought that the end of the world wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

 

Translated from the Czech by Graeme Dibble