By Wakefield Mahon
“They keep coming, Deborah!”
“Hold your ground, Rick. We’ll send those bastards back to Hell where they came from.”
Hell or a lab, semantics wasn’t really important. Some sycophantic skinhead found a way to raise Hitler as a vampire. I’d kill the idiot myself if I could, but he was the Fuhrer’s first meal.
The pallid faced soldiers in their tattered SS uniforms swarmed toward us. Even with magic and silver bullets on our side, they were too much.
Rick glanced back. “Into a cemetery, are you nuts?”
“Just trust me.” The statues loomed over the headstones in a solemn yet somehow heroic display of remembrance. Finally, good luck. It wasn’t the first time I’ve found one of those in here, but seeing them massed together could only mean one thing.
“I’ve got a peaceful feeling about this Rick.”
Are you crazy? We’re being changed by Nazi vampires into a graveyard of creepy looking statues. How can you be at peace?
Because, my friend, those aren’t ordinary graves. Those are the graves of fallen Jewish soldiers. Those statues you’re afraid of are…” How long I had waited to say the word again “Golem.”