Bobby was the one who pounded the stake through the vampire's heart.
The vampire had gasped, clutched the stake, and died.
“Isn't he supposed to turn into dust?” said Bobby. “Or burst into flames?”
The Vampire just sat there. Dead.
“I dunno,” I said. “What else are we supposed to do?”
We stuffed his mouth with holy wafers and garlic.
Turned the hose on him.
“Running water,” said Bobby. “And sunlight.”
Crosses, holy water, and even six silver bullets didn't seem to do anything.
I checked the address.
“Isn't 37 next door?” I asked.
The sun was setting.
We ran.