THE LURE or Catch and Release

NOTE: This story is about Adam -- you may have read about him and his friend Amanda on this blog in the story Amanda’s Bloody Mary, and later in his sister’s search for him after The Disappearance. Both Amanda’s Bloody Mary and The Disappearance were published in March 2011 -- you can go back and read those if you haven’t already. This story The Lure chronicles what happened to Adam between the two stories mentioned above.

THE LURE

(Catch and release)

Copyright 2011 j. carlson

The two men were unaware that Adam was hiding in the trunk of the car, waiting to destroy them at dusk. He was seething with anger and hurt. He wasn’t sure what kind of powers he might have in his new incarnation, but it didn’t matter. They were already dead men. What they had done to Amanda was unforgivable.

Later, after he dispatched and discarded them, he got in the car and drove south. He did not stop until he felt the sun about to rise. As he found a dark place to wait out the daylight hours, he felt an unfamiliar weakness. His body felt heavy as stone.

After driving three days, he found an old house in rural Texas. It was more or less a two storied box that had obviously been neglected and unoccupied for a very long time. He found a faded phone number on the old “For Sale” sign and called it on his new cell. The house sat on two acres and it was dirt cheap so he bought it. It was an achievement for a boy that looked about sixteen to purchase a house. Out of necessity he learned how to use his powers of persuasion and deception -- Amanda had told him that in the world of vamps it was called “glamour.” He paid cash with part of Amanda’s hoard of money. It was easy, too, to impose his will and the suggestion that all involved in the sale would remember nothing other than the fact the house had been sold.

Adam was pleasantly surprised to find that his curiosity and interest in things had not changed. Other things, though, were now instinctual. He obeyed his nocturnal schedule and knew how to meet his nutritional need. He accepted the daily paralysis that overtook him at sunup. No thought was involved.

For the first few months, Adam’s existence was uneventful. In an old shed out back, he found a box of seed packets and bulbs wrapped in brown paper. He educated himself about gardening. It was not hard to rejuvenate the dried yellow lawn or to enrich the soil of the flower beds. In some places the water ran in rivulets over the baked soil and it took a few days of watering for it to sink in and deeply moisten the place. Of course he only worked after dark. Night gardening brought memories of Amanda.

There were things that Adam needed, and what could not be purchased in the early evenings, like the alarm system and surveillance cameras, could be easily pilfered in the lonely hours of night. His place was attracting attention. He often arose at twilight and played the tape from his motion activated cameras. People drove slowly by, gawking at the yard and sometimes getting out of their cars to take photographs of the overflowing flower beds. He would have to be careful not to let it become a tourist attraction. He might build a fence or plant some large bushes for a hedge.

One evening after returning from his monthly procurement of red sustenance, he sat down and watched the disc from the day before. His evenings were lonely and it was a highlight of his wakeful hours to watch what might have happened around his house. The recorded time was nine-thirty a.m. It was very bright. He saw a girl or young woman. From the distance she was very pretty as she walked across his lawn and sat beneath an old tree which had miraculously survived years of neglect. She opened a paperback book. Her hair rippled in the breeze and she pulled it back, fastening it into a sort of knotted ponytail.

He watched her again the next evening when he had arisen. He was riveted.



********************

Kayla locked the door and pulled the sliding screen closed behind her as she stepped into the warm morning. As usual her dad was working or drinking somewhere. She rarely saw him and no longer kept track of his schedule. He hit her sometimes, but not often. She had learned to forget and ignore her mistreatment and neglect. Her father’s was a miserable life, but hers had become a kind of walking daydream. She sought out beauty and held it above the darkness and disappointments that surrounded her. She created her own happiness and her own world.

She and her father lived in a brick house with no air-conditioning except for an old swamp cooler in her bedroom window and a couple of ancient oscillating fans. They had no close neighbors and there were no trees -- no greenery. When she didn’t have school, she liked to leave the house early and walk to the river or somewhere cooler than the brown yard which surrounded the place.

Today she walked east across the dusty scrub to a house about a mile away. The land was flat and she had discovered what seemed like an island of green just outside of town -- lush and beautiful. She imagined she was walking through an ancient Egyptian landscape toward a hidden oasis. She had discovered it two days ago. Someone must live in the house but she hadn’t seen a car and all the blinds and shades were drawn. She took off her sandals and walked around the grass and through the dappled sunlight. She didn’t approach the house, but she wanted to.

She sat on a little stone bench in the shade of a gnarled old tree and next to a bower of climbing roses. It was wonderful. She closed her eyes and breathed in the scent.

After sitting quietly for awhile she decided to knock on the door. No one answered. She padded around the house and up onto a large covered porch. So pretty. She sat on an old rocker and imagined this was her house. This place was nearer to the little town than hers and she decided to go there. But first she opened her notebook journal and removed a pen from the spine. She scribbled something and tore out a page. She folded it neatly. She descended the back steps, walked around to the front of the house and dropped the folded note into a mail slot in the door.



* * * * * * *

Adam watched the tape. The camera was motion-activated, which left annoying gaps in time as the girl sat there in his yard or on his back porch without moving. The last image was from the front camera. She slid something into the mail slot and disappeared. End of tape. He rarely checked his mail so he hadn’t noticed, but he ran to the living area and there on the floor was a folded piece of paper! He unfolded it.



“Hello,” it said. “my name is Kayla Spencer. I am your neighbor -- well, almost your neighbor. I live about a mile or two away. I wanted to tell you, ma’am or sir, that your garden is lovely. I sat for a spell under your tree. I hope you don’t mind. It would be nice to meet you. I’d like to learn the names of some of your flowers and shrubs. Maybe you are on vacation.

That is all -- Kayla”



Adam read and reread the note. It was a nice message and nice handwriting. He’d like to meet her too. It would be good to talk to someone occasionally -- especially on those nights when he was bored. “But that wouldn’t be easy,” he said to himself. “Maybe a bad idea -- still. . .”

He remembered how Amanda had befriended him. She used to sit out on her porch in the evenings or on cloudy days. She had never tried to harm him and even tried to protect him. Unlike her, however, he had no compunction against turning someone. He mulled over the possibilities.

Ultimately, he did nothing. Before the sun even started to rise, he retired to the hidden space he had constructed for himself. Next evening he arose with that awful hunger -- the thirst that came over him when it was time to feed. He hated it, but he had to take care of it. He did not kill his victims, but he loathed the deed. It made him feel monstrous afterward as if he’d just had anonymous sex, void of feelings. He made a point to drive miles away when it was time.

He wheeled his motorcycle from the kitchen and out the back door. He wanted to go check the mail slot and the tapes from yesterday, but his thirst took precedence.



* * * * * *



Kayla had walked around town a little while that afternoon. She had a little money. Her dad usually left her some on his infrequent stays at home. Guilt probably, but she didn’t like to think about him. She walked by a plant nursery and browsed around. She bought a couple of seed packets of drought tolerant flowers. She was inspired by the little house and its gardens. Perhaps if she didn’t get some sort of sign from the person living there . . . well, she would just keep trying. Maybe she could lure someone out. But how? All she could hope was that it was not some mean old man, some sort of antisocial hermit. But she would be careful.

She got up early the next day, had a bowl of cereal and a glass of orange juice, then headed for her newfound oasis. Although she was a loner herself, she wanted to make contact. Something compelled her. She ignored her own negative thoughts and misgivings. Maybe someone beautiful lived there. Someone exotic and interesting. “Follow your heart, Kayla,” she said to herself.

When she got there, she was disappointed. There was no sign that her little note had been received. She had the seed packets in the pocket of her sun dress and decided to drop them in the mail slot too. She sat down in a grassy area of the yard where the bright colors of nasturtium and petunias overflowed the beds. She lay back and admired a huge hibiscus. She closed her eyes and smiled.



* * * * *



Adam watched the new tape the morning after his return. Between the annoying lapses in the recording, when there was no movement, he admired the girl. She was beautiful. Different than Amanda. This girls allure was not the sophisticated catlike beauty that was Amanda. No, it was innocent, rosy, sweet. Her long hair reminded him of a shampoo commercial on TV -- bouncy, luxurious and almost unreal.

When he found the seed packets, he was oddly touched. As a human, he had pushed away any mushy feelings. But now he had no reason to be embarrassed by sensitivity. He wanted to know her, to talk to her, to learn more about her. But, how? How to do it? She came in the daytime and must have gone home at night when he was stirring. Then he had an idea. He snapped a photograph of himself and uploaded it to his computer, printed it out, wrote something on the back and placed it in an envelope. Later he cut some flowers and put them in a large glass vase that he had found in the basement of the house.  Then placed the vase on the little porch table. He put the envelope beside it. But the girl did not appear on tape for the next two days. He freshened the bouquet and hoped.



* * * * *



Kayla stayed up reading and then watched TV until almost two in the morning. Her dad came home with “friends” about the time she was snuggling up under her blanket. Whoever they were, they weren’t as out of control as the usual “guests” he brought home. She lay listening to a lot of loud talk, raunchy language and at least two women laughing. One sounded like a hyena. After a long time, the talking ceased and she fell asleep.

Near eight o’clock she woke with a start. She listened for about five minutes and heard nothing. She quietly used the bathroom, then crept into the kitchen to find something to eat. In the living room a couple were lying on the floor tangled up in a blanket, another person was asleep on the couch. She didn’t want to know how many might be behind the door of her father’s bedroom. There were empty bottles of hard alcohol, beer cans, ashtrays and saucers brimming with cigarette butts everywhere. She was mad and disgusted and tired. She didn’t want to be around when these people got up. Yuk! She slipped out of the house and headed for the oasis she’d found in someone’s garden.

The weather had been hot lately. It was already warm. She figured she’d sit in her usual place near the old tree and the roses. Instead she meandered around the yard admiring things. She noticed a coil of garden hose that was dripping and she tightened the faucet. Maybe someone had been home recently. Maybe someone was home now! But there was nothing at the door for her. Not even an acknowledgment of her little gift. She knocked. Nothing. How would she ever lure this person out?

She tried not to be mad and hummed to herself. Suddenly she realized how sad her life was. Her eyes welled up and a tear rolled down her cheek. “No,” she thought. Everything is fine. She twirled around once, twice, three times. Then she laughed and ran across the yard.

She climbed the steps to the porch and sat in the rocker. She was so surprised when she saw the bouquet of flowers sitting on a little white table by the rocking chair. Propped up against the cut-glass vase was an envelope with “Kayla” written on it! Her heart beat wildly as she tore it open. There was a picture of a boy. On the back of the photo was written:



“Dear Kayla --

Thanks for the letter and the seeds. Really nice of you. Yes, you are welcome to sit in the yard anytime you want. My name is Adam. I’m sorry I can’t meet you. I am gone all day, every day, and only here at night. Maybe someday I’ll have more time.

A--”



She looked at the photo again. He was cute, she thought, and his eyes looked really kind, but sort of sad too, like he’d “been around.” He seemed too young to live here on his own. What would keep him away in the daytime? Did he have parents? “Oh well,“ she thought. She smiled at the photo. She wasn’t tired, angry or sad anymore. She felt really good.

“Well,” she said aloud, “I’m not going to take no for an answer!” She got up and walked to town for something to do -- and to avoid going home just yet. She decided she’d just have to come and visit him in the evening, even if she had to camp out by the door. She would go home later and get some things for her wait.

* * * * *



Adam slipped out a little after twilight to inspect his plot of heaven. He would weed, water, or whatever. He could smell the lingering sunlight drifting off the plants and shrubs. He loved the smell -- just after photosynthesis ceased for the night. As he rounded the corner of his house, he froze. He could smell the delicate scent of human female. Then he saw her sitting in the rocker on the back porch. She didn’t see him. His night vision was as good as any animal and he recognized Kayla.

He didn’t want to startle her so he padded through the grass and across the yard, ignoring her presence and pretending to work on the flowers. A sweet voice pierced the silence, “Adam?”

“Kayla,” he replied without turning toward her.

She was annoyed and confused that he did not look toward her. “I . . . I’m . . . when did you get here?”

He turned around now and smiled at her. “Just now,” he said.

She walked toward him. She was beautiful. She would have taken his breath away if he actually had breath to take -- other than the air he used for speaking. “But, I didn’t hear you drive up.”

“No,” he grinned. “I walked. I had car trouble,” he lied. “I left it in town.”

“Oh!” she offered her hand. “I’m Kayla.”

“Yes, I know. I’m glad you are here, but surprised, too. Someone will be upset when they realize you’re not home where you should be. Won’t they?”

“No.” He raised his eyebrows.  She hesitated at his questioning look. “It’s a long story.”

He gestured toward the porch. “Since you’re here, let’s go sit down. You want something to drink?”

“Coffee or black tea would be nice.”

“This late? You won’t be able to sleep.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” she beamed.

“Okay. In that case, come on in and I’ll make you a cup. But it still seems kind of weird for someone our age.”



* * * * *



Being in each others company had a soothing effect on both of them. Adam’s nocturnal world played into Kayla’s need to be somewhere and to be with someone that helped her forget her meaningless life and her shadow of a father. His world answered her desires and her soft sweet fantasies. Part of Adam wanted to live in that fantasy world too.

She was the perfect companion. Though, in truth, when he was human he would probably have blown off such a creature. She was all light and air and innocence. He was darkness, earthbound, undead. He had experienced death only to rise up later as a new creature. He wanted Kayla to realize not just her buoyancy but her true potential.



* * * * *

For a year they saw each other almost every evening. With Kayla as his friend, Adam was better able to deal with the absence of sunlight.

Unbelievably it took that long for Kayla’s father to realize she was gone most nights! He wanted to know what was going on. So he traced her path in the afternoon. Must be a boy, he figured, and with that suspicion he finally saw Kayla for what she was -- a beautiful girl on the cusp of maturity. Ripe for the picking. He didn’t like the idea, didn’t like it at all. He’d be damned if he’d allow his only daughter to become an easy piece of ass for some punk kid.

He stood under the window for a few minutes and then heard his daughter’s voice and the voice of someone else. Neither spoke loudly but their conversation was punctuated by laughter and giggles. He reckoned he was listening to pillow-talk. Something about the sounds of happiness and young love cut the old man. It hurt and the hurt turned to anger.

It was a hot and humid evening. Adam could feel it though it had no effect on his body. Kayla however was damp from the heat. The hair around her face curled from the humidity and stuck to her skin as if she were breaking a fever. He was transfixed by the tiny streams of sweat on her forehead that ran down to where her neck and shoulder met. Like dew on a flower. Even in this suffocating heat she still smelled fresh as new leaves, mint and lilac.



Adam was aware someone was outside but he wasn’t particularly concerned . After all it was late in the evening when he was at the height of his physical powers as the sun made its journey to the other side of the world. Still, the knowledge that someone was sneaking around outside irritated him. Just as he was about to slip out the back door and scare the person away -- there was a knock.

Adam opened the front door and saw a disheveled man.

“Where’s my daughter, Boy?”

“Who is your daughter?” he asked politely.

“Kayla Spencer is my daughter,” he yelled, “and I know she is in there.”

Kayla appeared at the door. “Daddy, this is my friend, Adam. We are just visiting.”

His eyes narrowed. “yes, I bet you’re visiting. You come on out of there, girl. You got no business being with some horny little jackrabbit! You come home with me.”

Kayla stood firm. “Adam is a gentleman, Daddy! I’ll be home soon, but I’m not coming right now.”

“Don’t you sass me, girl. You get your scrawny ass out here. Now!”

“No.” she said.

The man pulled his head back as if he’d been slapped. Then a mean look spread across his face and he yanked the screen door open so hard the hinges busted. He pushed Adam aside and grabbed his daughter by the arm. Kayla pulled away. “Let go of me, Daddy! You’re drunk!”

Her father slapped her hard enough to make her cry out in pain. “C’mon you little witch. Get your whoring ass outside.”

Adam felt his anger boil up. He stepped up to Kayla’s dad and said; “Just a minute. She hasn’t done anything to be ashamed of. What kind of father are you anyway? What kind of MAN would hit a woman?”

Mr. Spencer took a swing. His fist plowed into Adam’s left jaw. It didn’t hurt Adam. It enraged him.

As Mr. Spencer turned, he grabbed Kayla by the hair and pulled her after him. Adam’s flashback of Amanda being pulled out of a car to her death caused him to lose control. He took hold of the man and threw him across the room. Mr. Finch’s body left a hole in the wall. He fell like a bale of hay to the floor.

To Kayla’s horror, Adam tore into her father’s neck with his teeth. She had long guessed that Adam was not what he seemed but she had ignored it because she’d fallen head over heels for him. Her dad struggled for only a moment before his body went limp.

Adam knew immediately that he’d made a mistake. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and turned to see Kayla trembling. “Adam,” she wailed with an unusual lucidity that was not the Kayla he knew. “What . . .what are you, Adam?”

“I’m the boy who loves you,” he answered. “I’m sorry Kayla, I was only trying to protect you. I’m so sorry. Your dad will be okay,” he continued. But he was lying. Mr. Spencer was as dead as a doornail.

She looked confused but shed no tears. Kayla had been momentarily yanked from her fantasy world. But she retreated into her safe place and, like an innocent child said; “What should we do?”

“Come here,” he said. She stepped forward. As he embraced her, he whispered in her ear. “Do you want to stay with me? I don’t think it is safe for you to be with your father.”

He felt her nod yes against his shoulder. Unlike Amanda, Adam had no qualms about bringing his human over and into the death and rebirth of his kind. And so he did the deed. She gasped and cried out as his canines penetrated the soft flesh at the base of her throat. Her neck was already damp from perspiration. The mingling tastes made Adam see stars for a moment. He drank her in until she weakened and then gently laid her on the sofa. He let his tongue follow a droplet of sweat as it rolled from her neck to the cleft of her left breast. He was crazed with a passion he’d never felt. His entire body throbbed with it -- and the intense pleasure of feeling something like a heartbeat again made him quiver and shudder.

When the electric thrumming inside him slowed he was able to compose himself. He looked at the two bodies lying in his living room. He was astonished at how he’d gone from such rage to a state of ecstasy in a matter of minutes. For the first time ever in his nighttime existence he stretched out on the floor to rest.

The angel on his sofa would soon plunge into the darkness of his world. He wondered how she would adjust and react. He should feel guilt, but he did not. He hoped he and she could experience that unbelievable pleasure and passion over and over again. Soon he stood up and lifted the body of Mr. Spencer. He needed to get rid of it.



* * * * *



When Kayla awoke Adam sensed something was not right. He was afraid she might not survive the transformation. She did, but her eyes had the strange brightness of the insane. She saw him watching her and giggled. She ran outside into the night and Adam followed her. “Everything feels different,” she said. And Adam watched a little frightened and a little amazed as the breeze blew through her hair and made her light summer dress swirl around her.

This girl was an extraordinary creature -- a gift he’d given to himself. Yes, they had both tried to lure one another but in the end, it was he who captured her. She would not meet his eyes as she danced and stargazed. He wanted to deny it, but he could see that the fruit was tainted. He should have waited. He had taken her during a moment of shock and trauma -- before he could help her adjust to adjust to the explosion of violence. The horror.





* * * * *



Kayla appeared to be a pretty teenage girl, but she wasn’t. Her intellect had reverted to preteen naivety and silliness. Each night they went out together he was heartsick as she flitted and fluttered, ran and danced, giggled at absolutely nothing. The instincts that would keep her alive did not seem to develop and he worried for her.

His worries were indeed well founded. Within a month of her change she disappeared. Although he arose just as the blood red twilight sank into a black moonless night, she was already gone. He tried to track her, but it was no use. A vampire’s heightened senses; hearing, smell, night vision were all finely tuned to hunting human and animal prey. They were all but useless in tracking Kayla.

A few evenings later, far out on the dry landscape, he found her dress. Her former scent clung weakly to it and he inhaled it. He was perplexed. Had she run away naked into the night? Where would a half crazy newborn vamp go? As he stood there clutching the flimsy dress, a deep anguish filled Adam. The whole affair and its unexpected end filled him with sorrow. He wished he could weep, but no tears came. Perhaps he was damned and blocked from anything but fleeting happiness.

At the end of his unused bed was a long deep chest. He opened it and placed her dress in the bottom where he had earlier put some of Amanda’s things. Even though he knew it was not safe to rest in an unprotected place, he dropped into the chest and pulled the lid closed. With Amanda’s things beneath him and Kayla’s dress by his side he buried his face in the lingering scents of love.

Adam re-lived bitter sweet memories. Even his mortal family, his sister Rebekah found their place in the soft nest. Then, surprisingly, he felt a tear roll down his cheek. Perhaps tears would bring some relief to the ache inside him. As the sun rose and bathed the world in morning light, he lay enfolded by velvety darkness. He wondered if he dared even hope for a future. Then he drifted into the familiar oblivion of dreamless sleep.



See the video below!  The song was part of the inspiration for this story.                 Please leave a comment. Thanks.

Silversun Pickups Catch and Release Lyrics:

Part of me
Want to live in a fantasy
Quietly
Show you everything
you'll ever need
I hope you'll take it
I know you're faking
just a little bit
Come on and taste it
Just get excited cuz
you're giving in

Come and see
How the wind in your
hair will feel
differently
Catch and release
The lure above

Who...

Here we are
In the bathwater overflow
Later on
don't say I didn't tell you so
Maybe I didn't but
you're taking it
Knew you were faking
just a little bit


Now that you'll taste it
No need to fight it cuz
you're giving in

Follow me
Down the streams of
sweat on your body
can't believe
The lure was enough

Do you see?
How the wind in your
hair now feels
differently
Catch and release
The lure above
Who knows?
How this feeling grows?
Was it truly what -
Truly worth the starting
Who knows?
Why the engine's blown
Was it truly what -
Truly worth the parting

Follow me
Down the streams of
sweat on your body
can't believe
The lure was enough
Do you see?
How in the wind in
your hair now feels
differently
Catch and release the lure above

Guess the lure was enough  (repeated three times)

TEARS FOR LUCAS

     Melissa often read at night before she pulled her heavy comforter up to sleep. When she had to read a sentence or a paragraph several times, she knew she had to switch her lamp off and snuggle up. It was usually late by then. She loved the evenings and was disappointed when she grew sleepy. She wished the evening would last -- just go on and on.

When she woke up Saturday morning she was happy to see that the sun was shining through her window. Soon her family would be moving to New Mexico where there would be plenty of sun -- but she’d grown up in Washington state and these clear days were the rarest and best.

She decided she would take her book and walk through the fields below the house then on down to the river. This was not her usual thing but after she ate breakfast, she told her mom where she was going, and left. Her granddad owned several acres all around. He had let them lay fallow for several years, so they were just grassy meadows really. The fences that skirted some of the land were covered with huge mounds of blackberry bushes which, from a distance, made them look like English hedges.


She reached the edge of the fields and the little hill that ran down to the river. She situated herself on the grass there and opened her paperback. The sun felt so good on her arms and legs and the sound of the river was soothing. She looked up from time to time, watching for deer and foxes. The few times she’d come down here, she always spotted deer. She was glad she came today since this would be the last summer she’d experience here.


After an hour or two she closed her book and stared at the few clouds drifting by. They were fleecy and bright against the blue sky. When she looked along the tree line on the far side of the river, something caught her eye. It looked like the roof of a house. A tree must have fallen during the winter, because she’d never noticed it before. She couldn’t see all of the roof, but enough to know what it was. She lay her book in the grass and walked to the river. It was shallow this time of year but crossed it carefully and slowly. The algae on the rocks was very slippery.  Luckily she didn’t fall.


She wanted to see the house. Was it abandoned or new? Generally she wasn’t interested in such things but today her curiosity was working overtime and she felt as thought the house was calling her. “How silly,” she said aloud. “why do you care, Melissa?” But when she broke out of the trees and into a small clearing she was glad she cared. “How interesting,” she whispered.


The house was very old but not ancient. There was a small stone retaining wall at the edge of the tiny yard and stone steps, cracked and covered in moss and dandelions. The house itself was overgrown with vines and weeds. The white paint was chipping away and what was still clinging to the exterior was dingy. The yard was mostly tall grass. There was a rusty old wagon and some other pieces of junk strewn around. Melissa wondered who had lived there and what the story was. Abandoned and broken. It might have been frightening in the dead of winter, but in the strong sunlight did not scare her.


She walked up the stone stairs and picked her way through the yard. Then she walked up onto the wrap-around porch, looked in the open doorway and stuck her head inside -- just far enough to peer into the shadows. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end when she heard a voice; “Hello.” She gasped and jumped back.


“It’s alright,” it said. “It’s just me.” It was a boy’s voice.


“Who is me?” she asked with a slight annoyance in her voice.


“Lucas”


“Okay, but I don’t know any Lukes.”


Now the boy stood in the doorway. “Well, now you do,” he said, smiling. He had dark curly hair, fair skin and eyes so black you couldn’t see the pupils.


“What are you doing here?” she asked.


He looked at her curiously. “Um . . . I live here.”


She almost laughed out loud. “You can’t live here! This place isn’t habitable.”


He looked both hurt and irritated. “It’s inhabited by me.”


“Where are your parents?”


“I don’t know,” he said. “Well, I don’t remember anyhow. They left a long time ago and never came back.”


Melissa stared at the boy and he stared back. Neither said anything. She didn’t believe him. He wasn’t telling the truth. The idea of him living here was ridiculous. His clothes were clean and his hair was cut. Melissa wouldn’t stay clean even a few minutes in that filthy place. “Where do you sleep?” she asked.


“I usually wake up in the big chair upstairs.”


This boy was strange, she thought. Normal looking, clean, polite, obviously not stupid, but he was just not right. With obvious skepticism in her voice, she said; “The windows upstairs are partially broken. It’s got to be damp up there. Probably black mold and everything.” He was silent. “You can’t sleep up there!”


“It’s just where I always wake up,” he said.


This conversation was more than frustrating to Melissa. “I never heard of anything so silly!” she snapped. She was almost positive he was lying. Exasperated, she turned away from the house.


“Are you leaving?” Lucas asked clearly disappointed.


“Yeah, I’ve got to go,” she said and walked back through the trees from where she’d come. When she was halfway through the trees his voice was right behind her. “I hope you come back.”


“She spun around. “Geez! Don’t follow . . . hey where are you?” He was not there. There were nothing but trees. Maybe he was hiding. “Brat,” she muttered to herself as she huffed off.


By the time she reached the little hill where she’d left her book, she had cooled down a bit. She climbed up the rest of the way and into the meadow. Against her will, she turned and looked back. Her heart melted just a little. He was so cute and so innocent.


* * * * *


That night when she tucked in, she didn’t reach for a book -- just clicked off the bedside lamp and stared blankly at the ceiling. She couldn’t stop thinking of Lucas. She had been replaying the strange conversation in her mind all afternoon. She wished now, that she had asked him how old he was. How long had he lived there, where did he go to school, what was his last name? Instead she had lost her temper and learned nothing.


She wanted to go back and talk to him but she had plans with her mother the next day. They were going shopping. They did it once a year -- a trip to Seattle -- just the two of them. This would be the last time since they would be moving soon.


Even in the midst of shops and stores, her mind kept drifting off toward the river at home. Maybe he was really confused and lonely. Over lunch, against her better judgment, she told her mom.


“Oh, I don’t like the sound of this, Melissa. It’s suspicious. I think you’d better stay away from there. There are a lot of mean people in this world.”


“I know Mom. I thought that too, but he is just a boy -- not some big scary man.”


Mom looked serious. “You ever heard of a wolf in sheep’s clothing? There are plenty of bad boys out there, too.”


Luckily both of Melissa’s parents worked during the day. There was no one to eye every move she made. She decided to return to the old house and find out more about Lucas. She pulled out a box from under the bed. Her treasure box was full of things that meant something to her but couldn’t be carried around all the time. She reached in and retrieved her old jackknife that her grandfather had given her. She pocketed it, just to be on the safe side and left the house.


* * * *


“You have such a beautiful aura,” he said. “I knew you were a good person as soon as I saw you.”


They were sitting on the steps of the back porch. “I wish I could say the same,” Melissa answered, “but you really frightened me when you appeared the other day.”


He chuckled. She was happy to realize, despite her hesitancy, that Lucas was really as sweet as he was handsome. “How old are you?” she asked.


“Sixteen,” he answered.


“Me too!”


“Groovy.”


She smiled at his use of that old word. He was funny too. “and how long have you lived here?”


“Since I was a little kid.”


Melissa looked at him thoughtfully. “Strange that we’ve never met. We’ve lived in our house just across the river since I was five years old.” She looked at his pale bare feet. “How come you wear your pants like that?”


He looked down at his legs. “Like what?”


“With the hems folded up. You gonna go wading or something,” she laughed.


“Isn’t that the style?”


Had she realized his answers were not in jest she probably wouldn’t have thrown her head back and laughed. “Where’ve you been for the last forty years? That’s how kids from the 1950s wore their pants. At least in the pictures I’ve seen.”


“That’s the trouble,” he said seriously. “I don’t know where I’ve been.” He looked puzzled. “What do you mean ‘the last forty years’? What year is it?”


“Man, you’re so out there! It’s only 2012!”


His beautiful eyes met hers. He looked very disturbed. He got up and walked toward a swing under a huge weeping willow. She bent to take off her shoes. It was such nice weather. When she looked up again, he was gone. She called his name. No answer. She walked out to the swing and called again. Then she went around to the other side of the house. She still got no response. Although she was very annoyed, she stuck around a while and waited. After almost half an hour she stood up and walked into the house and up the stairs. She wanted to see this place he said he always ‘woke up’ in -- the big chair upstairs.


Melissa was shocked by the large room upstairs. There was broken glass and debris everywhere! The dust on the few pieces of furniture must have been half an inch thick! There was only one easy chair and it was so eroded and laden with mildew, she couldn’t imagine him sitting there. She was so bothered by the room that she ran down the steps, out of the house and on through the woods toward home.


I’m not going back there she said to herself. Just too weird. But she dreamt of him that night. They were sitting on the porch holding hands -- as if it were the most normal thing in the world. Then he reached over and kissed her cheek. Before she could kiss him back, he was suddenly and inexplicably pulled back into the house and out of sight. She woke up feeling both warm from the kiss and cold from fear.


Melissa did not believe in dream interpretation, she thought dreams were simply jumbled up and dramatic recreations of events and thoughts and things that you saw on TV during your day. Nevertheless she wondered. This dream was so vivid. Just the same, she refused to give in to her emotions. She kept busy doing things around the house and in her room; scrap booking, studying, anything to keep her from going to visit her spooky friend or obsessing about him. She nearly succeeded, too, until she went to bed. Was he sleeping too? Was he sitting alone and abandoned in that awful chair? How could parents just leave a child -- especially one so adorable? And if it was all some kind of sick joke he was playing on her, why?


She fell asleep thinking of him and she dreamed of him again. The dream was almost identical to the prior one. Once again she woke up warmed by his tenderness, but not afraid this time. Instead she felt heartache and a longing to stay with Lucas -- to protect him from . . . from what?


* * * *


She was very disappointed the next morning. She’d come to the house, but he was not there. Except for a few birds in the trees, the place was so still and devoid of atmosphere -- it was just a house hidden in the wood. Had she imagined all that had been spoken between her and the boy? Was she crazy? Hallucinating? Just to make sure she decided to climb the sagging stairs inside and look through the main room.


She crept up the stairs and entered the room. She stood and studied it. She noticed a closet. She walked over to it and opened the door. There was a pile of old cans and rags that were sitting on a wooden box. She pulled out the box, groaning at the dirt and grime. She drug it out and over to one of the broken windows where there was more light. When she opened it she only saw old magazines and newspapers, but she slid her hand down the side and, pulling up the top layer, felt a square object. She pulled it out. It was an old cigar box. This was kind of exciting. It made her feel like an archeologist or something. Opening the cigar box she was pleasantly surprised to see lots of old snapshots -- they were the old kind; square with scalloped edges and dates printed in the center of the bottom border.


Pictures of the house from the forties and fifties. It looked well kempt and charming. There were shots of people too, old fashioned clothing and hairstyles. Then she came across one from nineteen-fifty-eight and her eyes widened. She brought the photo to the light and gasped. It was Lucas. But it couldn’t be. Perhaps it was his dad. But he was identical to the boy she’d met so recently. She turned it over and read the writing on the back. “Lucas -- October 1958.” Still, maybe his father’s name was Lucas too.


She closed the cigar box and put it back where she’d found it under the stack of papers. She bent down and pushed the big box back to the closet and was about to stand again when the floorboards gave out! The last thing she remembered was tumbling through the ceiling and landing on the main floor.


Suddenly she awoke to the sound of Lucas pleading with her to wake up. She opened her eyes. He was so beautiful and he looked so worried. Her butt hurt, but she sat up and felt no other pains. “I’m alright, Lucas. It’s okay.”


He let out a sigh of relief. “I couldn’t wake you up,” he said. “I thought you were dead at first.”


Melissa stood up and gave him a look when he didn’t reach out to help her stand. “Where were you?” she asked.


“I don’t remember,” he answered, “but I heard the thud and found you lying on the floor.”


“Oh no,” she said, “it’s almost dark. Mom will be worried sick.” She looked at him and saw his expression was still worried and . . . sad. She suddenly wanted to hug him -- to reassure him, she was fine. But when she put her arms around him she felt nothing but air. She gasped and tried to put her hands on his shoulders. Her hand went right through him as if it was air. But he looked perfectly solid. What in the world?


“Lucas!” she whimpered.


He stared at her in disbelief, then his face changed as if something horrible had dawned on him. “No!” he cried out.


Melissa ran from the house when Lucas disappeared. She couldn’t understand what had happened, but she had to get home. As she hurried across the field it came to her. He was a ghost. A ghost of a long dead boy. She was overcome with sorrow and a terrible disappointment. Deep down she had entertained the idea of them becoming a couple. She had not admitted it to herself, but it was the only explanation for her heartbreak as she struggled home.

FIFTEEN YEARS LATER

Melissa was living in New Mexico when she married and had her first child. She hadn’t been back to Washington since the family had moved away. Now she was driving back to visit some school friends and she was looking forward to it.


She felt very nostalgic as she entered town and decided to drive by her old house and neighborhood. On a whim she parked her car near her old house and got out. She wanted to visit a place she had thought of many times over the years. She began making her way through the meadow that was once her grandfather’s land.


The abandoned house looked almost the same -- a bit shabbier and worn down. It was late fall and most of the vines, blackberry bushes and weeds looked gray and brittle. A few dead leaves dangled from the stems or were caught up in the brambles. She approached the front door, then stopped and walked around to the other side of the house instead. At the base of the porch she called out. “Hello?” There was no answer and, although she had known deep down that his ghost had surely moved on to some other plane, she was deeply disappointed.


She stepped up on the sagging porch and went directly to the open door, peering in to the darkness. She called again “Lucas?” Then she saw something and her heart leapt! A light mist gathered and coalesced and transformed into a human figure. He walked toward her, more handsome than she remembered. His dark eyes were alert and curious.


“Hello,” he said. “Do I know you?” She didn’t answer -- just looked at him and marveled at how real he seemed. He squinted his eyes. “You look familiar.”


“It’s me, Lucas. It’s Melissa. I’ve come back to see you.”


“Melissa? But Melissa is my age. She went away for a little while. He looked confused and skeptical.


“It has been a few years, Lucas. I’ve grown since I last saw you.”


“Well,” he said, “I don’t see how that could be, but you do carry that aura of light about you. She had that.”


Melissa’s chest ached with a kind of love and longing for the past, but she understood that time did not pass for him. “Oh, darling boy,” she said. “How I wish I could embrace you.”


“That’s quite alright,” he answered. “I’m not accustomed to affection.


She was happy that he remembered her as a girl even if he did not recognize her now. She longed for the time they sat together on the porch and talked. When she’d asked him questions and why he wore his trousers the way he did. She had laughed at his answers. She smiled.


He didn’t believe she was the girl he had met. She knew deep down that it was useless -- that time was gone -- lost forever. “I guess I’d better be going,” she said, smiling at him. She turned to leave and he called out.


“Thank you for coming. If you see Melissa . . .” he hesitated for a moment, “give her my love, and tell her to hurry back.”


She couldn’t put her finger on her exact feelings, but she was glad she had come regardless of how it hurt. It dawned on her that, although she hadn’t realized it at the time, he had been her first love. She turned and walked back through the forest, across the river, up the hill and over the fields. When she reached her car, she was overcome by emotion and felt her legs would give out. She got in the driver’s seat and started the engine. As Melissa drove away, tears streamed down her face . . . for Lucas and for herself.

THE END

Perfect

.

A vampire finds love on the beach

copyright j.e.carlson 2011

-

The heat was unusual -- the night balmy. A light breeze carried the smell of the ocean to the house. Salt air called me to the shore. I stripped to my underwear and walked toward the beach.
As I stepped along the path through the sea dunes, the dry reeds and sedge rustled. I could hear the tide’s repetitive caressing of the sand.

The lapping of the waves and the hissing of sea foam against rock outcroppings was soothing. How many millennia had the water continuously rolled over the shore? Even from the century I was born, until today, was a mere second in deep geological time. The ocean knew Time intimately and still carried traces of its ancient air.

Although I had not taken over the beach house until the sixties, I never grew tired of the sounds and smells of the ocean. Many nights I walked the beach for no other reason than the comfort it gave me. The constancy of it bathed my mind and eased the dull pain of my existence.

I liked the winter here best. Ocean storms blew in from Alaska and down the Canadian coast line. The violent tides brought in all sorts of surprises and interesting debris. Occasionally I picked up and carried home what I found -- usually something I did not need. But, alas, it was mid-summer now and not much happened along the warm expanse. The sun baked the sand during the day and the moon bled silver light at night.

There were a few other beach cabins along the shore but they were sparsely spread in this comparatively remote area. It was late now and any vacationers that were visiting were most likely asleep -- happily exhausted by too much roughhousing in the waves and overexposure to the relentless sun.

There was a young woman who I’d met in the little town up the coast. It wasn’t planned. I simply met her one evening in a book store. She had commented on one of the titles I put on the counter when we were standing in line. I only smiled in return but when she walked out, she made a point to say goodnight. Obviously she wanted a conversation but couldn’t think of a reason. Like most human women, and the occasional man, she was fascinated by me. Something had happened to me when I was "turned" so many years ago. I’d never been sure what it was that attracted my prey, but I was glad of it. Unfortunately for some, I simultaneously inspired fear.

She was pretty and she smelled wonderful. I was surprised to see her a few nights later. She was in the tide ahead of me. How portentous that she would be here of all places! She was oddly unafraid as she waved to me from the water. I decided to make it easy on her by waiting for her to come out of the water. I would speak to her. I’d ask her where she was from or some other trifling question to give her the reason she needed to make conversation.

Her name was Jennifer. She lived close to Seattle. She was staying at her parents cabin. She was supposed to have made the trip with her son but he couldn’t make it.

"You’re not afraid out here alone at this hour?" I asked.

"No, I’m not," she answered. "Funny isn’t it? But I love the solitude and moonlit nights like this."

"Ahh. We have something in common then."

"What cabin are you staying in?

I pointed toward my house. "I own a place on the beach. It’s not a cabin. You can just see part of the roof from here."

"That’s great!" she said, enthusiastically. "You’re lucky." Then she changed the subject. "I’d better go in and dry off. It was really nice talking to you." She started walking then turned. "Oh, and what’s your name?"

"Ari."

"Cool. Okay, Ari. I hope I’ll see you tomorrow. I’ll be here for another week." She waved and walked toward the dunes. She stopped and turned toward me again. "Hey, Ari! You’ve got a killer voice, by the way."

"Thanks," I said and walked on chuckling. What irony in that sentence. I’d never heard that phrase before and wondered what it meant precisely -- obviously it was a compliment though. "A killer voice, indeed."

I veered up from the waves and skirted the sun-bleached logs and driftwood.

I sat down on a large one. I gazed up at the stars and thought of Jennifer. I liked the way she looked, the way she moved, the way she smelled and I was touched by the enthusiasm that showed through in her voice and expressions -- something I had not experienced for decades.

The urge to taste her, to sink my teeth into her neck, was strong, but sometime during our little exchange I made an unconscious decision to leave her untouched. I might even encourage her friendship. But a mere week! I would find a way to make her stay longer -- to want to stay. Just how, I didn’t know -- but it would come to me.

I decided to walk back earlier than I normally would have. I did not need to feed often and I was not thirsty at the moment, but better satiate myself now so that the hunger would not betray me when I sought out the girl. I dressed in black. I got into my car and started the long drive to the nearest tourist town down the coast. I didn’t need to wear black but I preferred my prey not to notice me until I had my teeth in them.

So strange my existence. It really made no sense. Even now I marveled at the inexplicable nature of it. Why, if God was alive, did he allow me and my kind to walk the earth? I doubted the devil had anything to do with it. I’d never seen him and did not believe he was around.

There were some of us, I knew, that lived off human life. Some drank until their victims were dead. I saw no reason for that. I could fill my tank or top it off easily without taking a life. My thoughts about this as I drove mingled with thoughts of Jennifer. I felt a hardening in my groin. Extraordinary. That had not happened in years! But it was as uncomfortable as it was unusual. So I turned on the radio and suppressed the images in my mind. I laughed aloud. Was I the proverbial dirty old man? I was ancient even though I still appeared to be a man of thirty. I thought of Elena. Except for a short dalliance with Lucas, Elena was the only vampire I had engaged sexually. To a predator like me, physical intercourse took second pace to another hunger altogether. I wondered where Elena might be and if she had found a gentler way to survive. So much time had passed.

The last thing I remembered thinking as I parked and got out of the car was about Jennifer -- "maybe this time it will be different."


* * * * *

As I drove back to the beach house. My mood was sullen, morose. I always felt like this after I was sated, but I was especially weighted down this evening. Even if I had a relationship with Jennifer, even a friendship, it wouldn’t last. Nothing endures except the earth and the ocean, the moon and me. And how foolish of me to entertain the thought. Wishes and hopes were pointless.

It was near sunrise when I pulled in behind the house. I’d go and lie down in my secret place until the evening and the rising of the moon called me back. Resignation to, and acceptance of our existence was essential to any vampire. It might be different for other types of night creatures but not for us.

**************

Jennifer slept late. One of the best things about being here at the ocean was the slow track of time. She could get up when she wanted, eat when she felt hungry, and stay up late as she wanted. It would be nice to extend her stay, but she hadn’t decided yet. Classes didn’t start for a few weeks, so it was possible. But there was Jas. He’d be expecting her. She hated to disappoint him.

She felt a little guilty but now that she’d met Ari, she really wanted to stay. She’d never met a man like him. He was tall, handsome and his voice was deep velvet -- and he was a gentleman. She'd had bad luck with men. She'd been a serial dater for a long while now. Most dates were disasters. There was Mr. Sausage Fingers, Mr. Teeth-from-hell, Mr. Nasal Voice. On and on, she'd met everyone but Mr. Right. She figured he must be dead. No one had been like this Ari guy. She hoped to see him today.

Her skin was a bit red from the sun, so she’d have to hang out on the porch under the umbrella table. She felt all fluttery and light at the thought of him casually dropping by. Silly though. She had to calm down and think about something else. But she found herself putting on the best looking bikini she had and then a flimsy white wrap over the top. She also found herself putting on makeup which she never did when she was here.

He didn’t come that day and the ferocity of her disappointment astounded her. She chided herself. After all she wasn’t anything special. He must have been in his early thirties. Why should someone so suave and experienced be interested in her? By the late afternoon she was so bored of waiting that she was downright irritable. She went for a walk. Maybe she’d see his place. Maybe he’d notice her walking by. She passed the trail that led through the dunes to his house.

She tried to be nonchalant. She didn’t want him to think she was stalking him. She couldn’t help but glance over just the same. The view was hidden by the sand and reeds and tall grasses but she could see the shingled rooftop. After about ten minutes she walked back and passed his place again. This time she stopped and gazed down the path. An old fence was half buried along the edges of the trail. Curiosity won out over embarrassment and she started toward the house.

It was beautiful and large and did not look like any kind of beach house she’d seen. It was old and well built. She crept further toward the wraparound porch. The sun was at a low angle now and the shadows were growing longer, but it did not look as if anyone was home. She decided to gingerly walk to the front of the house and see if a car was parked there.

* * * * * * * * *

I could smell her as I emerged from the blackness of the undead. I descended from my hiding place into full awareness. I was naked so I wrapped an ugly red towel around my waist and ventured toward the glass doors which overlooked the verandah. I could sense that she had been very near but had wandered around to the other side of the house. I slid out of the door and sat quietly on the porch swing. As she came into view I stayed perfectly still and watched. She looked up to the second floor and softly sighed before turning to go.

I cleared my throat. She looked around confusedly until her eyes found me.

"Oh!" she said. "I was just taking a walk along the beach and . . ."

Her pretty face turned very red. Her blush enhanced her beauty and aroused my hunger for her. I could hear her heartbeat. Which animal lust would win? The desire to taste her blood or the urge to make love to her?

I smiled. "I’m delighted you felt comfortable enough with me to stop by. Come up and sit. I’ll get you something to drink."

* * * * * * * *

Jennifer felt such embarrassment. She was relieved, though’ that he was so warm and welcoming. She calmed and climbed the stairs. But then her heart began beating faster. "Oh my god," she thought. "He’s only wearing a towel!" He was lean and muscular and everything about him seemed so masculine to her. His beauty was overkill. She thought he was awfully pale, but maybe it was the bright red towel that made him appear so.

"Are you sure I’m not . . ." she paused and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. "I mean, if this is a bad time I can come back tomorrow."

"Nonsense," he said. Then he stood and slid open the glass door. "Wine?"

"Um, sure! Yes. That would be great."

He paused and stood looking at her. The gaze was intense and hesitant at the same time -- and there was something in his face that made her uneasy. She felt chills of pleasure and fear. Then, he grinned at her disarmingly and disappeared into the house. She wondered what it would be like to be his lover or his wife. Her face burned as her imagination ran wild. "Don’t be stupid, Jennifer," she whispered aloud.

* * * * *

We sat and talked and she sipped wine. "Have you been married?" she asked.

"You might say that. I had . . . an attachment," I said. "A very long one. We had a very bad fight and she harassed me for some time after that until I’d had enough."

"She was really out for blood, huh?"

I burst out laughing. Jennifer had no idea how right she was. My argument with Elena had been about restraint in the taking of human blood. She accused me of being weak. She refused to curtail her killing and I refused to hunt with her, sleep with her or talk with her. She took this poorly and when she actually attacked me, I disappeared. I was afraid I might kill her. "Yes, she was out for blood, Jennifer."

Jennifer’s lips were moist with the wine and she emanated warmth. Her skin was smooth. It looked soft and occasionally I could see a vein twitch in her neck. Finally, as time stretched on and my desire was prolonged and pulled taut by the sublimation of my urges, I could stand it no longer. I moved quickly to sit next to her. Naturally she recoiled and let out a little scream. She was holding the glass at that moment and some of it sloshed out and hit her legs. In a movement that must have been a blur to her, I was on my knees. My tongue was on the wine, on her warm skin.

"Oh," she cried out in her surprise. She did not move away. "You’re so cold."

"I’m sorry," I said, and continued sliding my tongue along her thighs. I picked her up and carried her into the house and onto the sofa. We made love. Then I let her rest and we did it again. Having held myself back from biting her simply made me rougher as my cold member slammed over and over into her warmth. She moaned and quivered in spasms of pleasure. It was as if I was playing an instrument.

* * * * *

Jennifer awoke in the night. She was exhausted. She felt like a rag doll. He was beside her on a bed. They must have moved sometime in the night. He looked at her. "Be my companion," he said.

She was taken aback, stunned by the emotional intensity that, up until this very night, he had not shown. Was this the same beautiful man she had met in the library only a few days ago? What was hidden behind the exterior was suddenly revealed. Nevertheless, Jennifer was exhilarated, excited by his proposal.

"All right," she said.

"We will have to go away. At least for a little while."

She didn’t understand, but she agreed."

"There won’t be any turning back." his voice had a note of questioning in it.

She wondered if that statement could be a red flag. "What do you mean?"

"I dislike endings. I’ve experienced them too many times. This time it must be for good."

His concern seemed reasonable and she smiled. "I’m so sorry you had to go through that. But I’m sure everyone feels that way."

"Perhaps," he said, "but my kind bond for life."

"Ha! There should be more of your kind then."

He buried his face in her flesh, breathing in her scent. "I must make you like me," he mumbled into her throat.

"Wait a minute," she said. "I don’t like the idea of anyone changing me."

"It’s not what you think. Just a little pain and it will be all right. We can unite for ever." Then he bit her neck savagely just below her ear. She screamed only for a moment.

* * * * *

On a warm summer night, a pale quiet couple got into a lone black car and drove away. The car bumped along a dirt road up to the highway that skirted the coastline. The tail lights got smaller and smaller, dimmer and dimmer, until they disappeared into the darkness. The night cloaked the land like a thousand other nights before it. The continual dance between light and darkness, day and night, one swallowing the other, was as dependable as the universe itself. For the sun has chased and followed the moon forever. It always will.

THE END

An Unlikely Alliance

My origins are a mystery. I was found as an infant on a riverbank, if you can believe that, near Dublin, Texas. Most of my childhood was spent in an orphanage. I did not experience much human contact during the formative first three or four years of my life. Without that nurturing or a connection to a loving figure, I should have turned out as a sociopath, or someone who has no concern of the feelings of others. But I am something quite different than that -- and, luckily, I do possess the powers of empathy and care for those around me.

 I have other powers and talents, though, that most people do not. As I grew and these aberrations began to bloom, I wondered just who my parents had been. I came to realize, after a time, that I am part of another plane of existence altogether -- one that runs parallel to the normal human world. The world that I see hides beneath the surface and is essentially an invisible one. There are creatures and mythical beings all around us that appear human to most. As I grew I began to notice these beings. I could spot my fellow creatures as they seemed to be equally aware of me. If I passed one, however, nothing much happened -- a curious stare, a look or a knowing smile.


There are probably other names for what I am, but witch is the best known. I have nothing to do with Wicca, religion, new age mysticism or superstition. My powers are definitely old fashioned magic. I don’t have any reason to use them or experiment, but occasionally I do things that are strange and impossible for a human. Like the time I dropped my keys through a dark drainage grate. I did get on my knees to peer down inside, but I called them and they came through the metal slats and into my hand -- or the time one of my foster fathers was chasing me. I pictured him falling and, wham, he did!


In my first year of college I took a room off campus and, surprisingly, one of my neighbors was a vamp. True to the stories about vampires he looked sullen and unapproachable. I greeted him once when we passed. He stopped, looked at me curiously and nodded. A menacingly handsome face whose eyes were a bottomless black pit. His gaze was an abyss, an uncross able breach that made my hair stand on end and set my teeth on edge. He frightened me.


As much as I did not want to admit it, I was lonely. I wanted to learn more about the world I was a part of. Obviously, I’d never had any guidance. The navigation of this otherworld would be like navigating a foreign country without a map -- or being lost in the Amazon jungle. There were surely dangers that I could not anticipate.


I met my dark neighbor every day. When I walked home from my afternoon classes, he was on his way to his evening ones. I said hello each time we passed. He seemed irritated by my friendliness but always nodded curtly. The name on his mailbox was Peter Hajidominou. A strange last name that I figured was probably Greek or East Indian.



* * * * *


There was a party at one of the frat houses. A girl in my molecular biology class, with whom I had developed a loose friendship, had invited me. I could imagine what sort of party it would be and at first I was uninterested. There would probably be lots of drinking and maybe drugs. I did neither. On the other hand. I was lonely and most evenings bored. Homework was a breeze for me, so all I had for company was my radio and TV.


On the night of the party I wore tight jeans, heels and a white crocheted shell. I let my hair fall from the usual Sookie Stackhouse ponytail. I looked good, but hopefully not too good. Yes, the music was loud when I walked in -- alcohol was being consumed like water. Laughter, rock and beer -- I wondered how long it would take for tongues and inhibitions to loosen and maybe even start fights.


I made my way through the kitchen. A garbage container was already overflowing with empty beer cans. I squeezed through the crowd and followed the music to the main room. It was large, with two huge old sofas, lots of chairs and stools pushed away from the center of the room where people were halfheartedly dancing. A TV was blaring in one corner of the room even though the music was so loud it was impossible to hear unless you were sitting right in front of it.


I had just sat down on one of the stools when I noticed Peter H. was sitting across the room. He sat alone and he looked miserable; a tight anal-retentive, annoyed look on his face. It made me chuckle. I thought about going to join him, but I wasn’t keen on being rejected the moment I arrived.


So I sat back and watched. My friend walked up to me, all smiles. “Hey, you made it! Do you want me to get you a beer?”


I smiled as enthusiastically as I could. “I’d rather have a Pepsi if there is any.”


"Oh, sure! Be right back.”


I waited for nearly fifteen minutes and realized she must have gotten sidetracked or waylaid. I decided to get up and join Mr. Sour-face. I was getting a lot of looks from guys, but so far no one had approached me. I walked across the room. “Hi,” I said. Peter looked up and a glimmer of relief passed over his face as his eyes met mine. He looked far from happy, but a little less pained.


“Hello,” he answered.


“Mind if I sit down?”


“I don’t mind,” he said, with about as much enthusiasm as a bastard on Father’s day.” His discomfort made me smile.

 “I’m Tabitha,” I said, holding out my hand.


He nearly cracked a smile -- nearly. “Figures,” he said taking my hand in his cold one.


“What do you mean? Why does it ‘figure’?”

 “You’re a witch. Tabitha is a witch's name.”


“It is?”

He rolled his eyes. “That and Agatha, maybe.”


“or Brunhilda?”


He actually laughed at that. Miracle of miracles. I smiled in return. “So how do you know I’m a witch?”


“Don’t you know what I am?” he countered.


“I guess I do.”


“Well,” he said.


“Sorry, but I don’t know much about how it all works. I’m . . . inexperienced. Uninitiated, you might say.”


He looked at me more intensely. “Well, first off, your kind and mine don’t mix. We’re supposed to be natural enemies.”


“Why?”


“Because,” he said impatiently, “that’s just how it is.”


“Hmm,” I examined my high heels. “Okay. Fine. Let’s just pretend that is not how it is.” He looked at me with amusement. “And why,” I continued, "are you so grouchy anyway?”


“Because I felt obligated to come to this ridiculous gathering of dimwits -- and I don’t like it.”


“Right. I am with you there. But that isn’t what I meant. You always look miserable.” He shrugged, so I continued. “So, who invited you?”


“A fellow student that I team with in one of my classes. One that has an ardent crush on me.”


“Where is she?”

 “He.”

 “Oh. You’re gay?” I asked, “and a vampire? Must be tough.”


“I’m not gay,” he said, looking out into the crowd of people wandering around.


I was determined now to get him to relax and open up a bit. “Doesn’t that bother you that he’s got a crush on you?”


“Why should it? He’s a good lab partner.”


I was impressed with his attitude. “No reason, I guess. Where is he? And by the way, why does a Vampire need schooling?" 

 “He’s upstairs messing around with someone who is more interested in romance than I am. Look,” he continued, “I’ve been around for a long time, and the only reason to exist, that I can find, is learning. At least study eases my boredom, my ennui.” He paused. “What do you want from me?”

 I decided to be honest. “I need a friend. Maybe someone who can help me understand why I am what I am. I don’t know if there is a purpose for me or . . . some kind of destiny that I don’t know about.”


He looked at me in the eye again with real interest. Maybe I’d sparked something after all. That was certainly better than his usual look of distaste. “You’re for real, aren’t you?”


“One hundred percent.”


He studied his hands for a moment as if in deep thought. “Okay,” he said. “Let’s get out of here then. We’ll walk home and you can come down to my rooms where I can at least have a drink that suits me.”


"I hope you're not asking me to be a donor."


He chuckled softly, "no."


So began our unlikely friendship.

PART II

I only had a room but Peter rented the whole basement apartment. The place was certainly more pleasant than its renter. I won’t describe the place other than to say that Peter obviously had money.


“Sit,” he said. He went around the corner to a kitchenette. I heard him open the fridge and pour something into a glass. He returned with a coke and a glass of something red. My stomach turned at the thought of what might be in the glass. He sat the can of coke on a low table beside me and walked to a huge bookshelf. He pulled out a thick volume. “Here,” he said, handing it to me. “You can start with this.”

 It was old, leather-bound and had Celtic like designs on the cover, but no title. “what is it?”


“A witch’s grimoire. It’s useless to me. Even if I repeated incantations word for word -- nothing would come of it. It takes a witch’s inherent talent to make such things work. But I do like to study these kinds of old books.”


When I opened it’s pages a slight shock ran up my arms and made me jump. “Holy crap!”


“It recognizes you,” he said with obvious irritation. Was he jealous?


“Recognizes me?”


“A witch’s hands -- magic upon magic. It probably has a spell on it.”


“But it’s all in Latin or . . .”

 “Archaic Greek” he said.


“If I can’t read this! What good will it be to me?”


“Just take it,” he said. “I’m sure it will reveal itself eventually.


“Bizarre,” I mumbled. Then I met his eyes. “But thank you!” I put the book on the table and opened my coke. “I don’t know how old you are Peter, but haven’t you had enough education over the years?”


“Of course, but there are always new discoveries, information and scientific knowledge. Technology, too, is expanding exponentially. Besides,” he said, “I told you, learning eases feelings of uselessness. It keeps me interested in the world.”


“Makes sense,” I said. “For someone like me, though, I’ve got to live my life like any human. I'll probably work until I retire.”

“True,” he agreed, “except for one thing. Your life is unlikely to be a short one. Unless you are killed in a car accident or murdered, for example, you’ll be around a long time. Your kind, like mine, are not susceptible to illness.” He stared into space. “The potential accident part is usually avoided by a protection spell.”


My eyes widened and my mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me!”


“Not in the least.”


He sipped his disgusting drink and smiled. He really was loosening up. In fact he was emanating warmth towards me. That is if someone so pale and cold could do such a thing. We talked well into the night and it was almost as if we’d been friends for a long time. He told me things that amazed and astonished me -- some of it terrifying. I was completely unaware of things which I could do -- powers that needed no spell at all.


When morning neared he interrupted our conversation. “When the sun comes up,” he said, “we essentially die. When the moon is close to rising we are reanimated.”


“You actually die? I thought you simply slept.”


“No, we don’t sleep. I am, after all, undead.” He sheepishly smiled at me and I wondered why. Maybe he was embarrassed?


“But I see you almost every evening and afternoon,” I protested.


“When the sun is at a certain angle towards the end of the day, we can move about. You, on the other hand are quite the opposite of what I am. You are doubly alive -- twofold in comparison to humans.”


As he saw me to the door, I turned and said, “I hope we can do this again.”


“Certainly.”


He was standing so close to me and I was so grateful to him that I reached up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.


He was taken aback. He froze. His surprise was palpable. I immediately regretted my action. “Oh, I’m sorry!” I said.


“Extraordinary,” he answered. “I would never have imagined that their could be such camaraderie between our kind. Goodnight,” he said, even though it was six o’clock in the morning.

* * * * *
His kind and mine, I pondered. I didn’t know the history of such enmity but, as far as I was concerned it was just him and me. Period.


I was anxious to get out of my clothes and shower. I laid the grimoire on my bed and entered the bathroom. Afterward, I toweled dry and loosely braided my hair all the time thinking about what I had learned.


It was Sunday morning which I was really grateful for after having been up all night with a vampire. I was tired but still a little too wound up to sleep. So I propped myself up on the bed and opened the book. The energy of the thing was still very strong but the surge of electricity only lasted a minute. I don’t know what I was looking for. I couldn’t read the thing. But the pages felt good in my fingers. It only took a few seconds though to notice something strange. If I held a page at certain angle, a wholly different text could be seen. I went back toward the beginning and tried to read it. It was in Middle English. A page title read “To cast a man asunder.” Below it was a spell.


On another page it said; ‘Bringest down thine hands upon the page. Open thine eyes.’ How strange, I thought. If there was a spell put on this book, it must have been done during the Jacobean period. Guess I’d better layeth my hands on the page. And when I did there was a strange bubbling sound beneath them!


When I brought my hand away, there it was! Parts were written with lots of old fashioned and unfamiliar terms but modern English. The first part was a list of contents, I imagined, but no page numbers. Spells; Knock back, love, invisibility, perimeter protection and things I’d never heard of. Then a hierarchy, a history, taboos and dangers and, finally, information on making talismans and non-sexual fetishes.

I tried a few spells and incantations that very morning -- levitation and light ball. I was elated to find they worked for me. Unbelievable! I kept igniting the hovering ball of light, each time pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. The spells tired me physically though. I put the grimoire away and fell back on the pillows. I fell asleep in seconds.

Part III

A few days later there was a knock. I opened the door to a woman who put me in mind of Elvira Gulch from The Wizard of Oz. I recognized her as a kindred creature, but she had an angry aura about her. She offered no greeting, just started talking. Wasn’t there some sort of Witch etiquette?


“You’ve been hob knobbing with a vampire! I don’t know what you’re playing at with such a creature, but it must stop. Immediately!”


I stood there in shocked silence. I didn’t even respond as she continued. “You know very well what you’re doing is wrong and dangerous.”


I put my hand up, palm outward to stop her. “I don’t know any such thing!”


She looked surprised for about two seconds but kept up her tirade. “I’m warning you, Missy. Don’t play dumb with me. If we find that you continue mingling with this viper, I will personally kill your blood-thirsty friend and render you powerless! What the council will do may be worse.”


Now my hackles were up. “Ooo,” I mocked. “I’m so scared!” I paused and we stared at each other. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. You come to my home accusing, commanding, threatening -- as if I were your property! Get lost you ugly old bag!”


Unbelievably she reached for my shoulders as if she were going to shake me. I knocked her arms away and then pushed her back. When I pushed her there was a pop and she yiped as if she‘d been stung. Her eyes widened and she sputtered something I did not understand. But she didn’t move.


“Get!” I yelled. “I don’t take orders, especially from complete strangers!” Before I had a chance to physically do it, the door slammed shut and the lock clicked. “Wow,” I said to myself. I didn’t know I had it in me!”






* * * * * *






That whirlwind of anger left me breathless. I felt dirty, like I’d been thrown down in the mud by an unknown assailant.


I knew Peter was in his last evening class. He’d be home soon. We had planned on going to a movie. I walked to the door and wiped the condensation from the little windowpane. I didn’t see her walking away. No cars moved either. I was afraid though, a little panicked, wondering if she really would try to harm Peter. Dread and anger compelled me to go out and sit on the porch in front of his downstairs apartment.


The sun had already set. As I sat there waiting for Peter, I realized that if anyone were to attack him, it would be during the day. The time when he was most vulnerable. My anxiety eased but I was still mad. Peter had taught me quite a bit about how things were for real vampires. Some of what he told me was horrible, but not as horrible as some of the old time vampire fiction.


Soon he came walking up the sidewalk. He stopped a good distance from me and just stared. He looked frightening in the glow of the porch light. If I hadn’t known him as I had come to over the past while, I do believe the hair on my neck would have stood up.


“What?” I said.


“You’re really that excited about the movie?”


I giggled. “Yeah. Guess I am.”


“Alright,” he smiled. “Let me put my books inside and we can go.”


On the way to the movie I told him about the woman and that I was concerned for his safety. “I appreciate your thinking of me,” he said, “but you are in danger too. You know their spells don’t affect me, but they can inflict harm with a stake and the like.”


I nodded. “Just the same. I think I should spend the next couple of days in your apartment.”


“Or I could stay at your place during the day. I believe your room has the only access to the attic. I could rest up there. That way you won’t miss school.”


“Either way is fine,” I said. “I am not sure I should go to school and leave you alone. Anyhow it is Friday night, so we can work it out later.”


“You should start reading that grimoire with more urgency.” He paused, thinking. “What happened, when you pushed her, I mean, that is very interesting . . . promising.”


“Why?”


“Because if you shocked her with your touch, your natural power must be very strong. Perhaps even stronger than hers.”


I nodded. “She did look very surprised. The sizzling noise was almost like the sound and feeling I get when I put my hands on the pages of the book.”


“There is a hierarchy of witches,” he said, “which has less to do with rank than with power.” He paused for a moment and closed his eyes. “But I don’t know much about that.”


We both enjoyed the movie and we were still talking about it as we walked up the porch steps. Then Peter stopped in his tracks. He stood motionless.


“Listen,” he said, finally.


Witches don’t have the supernatural hearing that vampires do. “I don’t hear anything,” I whispered.


“Someone is in my rooms.” With that he bolted for the door, unlocked and flung it open. He was so fast that his movements were a blur.


I heard a thud, then a scream, then a back window break. I ran in after Peter but I couldn’t see anything except the vague shapes of furniture. There was an unpleasant odor in the apartment -- like singed hair. “She has gone out the window,” he said. He pointed at his bedroom and a closet -- shoes and clothes were strewn about. “She was trying to find my resting place.”


I felt my ire rise. “Is she stupid? She ought to know you wouldn’t be there during these hours.”


“I don’t know.”


We sat down and didn’t say a word. Then he got up and brought me a bottle of vodka. I laughed. “I don’t think that’s gonna help anything.”


“Yes, it will. Take a few swigs. It’ll relax you. You can sleep here and in the morning I’ll wake you up. Then it will be my turn.”


“To drink some vodka?”


“To disappear while you are up for the day.”






* * * * *






Peter woke me up at six o’clock “c’mon,” he said. “Time to go up to your room.” I yawned and threw off the blanket he had covered me with. He went to the fridge, downed a bag of blood and then we left.


My room was untouched. I was glad I had taken the time to straighten it up the day before. Peter had been inside before but we usually had our chats at his place. Although we saw each other at one time or another every day, we didn’t actually spend time together each day. I couldn’t imagine that he had much to do, except study and listen to classical music. I suppose he went out to meet his dietary needs, but I didn’t ask. He may have bought units of blood from the blood bank or . . . ugh, I don’t know.


“You were right about access to the attic,” I said. “The opening is in the closet ceiling. I feel bad about you having to climb up there. It must be dirty and gross.” I shivered at the thought.


He smiled. “Dead men hardly care about such things.”


“But you’re not dead when you crawl up.”


“ It’s alright. I’ve had centuries of experience.”


“Ever had a witch after you before?”


“No, but I’ve seen their handiwork.”


I raised my eyebrows questioningly, but he did not elaborate.






* * * * * *






At three o’clock in the afternoon, I realized I was completely out of something I needed. I swore. It was not something I could put off, if you get my meaning. I locked the door behind me and dashed down the road to a nearby convenience store. I hated to shop there because everything was so expensive -- but I had a dead man in the attic that I had to protect. In the afternoon light it was unlikely that anyone would bother with Peter. I just couldn’t fathom that anyone would be so concerned about my life or the company I kept. What seemed a real threat at night was almost laughable in daylight.


Nevertheless, I hurried home, relaxing as I saw that my front door was closed as I’d left it. Still, before I put the key in the lock, I checked the doorknob. It wasn’t locked! Fear. But then adrenaline kicked in and I was filled with something akin to righteous anger, indignation for sure. How dare someone enter my personal space. I burst through the door, feeling a surge of power.


That woman! She was halfway in my closet and a bald headed man stood behind her. They were both looking up at the closet ceiling. “Get away from there,” I bellowed.


They both looked at me with baleful eyes. The man shot his arm out toward me. Something struck me hard enough to knock me against the door. Then he made some sort of sign with his hands (like a gang sign) and whispered a spell. I was instantly paralyzed but no less angry. It was time to draw on whatever innate power I had. I strained to move but couldn’t. I continued trying nevertheless and felt the spell gradually begin to weaken and crack as if I was breaking through a shell. As soon as I could move my arms and my lips, I whispered the words that I’d memorized “to cast a man asunder” -- though I wasn’t sure what the result would be since I had no one to try it on.


No sooner had it escaped my mouth than the man was flung across the room and then was dashed three distinct times on the hardwood floor, as if by an invisible giant. When the spell stopped, he was lying unconscious. Now for Elvira. I quickly uttered an invisibility incantation which I’d been working on. It did what it was supposed to, but not fully. I could see my feet. I ran toward the her, still angry but bolstered by what I had just done to her companion. I grabbed her by the upper arms and immediately felt that familiar burning sensation as I flung her out of the closet entrance.


“Ouch!” she screeched. “Don’t touch me you bitch!”

I laughed and went for her again. This time she saw my feet approaching and backpedaled. I was determined do some damage and not be a victim. Her lips moved and I darted out of the way as a powerful thud hit the wall. I also knew a shield or protection spell, but the words would not come to me. Rather than standing there wracking my brain, I went at her. She was still on the floor but face up and about to rise. Before I even touched her I felt my hands burning. I put both my hands on her shoulders and pinned her against the floor. She screamed as my palms burned through her clothes like hot irons.


But she was powerful too and I felt a vicious slap across my face, though she hadn’t moved at all. The bald man was back on his feet. He looked at me with hatred. Then a cat-like hiss and snarl from across the room caused him to look away from me. His eyes widened in horror and, suddenly, Peter was on him. The man’s arms flayed and clawed at Peter as his throat was torn. Peter spit out a large chunk of flesh and a horrible gurgling came from the wound in the mans neck.


I don’t know how I thought so quickly but I ran to the kitchen and pulled a drawer so hard that it flew out of the cabinet. Things fell and scattered. I saw what I was looking for . I tore a long ribbon of duct tape and slapped it across Elvira’s mouth. I didn’t have any rope but I found some yarn and bound her arms and legs. I wrapped it around and around before I cinched and tied it off. I cast a knock-back spell which hit her hard enough to slam her unconscious.


Peter and I stood looking at each other. Then a smile spread across his face. He was so handsome when he smiled. Probably part of the vampiric mesmerism his kind undoubtedly possessed. But this smile was meant for me and not for prey or quarry.


“Well . . . ,” he said. “My partner in crime, we are now officially on the run. Gather what you need. We won’t be returning to this place . . . ever.”


I stood as he walked toward me. I opened my mouth to say something, but in a flash his mouth was over mine. I felt a tingling all through me. Our kiss was long and lingering. I knew then that I wasn’t alone anymore. For better or worse, in that instant, we had become one. We would never be parted.


He pulled away and smiled. I smiled in return. With our combined power and emotion still thrumming around us, I had a vague inkling that we had discovered why there was a taboo against our union. Our power was now intertwined and that power would be greater than any threat we would encounter. But, for now, there was no reason to stay and ask for trouble.


We left together that evening with the excitement and hope of teenagers in love -- an elopement to escape the powers that be. Peter, the perpetual loner and the lonely orphaned girl were finally home, on our way to who knew where.

The End