Vampire High Sophomore Year

Vampire High Sophomore Year - By Douglas Rees


1



It was one of those hot, sticky Massachusetts August nights when it doesn’t cool off. The sky was full of thunder-heads, and the hills around New Sodom echoed the roaring, grumbling air. It was the kind of night when witches might be out, casting their shadows in the glare of lightning bolts.

Which made it a perfect time for my cousin to show up.

My mom and dad were asleep upstairs. I was sitting up watching an old horror movie called The Bride of Frankenstein. Maybe you’ve seen it. The monster’s back, and he wants good old Dr. Frankenstein to make him a girlfriend so he won’t be so lonely. So Doc F. gets back into his mysterious lab and splices together a lady monster out of whatever parts he’s got lying around. The movie had reached the scene where the new monster-lady has just opened her eyes and started to walk around. She’s staring, moving slowly, not certain of anything. Then she sees her fiancé and hisses. She raises a hand that you know has to have claws instead of nails, and you know the big guy’s plans for happiness in a little rose-covered dungeon somewhere are not going to happen.

It’s a really tense scene, and when a crack of thunder went off in what sounded like our attic, I jumped a foot, even though I’d seen the movie before.

Then, as the thunder died away, I heard the rain start to come down, hard.

And then came the knock on the door.

When you hear a knock on the door at one in the morning, you know it’s not good news, whatever it is. So I waited until it came a second time, figuring maybe it would go away. I mean, I didn’t really think there was a monster out there. I was almost sixteen. I knew there was no such thing. Vampires, sure. New Sodom is full of them. Like they say, some of my best friends are vampires. But even so, why would one of them be banging on our door in the middle of the night?

The knock came again, hard and heavy, and I knew I’d have to answer it. I knew because my father called down, “For God’s sake, Cody, see who it is.”

I paused the movie and went to the door.

The thunder rolled again, farther away now. The storm was moving fast.

“Who is it?” I asked.

No answer.

“Justin?” I whispered. “Ileana?” I figured it might be my best friend or my girl, though it wasn’t like them to come calling past midnight. Still, they were vampires—jenti, I mean. And while jenti don’t really burn up when the sun hits them, they do like nighttime.

I heard the sound of something scratching on the door. Scratching slowly, as if whatever was doing it took pleasure in the sound. Scratching as if there might be some invisible crevice wide enough to force a set of claws through. And there was only one person I knew who would ever do that.

“Raquel?” I said, and opened the door.

She stood there in the harsh glow of the porch light, tall, thin, pale, dressed in black leather. Her dark hair was cropped short, the nails she’d scratched the door with were pointed and black, and she had a gold stud shaped like a skull in her left nostril.

“Hi, Cuz,” she said. “Ya gonna let me in?”

“What are you doing here?” I squeaked. “You’re not supposed to be here for another week.”

“Okay. I’ll just camp out here until you’re ready for me,” she said. “You gonna let me use the bathroom, or would you rather I pee in the bushes? Either way’s good.”

“Get in here,” I said.

“Before the vampires get me?” she said. “Where are they, anyway?”

“Just get in here,” I said between clenched teeth.

She shouldered past me into the foyer and said, “Thanks. By the way, don’t call me Raquel again. I’m Turquoise now.”

“Turquoise,” I said. “Turquoise Stone. I’ll be sure to remember.”

“Turk for short.”

“Whatever.”

My mom and dad were coming down the stairs.

“Rachel, darling,” Mom said, and practically flew across the room to hug and kiss my cousin. “How did you get here so soon?” she asked. “Is everything all right at home?”

“No,” Turk said. “It never is.”

“Hello, Rachel,” Dad said, standing on the stairs. “Or is it still Raquel?”

“I haven’t been either one for a while,” Turk said.

“It’s Turquoise,” I said. “Turk for short.”

“Right,” Dad said.

“I’m being forced to stay with you anyway,” Turk said. “So I thought, ‘Why let Mom stuff me in a plane at her convenience?’ And I drove.”

“You have a car?” I said.

“That’s what people usually drive,” Turk said.

This interested me. I would be driving soon myself. I had been thinking a lot about cars.

“What have you got?” I asked.

“It’s at the curb,” Turk said. “The black thing.”

Under the streetlight, I saw a shiny black Volkswagen Bug, the old kind.

“You drove all the way from Seattle?” Mom said. “You must have seen some interesting sights.”

“I drive at night,” Turk said. “I hate scenery. It’s distracting.”

She unslung her coat. Her arms were bare under it, and I could see the reason that dear, sweet Turk had come to live with our happy family. Her tattoo. Turk had a pale blue two-headed snake that began at her wrists, wrapped around her arms, and (according to Mom’s sister, Aunt Imelda) ran across her back.

“Spiffy,” Dad said. “Best illegal tattoo I’ve ever seen.”

“It wasn’t illegal in Mexico.” Turk shrugged. “And it’s my body.”

I had to admit, I was impressed. Even if it was the thing that had made Aunt Imelda decide that she couldn’t even pretend to control Rachel/Raquel/Turquoise/Turk anymore, and send her to us. A couple of weeks before, when she and Turk had been on vacation in Acapulco, my cousin had gotten off her leash and headed straight for a tattoo parlor. When Aunt Imelda finally caught up with her, she was just getting the last snake head done, while a bunch of guys from the Mexican Navy stood around admiring her courage.

She had been missing for a week. Tattoos like that take a lot of time.

So now here she was, ready to envelop us all in her own special aura.

“Did it hurt much?” Mom asked.

“Sure,” Turk said. “That was the point.”

There wasn’t much to say to that, so Mom changed the subject.

“Jack, Cody. Bring in Rach—Turk’s things.”

“I’ve got ’em,” Turk said. She picked up an old army duffel bag and a sleeping bag. That was about half of what she’d brought. The rest was some boxes of art supplies, some canvases, an easel, and an inflated doll. The doll’s mouth was open and its hands were raised to its face. I recognized it from a famous painting called The Scream.

“You don’t have to help me,” Turk said. “Just show me where I sleep. I’ll come back for the other stuff.”

“Come upstairs, dear. I’ll show you your room,” Mom said, and gestured for us to pick up the things on the porch.

Mom and Turk went up the stairs.

“What is that object?” Dad said, looking at the doll.

“It’s called The Scream,” I said.

“I know that, but what is it?” Dad said.

“Maybe she sleeps with it,” I said to Dad as he tucked it under his arm.

“Then no wonder it’s screaming,” he said.

We went upstairs with our arms full of stuff.

“I’m afraid it’s not really ready,” Mom was saying about the room. “I was planning to start work on it tomorrow.”

It looked ready to me. There were white curtains and a double bed with a white bedspread, and an antique chest of drawers, a desk, and a chair. For a girl, it seemed great.

“Don’t bother,” Turk said. “I can design my own space. You have an attic, right?”

“Yes,” Mom said.

“It’s huge,” I said.

“How do I get up there?” Turk asked.

“There’s a trapdoor with a ladder in the hall,” Dad said.

“Cool,” Turk said.

So we followed her into the hall.

“There’s nothing up there, you know,” Mom told her. “Just some old boxes.”

Turk jumped up and grabbed the cord that pulled down the ladder. The ladder swung down with a screech. Then she slithered up the steps.

“Perfect,” she announced. “I’ll sleep here.”

“But it’s awful up there,” Mom said.

“I’m into that,” Turk said. “Just hand me up my stuff.”

“It’s dusty. There are only two small windows. I don’t think it’s healthy,” Dad said. “I’m going to have to put my foot down, Turk.”

“Put it anywhere you want, Uncle Jack,” Turk said. “But the CO2 level in the atmosphere is already higher than it’s been in a hundred thousand years. Every breath we take is choking us. So what’s a little dust?”

“Is she staying with us forever?” Dad whispered to Mom.

“It’s gonna seem like it,” I said.

“Turk, sleep down here tonight, and I’ll help you sweep it out tomorrow,” Mom called up.

“Give me a broom and I’ll sweep it out now,” Turk said. “It won’t take more than half an hour.”

“It’s after one in the morning,” Dad said.

“Go back to bed. I don’t need any help,” Turk said.

“Why don’t we let her do it?” Mom said to Dad. “There’s no point in getting into a screaming fight right now.”

I put down Turk’s stuff and went and got a broom and dustpan.

“Thanks,” she said when I handed them up. “You can just drop my stuff. I’ll get it when I’m done. Good night, guys. Thanks for having me.”

Dad dropped the duffel bag and the inflated doll. The Scream bounced across the floor and ended up in the corner, tilted back and looking up at the top of the steps, where Turk had started to sweep.

“I know how you feel,” I said to the doll.

We all went into the kitchen. Mom put on the teakettle.

“St.-John’s-wort tea,” she said. “It’ll help us get back to sleep.”

“Give me plenty,” Dad said. “I don’t want to wake up for the next few years.”

“It’s a good thing we’re doing,” Mom said. “It’s a necessary thing. It’s an obligation. We’re family. She and Imelda are at daggers drawn, and they need a break from each other. And Rachel—Turk—needs a new start. Moving in with us is the best chance she has.”

Dad looked up at the ceiling. Then he looked at me.

“All very true, and I will do my best to be a good uncle,” Dad said. “But Cody, my son, when the time comes for you to marry, promise you’ll give serious consideration to the advantages of birth control.”