Stay in school. Don't do drugs. Drink blood.
***
As
soon as Harry saw the building, he considered the hefty school fee he’d paid
wasted money. Tiny bits of green currency floating away on a draft of
chicanery. Sucker. Ironic, Harry
thought, as the name really fit in more ways than one. Turning away from the
industrial warehouse, he yelped, startled at the sight of a brunette standing
in front of him, a gotcha grin tugging
her cheekbones high.
“Hey.”
She clutched her trench coat tightly around her throat. “I’m Katrina.” Even
though her name spoke of exotic faraway lands, her accent didn’t travel farther
than Chicago.
“Sorry…you
scared me. I’m Harry.” He stuck his hand out. Hers felt very cold. Delusional
maybe, but he tried to hold onto the notion that his skin was still warm.
“You
must be new. We move quietly here.”
“Yeah.
Guilty. I’m…pretty new.”
“Well, c’mon, Harry. You’re in the right
place. Don’t worry about the venue. It’s a good class.”
When
Harry first saw the flyer for “Vamps 101,” he imagined it to be a stripper
school of some sort. But after calling the number, the supportive operator
assured Harry it was the right class for him. He needed all the help he could
get. This vampire business was beginning to play havoc on his social life.
Katrina
rang a bell next to the “Thomason Label” sign and waited. Harry expelled a
breath in the cold winter night. Of course he didn’t expect to see his breath, not
really. But he looked anyway; old habits die hard.
A
night watchman peeked through the window next to the door. “Good evening, Ms.
Katrina. I was beginning to worry you wouldn’t make it.”
“Just
running late. You know I’d never miss a class.”
“Teacher’s
pet!” The watchman laughed.
Katrina
led Harry through a maze of upfront offices and hamster-challenging cubicles
until they reached a large meeting room. Inside, people had gathered around a
back table, sucking out of hospital blood bags with straws and dabbing their
mouths with wet wipes. Chairs stood in a row, evenly and precisely as grey
tombstones in a military cemetery.
“Class,
let’s begin.” A mild-mannered clerk of a man with straw-colored hair wispier
than a fleeting dream, commandeered a podium. “Welcome back. I see we have a
few new students joining us today.” Behind bottle-thick glasses, he eyed Harry.
“I’m Seth. The gentleman to my right is my T.A., Kevin.”
Kevin’s
appearance startled Harry. He’d never seen an old-school vampire before--true
Transylvanian style, gaunt, bald, the pointed ears of an elf and eyes so pale
the pupils barely existed. By way of greeting, Kevin hissed through a mouthful
of needled teeth. Ever the accountant, Harry imagined exorbitant dental bills.
“The
purpose of our class is to help fellow vampires indoctrinate themselves
properly into human society, learning to live amongst them as equals. We have
an open forum, so please, if any of you have questions, concerns, challenges,
please do speak up.”
Katrina
dropped a well-manicured hand on Harry’s knee.
“Now,
as you well know,” Seth continued, “we’ve been fighting strongly to put the old
stereotypes behind us.” He dropped into a poor Bela Lugosi accent, complete
with clawed hands. “I vant to suck your blood.”
Polite
chuckles rippled throughout the classroom, a wave Harry awkwardly joined.
“Our
goal is to reassure the humans we mean them no harm. Rather than sup on humans,
we’ve found other ways to satiate our thirst. For instance, there’s animal
blood, hospital donations—”
A
little girl, possibly no older than thirteen (at least when she turned),
shouted, “But, Seth, animal blood is so gross!”
Seth’s
lips tightened into a bone-white scar. “Lucinda, when you were human, you ate
beef, correct?”
“Well,
yeah, I guess.”
“And
did you like it?”
“Sometimes.”
She crossed her arms, frumpy at the world and refusing to be pigeon-holed.
“Well,
there you have it.” Seth spread his hands in a giving manner. “Now, if you’re
having problems procuring—”
“What
about dogs?” asked a burly lumberjack of a vampire. “Is it okay to eat dogs?”
Harry
could see Seth’s patience bubbling like a boiled-over teakettle. Briefly, he
closed his eyes. Then like a rubber band, snapped back. “Borney, you know
better than that. Anything that’s considered a pet is off-limits. Once we
officially come out, humans won’t smile kindly on dog snacking. Does that
answer your question?”
Borney
slid down into his chair, kicking his denim-clad legs out. “I guess.” Harry
imagined he had his mind set on a rather plump Dachshund, only to have that
meal taken off the table.
A
sniffing sound distracted Harry. On the other side of the room, a goth girl and
a businessman were smelling the man between them, their noses tracking up along
his arms. Disapproving frowns wrinkled their faces.
The
man, even paler than Kevin, blurted out, “Leave me alone,” gargling as if
underwater.
With
a sneer, the businessman jacked a thumb toward the sickly-looking man,
virtually ignoring him, and asked, “What’s he
doing here, Seth?”
Again,
Kevin hissed, possibly an enforcer more than a T.A.
“Devin,
I’m well aware of Charlie’s unfortunate living dead predicament. He—”
Ignoring
Seth, the businessman spat out, “Zombie!”
“Blood
sucker!” gave back Charlie.
Gasps
traveled through the room, the seed of a full-birthed crowd riot.
Seth
banged the podium with a tiny fist. “Ladies and gentlemen, enough! Please! No
ugly names! One of the reasons we’re here is to get past vile name-calling—”
“We
prefer to be called living-challenged,” offered Charlie. Even through his
wet-sounding, nearly indecipherable words, Harry detected pride. A man who’s
fought an uphill battle most of his undead life. However, a bit of his pride
sort of dissipated when his ear slipped off, splatting onto his shoulder.
“My
apologies, Charlie. Class, from now on, we’ll refer to Charlie’s predicament as
‘living-challenged’. No more name calling. Is that understood?”
Kevin
leaned forward, mouth gaping open wide, large enough to inhale a pig. The class
quieted.
“As
I was saying…” Seth shot the fighting trio a “that’s-the-end-of-that” look.
“…Charlie had my preapproval to join the class. He, like us, is persecuted. We
aim to end that. Through education, understanding. Getting along as a
community. Peaceful protesting, so to speak. Let’s move on…” He scanned the
students. His bug-eyed gaze fell on Harry. “Harry’s new. Everyone meet Harry.”
Immediately,
Harry loathed the attention, dreading what he knew would come next.
“Harry…please tell us a little bit about
yourself.”
Harry
hesitated. Katrina’s hand on his shoulder goosed him into action. “Um…I’ve only
been turned for a couple weeks now. It’s hard…tough. I…met a girl in a bar…”
Nods
from the men, affirmative sour grunts. The women smiled knowingly. He didn’t
want to be a cliché, but that’s apparently the shoe he fit.
“…anyway,
it’s been tough adjusting. I’m really not into eating people. Just not my
thing. So…any kind of help…” His voice choked off. If he was still capable of
tears, surely they would’ve flowed.
Katrina
stood first, then the others circled Harry. Even Charlie, the living-challenged
person, offered him a hug. A true vampiric Kumbaya moment.
After
class, Harry’s spirits (did he still have
one?) had lifted. Empowered, he vamped up, and approached Katrina. Not
trusting himself around human women, he thought he’d ask her on a date.
“Um,
Katrina…would you like to maybe…join me for a cup of coffee?” Immediately, he
realized his mistake. A lifetime of human living habits would take a while to
shake.
She
smiled. “Not coffee. But, I know where there’s a field full of cattle, ripe for
the taking.”
As
far as first dates went, it hardly sounded romantic. But Harry did feel a
little parched.
***
Here
I am, talking about myself, pretending not to. Ah, I'm probably not
fooling anyone, but play along anyway, 'kay? Just imagine Morgan Freeman
narrating and we'll all get through this just fine.
For more of Stuart R. West's adult and young adult suspense tales filled with light heart and dark humor, check out his Amazon page.
For more of Stuart R. West's adult and young adult suspense tales filled with light heart and dark humor, check out his Amazon page.
And please do check out Stuart's blog featuring weekly rants, failed stand-up comedy routines and incisive author interviews: Twisted Tales From Tornado Alley
"Dexter meets Dilbert," says Declan Finn, paranormal/action writer. Serial killers have never been so much fun: Secret Society
Brand spankin' new and creeptacular trailer for Ghosts of Gannaway: .
"Dexter meets Dilbert," says Declan Finn, paranormal/action writer. Serial killers have never been so much fun: Secret Society
Brand spankin' new and creeptacular trailer for Ghosts of Gannaway: .
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