Lewis Aleman - The Anti-Vampire

Danny takes his first step on the stairs. Not looking back in their direction anymore—hoping not to hear any more from them.

Darker in the stairwell. Head gets a little clearer. Used to love these stairs. Was my escape when the nonsense downstairs got to be too much. Not that there weren’t times when I enjoyed the nonsense. Third time I’m climbing them tonight. Don’t know if I ever want to see them again. Then again, never needed help climbing them before.

That junk my body’s trying to fight off is strong. Don’t even know if I’m only getting a little break here—break might not last long, and this could be as good as I’ll be all night. Could definitely get worse. Don’t know what it is. Know it’s something trying to knock me out—or kill me.

Second time I’ve come up here this evening looking for a girl. Second time the girl’s not where I told her to be. Bar is empty. Angie lied to the cop for me. Thanks, girl.

“Hey, man,” Danny says nodding toward the bathroom, “You better get cleaned up before we try to get out of here, or those cops are going to harass you, man.”

He pulls his arm off my shoulders. Knee shakes on the first step toward the bathroom door.

“Are you gonna be alright, Simon? Need some help, bro?”

“I’ll be alright—just took a beating.”

Hand grabs the handle. Jiggles but won’t turn. Locked. Perfect—right in tune with the rest of the night. Whimpering—coming from behind the door.

“Ambrosia, is that you?”

“No one’s in here—I mean it’s occupied!” calls out from inside the tiny bathroom.

Eyes close in frustration— did she really just say that ? Head swirls. Thought no one outside a cartoon would ever say something as ridiculous as that. Blood feels hot. Nails press against the door—hand shakes, wanting to rip a hole through the wood and pull her out. Gotta get a grip—too angry—overtaking me. Boiling inside me.

“Ambrosia, this is Simon. Do you hear me? They’ve got Ruby—we need to go get her now.”

Whimpering.

“Now, Ambrosia!” I scream, hoping it wasn’t so loud that the police could hear me downstairs. Didn’t mean to be that loud. Hot rage set the volume, not me.

Door squeaks. Face peeks through small crack. Blue eye shadow’s run down her cheeks, mimicking her twin ponytails.

Twin Goons stand at either side of the door that keeps me contained. Not biological twins, but mirror images of the same violent hatred.

Walls painted dark blue and black. Swirled. Creepy. Don’t know if they painted the sheetrock to look like a dungeon to terrify captives like me or if it’s just what appeals to their savage taste.

Deep inside Roderick’s house. From the outside doesn’t look like much—typical New Orleans white-wooden-siding raised house. A converted apartment complex. One large front porch with white columns—its ceiling a second-floor balcony with wrought iron railing leading to a room I haven’t been to.

They dragged me up the steps, across the porch, through the front door into the main hallway that leads to the stairs and all the former apartments—all three floors of them. Large archway-sized holes have been ripped in the walls where the doors used to be, allowing open access to all the apartments. The tears in the walls are jagged—not cut with tools—probably ripped open by angry vampire claws. The whole thing makes me feel like I’m trapped in a deep cavern instead of a house on St. Charles.

Saw few people in the opened hallway. Men who looked like vamps—four, maybe five of them. Girls who looked human. Thought for a second that I saw Maxine.

Paint peels in many parts of the house—looking diseased. Chandeliers hang dusty, weaved in cobwebs, and offer only dim flickering light. Even the grain of the floor looks menacing and hostile as it’s scuffed, stained, and dirt-covered.

Up the staircase, they brought me to the second floor. Carvelli and Quint lifting me at my elbows off the ground—rough, tight grip—carrying me through the only remaining doorframe I’ve seen inside of this house—into this dark room of blue midnight and pitch black.

Door closed behind them, leaving me in the room that eats away hope. I’ve heard them shuffle and grumble outside the door—certain they’re still out there, making sure I don’t do anything stupid. I’m just the bait for Simon and Ambrosia to come into this horrible house.

Simon .

Have no idea if it’s night or day. Probably only been here an hour or two, but left with nothing to stare at but the deep, absorbing gloom of the walls, every second takes its time upon the nightmare stage in my mind before bowing off and giving way to the next.

Eyes raw. Simon. My eyes can’t forget Simon. He looked so sick when they dragged me away. Worse than when he came back to the woods all dry.

God, let Simon be alright.

Door opens. Something evil steps into the opening between the cruel, twin shoulders of the guards. He’s come for me, and it can’t be good.

Whatever’s in me is bad.

Really bad.

Must be what they put in Edgar that almost killed him. Might’ve put more in me—might’ve even put something worse in me.

If I’m dead in a few hours, we’ll have the answer.

Every breath makes me angry. Hot, uncomfortable blood surging through me. Keeping my eyes open infuriates. Every sound, even the growl of the engine that I’d normally love, tears into my aching head like jagged claws.

“Why are we driving anyway? Can’t—can’t you guys fly?” a blue-tinted question comes from the passenger seat.

Talk about annoying noises.

“What makes you think we could possibly fly? Do you think there’s some kind of mystical vampire flatulence that propels us gracefully through the air?”

Finding it harder and harder to stop the agitation that this sickness is breeding inside me.

“Well, what about the whole bat thing?” her voice getting higher and shakier, keeping her head aimed at the radio or her shoes—she hasn’t looked at the road once since I got the car up to speed.

“Don’t you go to school, Ambrosia?”

That came out much harsher than I meant. Losing control. How’s this gonna affect me when I get to Roderick? Reckless. Gonna make me reckless. Not good.

She twirls a blue ponytail between her fingers and looks at her feet.

Keeping my eyes focused on the road we’re blazing down over the red, raised, cowl hood, “Look, I weigh 215 pounds. Even if you ignore all the impossible biological problems with turning into a bat, where would all my mass go? Ever see a little bat that weighs over 200 pounds? And if you did, do you think it’d fly?”

Trying to keep level. Rational.

“So, am I going to turn into one of you guys?”

She’s not going to make this easy.

“Turn into one of us guys ? Not without a sex change.”

“No,” she says laughing. As annoying as her voice and all other sounds are to my dizzy head right now, there’s something soothing about the childlike tone of her laugh, “I mean—I mean like you.”

“What’d’you mean like me—able to finish a simple question? I hope so.”

“No,” no laughter this time, she whispers, “a vampire.”

“You don’t have to whisper it, Ambrosia. The others can’t hear you this far away, and I already know I’m a vampire.”

Silence.

“Well, am I? Am I going to become like you? Is that why he wants me so bad?”