Ellen Datlow - Teeth - Vampire Tales

“That sucks,” he said.

“Is that all you have to say?” asked Darene.

“I only met her once,” he said. “I’m sorry you feel bad, though.”

“My father’s inviting you to sit the dead.”

“Sit the dead.,” said Luke.

“It’s a family ritual.”

“I don’t have to touch her, do I?”

“Don’t be a tool,” she said. “You just have to go and sit with the body in the church for a few hours.”

“Like a wake,” he said.

“Yeah, but nobody else but you and one other person will be there.”

“You just sit there?” he asked.

“Two members from our family have to sit with Gracie till they take her to her grave. It’s a family tradition going all the way back.”

“Sounds weak.”

“Your shift starts at midnight.”

“Me and you?”

“No, you and Uncle Sfortunado.”

Luke closed his eyes and shook his head.

“This means my family is officially accepting you,” said Darene. “My father says it’s a test of your manhood.”

Luke laughed.

“I can see you’re not mature enough,” she said.

Two nights earlier they were at the lake on the picnic bench. She sat on his lap facing him, her legs on either side of his. There was a cool autumn breeze, but she glowed with warmth as they kissed.

“Okay, sign me up,” he said, “but my parents are gone for the weekend with the car. I’m stranded.”

“I’ll pick you up at eleven thirty,” she said.

He turned off the computer and went to take a shower.

Luke always got stuck sitting next to Uncle Sfortunado at the Cabadula family parties. After a while the reason for it became clear to him — no one in the family wanted to. The ancient patriarch often spoke in some foreign tongue, and when he did talk English, he mumbled cryptic sayings involving animals — “The moon in the lake is for the fish” or “A spider in the mouth will empty your pockets.” When Luke stared back in puzzlement, the old man would spit out the word “gaduche,” which Luke was sure meant “stupid” or worse. Although Darene’s family went to church on the weekends, Luke could never get a straight answer as to what religion they were. Likewise, he’d asked Sfortunado what country the Cabadula were originally from. He guessed Greece, Italy, Romania, Turkey, Russia.

The old man squinted and shook his head to each.

“Are you Gypsies?” asked Luke.

“I wish,” said Sfortunado.

“I give up. Where then?”

“Another country.”

“Which one?”

“The old country, up in the hills,” he yelled, and shook his head in annoyance.

As the shower water fell and the steam rose, Luke closed his eyes. I’m gonna have to get blazed for this, he thought.

Darene pulled up in her old Jeep Cherokee at exactly eleven thirty. Luke had never known her to be on time. He got in. She was dressed all in black — T-shirt, jacket, jeans; and he knew, even though he couldn’t see her feet, that she’d be wearing black socks and sneakers. She gave him a quick kiss before he could slide across the seat and put his arms around her. Just as he reached, she turned, started the car, and pulled away from the curb.

“Put your seatbelt on,” she said.

“Where are we going?” he asked, and lightly touched a ringlet of her hair.

“The church over on Gebble Street.”

“That’s a crappy area.”

“That’s our church,” she said, and made a stern face.

“How about we make a detour to the lake and you can test my manhood?” he said, and laughed.

“Are you high?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I’m tired. I was asleep when you called.”

She sighed, and from that point on it was silence until they pulled into the church parking lot.

“I can’t go in with you,” she said. She opened her door. He also got out and met her at the front of the car. She put her arms around his waist, and he leaned back against the hood.

“I know this is beat,” she said, “but it means a lot to me.” She looked up and he smiled. She put the side of her face against his chest.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about,” he said. “I’ll sit the dead like my father sits the bowl.”

“Seriously,” she said.

“I’m all about it.”

The next thing he knew, she was closing the front door of the church behind him. He stepped into a dark alcove, and a sudden smell of incense and old wood made his spine twitch. Luke looked through the open doors and down the aisle before him, past the rows of darkened pews, to the altar — white marble, crowded with statues, and holding the candlelit coffin of Gracie. He took a deep breath and moved toward the light.

Between the first pew and the altar, there was an empty folding chair set up next to Uncle Sfortunado’s.

“Hello,” Luke said too loud, sending echoes everywhere.

The old man turned and stared through thick glasses. He wore a gray cardigan dotted with cigarette burns. His beard was a week old and white as snow; his hair, crazy. “Gaduche,” he said, raised a trembling hand, and farted.

“Good to see you again,” said Luke.

“This is who I get to sit the dead?” said Sfortunado, shouting into the dark. He grimaced. “The cat makes the owl bleed. ”

“Darene’s father told me to come.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The old man waved a trembling hand in front of his face.

“My condolences about Gracie,” said Luke.

Sfortunado laughed and pointed at the altar. “Go tell her you’re sorry,” he said.

Luke got up and slowly ascended the three steps to the coffin. Gracie came into view, a deflated balloon made of dough. She wore a white dress, a giant version of a little girl’s party rig, pale green lipstick, and her blond hair helmet was slightly askew. A hand grabbed the side of the coffin. Luke started and then saw it belonged to Uncle Sfortunado, who stood beside him.

“Looks like shit,” said the old man. “What do you think?”

Luke stalled by rubbing the back of his neck. Finally he said, “Well. she’s dead.”

Sfortunado shrugged and nodded. “This is true.”

“What happened to her?”

“Something bad.”

Luke went back to his chair. Sfortunado mumbled a few words to Gracie and then announced, “She smells like flowers.” He threw his head back and laughed loud. The echoes rained down, and Luke considered splitting. The old man hobbled back to his chair and less than five minutes later was asleep.

Luke studied the statuary on the altar, elongated marble figures in the throes of agony gathered in a semicircle, at the center of which hung a large golden sun made of gleaming metal. He took out his cell phone and texted Darene. “Wt relign r u?” Uncle Sfortunado was swaying slightly side to side, snoring, his arms folded across his sunken chest. Darene’s reply came back. “No txting. C u @ dawn.”

Time stood still in the candlelight, and Luke listened to the church quietly creak. The rapid scuttling of some tiny creature echoed like a whisper from the shadows. Somewhere something was dripping. It didn’t take long before the creepiness gave way to boredom. They should have a TV set up here, he thought. Eventually his mind turned to Darene.

They’d been together since the previous autumn, junior year. Whatever her culture was, it demanded an old-fashioned formality between kids their age. They went to all the parties together, movies, some concerts, but she insisted he meet her family and attend the holiday and birthday gatherings at her house.

Both his male and female friends told him he was pussy whipped, but he didn’t care. Darene’s hair, ringlets of black springs that seemed alive, her smooth dark complexion, her green eyes and unabashed laugh, canceled all of their scorn. She definitely knew her mind, and yet he wasn’t particularly good at school or good-looking by anyone’s standards. The whole thing was a mystery he enjoyed pondering.