Monster Problems: Vampire Misfire

by R. L. Ullman

  “Hope you’re not afraid of the dark,” he says.

  Well, he’s right about one thing, wherever he’s taking me is dark—pitch dark even. But not for me. For some reason, I’ve always been able to see perfectly in darkness. It’s like my eyes never need time to adjust. Of course, I have no idea why. I guess it’s just another one of my strange quirks.

  But when we reach the bottom, Snide flicks on a dim light and my stomach drops. The basement is totally creepy, with cement-block walls and a way-too-low ceiling. It smells musty down here, like mold has been brewing for centuries.

  Then, I notice a row of steel doors lining the walls.

  What are those for?

  Snide reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a set of keys. As he jingles them around the ring, they echo through the narrow chamber. Finally, he finds the one he’s looking for.

  “Um, is this some kind of a kid dungeon?” I ask. “Because I don’t think state-sponsored group homes are supposed to have kid dungeons.”

  “You think you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you Matthews?” he says, unlocking the steel door to our left. “Well, keep thinking that way and you’re gonna have problems around here. Serious problems.”

  “C’mon,” I plead, “you’re not really gonna—.”

  But before I can finish my sentence, he picks me up and tosses me into the tiny cell. I land hard on the cement floor, scuffing my hands and knees. Before I can get up, he slams the door shut behind me.

  Suddenly, a small slat opens at the top of the door, and Snide presses his ugly mug into the opening.

  “Do you know what we do with problems here at the New England Home for Troubled Boys?”

  I’m about to provide an eloquent response when I realize the question is rhetorical.

  “We keep ‘em down here in solitary,” he says. “Until one way or another, they aren’t problems anymore.”

  Then he slams the slat closed.

  And I’m locked inside.

  BREAKING AND EXITING

  You’d be surprised how time doesn’t fly when you’re locked inside a basement prison cell.

  Let’s just say there’s way too much time to think. In fact, I’ve spent so much time thinking, the mere thought of thinking absolutely exhausts me. Especially after holding a spirited debate with myself about whether I’m hungrier or thirstier. Now I fear I’m drifting into a dangerous state of delusion.

  Case in point, there seems to be a hunk of crusty bread lying by the foot of the door. I haven’t got the foggiest idea how it got there. I mean, I certainly would have noticed if someone had opened the door or dropped it through the slat.

  Or would I?

  I stare at the bread for a good long while, questioning if it’s even real, until I muster enough energy to poke it with my foot. The bread tumbles across the floor, hits the wall, and comes to a dead stop.

  Okay, at least I’m not seeing things.

  Unfortunately, the sight of the bread utterly repulses me. Look, I don’t know why I can only eat red-colored foods. Again, I had hours to contemplate that one too. My conclusion—I’m a freak. So, I’m clearly going starve to death unless I can get out of here.

  Looking up, I notice a small spider weaving an intricate web in the corner of the ceiling. For some reason, wherever I go spiders seem to follow.

  Maybe they’re my spirit insect.

  I wonder why this one is so darn industrious. After all, there aren’t any flies buzzing around. And every time I check in on the little bugger, its web is not only getting larger, but closer. So, either we’ll die in here together, or it’s plotting early retirement off its largest catch ever—me!

  So yeah, I’m a little delusional. But what happens next pushes me over the edge.

  First, I hear little pitter-patter noises. Like something is scampering across the cement floor. I sit up and look around, but I don’t see anything.

  Then, they come into view.

  Two hairy rats are inspecting the bread. One is large and fat, the other smaller but fatter. They sniff it with their pink noses, sinking their claws into the hard crust. They squeak back and forth, chattering away, when suddenly their squeaks turn into… words?

  “See here food me told you me smelt,” the small one says.

  “Right you be,” the large one says, looking at me. “Pink one eat not.”

  I clean out my ears with my fingers. Are they actually speaking English or am I actually nuts?

  “Lose out does he,” the small one says, taking a big bite. “Stupid maybe he be.”

  “Blind maybe he be,” the large one says, taking a bite of his own.

  “Stupid and blind maybe he be,” the small one says, and they both cackle at my expense.

  Okay, that’s enough. After the day I’ve had I’m not about to sit here and get insulted by vermin.

  So, I lean over and interject, “Pink one bread no like maybe?”

  The rats freeze.

  A piece of bread drops from the large one’s mouth.

  Then they look at each other, and then back at me.

  “P-Pink one talk us like?” the large one stammers.

  The small one swallows hard, and slowly backs up. “P-Pink one … me understands?”

  “Look, you can have the bread,” I say. “Seriously, I’m not going to eat it.”

  “Impossible this be!” the large one says.

  “Unless … unless …” the small one says, staring at me. Then, he takes off like his ears are on fire, disappearing through a narrow crevice between the cement blocks.

  “Hey, wait!” I ask. “Unless what?” I look at the large one. “What’s he talking about?”

  The rat looks at me, then at the bread, then back at me. Then he grabs a chunk of crust and hightails it after his friend.

  At this point, I realize my mind is playing tricks on me and I can’t distinguish between fantasy and reality. I mean, I’m so far gone I’m speaking Rat!

  Suddenly, the room starts spinning. I’m guessing starvation has finally caught up with me. My body starts trembling and I can’t seem to keep my eyes open.

  I’m losing consciousness.

  Fading out.

  I look up to say goodbye to my spider friend, but to my surprise its web is still there, but the spider is gone.

  Then, everything goes black.

  ***

  It takes all I have just to open my eyes, but the bright lights overhead force them closed again. My head is throbbing, and I feel like I’ve been run over by a steamroller. It’s not until I try sitting up that I realize I’m not lying on a cement floor anymore, but on a bed. I’m tucked under the covers and my head is resting on a soft pillow. I try propping up again, but I don’t get far.

  “Take it easy,” comes a familiar voice.

  I pry my eyes open to find Johnny sitting beside me. He’s holding out a plate with something red on it.

  Swedish Fish candies!

  “H-How did you know?” I ask.

  “You kept moaning for something red to eat,” Johnny says. “I didn’t have much time, so I snuck down to the kitchen and grabbed these. Although technically I’m not sure Swedish Fish actually qualify as food.”

  “It’s perfect,” I say, inhaling the delicious treats. After being so hungry for so long, I can actually feel the sugar entering my bloodstream, reenergizing my body. “Where am I? What are you doing here?”

  “After you passed out, they pulled you out of the dungeon and brought you back to your room. I felt bad seeing what they did to you. So, after everyone went to bed, I snuck in to check on you. But I can’t stay long. Snide’s on night duty.”

  Out of the corner of my eye I catch a digital clock sitting on a desk. It reads: 12:49 am. It’s the middle of the night. “How long was I down there?”

  “Sixteen hours,” Johnny says. “I think that’s a record. By the way, why do you only eat red stuff?”

  “Because I’m weird,” I say, swallowing the last Swedish Fish. “Thanks fo
r getting this for me. I was starving.”

  “Clearly,” Johnny says. “They put all the new kids in the dungeon. Although usually they spring ‘em after four hours. So, you must have made one heck of a first impression.”

  “Well, my first impression will be my last,” I say. “Because I’m getting out of here. ASAP.”

  “What?” Johnny says. “Are you nuts? Where are you going to go?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” I say, peeling back the covers and getting to my feet. I stand up, although I feel pretty shaky. “But wherever I’ll be, it won’t be here.”

  “But how will you survive?” Johnny asks. “If you’re here, at least you’ve got food and shelter.”

  “Let’s get something straight,” I say, looking him straight in the eyes. “Some things are more important than food and shelter. Just because they put every kid in a dungeon doesn’t make it okay. We’re human beings, not monsters.”

  Johnny’s lips quiver as he tries to respond, but he can’t. I didn’t mean to upset him, but what’s happening here isn’t right. It’s like the old story of the frog and the pot of boiling water. If you put the frog straight into a pot of boiling water, it’ll feel the heat and jump right out. But if the frog is put into warm water and you turn up the heat slowly, the frog won’t notice the temperature rising and will end up being boiled alive.

  Johnny’s been here so long everything seems normal to him, but I’m not going to wait around until I get cooked. I look out the window. We’re on the third floor, which is way too high to jump. If I’m going to make my exit, I’ll have to do it through the front door.

  Which means I’ll need to dodge Snide.

  “Thanks for your help,” I say, grabbing my gray hoodie from the back of the door. “Do you want to come with me?”

  At first, Johnny looks stunned by my question. Then, he sits quietly for a moment, deep in thought.

  “No, but thanks,” he says finally. “I kind of look out for some of the smaller guys here. I guess this is my home now.”

  His answer doesn’t surprise me. Kids like us tend to accept our situations, no matter how bad they may be. But over time I’ve learned to follow my instincts on what I think is right, not comfortable. Still, I can’t just leave him and the other kids in this horrible mess.

  Then, I get an idea.

  “Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll help you out before I go.”

  “Thanks,” he says. “So, is this the part where I see a cloud of dust?”

  I smile. Clearly, I never had him fooled.

  “Something like that,” I say. “Take care of yourself.”

  He nods, and I enter the hall.

  It’s pitch black, but again, darkness isn’t a problem for me. Johnny was right though. I could turn on my super speed and make a clean getaway, but I plan on saving it for later. After all, that’s how I ended up here in the first place. I got too tired to outrun the police.

  Since everyone is asleep, I tiptoe down the stairs, passing Glume’s room on the second floor. The door is cracked and old shark-face is peacefully snoring away. Sleep while you can you creep, your whole world is about to change.

  When I reach the bottom step, I have a clear pathway to the front door. My instincts tell me to go for it, but I can’t. I promised Johnny I’d help him out.

  So, I turn the corner and head for the office. The door is open, and the lights are on, but no one is there. Snide must be doing his rounds.

  I scramble inside and duck behind the desk. Then, I pop up to dial the phone and pull the receiver back down with me. The phone rings once before someone picks up.

  “This is 9-1-1, how can we assist you?” the female operator says.

  “Yes, hi, I’m calling from the New England Home for Troubled Boys. I’d like to report on the improper treatment of children here.”

  “Are you a child?” the operator asks, her voice sounding surprised.

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m a resident here.”

  “Oh,” she says. “What kind of improper treatment?”

  I don’t have much time, so I cut to the chase. “Just get the police here. Tell them to go straight to the basement. There’s a kid dungeon down there no one knows about. You’ll see. Just hurry.”

  “I’ve already sent a notification to the police,” the operator says. “They should be there shortly. Are you okay? Can I have your name?”

  I think about giving my name, but instead I say, “Look, I represent all the kids here. Good kids that just need a helping hand.”

  Then, I hang up. I need to split before Snide shows up. But when I leap back into the hallway, I discover a large figure blocking my path to the front door.

  Snide!

  “What were you doing in my office, Matthews?”

  “I’m a night owl, remember?”

  The oaf smiles. “Are you looking for your file, Matthews? Are you trying to find out why no one loves you?”

  “Shut up, Snide,” I say.

  “That’s Mr. Snide,” he says.

  “Shut up, Mr. Snide,” I say.

  “Well, I’ll tell you something you probably didn’t know,” Snide says. “Because I did a little research on you myself.”

  “Congratulations,” I say. “Because I didn’t think Neanderthals could read.”

  “Ha,” Snide says. “Then I guess you’re not interested in what I found out. It’s about your daddy.”

  He stands there with a big, stupid grin on his face. He’s clearly baiting me. Sucking me in. But what could he have found out about my dad? I mean, he’s long dead.

  “Okay,” I say, curiosity getting the better of me. “I’ll bite, what is it?”

  “Get this,” Snide says, folding his immense arms. “You weren’t put into foster care by just anyone. Your very own father dropped you into the system.”

  What?

  I’m stunned. That’s not what I’d been told. I was told my parents died in a fire that I somehow survived, and then I was put into foster care. So, what he’s saying couldn’t be true.

  “You’re lying,” I say.

  “Am I, Matthews?” he says. “Well, I did some digging. Your case is so darn thick and convoluted it took a while. But I went all the way back and found your very first record and guess what? Your daddy’s signature was right on it. Mr. Gabriel Matthews. He gave you away like a smelly carpet.”

  No way. That’s impossible.

  “Must be tough,” Snide continues, “but I guess you can say you’ve been unwanted your whole life.”

  “Liar!” I yell, red hot. All I want to do is get out of here, but Snide is blocking the hallway.

  “Now go back to your room, Matthews,” he orders.

  “No,” I answer.

  “I was hoping you’d say that,” he says.

  Then, he cracks his knuckles, and charges at me!

  Without thinking, I react.

  Just before Snide reaches me, I turn on my super speed, somersaulting between his legs in a flash. Snide thunders over me and crashes into a table which breaks beneath his considerable weight.

  “I don’t know how you did that,” he says, standing up, his muscles rippling. “But you’re going to pay.”

  If he catches me, he’ll tear me limb from limb.

  Suddenly, the hall light clicks on.

  “Snide?”

  That’s Glume’s voice!

  “Snide, what’s all the ruckus?”

  As Snide looks up, I realize this may be my only chance. The Swedish Fish aren’t going to last in my system for long, so my speed powers will be nearing the end of their shelf life. If I’m getting out, it has to be now!

  Mustering my strength, I bolt down the hall and plow into the front door, knocking it clear off its hinges. Oh well, I guess Glume can add that to my list of property damage. My shoulder is throbbing but I don’t stop. I book down the street as fast as I can, my speed waning with every step. When I think I’m a good enough distance away, I duck behind a parked pickup truck.


  Just then, I hear SIRENS—police sirens!

  Four patrol cars pull up in front of the group home. I peer around the truck as a bunch of police officers sprint up the front steps, disappearing through the open door frame I’d left behind. I watch anxiously from my hiding spot, hoping the boys in blue got my instructions.

  After what seems like an eternity, there’s movement.

  First, I see Glume, and then Snide. They’re being led out of the building—in handcuffs!

  It worked!

  Suddenly, a group of boys spill out of the house onto the front steps. They all look shell-shocked as they watch Glume and Snide get pushed into the back of a police car. But there’s one boy in the middle of the pack who’s wearing a different expression.

  He has blond, curly hair. And he’s smiling.

  ***

  As I roam the city in the dead of night, I’m feeling pretty lost. After all of this, there’s no way I can ever go to another group home again. Plus, I’m pretty sure if the police catch me, I’ll be charged with reverse breaking and entering.

  So, for the first time, I’m truly on my own.

  And what’s worse, I can’t stop thinking about what Snide said. Was everything I thought I knew about my life really a lie? Did my own father really put me into foster care? Did my parents really not want me?

  Suddenly, a HOWL in the distance snaps me back to reality. It sounds like a wounded dog. Looking around, I realize I wandered into a graveyard of all places.

  Lucky me.

  I keep walking, reading the tombstones around me. Some are really old, like as far back as the 1800s. Then I remember that eerie story about the graverobbers and a chill runs down my spine.

  I can keep going, but I’m pretty hungry. If I don’t eat something soon, I’ll pass out. But the graveyard just seems to go on and on, and my chances of finding a pizza joint in a place like this are slim to none.

  I turn to head back when another HOWL pierces the night air, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. That one seemed a lot closer than the last one.

  Looking up, I realize there’s a full moon.

  Wonderful.

  I pull my hood over my head and start walking double time. To my relief, I finally find the exit and step through the gates, only to hear RUSTLING behind me.