School for Vampires

by Quinn Conlan

  As we take in our new home, Kate smiles and points upwards. We look up and discover our beds. 10 coffins, whose wooden bases double as the roof of the bedroom. It’s a strange sight. “Weird, huh?” says Kate. “You get used to it.” A tall, lean girl looks particularly perplexed.

  “But how do we get up?”

  “I’m glad you asked,” says Kate. She walks over to the wall and begins to wind a winch. We look up and see the coffin floors slowly descending. They have been spring-loaded. They descend about three feet and then stop. Dust falls from the exposed coffins and blankets us all. “Sorry about that,” says Kate, “we probably should have aired them.”

  Two questions need an immediate answer. Where are the original bodies, and how do we get in? It’s too high to jump and the springs won’t go any lower. Kate anticipates both. “I’m guessing you have two questions right now. The answers are, the bodies have been removed and cremated, and you will use stepladders to get in, until you develop your flying abilities. And yes, you heard right.” Flying. We all exchange excited glances. “Now, I know you are all dying for a bath, but it’s important that we have a quick meeting back in the Mess.” Clean hair is so tantalizingly close yet still out of reach! We follow Kate back into the Mess and stand in a slightly nervous huddle on one side. Kate points out another tunnel that leads to the Seniors quarters, as well as a small office that belongs to her. It’s called the Dispensary, and it’s where she distributes the nightly pills and deals with administrative matters.

  I look at the rest of my new House. I don’t see any hardcore cheerleaders or jocks. I’m relieved. “Ok Seniors,” says Kate, “they’ve got the basics down pat. We need to make sure they are all made to feel very welcome here. If you want to know why, just think back to your own Transition.” I look at the Seniors and see warm, welcoming smiles. They approach us and introduce themselves, with hugs and handshakes. It’s too hard to remember any names right now, but I’m excited thinking about getting to know them.

  And then, finally, after the longest, strangest experience of my life, I am free to bathe. Since there is only one bathroom between us, we employ the time-honored tradition of rocks, paper, scissors. It’s strange, but with each round, I can sort of feel what the other person is going to do. It shocks me. I put it down to how utterly ravenous I am for a bath. After several rounds, I am victorious. I bolt into the bathroom and close the door.

  It’s not exactly an ensuite at the Hilton but my god it will do. There is a deep, round tub that looks like an old grape-stomping barrel. It has already been filled with water. No mirrors, in accordance with tradition. But water. Glorious, clean water. I don’t really care how I look. I just want to get all the grime off me.

  I plunge into the bath and am overjoyed to discover there’s a way vampires can feel warmth. It turns out the bath water comes from a lake in the cemetery. The sun heats it during the day, and then it’s piped down to the baths at night. It’s boiling at first, but then my body adjusts and it’s heaven. I immerse myself underwater and don’t come up for a long time. It’s the first moment of true peace and quiet I’ve had in days. I work my weary body into a giant, soapy lather. It’s amazing how dirty the water becomes. I feel bad for the kids coming after me. But only briefly. Mainly, I just feel relief.

  I take my time, despite the queue outside. I gently comb my long, dark hair, untangling knots that had settled in for the long haul. When I finally emerge from the bath, I feel renewed. I miss having a mirror. It’s strange thinking that I’ll never be able to see myself again. At least we’re all in the same wine barrel there. I figure if there’s a stray zit or crusty eye, someone will just let me know.

  I dry myself off, wrap myself in a waiting towel and open the bathroom door. Lizzy, the second place getter in rocks, paper, scissors, practically knocks me down on her way in. I smile. “Enjoy,” I say, knowing just how much she will. I head to my assigned set of drawers, open one and find a lovely looking, ivory colored night gown. Our clothes are all new, and have been chosen for us by a committee of Seniors.

  I head to the powder room. I slip on the gown, towel dry and brush my hair as best I can, and then head back into the bedroom. I must look a damn sight better than I did half an hour ago. I see the cheeky bad boy sitting on a sofa, waiting for his turn in the bathroom. It’s officially the first time I’ve seen him misplace his cool. He is staring at me and his mouth is open. I wait for some kind of cheeky comment, but it doesn’t come. Whatever he sees at this moment, he likes.

  When he realizes he’s been staring, he quickly closes his mouth and looks away. I can almost feel his blush from here. I can’t tell if I’m flattered, creeped out, or just plain glad that I’ve seen the first crack in his leather jacketed armor.

  Our first night in Dorms should be the strangest night of our lives, what with the whole spring-loaded coffins in the ceiling thing. But we’re too exhausted to notice. Just before sunrise, a loud horn echoes down the tunnel from the Commons. Kate comes in to send us off to our deathly slumber. A stepladder is passed around the room, and one by one, we hoist ourselves onto the lowered coffin floors. When everyone is in position, Kate begins the slow-winding ascent.

  Before I know it, I find myself alone in a pitch-black pine box. It sounds weird, but I don’t mind it. Something feels right about it. I can’t hear a sound. I don’t feel the need for bedclothes or a pillow. All I want to do is close my eyes and disappear til the moon returns to the sky.

  Chapter Five

  The first day of school. Doubling as my very first encounter with school. The blissful sleep is over far too quickly. We are woken by the strangest alarm clock in history: the floor beneath us giving way. I look around as I’m lowered down and I see nine other shocked souls. Kate is at the winch. She smiles. “It gets easier, I promise.”

  Getting down from the coffin involves either the stepladder or a bold jump. Or, if you’re the resident show off, you could always grab hold of a tree root and swing from your coffin like Tarzan, thumping your chest with your fist and hitting the ground with a theatrical thud. I roll my eyes. Others laugh. Tarzan takes a bow. The first of many, I’m sure.

  The time before school is quite the bun fight. It’s too brief for baths, which I realize will be a before-bed luxury. Instead, we have to settle for a splash of cold water on the face, a quick brush of the hair and quick change into our school uniform. I find the whole uniform thing pretty novel, however that’s before I actually try it on. It’s a drab, grey affair with barely a hint of color. It fits like an oversized glove. The blazer, skirt, socks and shoes are all grey. The tie is a slightly lighter shade of grey. The blouse is dull white. There is a tiny, dark red band sown into the upper rim of the blazer’s breast pocket. Just for some color.

  If I look as hideous as the other kids reluctantly emerging from the powder rooms, then we’re all in trouble. Kate enters, sees our horrified expressions, and laughs her head off. “I know, it’s hideous! But just think of the train ride. You wouldn’t want anything you actually liked getting ruined in there, would you?” She’s right. “Plus, there’s no rule that says you can’t get a little bit creative.” She’s right about that too. I can see that her tie is done in a much cooler knot than ours. The waist of her skirt has been taken in, and the hem is shorter. There’s hope.

  We head down to the Dispensary to receive our pills. Juniors get two Glints each day, and two of the dark red tablets during lunchtime at school. Seniors just get the dark red tablets, three times a day. They look at our Glints with envy. It must be the only thing about us Juniors that they covet.

  Meeting up with the rest of the Junior class in the Commons feels slightly weird, now that we all have new allegiances. I cautiously eye off the Licks and the Yids. They already seem brasher to me. I’m on safer ground with Kitty however. We find each other and hug warmly. She looks me up and down. “Nice hessian bag,” she jokes.

  “What did you do with all the potatoes that came in?” I ask. We both laugh and swap f
irst night stories. The Presbies burrow doesn’t sound too different from my own.

  I notice that some of the girls are busy fixing each other’s hair and applying make up. I saw some lipstick and eyeliner in the powder room, but surely it’s a waste of time, given the daily crawl through the putrid rat tunnel?

  Right on 8 pm, a train loaded with Helpers emerges from the tunnel. It occurs to me that transporting nearly 140 kids is a big job. You can get about 20 kids onto each train, so long as you don’t mind leaving personal space behind. I count seven trains in total, each with the standard two Helpers at the helm. There’s no need to travel with your House, so Kitty and I fall in together. I scan our train for signs of Crystal and her offsiders. I don’t want another train track tussle, especially not on my first day. We’re clear. And before I know it, we’re on the move, groaning towards our first day at The Alurian School.

  I spend most of the train ride staring at the side of the tracks, searching for eyes. I’m eager to encounter the poor young shadow family again. However, all you can see from the train is never ending blackness.

  When we come out the other end, I look down at Kitty’s uniform and mine. We’ve made it through unscathed. No sticky drops of congealed goo on our clothes or hair. And hardly any dampness. We’re relieved.

  Once again, the Square is teeming. Now that our own throng numbers over 100, I don’t feel so worried. At least, that’s what I tell myself. There is definitely a sinister air about the Square. My mind turns to Cora. I wonder where on earth she is now? I miss her. I’m only one day the other side of Transition, and I could use a mother figure to catch me when I fall.

  The school door opens and a line of Helpers that must run 30 deep streams out. They form a tight circle around us. All of them are clutching their much-loved little jars. Kate happens to be right beside me and I ask her what the deal is. “Holy water,” she says. “Pure. Very hard to get and very painful to feel.”

  As we head into the school, I hear wolf whistles and catcalls aimed in our direction. It really is the Wild West down here. I’m glad when we’re safely inside. We head straight through the reception room, down the dark corridor and past the Transition rooms. After a long, dark march, we finally reach the end of the corridor and step into a new light.

  It’s hard not to be impressed. We’re standing in a huge, high-ceilinged gymnasium, lined with hundreds of candles. I can see basketball rings, and an entire stand of seats along one wall. On the other side of the court sit the teachers. Behind them are windows, and I can see a lush, green sports oval. It’s a surprising sight so far underground.

  We take our seats in the stand and stare down at the teachers. They sit on chairs in a line, numbering seven in total. I can see Mr Morrison and Miss Montgomery. Mr Foggarty sits right in the middle, and when all the students are seated and settled, he ambles towards a lectern.

  It’s become clear that electricity is yet to reach the Underground. All I’ve seen so far are candles. Lots of candles. Luckily, Mr Foggarty’s voice is so loud and deep, a microphone seems redundant. He makes his way through a carefully planned opening oration, welcoming us new recruits and reminding us all again about what dangerous times we find ourselves in. He talks about the big year ahead for the Seniors. It seems like for them, everything is geared towards the end of year Selection.

  He tells us there will be a whole school assembly each Monday. I’m sure it’s the highlight of his week. When he’s finally done with the orating, Mr Foggarty takes out the exam results. I’d briefly managed to forget all about it. Students suddenly shift in their seats. I look at Kitty to my left, and she stares at the ground. I too am nervous. I feel like I did well but it was my first ever exam, so who knows?

  “Well now. Here we are then. Let me see.” Mr Foggarty peers down the list of results. “My dear young ones, I am happy to reveal the name of the student who received the highest mark on this year’s Transition exam. I can also tell you that this mark is the highest we have seen in many a long year. That person is Blake Randell.” I’m shocked. Not too shabby for a first effort. Students clap furiously for me. A few yell out “nerd” and variations on a theme, but I couldn’t care less at this point.

  Mr Foggarty urges me to stand up. I reluctantly and briefly oblige, giving an awkward wave before resuming my seat. “Well done! Well done indeed to the thinker in our midst!” says Mr Foggarty. I wonder if that’s a dig about our last run in, or a genuine compliment?

  When the clapping and attention die away, Mr Foggarty suddenly strikes a somber note. “And now, students, it gives me great sadness and a heavy heart to read out the names of those who did not make the grade.” I glance at Kitty. She looks positively ill. I hate the thought of her leaving me and joining a Council school somewhere else in the Division.

  Mr Foggarty makes his solemn way down the list. He reads out nine unfortunate names. And then he stops. “That is all,” he says. There is jubilation. Kitty is safe. I squeeze her hand and give her a kiss on the head. The nine names are unfamiliar to me, however, when I look through the crowd, I can see that one of Crystal’s wing women hasn’t made the grade. She is inconsolable. Crystal and the other sidekick look horrified.

  Mr Foggarty tells the nine poor souls to stay where they are, and instructs the rest of us to go to the reception room for our first semester timetables. As we file out, many of us turn several times to glance at the poor kids staying behind. Some of them seem so young and tiny. I silently wish them well at their new school as I’m swept into the corridor.

  *

  I wish I could say they go easy on us on our first day. It’s more like being thrown in the deep end. In the reception room, we are handed our own personalized timetables, given maps of the school and a key to our locker, and then sent immediately to our first class.

  I’m bound for something called the Combat Centre. No prizes. The map leads me back through the gym and down another corridor. I see no sign of the unlucky nine as I pass through the gym. When I arrive at my destination, I walk into another impressive-looking room, with high ceilings and padded floors. The walls are lined with a variety of weapons. Many of them look foreign to me. A couple of long ropes dangle down from the roof, and there is a line of mannequins along one wall.

  I count 11 other Juniors in here with me, including Garret the jock. As yet, there is no sign of a teacher. As I mingle in the group, Garret walks over to me, smiling. I brace myself for some kind of meathead putdown. “Hey,” he says, in the most typically jockish voice you could imagine, “you’re Blake, right?”

  “Bingo,” I say, still well and truly braced.

  “I’m Garret.”

  “Yeh I know. I remember you from the Mr Morrison sideshow yesterday.”

  “Oh, right.” He seems glad that I know who he is. “Well listen, I saw the fight on the train yesterday.” This could get ugly. I decide to try and pre-empt any attempts at verbal savagery as best I can.

  “See anything you like?” He looks perplexed and taken aback.

  “Ah…no, but I just wanted to say it was impressive the way you stood up to Crystal.” The more he talks the less meatheady his voice seems. I’m a little thrown. He goes on. “I mean, I don’t think a girl like that is used to being challenged, so, good for you.” A part of me still expects something harsh to tumble effortlessly from this quarterback’s mouth. However, I’m feeling increasingly silly for being so defensive. After an awkward pause I manage a rather confused “thanks.” Garret smiles and goes back to his friends.

  Maybe I’ve pre-judged the guy a little harshly, however, I don’t have time right now to make any grand re-assessments. A side door opens and suddenly, a man sprints into the room and performs an astonishing sequence of flips, rolls and somersaults across the length of the floor. He does one final enormous flip through the air and lands directly in front of the wall of weapons. Without saying a word, he picks up what I’m pretty sure is a wooden stake and, with incredible force and accuracy, he hurls it across the room
. It lands directly in the heart of a dummy by the far wall.

  We stand there in stunned, pin drop silence. This vampire ninja turns to face us. “You will all be doing that by year’s end.” Yeh right.

  He is a tiny, elderly Japanese man, with a soft, sweet face. Talk about a juxtaposition. He glances over all of us, taking us in. He sees Garret. He walks over to him, taking elegant, silent steps. He grips one of Garret’s bulging biceps. “Physical strength doesn’t come from here.” Garret looks embarrassed. A couple of boys snigger. The vampire ninja walks over to one of them. He puts a hand to the kid’s chest. “Bad heart.” The kid blushes like a bad-hearted beetroot. No one else sniggers.

  The teacher dances his way back in front of the group. “I am Mr Nakamura, and I am honored to meet you.” He bows. We’re all unsure if he wants us to bow back, but he lingers in the bent position and briefly tilts his head and opens one curious eye. We take the cue and return his bow. When he rises, he is smiling. “Very good.” I like the guy. “Bad hearts and biceps can only get in the way of being a true vampire warrior. I will try my best to help you remove these impediments from your body and soul, but no guarantees.” Garret and the bad-hearted boy look down to the ground.

  Mr Nakamura continues. “You are here to learn.” He points to me. “You. You are Blake Randell.” I’m shocked that he already knows my name. The shock must show on my face. Mr Nakamura smiles. “I already know many things about all of you. Many things. And yet, sometimes in life, the more we know, the less we know.” He continues pointing his slender hand at me. “Blake Randell, what are you here to learn?” I think for a moment. I remember Kit’s words on the train.