by Brown, TW
“So what are you gonna do?” I blurted. “Call the cops?”
Her face changed. Ha! I thought. Gotcha there, Little-Miss-Smartypants. She was caught and I was certain she knew it.
“Look,” I tried to sound pleasant, “I don’t know why you are worried about Greg. He sounded pretty much like a total jerk. And I’m guessing that he was the father of your baby. Last I checked…that makes him a bit of a pedophile. Actually, scratch that whole ‘bit’ part; that is sort of an all-or-nothing deal. And, if you carried that baby anything close to full-term, you got knocked up at sixteen. That’s why he didn’t want you going to a hospital.”
“But…” I could see her seeking some sort of defense. Lisa wasn’t a dumb kid…just misguided.
“When did you run away?”
“I didn’t,” she mumbled, her eyes going down and suddenly finding something interesting about the hands in her lap.
“Folks kick you out?” What is it with parents? Okay, your kid screwed up. Is tossing them into the street and simply turning your back to the problem really a choice?
“Uh-huh.”
I reached over and took Lisa’s hand. I saw and felt her flinch.
“You’re hands are freezing.” She pulled away and had the decency to blush.
That’s because I think I’m dead and now I eat people. Nope, can’t say that. At least not right this minute. I’d have to save that for later.
“How ‘bout you come home with me,” I suggested. “This is no place for a girl to be calling home.” Not that my place was all that much better.
“I don’t even know you,” Lisa said, but I could tell that her attempted hold out was a mere formality.
“Ava Birch.” I stuck out my hand.
Obviously she still remembered my cold touch because she scooted back a bit. Then she seemed to catch herself and sat up straight like she was gathering all her inner strength and resolve. I noticed how she pressed her lips together and that was the first time that I would wonder just how much of a monster I’d become after The Change. I’d have other epiphanies, but that’s for a later time.
“Lisa Jenkins,” she said and shook my hand. Points for her, the wince of revulsion was hardly noticeable. “So, what’s your deal?”
I glanced at my watch. It was almost five. The sun would be coming up soon and I needed to be back home.
“Let’s talk as we pack and go,” I urged.
“Are you like a…vampire?” Lisa asked. She sounded unsure of herself. As well she should, asking such a silly question.
“No.” I stuffed a wadded up bundle of her clothes in a grocery bag. Of course, I was no longer certain that vampires were a myth. After all, I was a …what? At that moment, I didn’t know what I was.
“A zombie?”
“Did I try to eat your brains?” I snapped.
“Is that what zombies eat?” Lisa ducked into the bathroom to grab some things. “I thought they ripped out people’s guts. I saw this weird mini-series called Dead Set at Brenda’s Halloween party, but—”
“I’m not a zombie.”
That’s what I said, but at that moment, I wasn’t a hundred percent certain. I didn’t know what she was talking about, the last horror movie I’d seen was Friday the 13th, part 3. It was awful. I’m more of a Sleepless in Seattle girl.
“Well, you’re not normal,” Lisa said, standing in the middle of the room holding two grocery bags with a carry bag slung over one shoulder.
“We can worry about this later,” I huffed. Suddenly I had this urge to find out what the hell I was.
We left the rundown room with the big, dark stain on the carpet that used to be Greg Pitts. Even if somebody called the police, there wasn’t all that much to go by. I had Greggy’s wallet, which, minus the thirty-two dollars it once held, I stuffed into a garbage can that was sitting on the curb waiting to be picked up that day. Besides, places like that don’t want cops crawling all over the place. I’d almost be willing to bet everyone who frequented that dump had a record…if not outstanding warrants. No…Greg was probably sucked up by a Stanley Steamer rented from the corner grocery store. I never heard anything about him on the news that next night, or any other night for that matter. The big story was about the ‘miracle baby’ and the heroic gas station attendant. Lisa didn’t cry…much.
When we got back to my place, I let Lisa have the bed. Fortunately for me, she was out like a light in no time. I ducked inside the closet just as I heard the daily ritual of daytime begin. My phone still hadn’t made a peep, and continued to remain pathetically silent all day.
I heard Lisa get up once and make her way into the bathroom. I was batting around a bunch of very lame excuses that would make my being in this closet sound reasonable. Nothing really stood out, but fortunately, Lisa flopped back onto my bed and was back asleep in minutes.
I spent the day experimenting. I played with my SEEK ability. I tried to make myself mad so that my claws would come out. I figured it might be useful to have those weapons at my beck and call. Unfortunately, my claws aren’t like most of the men I’ve had in my bed…they knew I was faking it. However, I was able to bring on my shark mouth. All I had to do was think about my last meal. Sadly, it didn’t work when I thought about all my former faves like chocolate, bacon, and Ben and Jerry’s. In fact, thinking about ‘normal’ food didn’t do a thing for me.
If I could have cried, that would be worthy of my tears, that’s for sure. Just because I don’t respond to those things doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about the special place a pint of Chunky Monkey or a tube of chocolate chip cookie dough had for me on one of those crappy days when nothing went right, or my PMS was worse than normal.
I poked my head out when the little crack at the bottom of the door was dark. Lisa was still sleeping. I didn’t smell anything, so I figured that, at the very least, she wasn’t dying. I let her be and went out to my living room.
I was sorting her clothes so that I could wash everything when I heard a knock at my door. The thing was, I knew as soon as I heard it that it wasn’t really an actual knock. Whoever it was had placed their hand on the door twice. That ‘knock’ wasn’t meant to be heard by anybody other than me.
I focused my hearing on the other side of the door and heard…nothing. No breathing. No rustling of clothes. In fact, it was a complete absence of sound. Hmm. There went my grizzly bear claws. Fear brings them out. Who knew?
I moved to the door and, like a total airhead, put my ear to it. Yep, my super-hearing didn’t pick up anything, but maybe if I place my ear to the door I’ll get something. I considered peeking out my curtains, but that seemed silly. Do people really think they can move their curtains and somebody standing outside won’t see? And seriously? Besides the breeze, does glass really protect you from anything?
Still, a girl can’t be too careful I took off my sunglasses. There was something about this stranger at my door that made me want to be at my scariest. I thought about last night’s snack. Yay! Shark mouth! Now I was ready to open the door. I grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, ready to pounce.
“Mrrgmph!” That was supposed to be “What the hell do you want?” I need to remember that I can’t speak with shark mouth.
“Miss Birch?” A woman was standing at my door. She seemed to take the whole monster version of me in stride. I’m pretty sure she stifled a yawn!
“Murgl?” Stupid shark mouth.
“May I come in?”
I cleared my head of all thoughts of food and wiped the thick, syrupy strand of drool off my chin. “Sure,” I said after an over-exaggerated swallow.
The woman stepped past me and I realized that all my claws had retracted as well. I closed the door and clicked on a lamp. My guest was trying to politely find an uncluttered section of my sofa to sit on.
“My name is Morgan,” the woman began, and then paused. She looked around with a raised eyebrow, quickly stood, and went to my bedroom. She turned with an angry look on her face. “I was led
to believe you lived alone.”
“Oh,” I hurried to the door, edging past to close it, “that’s Lisa,”
“You’re childless,” whispered Little Miss State-The-Obvious. “And you have no siblings.”
“She’s a friend.”
“You don’t have any friends.”
“And you’re kind of a bitch,” I huffed. I felt my fingers and toes start to tingle.
“Oh please,” Morgan said flatly, glancing down at my feet.
“How about you tell me who you are and why you’re here,” I demanded.
“I told you, my name is Morgan and—”
“Morgan what?” I interrupted.
“Just Morgan.”
“What…like Cher or Madonna?”
“Sure.” Ooo, somebody was getting ruffled.
“Okay,” I agreed. “But what do you want? I’m guessing you are some sort of scary night creature. That would explain why I couldn’t hear or smell you. Also, that might account for why you don’t seem to care that my eyes are like two black marbles, my mouth looks like something out of Jaws, and my fingers and toes sprout Ginsu knives when I get agitated.”
“You failed to mention your unnatural pallor.”
“Huh?”
“Your skin tone,” Morgan sneered and made an attempt to sound like she was talking to a six-year-old. “But I’m here on business.”
Okay, I thought, maybe I am stupid.
“You tried to take your life recently.” That was a statement, not a question. “When you came to, it was to…this.” She said it like it was something dirty.
“Fine,” I said with a nod. “But you haven’t really told me anything about why you’re here or who you are.”
“I’m a psychic,” Morgan stated that like it meant something. When it was obvious that I didn’t have even a smidge of a clue, she continued. “I have a link with anything undead in my territory.”
“Your territory?”
After rolling her eyes, she went on to explain that the fiction out there had it all wrong. Sure, vampires and such were real, but they didn’t run the show. Many cities—not all—had psychics. Not the kind on television commercials or with cheesy ads in the papers. Real psychics don’t tell futures…per se. What they can see is something to do with a person’s proximity to death. Their other big ‘power’ is the ability to locate undeath. That is what makes them so powerful. A city’s psychic can tell where every vampire, ghost, shade, wraith, poltergeist, and yes, ghoul is located. That is what makes them so powerful…as well as feared.
“Van Helsing was a psychic,” Morgan said. “But what the stories didn’t talk about was the fact that he found religion,” she said that last word like it was dirty. “He decided to use his powers to try and eradicate anything undead. Dracula was simply a big name, sorta like the Oprah of the times.”
“So this whole undead thing,” I’d stood there listening long enough and had questions, “it ties to me how?”
“You’re a ghoul.”
Well…there it was. At least now I knew…sorta. I didn’t have even the slightest clue what a ghoul was…is…whatever. It must’ve shown on my face.
“You feed on the dead.”
When she said it like that, it sounded so gross. But this was a big moment for me…now, at least, I knew what was going on. Okay, I still didn’t know what was going on, but I knew what I was. That counted for something.
“So, what’s that mean? Being a ghoul sounds a bit vague. I know what a vampire is and a ghost…some of those other things, though…” I shrugged my shoulders.
“I just told you,” Morgan said, not sounding at all like she was talking to the class idiot. “You eat the dead.”
“People? Animals? You’re being a bit vague.” I did my very best to not sound like I was whining. Also, I’d just used the word ‘vague’ twice in a sentence which made me feel smarter.
“Actually, ghouls are fairly rare.” Then she went on to explain that it is something genetic. She also explained that we put off pheromones in life that repels most people. Most ghouls come into being after suicide. Only, we couldn’t have done anything like blow our brains out, because that is unrecoverable. Hanging causes something to go wrong and makes the ghoul crazy. That is one of the big tasks of the psychic. They have to put down the messed up misfits of the undead community. Also, they are the welcome wagon; hence, this visit.
“But I’ve got so many questions,” I insisted. “You haven’t told me that much.”
“I told you that you’re a ghoul and that you eat the dead,” Morgan said, like that explained it all.
“Well, there is one more thing that I am required to tell you.” Morgan glanced past me to my bedroom where Lisa lay sleeping. “The undead don’t like publicity. They keep to themselves. Occasionally, one or two will get a craving for celebrity. But fortunately, nobody ever really takes it seriously. However, if you start showing up, making the public aware of us as a collective whole…you will be extinguished.”
“So much for selling my memoires,” I sighed in my best overdramatic and sarcastic manner.
“Actually, you’re free to write whatever you want.” Morgan ignored my sarcasm. “The market for that sort of thing is really booming. Nobody believes it, and it makes an okay living if you can hit it big. The key is to find a willing face.” Once again, she looked past me to my bedroom.
“Lisa?” I asked.
“Well, you only have two choices with her at this point.”
“I don’t follow you.”
“She knows your nature. Plus,” Morgan raised her voice a bit, “she’s been faking being asleep and has heard all of our conversation. At this point she is a liability and can either be your front, or tonight’s dinner.”
Then Morgan did something that caught me totally off guard…she winked! Actually, her voice filled my head; telepathic…why not? If she tried to tell anybody, she’d be considered crazy and probably get pumped full of meds. But it’s fun to put a little scare into them every once in a while.
I heard feet hit the floor. Lisa came scrambling into the room. She saw me and stumbled, I forgot that I was no longer wearing the glasses.
“W-wait a minute!” She shot what I imagined to be a pleading look my way. “I’m not gonna say anything, promise.”
“Yes,” Morgan nodded with even less emotion in her voice than she expressed on her face, “well, that’s up to Miss Birch here. After all, it will fall on her if you become a problem. I’ll be leaving now, my dears. If she decides to kill you and eat you…well…ghouls are notoriously sloppy eaters.”
And with that, she turned and left. That didn’t stop her from telepathically laughing in my head. I was pretty sure I didn’t like Morgan.
I turned to Lisa who took an unsteady step backwards. The look on her face was one of fear. Seriously? I thought. I saved her ass last night and this is how she was gonna react?
“Boo!” She actually jumped. “Oh knock it off,” I snapped.
“I’ll do it!” Lisa interrupted me.
“You’ll do what?” I went over to my sofa and flopped down, turning on the television.
“I’ll be your front.” Lisa took a few tentative steps into my tiny living room.
“My front?”
“Like Morgan said.” Lisa came and sat beside me. She did her best to maintain eye contact with me. Points for her. “But the first thing we need to do is get you some glasses…and a cane,” she added as an afterthought.
“Excuse me?”
“Sure,” her face brightened, “for when we go out.”
“Not following you.”
“People will think you’re blind,” she explained. “Then, if we go out someplace in public, nobody will think you’re weird for wearing dark glasses inside.”
Well, that’s clever, I thought. “And what about my skin?” I held up one gray hand and wriggled my fingers in front of her face.
She sat quietly for a few seconds, and I could tell she was act
ually trying to figure out an answer. It was like watching a sunrise. I watched the idea dawn and solidify on her face! It’s actually much cooler than it sounds.
“Airbrush,” Lisa said, her face beaming.
I was about to comment when the news spouted off about Miracle Baby and the Gas Station Hero. It was like witnessing a landslide. The expression on Lisa’s face crumbled and went from happy to miserable. They say it takes more muscles to frown than it does to smile. I wonder how many it takes to look like your heart has been torn from your chest.
“Hey!” I snapped my fingers in front of her face. “That was yesterday. Just like that baby, you have a fresh slate in your life…starting today.”
I admit that was a pretty lame pep speech. I mean, it was no Braveheart soliloquy, but I was going off the cuff here.
“I don’t know what kind of life you were living before,” I put my arms around Lisa and she didn’t even flinch, “but it can change starting today. Look at me. I was a divorced, childless waitress who wasn’t even missed when I didn’t show up for work for like three…now four…days! We have no place to go but up!”
“So what’s your plan?” Lisa sniffled, her voice muffled from her face being smushed into my shoulder.
That was a good question. What was my plan? The whole memoire thing would be fun, but my life—if you take out the whole part about my having died and come back as a ghoul—had been fairly uninteresting up to this point. I had to do something worth writing about.
“We could be detectives,” I offered.
“Really?” Lisa sounded skeptical and pushed away from me, wiping her eyes. “And just what do you know about being a detective? Don’t you need some sort of license?”
I had no idea. And she was right. I was pretty sure I’d be a terrible detective. When I watched any of the numerous crime-drama shows on television, I never figured out whodunit until the climactic reveal at the end. In fact, I usually bought into whatever misdirection they used to implicate somebody completely innocent. Nope, being a private detective was probably not a good idea.
