Thea: A Vampire Story

by Steven Jenkins

  “No marshmallows?” she asks as she sets the mug down on her bedside cabinet.

  Shit. Marshmallows. I forgot. “Sorry, sweetheart,” I slur, using the doorframe to hold me up straight. “It slipped my mind. Must be out of practice.”

  “It’s okay, Mum. I was only teasing. It’s fine without them.”

  “Next time,” I say with another smile. “Enjoy.”

  “Aren’t you having one, Mum?”

  “No. I’m fine. Trying to cut down on sugar.” I kiss her on the cheek. “Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Goodnight, Mum,” Thea replies, closing the door. “Thanks.”

  I stop and turn to her. “Drink up now. You wouldn’t want it to go cold.”

  “I will. Love you.”

  “Love you, too.”

  She closes the door and an all-consuming sense of relief washes over me. Not guilt. Not regret. Just a feeling of hope.

  I’m tired, drunk beyond belief, and I feel queasy. I need to sleep off all this booze. But instead of stopping outside my room, I find myself standing by Ivy’s door. And like a woman possessed by some supernatural entity, I walk over to the corner table, reach into the glass vase, fish out the skeleton key, and then open the door to Ivy’s room. My heart judders a little as I step inside, switching the light on.

  Apart from all the cobwebs along the ceiling, the dust and dead moths resting on the cabinets and shelves, everything is exactly as it was that night. The same purple painted walls, dirty clothes, and underwear scattered across the floor. The DVD disk-tray still sticking out with American Psycho ready to be played or removed. Her dresser is covered in makeup and pens. The wardrobe doors are hanging half-open. If it weren’t for the fact that I knew she was such a messy teenager, then I’d think the place had been ransacked. The only thing that’s tidy is her bed. It’s the only part of the room that Mum had to tamper with. I sit on it. It’s so soft. It’s one of Mum’s spare mattresses. I told her not to bother replacing Ivy’s, but she did it anyway. Even made the bed with fresh sheets and a spare quilt.

  On the wall, I notice the water-painting she did of Thea. I can’t believe she had it up for so many years. It’s beautiful. It truly captures Thea’s cheeky spirit. I thought about having it in my bedroom, framed to the wall. But it belongs in here. It’s her talent. She got it from my mother. Art is not my forte.

  Sitting on the bedside cabinet is a photo of her and her friends in some theme park. I can’t remember when it was, but she looks happy. They all do. She must be about thirteen in this judging by her bobbed haircut. I loved that.

  Eyelids heavy, I lie down, facing the window; the curtains still open. The room still smells of Ivy. I can’t quite put my finger on the scent. It’s just…her. I imagine how low she must have been to do what she did.

  I remember the blood. I can still feel it against my skin as I lay next to her.

  “I love you, Ivy,” I mumble as my eyes fully close. “I miss you so much.”

  Pulling the quilt over my body, I smile, even though I’m crying. Tomorrow I’ll have a hangover. A terrible one. But it won’t matter one bit.

  Because tomorrow Thea will still be home.

  My baby.

  For good…

  16

  Saturday, 23rd April, 2016.

  The morning light burns its way through my eyelids. I fight hard to keep them closed, but I can’t. As soon as I open them, as soon as the world reforms around me, the pain in my head kicks in, followed by the rancid taste of vodka in my mouth. I rub my forehead and eyes, and then sit up in bed.

  Where the hell am I?

  My stinging eyes scan my surroundings. Ivy’s bedroom. How the hell did I end up here?

  But then I remember being blind drunk, getting the key from the vase, and walking in. I must have just passed out on the bed.

  I see myself throwing Thea’s phone across the kitchen, breaking it to bits against the wall. Why?

  Thea’s Facebook messages. She’s planning to run away with Jared.

  “Shit!” Did I shout at her? I must have.

  I see myself making her a hot chocolate, swaying up the stairs to give it to her. Why? Did we make up? Did I talk her out of leaving?

  But then it hits me! And I can’t breathe, the walls around me closing in—because I remember everything.

  I leap off the bed in a panic.

  Thea!

  What the fuck have I done?

  I race out of the room, along the landing to Thea’s bedroom. Please, God—tell me that I just dreamed it! Please tell me I didn’t poison my daughter! Grabbing the door handle, I barge my way inside the room. “Thea!” I blurt out. The bed is empty. She’s gone!

  On the bedside cabinet, I spot the mug.

  It’s empty!

  Oh dear God, no!

  Picking up the mug, I see that every last drop is gone. All that remains is a thin layer of dried chocolate stuck to the inside.

  I feel sick. But not from the alcohol, swimming around in my blood. I wish it were.

  “Thea!” Where the hell is she?

  Has she turned already?

  Racing along the landing, I quickly check my bedroom. She’s not here. I check the bathroom as well. Deserted. Practically soaring down the entire length of the staircase, I land on the hallway and then bolt into the kitchen. Where the hell are you?

  “Morning, Mum,” Thea says from the table.

  Almost choking with relief, I grab hold of the wall, with the other hand over my hammering heart.

  She’s just eating corn flakes. She’s still Thea.

  Oh, thank God!

  “Did you drink the hot chocolate?” I ask, unable to contain the panic in my voice. Of course she bloody drank it! The mug was empty!

  “Yeah,” she replies. “Why?”

  “All of it?”

  “Yeah,” she replies with a confused frown. “Of course I did. What’s wrong?”

  “What time did you drink it? How long has it been in your system?”

  “Why?”

  “Just answer me!”

  Thea’s eyes broaden in shock at my sudden outburst.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” I say in a forced calm voice. “Just tell me.” I pull out a chair from under the table and sit down, my hands over hers, preventing her from eating.

  There’s that frown again. She thinks I’ve lost it.

  “I drank it last night. As soon as you left my room,” she replies, pulling her hand out of mine. “You’re being weird. Are you still drunk?”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m not drunk. I just need to know if you’re okay.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with the hot chocolate? It tasted fine.”

  “Nothing’s wrong with it.”

  “Then what’s the big deal?”

  I think for a moment, trying to come up with a suitable lie. I can’t possibly tell her the truth. “It’s the milk I used to make it,” I lie—the very first thing that pops into my spinning mind. “I think it’s gone off.”

  Thea looks at me in revulsion, then down at her cereal. “Thanks, Mum,” she says with a wince. “I’ve already eaten half a bowl.” Dropping the spoon into the milk, she gets up off her chair and takes her cereal over to the sink. “That’s disgusting.”

  I can’t stop my heart pounding, my hands shaking. I try to will them to settle, but nothing happens. The room starts to swirl; my stomach roils.

  I’m going to be sick!

  Jumping up, I get to the sink in a split second and throw up all over the dirty dishes.

  “Bloody hell, Mum!” she says, leaping out of the way in fright. “You’ve got to stop drinking. It’s not good for you.”

  Holding onto the edge of the sink, I spit out the last remaining vomit. My stomach feels no better. I put the cold tap on, fill up my palm with water and then rinse my mouth.

  “Are you okay?” Thea asks, her hand on my back as I lean over the sink. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  I rub som
e water over my face and leave the tap running to swill the vomit-covered dishes. “I’m fine. Must be something I ate.”

  “Maybe it’s the milk. Am I gonna get ill?”

  “No,” I reply, shaking my head. “You’ll be fine.”

  How the fuck would I know?

  Glancing over at the digital clock on the microwave, I start to count the hours since she drank the blood. It’s 10:03 A.M., so it’s been over eight hours. Surely something would have happened by now. I stare into Thea’s eyes, looking for any sort of evidence that something has changed. I can’t see anything; she has the same blue eyes; her skin is fair, but no lighter than usual.

  Sunlight!

  The blinds are still closed. I race over to them and yank the string until they fully open. The kitchen instantly brightens as the sun glares through the glass. I quickly turn to Thea, but all I see is a thirteen-year-old girl standing in the middle of the kitchen, looking at me with eyes filled with perplexity—like I’ve just gone insane overnight.

  I think I have. No wonder she wants to leave.

  I shield my eyes from the bright glow of the sun. Thea has barely flinched though.

  It was fake. Of course it was. I bet Kate’s dealer just gave her a vial of watered-down ketchup. I’ve been totally scammed—Thank God for that.

  “There’s something wrong with you,” Thea says, sighing loudly as she shakes her head. She then makes her way out of the kitchen.

  “Where are you going?” I ask, still struggling to hide the alarm in my voice. What’s there to be alarmed about? She’s absolutely fine. I’m sure of it.

  “To watch TV,” she replies with a scowl, stopping at the doorway. “Is that all right with you? Or am I grounded from the living room as well?”

  I hardly register the sarcasm in her tone as she leaves the kitchen. I think about chasing after her, but I stay put, staring at the empty doorway.

  Should I take her to the hospital, just in case?

  No, there’s no point. She’s fine. It’s been eight hours. If there was anything bad in her system, then it’s gone now.

  And what if the police found out what I did to her? They’d arrest me. Then I’d never get to see my little girl again. She’d be out the door with Jared even before I got to court.

  She’s fine.

  I sit down; still not ready to feel relief. The only relief that I feel is that the blood was fake.

  To hell with the money. I’ll pay Mum back somehow.

  And to hell with Dad, too.

  If Mum wants vampire blood—she can get it herself next time.

  17

  10:07 P.M. Way past Thea’s bedtime. But after the monstrous morning I’ve had, I’m sure a late night is the least of my worries.

  We’ve been watching a movie for the past hour. I don’t even know what it’s called. Something about a beach house and an old witch. Thea says that I’ve already seen this, but for the life of me I can’t remember. I have a very selective memory. Moments in my childhood, Ivy and Thea growing up, I can see them in 3D. People’s names or movies I’ve supposedly seen? Not so much.

  Thea has her head resting against my shoulder, and I have my arm around her. After the madness of last night, with Jared and everything, this is the last thing I thought we’d be doing today. But here we are, like old times, huddled up on the couch on a Saturday night. Bliss. I haven’t even drunk a single drop of wine, too. Don’t know if I’ve turned over a new leaf, or that I’m still in a state of shock. Either way, I’m just glad that Thea is still Thea.

  But the messages?

  She’s still planning to run away with Jared. That can’t have changed overnight. Can it?

  Maybe she’s not going. Maybe it was just the vodka, making me read into things too much.

  No. The messages were crystal clear. She wants to leave.

  But I won’t allow it!

  The movie finishes just as I let out a long, theatrical yawn. “Come on then, sweetheart,” I say, switching the TV off with the remote, “time for bed.”

  “What time is it?” Thea asks.

  “Late. So come on,” I reply, getting off the couch, “up you get.”

  Thea groans, but then follows me up and out of the living room.

  I switch all of the lights off and then we both head upstairs.

  Just outside Ivy’s room, Thea stops. “Have you been inside?” she asks, peeking through the slightly ajar door.

  “Yeah. Last night. I just had a look around.”

  “Really? That’s good,” she says with a smile. “Can I go in?”

  “Of course you can, but not right now. Tomorrow. We’ll both go in, maybe sort through some of her stuff. How does that sound?”

  “Yeah. Okay.”

  I usher her away from the door, towards her own. “Now bed, madam. You need your beauty sleep.”

  Outside her room, I give her a kiss on the cheek. Just as I move away, I take her in my arms and pull her in for a hug.

  “Mum, you’re squishing me,” Thea playfully says, her words muted by my shirt.

  “Tough,” I reply, squeezing even harder. “It’s your own fault for being so huggable.”

  After a few more seconds, I finally let her go. Thea rolls her eyes but beams at the same time. It sends a warm sensation around me, drowning out my craving for a glass of red.

  “Goodnight,” I say as Thea steps inside her room. “Sweet dreams.”

  “You too. Goodnight,” Thea replies, slowly closing her door.

  I stand outside her room for maybe half a minute, trying to keep the guilt of last night at bay. I can’t let myself dwell on it. What’s done is done and there’s no going back. I made a mistake, and thank God I didn’t pay for it.

  Tomorrow is a new day in the Wilkes household.

  I blow a kiss to Thea through the door, and then head off to bed.

  Goodnight my angel.

  Don’t let the bedbugs bite.

  * * *

  I hear the rain hammer against the bedroom window. Don’t know what time it is. Can’t face opening my eyes to check the bedside clock. Must be around 2:00 A.M. I’ve had broken sleep all night, dreaming about Ivy. They used to be nightmares. But not these. For the first time in years, these dreams were happy ones. I don’t know what’s changed. Maybe finally going into her room? Whatever the reason, I feel like I may have turned a corner. It’s taken me a while, and I’m not likely ever to be able to fully move on. But it’s a start.

  I focus on my breathing as I try to drift off. It’s hard with the storm outside, but I love the sound it makes against the glass.

  After a few minutes, I open my eyes to check the clock. For a moment my vision is too blurred to see the display, but then I see that it’s 2:05 A.M. Jesus, I was pretty close. You can’t beat your own body clock.

  Just as I start to rest my head back on the pillow, I jump with fright; my heart beats violently against my chest.

  There’s a figure—it’s standing at the end of my bed.

  Grasping the edge of the quilt tightly, I start to see the outline of hair; long hair to delicate shoulders. The lightning strikes, lighting up the room in an instant.

  It’s Thea.

  Switching on the bedside lamp, I breathe a sigh of relief.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Who else could it be? A bloody ghost?

  “Hi, sweetheart,” I say, sitting up against the headboard. “Is everything all right?”

  She doesn’t answer; her vacant eyes locked down on the bed, but not on me.

  “Thea?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

  Still no reply.

  Is she sleepwalking?

  No. She’s never done it before.

  “Thea?” I repeat, a little louder this time. “Can you hear me?”

  She slowly lifts her head; her eyes line up with mine. “I can’t sleep,” she mumbles.

  Pulling some of the quilt from the mattress, I pat the empty side of my double bed. “Jump in then,” I say with pretend reluctance. But
she knows I’m a sucker for company, especially with weather like this.

  Thea slowly walks around to the side of the bed and climbs in. She rests the back of her head on the pillow and pulls the quilt up to her chest.

  “Try to get some sleep now, honey,” I say, softly. “You need your rest.” I lean over and kiss her on the cheek. “Goodnight.”

  She doesn’t reply as I turn off the lamp

  Feeling exhausted, I close my eyes. Sleep is coming; I can feel it.

  After maybe ten or so minutes, I open my eyes. The storm seems to have settled. The moonlight, working its way through the curtains is the only light in the room. I turn to Thea. Her eyes are still wide open, staring up at the ceiling. I think about saying something, but what’s the point? She’ll sleep when she sleeps.

  There’s nothing strange about a little girl struggling to sleep.

  We’ve all been there. It’s perfectly normal.

  She’s not a vampire…

  18

  Sunday, 24thApril, 2016.

  I’ve been up since eight. Thea’s still asleep in my bed. But I couldn’t disturb her this morning after the night she had. She looked so peaceful lying there next to me, hugging the quilt tightly like a soft toy.

  The storm has passed, and the sun is shining: a perfect Sunday morning for pancakes and syrup. I haven’t made these in years; Thea’s favourite. I cook about six mini ones first, leaving the rest of the batter in the jug. If she wants more, then I’ll make them later. I’ve searched the cupboard, and all I could find was golden syrup; no maple. Oh well, that will have to do until I’ve gone shopping.

  I lay the pancakes on a large plate and set them down on the kitchen table, next to the orange juice. God knows why I’m in such an optimistic mood after all the drama. And I have no illusion that pancakes or cutting back on wine will suddenly change Thea’s feelings about running away. But at least it’s a start.

  I walk out into the hallway and call up to Thea. It’s almost eleven; she should be up by now.

  She doesn’t respond.

  I try again and still nothing. She’s just tired, that’s all.

  I walk up the stairs to my bedroom. Poking my head through the open door, I see Thea still fast asleep, with the quilt covering most of her face.