Uncle Vampire

by Grant, Cynthia D.

  “She didn’t have to go to college back east,” Papa said around a mouthful of steak. “She could’ve gone out here. I can’t afford to fly her all over the country. That tuition is killing me.”

  “What about her scholarships and grants? Those help.” But Papa didn’t hear me. Had I said the words aloud, or only thought them?

  “Kids have to get away,” said Uncle Toddy. “You remember, Bill. You were young once.”

  “About a million years ago,” Papa said. Honey giggled. Laughing at his jokes improves his mood.

  I ate in silence, watching my uncle. I knew that he had read Maggie’s letter. Would he tell my parents all the things she had written?

  I said, “Why didn’t you tell me that Maggie called me?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I forgot.”

  “You should’ve woken me up. I wanted to talk to her.”

  “You need your sleep. More meat, Bill? I’ll get it.” Uncle Toddy winked at me and went into the kitchen.

  6

  We are down in the cellar, Uncle Toddy and I. The cellar is as dark and as private as sleep.

  He is honing his claws on a spinning silver wheel. Sparks fly off and glitter in his hair.

  I could call out to my family, but no one would hear me. Uncle Toddy says they went away on vacation.

  Why did they forget to take me with them?

  I promise I won’t get carsick anymore, or say I have to stop and pee. I promise I won’t fight with the other kids!

  “Don’t cry,” he says. “They’ll be back someday. Don’t you want to stay with me?”

  I want to say no, but my tongue fills my throat. His voice has little razor teeth. I used to love to listen to him talk, but now my ears are bleeding.

  “As soon as I’m done we can have some fun. I’ve built you this boat,” Uncle Toddy tells me.

  I’m sitting in the boat. It’s tight like a kayak, with a fitted top, in case it rains. I don’t like the top down; too close, I can’t breathe. He folds it back. He’s good with his hands. He makes gifts for the family; a bookshelf for Mama, a wine rack for Papa, a rocking horse for Honey and me. The wood’s not smooth. There’s a splinter in my hand. Uncle Toddy plucks it out with his teeth.

  I am so confused. Is this day or night? There are no windows in the cellar. No natural light. Uncle Toddy’s face glows. His skin is so white. His black cape covers his folded wings. The cape is lined with scarlet silk that feels like skin. My skin. I’m shrinking. I’m just a baby, just a little girl, drowning in my hair; it floods the boat, it leaks over the side, spills along the floor, a yellow tide rising toward the spinning wheel.

  Stop! It’s caught! My scalp is ripping off!

  Uncle Toddy saves me. He untangles my hair. His polished claws gently rake my face.

  “Almost done,” he says, “then we’ll have some fun. Don’t my hands look pretty?”

  “Oh, yes,” I say, but I mean, oh no. His fingernails curve like question marks. Why am I so small? I’m not a baby. I want to leave the cellar. I want to escape. But the stairs to the kitchen have disappeared.

  “All finished,” Uncle Toddy says. “Let’s go for a ride in your new boat.” He climbs in and sits behind me.

  “I can’t,” I say. “I don’t know how to swim.”

  That doesn’t matter. Uncle Toddy will save me. Even if he has to throw me in.

  “I want to take you out on the lake,” he says.

  There’s no water in the cellar, so we must be pretending. I know about make-believe. My parents say I have a vivid imagination. They make it sound like a disease. It can be, when it’s hard to tell what’s real, especially when you’re little and nobody believes you. I wanted to go with them, but they left me here. Why don’t they love me? I promise I’ll be good!

  “There’s no water,” I say. As usual, I’m wrong. The floor dissolves into a stream. Uncle Toddy slips an oar into the water and guides the canoe through a hole in the wall. We enter a tunnel. It is narrow and damp.

  “Where are we going? Are we in the house?” It’s so dark. We must be inside the walls, moving through the water pipes.

  “Close your eyes,” Uncle Toddy says. “I want to surprise you.”

  “I have to pee.” He doesn’t hear me, although he’s sitting so close his chest is pressed against my back. It’s become hard to tell if I am talking or just thinking

  “Carolyn, are you afraid of me?”

  “No,” I say. That was true, long ago. Things were different then, and so was he.

  Now I see his teeth. He’s not the person I knew. Which one is the real Uncle Toddy?

  “The world is a strange place,” he murmurs in my ear, as if he were reading my mind. “A strange place full of strangers. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” I say. I always say yes. Especially when I don’t know what he means.

  “Friends are fine, but they come and go. Family is blood,” he says. “Blood is forever. That’s why you’re so special to me.”

  “Like Grammy,” I say. He’s afraid of Grammy. He cringes when I mention her name. Suddenly I want her so desperately that, wherever she is, she must feel my longing. “I want Grammy!” I cry.

  “Don’t be a baby. Aren’t you having fun? Aren’t you having a good time?”

  “Yes,” I say, so he won’t be angry. “But I can’t see.”

  “Of course you can’t. Open your eyes.” His voice becomes gentle. “Carolyn, have you ever seen anything so pretty?”

  The picture’s inside out. It’s a negative, silver defining the shapes of shadows. The lake we are riding is high in the sky. The moon is a ball shining up through the water. Trees by the shore wave their roots in the air. Or is that women with tangled hair? The sky is alive with fish. No, I’ve got it all turned around. The world isn’t upside down; it’s me. I see. It’s the reflections on the water.

  “I’m all mixed up,” I say, turning to Uncle Toddy. In his place is a giant red insect.

  “No!” I’m screaming. “No, don’t bite me!”

  “For God’s sake, Carolyn, I was only kidding!” Uncle Toddy removes his insect mask. “See?”

  I can’t stop crying. I call for Grammy. I’m saying the prayer she taught me: “Our Father, who art in heaven—”

  “Quit that,” Uncle Toddy says. “You sound like an old lady.”

  “I want to go home!”

  “You are home,” he says. “Lower your voice. Do you want to get in trouble? Grammy would be mad. You’re not supposed to be out at night, especially in your nightgown. You’ve got nothing on your feet. Where are your slippers?”

  He’s right, of course, Grammy would be disappointed. She wouldn’t say so, but her eyes would tell me. I can’t afford to lose her; she’s the only one who loves me. I don’t want him to see me cry, but I can’t help it.

  “Poor baby.” Uncle Toddy puts his strong arms around me, careful not to scratch me with his claws. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It was just a joke. See, this mask looks like a bug.” He starts to put it on again.

  “Don’t hurt me!”

  “I wouldn’t hurt you. Have I ever hurt you? I would never hurt you,” Uncle Toddy says. “The thing is—stop crying and listen to me, Carolyn—the thing is, you’re a vampire now too, and you might as well get used to it.”

  “I’m not!” I want to jump into the lake, but I would never make it back to shore.

  “Yes, you are, Carolyn. You’re a vampire too. You know how it works; you’ve seen the movies. But it’s not so bad. In fact, you’ll love it. You’ll never get old; you’ll stay young like me. And it’s not like we’re evil. We don’t kill anybody. The thing is, people have more blood than they need. That’s why they leave some at blood banks. Really. All we want is a taste. We don’t hurt anybody.”

  “What about the others? Don’t hurt my mother!”

  “Do you think I’m a monster? I would never hurt your mama. And you mustn’t hurt her either,” Uncle Toddy says sincerely. “You’re so negativ
e and crabby. That worries her, Carolyn. She’s got a lot on her mind. How do you think she’d feel if she found out you were a vampire? What would Gram think?”

  “They’d hate it!” I cry.

  “They might even make you go away. They wouldn’t understand. People have the wrong idea about vampires. This is our secret. You and I know the truth.”

  His eyes pierce mine. His wings are rising. His mouth falls open like a rotting wound.

  “I don’t want to die!”

  I wake up, shrieking, to the circle of faces: Richie, Mama, Papa, Uncle Toddy; even Grammy and Grampa are crowded around my bed.

  “She’s coming out of it now,” Papa says.

  Mama says: “Carolyn, you had us so worried.”

  Grammy doesn’t say a thing. Her face is ancient with sadness.

  “I was having a dream—” But it’s all jumbled up. I can’t explain where I’ve been or what I’ve seen.

  Uncle Toddy says, “Sweetie, you’ve been under a strain. That’s all over now. You’re safe. We’re here.”

  “Where’s Honey?”

  “Asleep,” Papa says. “Don’t wake her. She’s so worried about you. We all are, Carolyn. You’re not yourself.”

  “Where’s Margaret?” I ask. “I need to talk to Maggie!”

  Their eyebrows shoot skyward like startled birds.

  “She’s three thousand miles away,” Papa says. “In Boston. Don’t you remember?”

  “Of course I remember! Get her on the phone! I need to talk to Maggie!”

  Richie looks scared. He doesn’t say a word.

  I say, “I dreamed I was dying. I couldn’t find you. You all went away on vacation.”

  “I’m sorry,” Mama says. “It’s all my fault. It’s in the genes. That’s why you’re acting so strange.”

  “I’m not crazy!”

  “You’re not to blame. Don’t worry anymore. It’s all arranged.”

  “What’s arranged?” I sit up in bed. “What’re you talking about?”

  “The hospital.” Papa avoids looking into my eyes.

  “Don’t worry.” Uncle Toddy strokes my hair. “The ambulance is on its way.”

  I pull away from his hands. “What’s the matter with you people? Has everybody gone crazy?”

  “Don’t be scared,” Grampa says. “You’ll be home for Christmas. We’ll come and see you every day.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m not going anywhere! You’re the ones who are crazy!”

  “Pills,” Uncle Toddy says. “She needs some tranquilizers.”

  “Not too many,” Richie says. “They’re strong.”

  Fear crashes through me. I’m running through my veins, running down halls lined with locked doors, shrieking: “No, you’ve got to listen! This house is poisoned! He’s killing us! We’re all infected!”

  “What are you talking about?” Papa’s face is angry.

  “Uncle Toddy is a vampire! He’s drinking our blood!”

  My grandmother collapses on the floor, dead.

  “Now look what you’ve done! You’ve killed her!” Papa says.

  Mama covers her face with her hands and turns away.

  I’m kicking and screaming. Uncle Toddy holds me down.

  “For God’s sake!” he shouts. “Where’s the ambulance?

  He’s shaking me and shaking me. My eyes snap open. Richie’s frightened face is close, his hands are on my shoulders.

  “Wake up!” he says. “Wake up! You’re dreaming!”

  But how can I be sure?

  7

  Honey and I were learning to drive. She was at the steering wheel and I was in the backseat, keeping my mouth shut. She’s not the world’s best driver. She jerks the steering wheel this way, that way, then slams on the brakes at the stop sign: Errrrrrrr!

  Mr. Robinson, who also teaches math, told her she was doing fine. He likes Honey. She twinkles and dimples and laughs at his jokes, and doesn’t say a word when he pats her knee.

  Hey, it’s her knee, not mine.

  “Turn left at the corner,” Mr. Robinson said.

  Honey tapped the brake. We st-st-st-stopped at the signal light.

  “You don’t have to brake so soon,” he said.

  “I’m sorry,” Honey said. “I’m so excited.”

  She could hardly sit still. She was practically twitching. I’m a big girl now! I’m learning to drive! I could see her reflection in the rearview mirror, her face wildly happy, her eyes shining. She steered that car as if it were her life and she was finally in control.

  Honey doesn’t know that she’s circling a track that will take her back to where she started.

  “Yield,” Robinson said. “The sign said ‘yield.’”

  Honey yielded and merged and zipped down the road, waving to friends (“Keep your hands on the wheel!”), humming like a little blond engine.

  I cringed in the backseat. Cars and trucks were all around us. A foot or two closer and we’d be squashed. Let Honey drive. I don’t want to take my turn. I know I should learn; it would free me.

  If I knew how to drive, I could leave this town. A memory stirs in its sleep. We ran away. We were small. It was dark. We were wearing pajamas and slippers. Maggie buttoned up our coats and put scarves on our heads. It was cold. It was winter.

  Someone was shouting in the living room. Papa? Arguing with Mama? With Uncle Toddy?

  “Come on,” Maggie said. We slipped out the front door. Nobody noticed; they were too busy yelling.

  We hurried down the sidewalk, under huge, heavy trees, their branches thrashing in the wind. It felt so odd to be out at night—like Halloween, without the candy.

  “Hold hands,” Maggie said. We all held hands.

  Richie started crying. “The police will get us.”

  “Don’t be a baby,” Maggie said. “Hurry up.”

  She was taking us to Grammy’s house. Grammy would know what to do. She would make them stop yelling.

  Then we came to the end of the block, where the avenue broadens, at the intersection. I looked up at Maggie’s face, so strong and brave, shining in the streetlight. Then her mouth twisted.

  “We can’t cross the street,” she announced flatly. “Not till we’re older. They said so.”

  We didn’t argue, of course, because Maggie was the boss. There was no place to go, so we went back. We had to ring the doorbell. They were surprised to see us. Mama and Papa and Uncle Toddy got mad at us; especially at Maggie, because she was the oldest and should’ve known better.

  That memory appeared like a photograph as Honey drove through that same intersection.

  “You’re doing fine,” Robinson said. He sneaks looks at her legs when he thinks she won’t notice. It makes her nervous, so she pretends to be unconscious, one of her specialties. She’s wearing a miniskirt. Her legs are long and curvy. She’d deny it, but she likes people to notice her body.

  It was my turn to drive. “You’re doing great,” Robinson told me.

  “I like to drive.” That would please Honey. I’ve been trying not to rock her boat. “It’s weird, when you think how close the other cars are.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, we could get killed any second.”

  “Not that we will,” Honey added.

  “Don’t think about that,” Robinson said. “Just watch the road.”

  As we walked home, Honey was practically skipping.

  “That was fun,” she said. “I can’t wait to drive.”

  “Drive what?”

  “Mama’s car, I guess.”

  “Uncle Toddy’s always got it, since his truck broke down. Why doesn’t he get it fixed?”

  “He doesn’t have any money.”

  “Why not? He’s got a job.”

  “Do you think Papa will pay for our insurance?”

  “I doubt it. In case you haven’t noticed, his business is going down the drain.”

  “No, it’s not,” Honey said. “The insurance won’t co
st much. You get a discount if your grades are good.”

  “They’re not. Remember?”

  “They will be.” Honey kicked brown leaves along the sidewalk.

  I dropped the subject. I didn’t want to spoil her mood. Things are going pretty smoothly. Tonight she’s going to the homecoming dance with our school’s star quarterback, Curtis Bradley. Or is it Bradley Curtis? I can never remember.

  Uncle Toddy had a snack of cheese and crackers waiting for Honey. She’ll have dinner in a restaurant before the dance.

  “I’m not hungry, Uncle Toddy.”

  He pouted. She ate.

  She’s happy tonight. She’s in love with Curtis Bradley. Our team won the homecoming game. Wahoo. She’s sailing up into the sky like a pink balloon, her hope carrying her high above the ground. It scares me.

  She stood before the mirror, piling up her hair, then letting it splash, thick and golden, down her back. She wants to look perfect for Curtis Bradley. Bradley Curtis. Whatever.

  He’s not your average jock. He’s intelligent and kind. He’s nice to people who aren’t even popular. Even Janis Simms, the official school fat girl. There must always be a fat girl for everyone to torture.

  Someday Janis Simms will return for our class reunion, a beautiful woman, in a size six dress, carrying an Oscar. Or a machine gun, perhaps.

  I can’t stay on track. I was talking about Bradley. Or Curtis. Maybe there’re two of him, like us. We could double-date. Honey wouldn’t like that. She prefers to keep her friends and my friends separate.

  Trying to be objective, I watched Honey dress, thinking: Who is that girl? What would a stranger see?

  She could be a model. A magazine cover girl. The all-American fashion doll: blue eyes, red lips, blond hair. She hates her nose; she thinks it spoils her looks. She covered it with her hand and stared into the mirror.

  I said, “You could walk around like that all night.” She stuck out her tongue at me.

  She looks shorter than I do, by an inch or two. Honey projects petiteness. Her gown is made of dark blue velvet. It’s a simple dress, sweeping to the floor, baring her shoulders and back. And front.