Bloodsuckers and Blunders

by Poppy Inkwell

  Alana shivered as she felt her stomach flip. She felt she knew the answer to that one. To everybody’s relief, the teacher switched the lights back on and then wished them a “frightfully good day.”

  CHAPTER 9

  An artistic meeting of minds

  Maddie’s little brother, Troy, had grown taller in the past year, as if he’d been stretched on one of Mrs. Snell’s torture racks. It was Troy Dawson’s first day of school too. His tummy jiggled and churned at saying goodbye to Cassy, who sucked her thumb and wailed at the gate. They’d never really been apart before. Troy’s hand disappeared into Maddie’s when he met his kindergarten teacher, Mrs. Kent, and he only relinquished it when Maddie pretended to shoot at people’s bottoms with her violin case. This made him laugh and the funny feeling in his tummy got a tiny bit smaller. When Maddie left and the funny feeling threatened to return, he jumped on it like it was an alien in a computer game.

  Mrs. Kent didn’t seem to mind that he spent a lot of time jumping and squashing things she couldn’t see, or that he rolled around on the carpet while she told stories. Cassy would like school, he thought, as he spun like a spider monkey, first one way and then another. Troy took a break from these activities for art during lunch time, but only because the teacher’s assistant, a massive mountain of a youth, was painting a huge mural on the playground wall. Enzo, as the boy introduced himself, set Troy up with paint and paper too. He gave him more when it wasn’t enough. The pair of them worked side-by-side in a comfy-jeans kind of silence, Enzo pausing when he had to hitch his up which was every ten minutes, and Troy whenever he felt the urge to jump, which was almost as often.

  “Like it. What is it?” Enzo said, looking at Troy’s bold strokes of paint on the paper.

  Troy looked down and explained. “That’s Mom, working, cooking and doing stuff,” he said, pointing at a figure surrounded by flames. “That’s Cassy, crying because she’s only four and not big enough for school,” he said next, indicating a smudge of green sitting in a puddle of tears. “This is Maddie and her violin because practice makes perfect (she says), plus it’s good for shooting bottoms.” Troy then showed Enzo a rectangle with wheels which was rocketing off the paper. The circles were blurred with speed. “This is Dad. He drives a truck. He lives at home but not very often. Not as much as Khalilah (now pointing at a smudge in blue), who Auntie Mo says is around our house so much she practically lives there, but I reckon she can’t talk coz she’s around our house more than anyone else. Except Uncle Joe who can’t move anymore because of his bunged-up knee. And his deaf ears which he turns off whenever Auntie Mo is around.” Then Troy’s voice dropped as he shared Uncle Joe’s “secret weapon” of “poisonous gas” which always sent Auntie Mo scurrying for cover.

  Enzo nodded in sympathy. He had people living at home who dropped in and out like it was a ruddy hotel (his mom’s words, not his), and others who were good-for-nothing parasites, appearing when there was food to be had, but disappearing at the first sign of work. It was only recently that Enzo had decided to change from being a good-for-nothing parasite himself. Not because of his mom’s harsh words, but because someone had told him - via a stone pillar, a leafy bush, and a boy in a leather jacket - that he should find his gift in life and use it for the benefit of others. A gift! Him? Enzo? Just the thought of it lying unopened inside of him made him feel a bit frightened, in a tummy-churning kind of way. But now here he was. Painting on walls and listening to others, and the alien feelings felt more and more squashed.

  There were other things in Troy’s painting. Aunties, uncles, cousins, and a flying soccer ball, which his big sister, Maddie, liked to play with her friends, Khalilah, Alana and Sofia. Troy had painted himself on victorious knees after scoring a goal. And Khalilah was eating a cream bun with a pocket full of jelly babies. Khalilah, in fact, looked a bit like a circus performer because she was also playing the flute and riding a skateboard at Bondi Beach. You could tell it was Bondi Beach because of the seagulls in the picture which looked more like albatrosses in size. (Have you noticed how things that scare you always seem bigger than they are? Troy had.) Behind Khalilah was another car. It was full of mean-looking boys. They were chasing her and Alana who were now on bikes. The painting was looking more like a movie, changing by the minute. Alana was also playing the guitar. You could tell it was Alana because she was wearing big, spiky boots like a pair of angry echidnas. And there was a speech bubble floating above her with, “Don’t mess with us!” in squiggles, because Troy hadn’t yet learned to read or write. As if the boys in the car would dare, because now they’d come to Troy’s neighborhood, Redfern. You didn’t mess with Troy’s turf if you knew what was good for you.

  In Troy’s painting, Sofia was drumming in the sky but she just managed to stay on the paper, and not drift off the edge into outer space, because of her lucky charms which acted like anchors around her neck, ankles, and arms. There was even a new one in her belly button (!) - a stud that Sofia said had more to do with style than luck. Although Sofia’s dad did say that it was lucky she was too old to be put across his knee for a good hiding. And not to put anymore holes in her body that God didn’t put there first. And not to wear crop tops at the dinner table either, because it put him off his food.

  “And that’s my family,” Troy said when he was finished, puffing with pride.

  When the pair of them looked at Troy’s finished painting it was very, very long. It was very, very wide. And it was very, very big. It was twelve paper pieces across and twelve paper pieces down. It was almost as big as the wall Enzo was painting. Mrs. Kent said it was impressive. Troy’s tiny chest puffed with pride. He didn’t know exactly what the word meant, but he had a feeling it was deadly.

  CHAPTER 10

  A dance with death

  “Posture! Balance! Timing!” All remained as elusive to Alana as gold at the end of a rainbow. The situation was so dire Mrs. Cronenberg decided Alana needed remedial work with the-great-and-fabulous Will.

  After school.

  At home.

  The thought of entering the great, big spooky house full of suspected vampires filled Alana with dread, but inviting him to her own house wasn’t an option either. Alana had just finished reading the original vampire classic, Dracula, by Bram Stoker. The author clearly stated evil was something that happened by invitation only. There was no way she would risk her mother’s life by welcoming Will to her home. But could she go to his? Alone? Armed with nothing but a pair of spunky boots and half a kilo of organic garlic? When Alana’s friends found out about the extra practice, though, she didn’t have to.

  “Maybe he can help me with my dance moves?” Khalilah said.

  “Or even dance cheek-to-cheek?” Sofia said, twirling.

  Alana felt guilty for feeling relieved. “Really? You’d come with me?”

  Maddie wrapped an arm around Alana’s shoulders and said with a wink, “Sure! What are best friends for?”

  “Too right we will, Possum!” piped up Jefri. “We’ll have a ripper of a time!”

  It was a balmy afternoon in March when the five of them picked their way through the overgrown grass of Will’s lawn. Alana noted that in the month since they’d arrived, Will’s family had made minimal changes. The windows and walls had been repaired, of course, but the creepers remained and the house looked just as spooky as ever. The new knocker on the front door was equally forbidding, a large ring clenched in the teeth of a brass dragon. Sofia’s knock on the wood was muffled, as if it were too thick for sound to make an impression. Despite this, the door opened before Sofia had time to finish. It was Will.

  Will was in a black turtleneck shirt, black skinny jeans, and he wore gold-rimmed glasses fashioned into goggles. A velvet vest in plum stood out in stark contrast. He was like the ghost of a shadow. As lean as a wolf in winter. “Come in,” he said, returning an old-fashioned fob watch to his pocket.

  Even though the ceiling of the entrance hall was vaulted, there was little light. A wide stair
case lay in front of them leading to the second floor. The carpet was blood-red. A tall Edwardian grandfather clock kept time with a grim tick tock. The rest of the furniture -Jacobean mahogany, Gothic oak - dragged down the corners of Alana’s mouth. The interior was straight out of a horror film.

  They turned right and moved from the entrance hall into a sitting room. It was what Alana’s grandmother would have dubbed a Room for Best. The best chairs, the best coffee table, the best china, carefully preserved in their antique splendor for display, not use. It was dimly lit like a museum, as if anything brighter might make them disintegrate. The air felt stale. They could taste the mustiness of the room on their tongues. The curtains were drawn even though it was still light outside. Will looked around at the space and then beckoned from a second doorway. There was another room. Larger, and more suitable for their purposes.

  Alana lingered. Her feet followed their own thoughts. She was careful not to touch the washed-out photographs in their gilt frames, the cross-stitch cushions in faded thread, or the 1930s Art Nouveau lamps in the corner. She skirted around the brass sextant, barometer, and antique typewriter. The room was like a trip through a time warp. Alana also noticed strange contraptions that looked old but were really odd combinations of antique objects fashioned to a new purpose.Curious,

  she thought to herself.

  Without warning, a moose head jutted out from an alcove. Alana stepped back with a cry. It was then that she noticed the figure. It was seated in a 19th century Victorian parlor chair. Alana had seen one just like it, reupholstered in funky orange, in one of the antique shops on King Street. This one, in somber red velvet, looked like it was in its original condition ... with the original occupant. Alana’s history teacher, Mrs. Snell, was old, but the woman sitting in the armchair looked ancient. The woman’s forehead dominated her face. Large and domed beneath wispy hair that was scraped back tight. Her eyes were glassy. Her nose, hooked. She was a buzzard in human form. The clothes — a black cardigan with pearl buttons over a floor-length gown -were the disguise.

  Suddenly the old woman stopped staring at the TV which wasn’t on and pinned Alana with a malevolent glare. “This family is cursed!” she spat.

  “W-w-what?” Alana stuttered. But before the woman could say anything more, Will strode in.

  “Oh, there you are,” he said, eyes narrowing. His nose wrinkled in distaste. Alana clutched the bulbs of garlic in her pockets. “I see you’ve met Great Aunt Esme.”

  Alana gave a quick nod. She didn’t trust her voice to speak.

  “Poor dear,” Will said, “Hasn’t said a word in over fifty years.”

  Alana’s head snapped back to look at Great Aunt Esme again. The old woman remained as still as a wax work. Had she imagined the outburst? Great Aunt Esme’s eyes locked onto hers.

  No. She hadn’t.

  The sound of a violin from upstairs helped Alana drag her eyes away. Maddie burst into the room to break the spell completely. “I love this piece of music,” she said.

  “I’ll get my sister, Alice, to play the waltzes for us then, if you like,” Will offered. “That will make dance practice more authentic.”

  Maddie picked her jaw from the floor. “So. Not a recording,” she said in a small voice.

  In the adjoining room, Alice (Grade 6 violin, High Distinction, and only twelve!), played a variety of waltzes. Maddie was the only one who watched Alice’s fingers skip lightly over the strings as her bow swooped and soared in time with the music. The others, meanwhile, winced as they watched Alana stumble after Will’s feet like a blind zombie.

  Alana felt as if hundreds of eyes were watching her every move. Perhaps there were. A hundred, I mean. The mounted moose in the “best room” had been the start. A jackalope, a bunyip, and a griffin stared down from one wall and a chimera, a dragon, and a unicorn from another. From an oak sideboard, the glassy eyes of a threadbare stuffed ferret watched them twirl.

  Dead bodies.

  They were surrounded.

  Was it a sign of things to come?

  CHAPTER 11

  Dead to the world

  Shall we take another look at the dead body? The one in Alana's living room? It is still there, you know.

  The dead woman has folds of skin that sit at the base of her neck like a choker. It shows that at one time in her life she was even heavier. The skin on her face is paper thin. You can see veins. Capillaries. Like a map of the Underground which Khalilah used when visiting her cousin in London. Khalilah always has a cousin in London and they're always studying and having an Overseas Experience. It's a family tradition that has gone on for decades. At Madzaini reunions they reminisce about London's fish and chips. They exchange stories about getting lost on The Tube. They speak with a "pommy accent" and laugh like hyenas. Har har har. Khalilah hopes to go too, one day.

  But I digress.

  The woman's hair. It is so white it is almost transparent. If we watch the body long enough it looks as if the hair and nails are growing. This looks creepy but it is not true. It is an optical illusion. Dead bodies dehydrate and shrink, making the nails appear to be growing.

  Her eyes. They are closed. But they manage to look accusing. As if the dead woman knows she shouldn't be here, lying on a coffee table in a strange living room, feet dangling indecorously off the edge. But the dead woman's anger - which the four girls swear they can feel like the heat from a furnace - is quashed by a loud sound of gas escaping.

  Within three days of death the enzymes that aid digestion begin to eat you. This process of putrefaction releases noxious gases that make the body bloat. It forces the eyes to bulge. These scientific facts are of no consequence to the four girls in Alana's living room. For them it is simple. The gases that have built up in the body need to escape and they have...

  The dead woman has farted.

  The four break into hysterics. Their laughter is a huge release. The sense of relief is like a balloon. Their lungs swap fear for air. Until -

  Knock knock knock.

  "Hello! Anyone home?"

  CHAPTER 12

  It’s all her fault!

  When the “owner” of the dead body came to claim her, Ling Ling blamed Katriona. After all, it was Katriona who had rejected everything Ling Ling and Emma had planned for her birthday. It was Katriona who had not wanted birthday cake in the morning (smeared or unsmeared against the wall). It was Katriona who had not wanted a game of paintball, and it was Katriona who had not wanted three different spa treatments.

  “That’s what you wanted for your 30th,” Emma pointed out to Ling Ling.

  It was true.

  But giving Katriona what she wanted, what she really, really wanted was not an option.

  Neither of her friends could Turn Back Time.

  Katriona kept her promise of “neverevereverever getting out of bed” by staying in bed. For the rest of summer, all of autumn, and the beginning of winter as well. The Beauty Bar lost clients. Business went downhill. To make matters worse, the stock market fell with Ling Ling scrabbling after it. All her magic with numbers? Lost! Lost, until there was almost nothing left.

  What do you do when you are almost bankrupt? (Economize! Tighten your belt! Save!)

  Exactly! But that’s you.

  What Ling Ling did (secretly) was gamble.

  Ling Ling gambled on greyhounds. She bet on backgammon. Mahjong. Card games. Football results. Horse races. Always “chasing-the-money, chasing-the-money, chasing-the-money.” But Ling Ling was really only chasing her tail. After three months, she was so deep in debt that the only thing she had left was part-ownership of The Beauty Bar. And after losing another bet on a hamster, Ling Ling lost that as well. So when Katriona relented to get out of bed for a pilgrimage to see Kylie Minogue, rumored to be in Tasmania, Ling Ling jumped at the chance.

  And by the way, don’t tell anyone where they’re going...

  ...And if you see a little, old lady with white hair in a bun... RUN!

  Darling Lala,(Emma wrot
e)

  Auntie Ling Ling and I are taking Auntie Katriona on a road trip to celebrate her 30th birthday. Late, I know, but it’s the only thing which will get her out of bed and hopefully out of the doldrums. Unless we don’t see Kylie Minogue, in which case... BUT we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. We will be back in plenty of time for the Big Game, so not long. (Wrong.) Grandma dropped off some food — see the freezer — which should tide you over until I get back.

  Guess what? I bumped into our lovely new neighbors, you know the ones who moved in across the road, and they have promised to keep an eye on you. (What???!) So nice to have some friends move in (finally!) who are of a similar age. (Nu-uh!)

  Miss you already.

  Forever. For always. No matter what.

  Mamadoodlekins

  xoxoxoxoxo

  P.S. I’ve sorted out that problem you were telling me about and the new neighbors are ecstatic to help. I wont say anymore because I don’t want to spoil the surprise but I cant WAIT for your birthday! (This does not sound good!)