Bloodsuckers and Blunders

by Poppy Inkwell

  The night she chose was a cloudy one so that the moon was a muted orb. It was eight days since the note and seven days since a scratchy phone call confirmed her mom was alive and well. (“Hello? Crrsh. Hiss. Alana? Can ... hear m-? Crrsh. Beep, beep, beep.) Alana had to wait until ten o’clock before Mr. Löfgren’s car turned into their driveway. She slipped into a black tracksuit and exchanged her heavy boots for a pair of old trainers. Alana looked at the pink ski mask in her hand - something she’d found stashed in the back of a cupboard - and decided against it. It would be hard to use her “I’m-just-returning-your-mail” excuse with it on. Alana put the stash of letters she’d collected over the week into her backpack, and headed out into the cold.

  A quick glance to her left revealed the silhouette of Mr. Peyton hunched over what was probably a crossword or Sudoku puzzle. It was a favorite pasttime of his and something he brought with him on the occasions he’d had to babysit Alana in the past. To the right was the familiar blue glow from Mrs. Whetu’s TV and the sounds of The Late, Late Show on full volume. Good. Neither neighbor would catch her skulking around in the dead of night. But just to be sure, Alana avoided the streetlights and stuck to the shadows.

  Although the walk to the neighbor’s house was barely two minutes away, it felt like hours to Alana’s pounding heart. The spooky house looked even more ominous in the dark and the climbing vines seemed to hold the house in a death grip. Alana skirted the neighbor’s front yard and approached the house from behind, an area she had never been before. It was too late to hope the Lofgren’s didn’t have a guard dog. She could hardly scare a raging Alsatian with a bill for electricity.

  The tepid light of a fluorescent bulb spilled from a window onto a ledge behind a row of wheelie bins lining the rear wall of the house. Alana decided this was as good a place to start as any, and tested the ledge for stability with the palms of her hands. A sudden bark from behind sent Alana scrambling prematurely, staring fearfully into the dark. Panting. Sounds ragged. Very close by, she panted raggedly, until she realized the breathing was her own. She touched her ribs gingerly which were still tender from Kusmuk’s P.E. session. She was lucky her friends had been there to fend Nurse Cathy off. Otherwise the nurse may not have stopped at bandaging only her side. When she’d calmed down, she realized the dog was behind the neighbor’s fence on the street behind. Not their dog. Not a threat. At least, not within biting distance.

  Alana shivered, and not just from the wintry temperatures. She turned to face the window which was covered in vines. Alana pulled some of it away gently. She used the edge of her sleeve to scrub away the grime on the glass. At first glance the room looked empty, until Alana looked, really looked, and realized this was not the case. The walls displayed masks of all types and sizes -African, Asian, Pacific Islander - with large gaping holes for eyes and mouths, and hair fashioned from a variety of animals and grasses. If this wasn’t disturbing enough, the rest of the room stood in stark contrast, from the hospital tiles on the floor to the shelves of scientific equipment. But what was really alarming was Mr. Löfgren bent over a body which was lying on a trolley with wheels.

  The hunched figure in black straightened suddenly, or as much as his bent back allowed. He turned to face the windows. Alana held her breath as his hooked nose twitched and thin lips parted to reveal a line of pointy teeth. She leaned back into the shadows, holding some of the vine in front of her face for cover. He took a few steps toward her. The vine shook. If he came any closer he was sure to spot her. His head whipped around at the jarring sound of the telephone. With one final indecisive look in Alana’s direction, he left the room with hurried footsteps. The vine dropped. Alana leaned her forehead against the cool pane of glass before taking a shaky breath.

  That was close.

  What was that mysterious body and was it still alive? With Mr. Löfgrens strange hobby of stuffing and recombining animals, was it even real? With no thought other than the driving need to know, Alana tested the windows for a way in. There wasn’t much time. The edge of one window was slightly ajar but stiff from a lack of use. For anyone but Alana, this would have been a problem, but a quick search of her backpack yielded a spray can of oil which loosened the hinges. It was the same spray she’d used to make a “quiet” entrance into food technology class last year with celebrity chef Isabella Thornton. Thanks to Flynn, it hadn’t worked. Flynn. Alana squashed the impulse to make a soppy sigh and opened the window large enough to slide through.

  Thud!!!

  Not Alana’s most graceful entrance, but it didn’t bring anyone running. She approached the body on tiptoe, one trainer at a time. It brought her to where the body lay, much faster than she liked.

  The woman was dead still. The woman was dead quiet. Let’s face it. The woman was DEAD. She was grandma-old and dressed in what was probably her best outfit - for isn’t that how we dress the dead? In formal clothes they were rarely comfortable in? The skin on her face was paper thin. Alana could see veins. Capillaries. A wrinkled neck. But it was not these details which captured her attention. It was the woman’s hair. So white it was almost transparent, and pulled back into ... Alana took a moment to check ... yep, a bun.

  Have you ever seen fireworks? That’s how the epiphany felt when it hit Alana. Like a series of blinding flashes of colored light going off in her brain. Boom! Crash! Kapow!

  Will’s dad, Vlad, comes from Sweden and mine are from Ireland, so we suffer terribly from sunburn and avoid the outdoors wherever possible. I’m sure that’s why we’ve all got such terrible circulation, and of course Alice’s skin is so delicate. Phooey! Steak tartare tastes wonderful! We often eat food raw. So many nutrients are lost after cooking. Baloney! Have the children still got that silly game? Will’s always messing around. I’m sorry if he scared you. Yeah, right!

  But then, Emma’s note...

  PS. I’ve sorted out that problem you were telling me about and the new neighbors are ecstatic to help.

  If Alana squinted, replaced the outfit with sequins or frills, and placed a feathery, fruity headdress on the dead woman’s head...

  C.R.U.D!

  No wonder Ballroom Dancing classes had been “canceled until further notice.” Their ballroom dancing teacher was lying dead in the Lofgren’s basement!

  CHAPTER 36

  A detour through Woop-Woop

  While Alana was maneuvering Mrs. Cronenberg’s dead body out of the Lofgren’s window, Katriona, Ling Ling, and Emma were in the throes of their own struggle in Australia’s Outback. The python with the strange lump inside its body had moved on. The bird of prey resumed its original position to bide its time, and beyond the bird, through the bush scrub, and up the hill, Emma and her friends were being watched.

  The three women remained unaware.

  Instead, they focused their efforts on contacting civilization with no success. The phone was out of range and losing power. (“Hello? Crrsh. Hiss. Alana? Can you hear me? Crrsh. Beep, beep, beep.) An attempt to send smoke signals started a small bushfire. In preparation for an aerial search, they found only enough rocks to spell “S.O.” Therefore when Emma’s mobile phone rang — one bar of battery remaining - the three women stared at it in amazement.

  “Tell them I need sunscreen!”

  “Tell them I need my loofah!

  “Find out who won Star Search!”

  “Did Jane end up marrying Kurt?”

  “I think we need gas. Send gas!”

  “And ice!”

  “And those cute little umbrellas for drinks!”

  But the futility of making any request became obvious as soon as they realized it must be a Friday, and therefore who had called...

  “Oh,” said Emma. “Hi, Mom.”

  The three women were unlikely to get their sunscreen, loofah, or gas, much less be rescued any time soon because Emma - as usual - could hardly get a word in edgeways.

  “That’s great news, Mom, but I need you to... Hello? Mom? Are you still there?” Emma banged the phone on the ne
arest hard surface she could find to reconnect.

  “Ow,” cried Ling Ling, rubbing her forehead.

  Emma threw the phone away in frustration. Trust her luck. The only call with clear reception and all Emma had was an invitation to another wedding. And now the battery was dead. Just like they were going to be if they didn’t get out of here. Unless they could find clean drinking water. Fast. But nobody relished the idea of getting lost in the desert, with red earth stretching as far as their sunglasses could see. After several hours, desperation drove them to explore and after much cajoling, Ling Ling was persuaded to empty the contents of her designer luggage to create a trail. It was a curious and somewhat startling sight for the wildlife that stumbled upon her Miu Miu mules and Paul Frank pajamas. But at least, Katriona assured them, the trail wouldn’t get eaten up, unlike what happened to Hansel and Gretel, which just goes to show you how stupid children could be.

  Ling Ling, her water “divining rod,” dipping and swerving in dehydration-fueled fury, shot Katriona a look filled with loathing. Stupid children? What about stupid friends? It wasn’t Katrionas stupid luggage being scattered all over the place. In fact, if it wasn’t for Katriona and her stupid stubbornness, they wouldn’t even be here and they’d still own The Beauty Bar today, Ling Ling told her.

  “WHAT?!”

  Even Emma, who was lost in the fantasy of flinging confetti down an aisle, paused to stare.

  “What could I do, Katriona?” Ling Ling raged. “How was I supposed to do all the nails, hair, makeup, and restyling with you in bed? Thirty? Big deal! Just say you’re 20-plus and you can stay in your twenties forever! Stoo-pid kuku-bird! Orbi quek if we pok kai orready!” Ling Ling yelled, reverting to Singlish in her frustration. Stupid idiot! Serves you right if we’re already bankrupt!

  Katriona charged and ran at Ling Ling. Her long fingers found Ling Ling’s throat and drove the slim woman backward. Back, back, back... all the way into a pool of water. Katriona and Ling Ling were knee-deep in blessed coolness before they realized where they were. The water made them forget their quarrel. Emma dive-bombed after them. They scrubbed their faces. They rinsed their hair. They watched as the red earth that caked their skin and clothes turned muddy and floated away in a thick film.

  The three women were not the only ones enjoying the water. A flock of white birds with thin sticks for legs dipped their heads into the water for food. A pair of kangaroos bent down once, twice, three times, before bounding off on huge powerful legs. Knobbly, brown logs bobbed gently on the water’s surface. With eyes closed the air smelled sweeter, greener. All was still until Emma broke the silence.

  “But what about this ‘Fok Wee Mung’ woman? She sounds like the kind of person who might hurt you.”

  “If she just hurts me,” Ling Ling said. “I’ll be very lucky.”

  Katriona let out a grunt of protest because even though Ling Ling had landed them in the middle of nowhere, killed her pet cat, Jinx, and lost their business to gambling, Ling Ling was still her best friend.

  “No, no, no,” Ling Ling corrected, “It’s Fok We.”

  ...

  Emma was the first to emerge from the water. She gathered up her unruly hair and squeezed. The water dripped and formed a puddle before disappearing into the parched earth. Nearby, an old sign lay on the ground where it had fallen. The posts were rotted and some of the lettering was missing. She read it quietly to herself.

  Beware of crocodiles.

  Swim at your own risk.

  Welcome to Mugga Mugga Resort! Only now it read: ...come to Mug.....a ..sort!

  Ling Ling’s tremulous voice caught Emma’s attention. “Ummm, Katriona, maybe you should stop riding that brown log.”

  CHAPTER 37

  Fact 5. Pickles make you fart

  Fact 1: Wheelbarrows were very handy.

  Fact 2: The Big Game was tomorrow.

  Fact 3: Sometimes four heads were NOT better than one.

  Fact 4: There was someone at the door.

  Alana found list-writing strangely comforting but none of the facts she’d written were of any help. Although Sofia, Khalilah, and Maddie reduced their panicked cries of “ CrudCrudCrud,” “Omigodomigodomigod,” and “Wearesodeadsodeadsodead” to a whisper, it still wasn’t helping! And when the knocking at the door continued, they could barely contain their alarm.

  A rattle at the front door fused their feet to the ground. Whoever it was had a key! A part of Alana relaxed. Rule out her mother. But if it wasn’t her mom, then it must be -

  “Lola!”

  “Alana!”

  Alana was enveloped in a huge hug and her cheeks were pinched. Then Mrs. Corazon reproached Alana for not eating enough, before being introduced to each of her granddaughter’s friends. Although she barely came up to Alana’s shoulder, Mrs. Corazon had a big personality which gave the impression she was much taller. Her hair was short and tightly permed, framing a face that was heart-shaped and lightly wrinkled. She favored big jewelry and a lifetime of long dangly earrings had stretched her lobes into the shape of a teardrop. Clusters of rings covered her fingers and thick bangles jangled on her wrists. While her mom always smelled of sun-kissed peaches, Alana’s grandmother used a perfume that smelled of baby cologne, which she claimed was the secret to keeping her young. Mrs. Corazon placed her hands on her ample hips and looked around.

  “There’s something different,” she said, tapping her pursed lips. The four girls looked worried. “Has your mom been doing D.I.Y. again?” Two sharp brown eyes scanned the room.

  At this, each of the girls scrambled into different poses to shield the dead body from Mrs. Corazon’s gaze. Khalilah planted her feet and stretched her arms theatrically with a yawn. Maddie shuffled like a bobbing crab. Sofia flicked her hair and Alana grabbed her grandmother’s hand whenever she strayed toward the coffee table, to steer her away. “It’s so nice to see you, Lola.”

  “It’s nice to see you too, Alana,” Mrs. Corazon said warmly, before marching the room’s perimeter. “I know! You got a new couch!” But before Alana could answer, she disagreed with herself. “No, no, that’s not it. New picture? No. Painting? No. Curtains? No.” Thirty minutes and two cups of tea later, Mrs. Corazon was still stumped.

  It didn’t look like anything was going to make Mrs. Corazon leave until the dead body let out a stream of gas so loud and long, there was no mistaking what the sound was.

  “It wasn’t me!” cried Khalilah indignantly, midstretch.

  “Okay,” grumbled Maddie through clenched teeth, “I guess it was me, then,” with a meaningful look at Khalilah who was in front of the body and therefore the more likely candidate.

  “Don’t worry, dear. It always happens to me with pickles. I love them but they do hideous things to the body,” she confided to Maddie graciously, patting her rounded stomach. She squinted at her watch, too vain to wear glasses. “Is that the time? I’d better get going. It’s a long way back to Campbelltown. But,” she hesitated, “I really don’t like leaving you on your own like this. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

  Alana was quick to reassure her. “I’ll be fine. Truly. The girls are staying over to study. Plus there’s all that food you left me in the freezer.”

  “Well, alright then. If you’re really sure.” Alana’s grandmother was glad she’d made enough food to feed an army. She pitched forward to put her cup on the coffee table where the dead body lay. The girls threw themselves upon her, wrestling it from her clasp. “Such good girls. So well brought up and helpful,” she cooed.

  Alana’s grandmother heaved herself from the couch and gave her granddaughter one last hug. “Your mom said she’d be home soon when I talked to her on Friday, so it won’t be long. Goodbye, darling,” she said. “Remember. Eat more.”

  “I will, Lola. Thanks, Lola. Bye, Lola,” Alana said, resisting the urge to drag her outside.

  “And don’t worry,” Mrs. Corazon said with a wagging finger as she said goodbye, “it will come to me. I’ll fig
ure out what’s different. Bye-bye now. Study hard! Good luck for tomorrow’s game!”

  With Mrs. Corazon finally out the door they found Khalilah staring at the dead body with a grin. “She must have had a lot of pickles,” she decided.

  ...

  It was late afternoon when there was another knock on the Oakley door.

  “Hooroo! I’ve got your mail!”

  A beady eye like a blue marble peered through the window, but the curtains were drawn. Mrs. Whetu made a sound of annoyance and eyed the wheelbarrow by the door. She stashed the mail -one insurance letter and three flyers advertising new restaurants - back in her purse. She would try again later. In the meantime she had to conjure a story about the Oakleys and their strange friends. The gels at the RSL were restless. The suspicious-looking wheelbarrow and emphatically closed curtains made a good start...