Bloodsuckers and Blunders

by Poppy Inkwell

CHAPTER 38

  Dead to the world

  The next thing you’ll notice about the body is that it has a new headdress made from fruit, tinsel, and three mini disco balls. A feather boa is wrapped around its neck. The girls seem pleased with their efforts. It seems right somehow. “Stop looking at me,” Khalilah tells the corpse before flipping it over. She joins her three friends upstairs. They are in Alana’s bedroom. At Alana’s insistence, the music is loud. It is easier for her to think when the drums, guitar, and bass make the walls shake. And with Alana’s head crammed with sound, it is difficult for images of the corpse to sneak into her brain. Alana’s theory that the Löfgren’s are vampires sounds ridiculous at first, but the dead body in the living room punctuates everyone’s denial with a question mark. Although nobody wants to lose the body, nobody wants to sleep with it either, so they retreat upstairs. They take turns to keep a lookout - fearful of the slightest sound on the stairs.

  Alana’s bedroom, like Sofia’s, reflects her personality. While Sofia’s room is like a gypsy caravan hinting at hidden treasures, Alana’s is zen-like and unapologetic. A bookshelf fashioned from an old skateboard carries a set of Shakespeare’s graphic novels - last year’s birthday present from her three friends. Important dates are circled on her calendar. Crimson curtains and turquoise walls provide the perfect backdrop for her pet rock, Rocky, and a framed photograph of Alana and her dad, with matching dimples, clutching guitars. The much bigger guitar that Alana uses now stands in the corner of the room. The full-length silhouette cutout of Jimi Hendrix on the wall assumes a new menacing shape.

  What do we do now? Four pairs of eyes say to each other. Eventually they decide on a horror movie and grab each other, screaming, during the scary bits.

  Nobody goes downstairs for popcorn.

  This explains why the four girls didn’t hear Mrs. Whetu knocking, or later on, the arrival of Boris the Imbécile. Boris looks at the instructions in his hand: Pick up blue bird. Deliver to The Bar. The instructions are from James O’Keefe. A photographer. Some guy the Lucianos hooked him up with, who needs the occasional gofer. This suits Boris who uses his spare time to earn extra cash. There is a postscript. If no one is home, use the key under the garden gnome. Boris lifts the sculpture - a squat figurine with a manic grin holding a fishing rod - and finds the key. It slides in easily. He opens the door and it swings open into a darkened hall. Dramatic music from a horror film blares upstairs. There are high-pitched squeals and nervous laughter. Boris hurries in and leaves the door ajar. Now that he knows someone is home he wants to get on with the job without interference. “Blue bird, blue bird,” he mutters. The room on the left has a large Christmas tree, desk, and daybed. No birds in there. The room on the right is the living room. He spots a purple flamingo in the corner. It is standing on one leg. He moves toward it, but then spots an old bird on the coffee table, face down. Boris is good at thinking on his feet.

  Only one of them is blue.

  Boris is the second person to be grateful for the wheelbarrow in the front yard and Mrs. Whetu -staring until she loses sight of Boris, the dead body, and the wheelbarrow - adds more juicy details to her story for the RSL.

  CHAPTER 39

  Outback adventures

  Mugga Mugga Resort, or “Mug......a ..sort,” according to the decrepit sign, originally opened in the hope of attracting high-end tourists with lots of cash and limited time. It failed. It turned out that quaint outdoor toilets and koala-embroidered towels did not appeal to those kinds of tourists. It did attract wildlife scientists, though, or one wildlife scientist in particular, who was seeking the elusive “Luna Lumen Succo” or Moonglow Spider, said to hatch during the winter solstice. Dr. Molloy had spent the last thirty years booked in a room at the Mugga Mugga Resort to track it down. To his scientific peers, Dr. Molloy was a crackpot chasing the arachnid equivalent of the Bunyip. They insisted the Moonglow Spider and its link to pagans, druids, ley lines, and stone circles didn’t exist. Their derision only made Molloy more determined.

  It didn’t help that the Moonglow Spider was said to suck blood from its victims. It was normally the size of a thumbnail with thin fangs that extended when it opened its jaw. Unlike the Red Back Spider with its distinctive red markings, or the Funnel Web Spider with its long spinnerets, the Moonglow Spider looked like an ordinarylooking creepy-crawly until viewed in the dark. In the dark, it glowed as white and as bright as the moon of its namesake so that it looked like a fallen star. But the arachnid could switch the light on and off like a firefly, which made it almost impossible to identify. The only time it couldn’t was during the annual hatching period. At this time, it grew to the size of a child’s palm from tip to toe, with a light as bright as a beacon until all the eggs hatched. Dr. Molloy suspected it was so that the spiderlings had a guiding light but this was just a theory as he had never witnessed it. It was also said to be the safest time to observe the spider because it went into a trance, like turtles did when they laid their eggs on the beach.

  For the last thirty years, Dr. Molloy had been in the wrong place at the right time and had no luck collecting the evidence to prove any of his theories. But he had a strong feeling this year would be different. Dr. Molloy tracked the spider’s trail to a remote part of the resort where a strange group of women had set up camp. Even to Dr. Molloy’s untrained eye they looked a sorry sight. The women had gone swimming in the billabong pool and were sitting in a bedraggled heap around a small fire. They appeared to be on an odd diet of biscuits and sweets. Their clothes lay in a messy, dirty pile next to the massive, philosophical “SO” they had spelled out with rocks. So ... here we are? So ... beautiful? So ... what?

  Molloy didn’t understand. Dr. Molloy never “roughed it” himself unless it was in the name of science. One year he sat and waited for the hatching of the Moonglow Spider in the “shelter” of a giant cactus from dusk to dawn, only to find it was the wrong spider. Most other days, though, Molloy availed himself of the resort’s facilities. They served three decent meals a day - sausages and baked beans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner - the jacuzzi was pleasant, and the swimming pool was clean, refreshing, and crocodile-free. On top of all that, Mugga Mugga was over the hill, less than fifty meters away. He wondered why they even bothered to camp. Tourists, he allowed himself a condescending chuckle, bless ’em.

  It was unfortunate for the arachnid specialist that these particular tourists had chosen the Moonglow Spider’s hatch site, or more specifically, had chosen to park their camper van on top of it. But no matter, decided the indomitable scientist, he would overcome this barrier too. In fact, he wondered whether the encasing darkness of the camper van might even work in his favor and belie a telltale glow at the time of hatching. The scientist looked up at the moon which hung low in the sky and mentally prepared his scrawny behind for a long, numbing wait.

  The three women sat in silence around the campfire thirty meters downhill from where Molloy was seated on a flat rock. The packet of biscuits was quickly exhausted and they moved on to marshmallows which they stabbed with sticks and held over the flames. Emma rubbed futilely at her hair to help it dry. Katriona and Ling Ling chewed on the melted goo, in between exchanging glances when they thought the other wasn’t looking. Neither of them wanted to be the first to speak.

  Emma decided to check the van to escape the uncomfortable silence. The hood yielded no further secrets and the underside of the car remained just as inscrutable. Nothing was on fire, the alternator was working, and all wires seemed intact. It looked like a bit of gas was all they needed to be back on their way.

  “Well, goodnight, then,” Emma said, emerging from underneath the car, brushing off the dust and opening the rear door of the van where she was aching to crash. It had been another long, hot, tiring day.

  Katriona and Ling Ling looked up to say goodnight and at the same time noticed the dark shadow on the back of Emma’s T-shirt. The spider took on almost alien properties as it began to swell and then glow. Ling Ling responded
with lightning reflexes. She leapt up and pounded Emma’s back with her marshmallow stick. Katriona joined in with hers. Then to both their horror, tiny, flashing bulbs exploded from the spider’s sac. Only Dr. Molloy knew what they were — spiderlings spinning draglines and ballooning away. After thirty years of ridicule, here was the evidence! Finally! He pounded down the hill as fast as his thin legs could carry him. The nightscope swung wildly around his neck. But there was no escaping Ling Ling and Katriona. They were determined to kill first and ask questions later. They whacked at the sparks until each one winked out of existence. They dragged the T-shirt from Emma’s body to stomp on it. They crumpled the T-shirt into a ball of insect bits and goo and flung it on the fire. It shot flames a meter high with a bone-sucking whoomph.

  From a distance came a plaintive cry, “Noooooooooooooooooooo!”

  ...

  Mugga Mugga Resort had everything the three women desired: hot water, a TV, and even the little colorful umbrellas for drinks! Thirty minutes later, Katriona and Ling Ling were laughing like old times and Emma was relishing the luxury of blow-drying her hair dry. Katriona, in particular, was in high spirits, especially now Ling Ling had shown her how — with a bit of mathematical hocus pocus - she could remain in her 20s forever. Now all they needed was to figure out how to get rid of this Fok Wee Mung character, and get The Beauty Bar back. But all thoughts of figuring out that problem flew out the window the minute Katriona spotted the evening news.

  “Arnie!” Katriona cried, pointing at the screen.

  There was a streaker. It was Arnie! Headless Arnie from next door was running naked across a soccer field. Although the streaker wore a mask, Katriona and Ling Ling knew it was him. They were sure of it. As the camera zoomed in on the streaker’s twin cheeks which read “Free Tibet!” they were convinced.

  Ling Ling looked at it thoughtfully. “So that’s what that tattoo is! Pity we still can’t see his face.”

  Eyebrow arched high as she contemplated the naked, physical accomplishment of a daily workout, Katriona replied, “Who cares about his face?”

  The significance of the soccer match had a different meaning for Emma. The hairdryer dropped with a clang from her hand. If today was Saturday, then tomorrow was... “Oh no! Alana’s Big Game!”

  ...

  In the dead of night, four young university students checked in to the Mugga Mugga Resort after parking their Kombi van next to another. The four took great pleasure comparing the two cars - alternately slapping each other and collapsing incoherently as they pointed from one to the other: “Mermaid. Hahaha. Mango. Hahaha. Mermaid. Hahaha.”

  ...

  In the dead of night, exactly five minutes later, three women checked out of the Mugga Mugga Resort. On their way to the car park, they passed a man huddled by the pool. It was the man who had rescued them from the desert. He was a forlorn figure as he cradled a brightly colored cocktail in shaking hands. He was moaning. “Thirty years! Thirty stupid years!” the man repeated, as he rocked back and forth in a stupor.

  “Uh uh uh,” a wagging fingernail of polished leopard spots told him. “Just say you’re twenty-plus and you can stay in your twenties forever!” With that Good Deed done and ten minutes of jiggling, they managed to unlock the van and begin driving back to Newtown.

  If they were lucky, they might just make it to The Big Game.

  CHAPTER 40

  Horror of horrors

  Alana first found out about her mom’s impending arrival via the morning news. She felt such a strange sense of déja vu she had to sit down on the couch. Everybody else was upstairs getting ready. It had been a sleepless night for the four of them. The horror movie had been a bad idea. It’s hard to sleep with one eye open. Alana shook her head at the TV like a cow faced with trigonometry. According to the news report, three women had hijacked a giant mango and were being pursued by police. Then the camera showed Auntie Katriona with a flowing sari. On the roof of a Kombi van. (Not theirs, Alana noted). Clinging to a three-meter mango. Ling Ling was in the driver’s seat. And her mom was jumping up and down in the front seat while a police car followed closely behind.

  By the time the Madzaini household switched on their TV, two police cars were part of the high-speed car chase. Jefri, holding the cover of a Priscilla: Queen of the Desert-DVD, cried, “Those movies are real. I knew she was lying!”

  When the Luciano’s switched on theirs, there were three police cars.

  “Another funny dream,” chuckled the bedridden Luca.

  The Dawson family were in time to see a second news helicopter join the hunt.

  When four university students at the Mugga Mugga Resort looked up from their breakfast, they saw their Kombi van, with their stolen three-meter mango blazing a trail across the desert. They could not hear Ling Ling ask Katriona if she’d found the GPS in her bag on the roof. They could not hear Katriona yelling directions, nor could they hear Emma’s response. All they could hear was the reporter. One of the university students began crushing the box of cereal until there was nothing but crumbs left inside. His dream of pulling off the most daring prank in the history of the university was fading with every kilometer.

  In a small office above a bakery in the heart of Sydney’s Chinatown, pumpkin seeds were being crushed by the best porcelain chompers money could buy. The discs of an abacus flicked up and down. Two eyes stared in different directions. One eye was fixed on the numbers in a tiny black book. The other was trained on the unfolding drama on TV.

  A voice barked to a waiting lackey: “Shu Ling Ling. It is time to collect.”

  Tick tock tick tock. Ling Ling was out of time.

  CHAPTER 41

  Dead and gone

  Khalilah, Maddie, and Sofia joined Alana on the couch to watch Emma and her friends on TV. Sofia passed Alana a slice of toast, which she chewed on without thinking. Alana sighed with a look at the clock. They were running late. There was probably a logical explanation why her mom was in a stolen vehicle with a giant mango on the roof of the car. There always was. But she didn’t have time to find out. She had a dead body to deal with and a soccer game to play.

  Alana asked Sofia to pass the remote so she could switch off the television, before putting her plate on the coffee table. The clink of ceramic made her frown. Her gaze dropped. The coffee table.

  “Where is the body?” Alana’s voice was barely a whisper.

  Sofia was on her hands and knees looking for the remote control. “What do you want, the remote or the body?”

  “The body!” Alana cried.

  “The body!” Khalilah repeated.

  “Where’s the body?” Maddie yelled.

  The question echoed off the curtains. The search became frenzied. They discovered magazines, a mug that read “Instant human: Just add coffee,” and a Pink Floyd CD. They found the remote control. What they didn’t find was the body. And as they searched, nobody voiced the question on everybody’s lips. Was the dead body now ... a vampire? A loud rap on the door made them squeal. All eyes turned to Alana who dived for the curtains and hissed over her shoulder. “It’s Uncle James. He’s here to take us to the game.”

  Alana switched off the television and smoothed down her hair before opening the front door. “Hi, Uncle James. Sorry, I’m not ready yet. Won’t be long. Grab a coffee, if you like,” she gabbled.

  The first thing James noticed when he entered the living room was the flamingo statue. Damn! It was still here and he’d specifically asked Boris to deliver it to the Brothers’ Bar for a photoshoot of the new restaurant. He supposed that’s what you got for employing someone with the words “The Imbécile” embroidered on the back of their leather jacket. He shrugged his broad shoulders and swept back his hair with impatient fingers. It had grown long again.

  The next thing James noticed was the girls’ white faces. They looked terrified. By the state of the living room he guessed they had been practicing soccer moves. After all, this was it. The Big Game! The game against the Soccer Academy’s B
luejay Barbarians! No wonder they were nervous. The competitor within him kicked into high gear and he began a rousing pep talk, fist slamming into palm.

  “You can do this. Just give it everything you’ve got. Remember to work as a team. Everyone attacks. Everyone defends.”

  The three friends tidied up the living room. They rearranged the furniture and cleared the floor - still hopeful the body was under a cushion — with half an ear on James’ speech. Their preoccupation did not go unnoticed.

  “Come on,” James roared. “Let me hear you say, Go Gibbons!”

  “Go Gibbons!” they repeated mechanically.

  “You can do better than that. Go Gibbons!”

  They tried again. “Go Gibbons!” And at James’ insistence, continued to chant “Go Gibbons!” all the way to his car. Mrs. Whetu’s beady eyes stayed trained on them through her window, mentally making notes.

  Alana heaved the kit bags into the Mini Cooper’s trunk and slammed it shut with a last glance at her home, and then the spooky house across the road. The question remained unanswered.

  Where was the body now?