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Authors: Cynthia D. Grant

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BOOK: Uncle Vampire
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We had lemonade stands and belonged to the Brownies. My mother led a troop for a while. Things started to change.… I am trying to remember when. It's hard. There are so many closed doors to the past, just like there are in our house.

Things began to change when Uncle Toddy came to live here. At first his visits were lots of fun; he was full of laughter and surprises and games. Like us, he was young. He wanted to be a policeman when he grew up. Or a fireman, a good guy. That didn't work out. He joined the navy for a while. Then he came back, he always came back, and the den downstairs filled up with his stuff. Once we found a magazine on his bed, full of pictures of naked women. The ladies were pretty, although their faces looked strange—pained or pouting. Margaret said men like those magazines, even our father. She'd seen a lot of
Playboys
when she baby-sat at different houses.

Maggie was a good big sister. She was never mean to us kids. We'd go into her room when she was out and listen to her radio and try on her boots. She always knew when we'd been in there, even though we left no clues. She was smart.

The older Maggie got, the more she was gone: babysitting, working, studying at the library. It seemed like she was never home. Meanwhile, Uncle Toddy became a permanent guest. “He's my brother! I can't throw him out!” Papa said. He and Mama argued about him sometimes. Uncle Toddy knew Mama didn't want him to live there, so he brought her pots of African violets and helped with the housework and cooking. Those had never been Mama's favorite chores. After a while she liked having him around. He made bookcases and birdhouses in his shop in the cellar. His occasional jobs were usually on the graveyard shift. “I'm a night owl,” he explained.

He was a wonderful help when Mama had her breakdown. That was many years ago, but I can't forget it. She was screaming and scared and not making any sense. All the kids in the neighborhood (in the world, it seemed) were standing on the sidewalk in front of our house when she left in the ambulance. The kids hung around out there for hours, waiting for something more to happen, for somebody else to go crazy.

Papa says there's nothing wrong with Mama. She just has a delicate disposition. Treat her gently. If we're having problems at school, for instance, we're supposed to tell him or Uncle Toddy. The trouble is, my father's gone a lot, trying to scare up business. When he's here he doesn't want to be bothered. He holds that newspaper in front of his face like a shield, preferring the world's bad news to ours.

The other day I tried to talk to him about Richie. Things aren't going well for him at school, I said. My father looked peeved, as if Richie were having problems just to get attention.

“The trouble with Richie is, he's selfish,” my father said. “He's always been that way. He never thinks of anyone but himself.”

That's not true. My brother was a happy boy. He loved to sing and to give people things, flowers he'd picked, or dimes for my bank. He extravagantly praised my crayoned drawings. “A purple horse! That's wonderful, Carolyn.”

He's different now. It's hard to tell what he's thinking. He won't say, and I can't read his face. When I ask him what's wrong, he says, “Nothing's wrong.” He never does his homework and cuts school a lot. It will be a miracle if he graduates. It's as if he doesn't care anymore. About himself. About anything.

A couple of his teachers have stopped me in the halls and said, “What's wrong with Richie?” And I say, “Nothing's wrong.” Then I wonder which is betrayal: lies or truth.

I wish I could talk to Maggie about this. I've left messages on her phone machine. It's hard to get hold of her; she's always at school or working. It's three hours later there. That bothers me. I wish we were in the same time zone. The last time she called, we couldn't really talk; everybody was hanging around the phone, wanting to talk to her too.

I started a letter to her but never finished it. Then it got lost. Anyway, it sounded too spacey: Uncle Toddy's a vampire. Did you know that, Maggie? He's draining me. He's sucking all the life out of this house. Richie's strange. He never talks. He used to be happy. Now he's not. He hasn't been happy for a long, long time. I kept noticing he'd changed, but then I'd forget. I feel like I'm sleepwalking through my life. Occasionally I wake up and look around, but my eyes want to close; they don't like what they see. Mama stays in her room and reads and reads. She prefers books to life, which she doesn't like and which can't be returned to the library. Papa's business is doing poorly. I think he invested and lost a lot of money. Besides all that, Maggie, everything's fine!

Nobody wants to read a letter like that. Or write one.

It's easier for me to face things than it is for Honey. She tries so hard to have a normal life, getting good grades, being a cheerleader. Yea, team! She won't let people come to our house. “It's easier to meet them someplace else,” she says. Sometimes when our uncle looks at our friends, his eyes almost glaze with greed.

We meet our friends at the library downtown, or we wait out in front when they come to pick us up, to go to the movies or to parties or to games.

“Invite your friends in,” Uncle Toddy always says.

“They're in a hurry,” we say, flying out the front door.

He especially likes my best friend, Nancy. She's known him since she was little. He still calls her Freckle Face. She dropped by recently. I found them laughing in the kitchen. She thinks he's handsome and very cool, unlike most adults.

He's not like most adults at all.

I dragged her out of the house. “Come on. We're late.”

“What's the rush?” she said when we got to the porch. “The library doesn't close for hours. You act like you're ashamed of your house.”

There's nothing wrong with the house. It could use some paint, but it's a nice big place, a handsome house. And we are a handsome family. We had a family picture taken at church last month. Mama bought a silver frame for it and put it on the piano. We're clustered in a smiling group: Grammy, Grampa, Mama, Papa, Honey, Uncle Vampire …

I try not to see him that way, but I can't help it. We'll be sitting around the table, having dinner or celebrating somebody's birthday, and I see him as if I had X-ray vision—the cave of his mouth, the teeth, the claws.

Does he tell me he wants to drink my blood?

No. He says, “Pass the potatoes, please, Carolyn.”

Honey doesn't see Uncle Toddy as I do. She shuts that picture out of her mind. “He's our uncle, he loves us,” Honey tells me. I wish I had her faith.

Sometimes when we're all at church (except for Uncle Toddy and Richie; Richie won't come anymore), I ask God: What did we do to deserve this? Why did you give us this cross to bear? God, you who have the power to raise mountains, part the seas, destroy cities—why won't you make one vampire uncle disappear?

Honey says that's selfish. She says God has so many people coming to him with problems, terrible problems, much worse than ours, that he can't grant every little wish. Besides, she says, God never gives people more trouble than they can endure. My grandma says that too. She believes in God, and I believe in Grammy. She always loves me, no matter what I do. She used to make me feel so safe. Now she's old. I sit beside her in the pew. I help her stand up when it's time to sing a hymn.

Lately I feel like the weight is too great. My family is a huge stone on my chest. I gasp for breath (am I dreaming or awake?) and Mama's eyes are on me: “Are you all right, Carolyn?”

“It's so hot in here,” I whisper back.

The church is filled. It's a large congregation. When I was there I used to feel like nothing could ever hurt me. There were so many of us we could march out of the church and into the streets and crush all the sin and sorrow in the world. Jesus is my savior. He is always beside me. No matter what happens, I am never alone. Jesus watches over me. That's what Grammy tells me, and I love her so much that it must be true.

When darkness reaches for me and plucks me from sleep and carries me out the window on his billowing black wings, I am never alone. God is with me. I pray silently so that the monster cannot hear me. Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done (
the monster's breath scorches my eyelids, my skin
) on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those (
how can I, Lord
?) who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil (
deliver me, Lord! I'm dying
). For Thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory. Forever and ever. Amen.

Uncle Toddy doesn't show his fangs during the day. Vampires fear the light. He's a night person. That's when he goes out on dates. We never meet the women he's seeing. He just got another job, on the night shift, of course. He says he's a security guard. I don't believe him.

Forgive me, God, I have even thought of killing him. Of plunging a knife into his heart. But I don't have the power. I am growing weak. I pray to God for strength to endure. In a couple of years I'll be able to leave, like Margaret did. Why doesn't she come back? Does she know he's a vampire? If she knew, she would never abandon me. She and my father didn't get along. They argued, about politics and what she should do. She couldn't wait to leave for college.

I'm trying to hold on until I can escape, but I feel like I'm going to shatter. It didn't used to be so hard to be happy. Like Honey, I turned my eyes toward the light. Now the darkness is all around me.

Sometimes I think: Maybe it's me. Maybe I'm crazy and imagining everything. My parents always tell me I'm an actress; that I invent drama to keep life interesting. How on earth could my uncle be a vampire? Vampires are a myth based on a man who lived in the Middle Ages, a cruel prince known as Vlad the Impaler, who tortured peasants and drank their blood.

But Honey's seen him too; she's smelled his breath. She doesn't want to talk about that anymore. The last time I tried, she drowned me out with the piano. Other times she runs away.

That drives me mad because we've got to face this. Maybe if we told our parents, they'd call the police, they'd throw him out. Honey says no, we can't tell them. She says they've got enough on their minds without some stupid fantasy.

She's not being honest, with herself or me. I think she's afraid that if we tell Mama and Papa that Uncle Toddy is a vampire, they'll look at us with flat zombie eyes and say, “So what? Shut up.”

That would kill Honey. She'd rather live in a dream where they care about us than wake up and find out they don't.

I don't know how much longer I can stand this. I feel like I'm buried alive. My heart is thrashing and my lungs are bulging, trying to find breath in this airless house.

At dinner tonight, Mama says to me: “You're awfully quiet.”

All around the table, eyes fasten on my face. Even Richie is looking. Honey nudges me; she doesn't want trouble.

I pretend to be too busy chewing to answer.

My father says, “Carolyn, don't sit there staring at your mother. Answer her.”

I swallow. “I'm fine,” I say. And smile.

My father says, “That's my girl.”

3

Honey and I talked while we walked to school this morning. We decided that Uncle Toddy can't be a vampire. That must have been a bad dream we had.

Honey ticked off the facts on her manicured fingers. “He doesn't look like a vampire. He doesn't sleep in a coffin. He's really nice. He packs our lunch every morning. Think about it.”

“How could we have had the same dream?” I asked.

“You had it first and told me about it. I got all freaked out and had it too. Now we're all worked up for nothing.”

“It doesn't feel like nothing,” I said.

But it's hard to believe in vampires when the sun is shining and little kids stream down the sidewalks on their way to school. Cars drive by, people heading toward their jobs, and you can hear the flag snapping above the school, a brisk flap like a slap across the face.
Wake up, you were having a nightmare, but it's over now. It's morning
.

“The problem is you're not getting enough sleep,” Honey said. “You stay up too late, reading.”

I hate to turn off the light. Vampires come out at night. I lie in the dark, my eyes wide open, listening to every creak in that house. So I read and read, my eyes burning. Asleep, I'm as defenseless as a baby.

“Take some vitamins. Take care of yourself. You're getting too skinny,” Honey said.

“Look who's talking.”

“I'm supposed to be skinny. Cheerleaders can't be fat.”

Honey's very vain about her looks and it's no wonder; people are fools for pretty girls with blue eyes and long blond hair. In ninth grade she was voted Most Popular and Best Smile. I think people voted for her hair. We have lots of friends at school, we've known them forever. They don't think it's weird that we don't invite them home; adults are there. We tend to meet at homes where the parents are away, working. Not that we drink or smoke or get high; our friends aren't like that. We just talk and laugh and hang around. There hasn't been much time for that lately. Honey's busy with school and piano lessons and cheerleading, and I have a lead in the winter play, portraying Laura in
The Glass Menagerie
. Mrs. Bennett, the play's director and my English teacher, says I'm doing a terrific job of capturing Laura's fragile, childlike qualities.

I memorized my lines right away, but at the last rehearsal I couldn't keep them straight. I was saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. School used to feel so separate and safe, but now I'm always worrying about my family. They leak into everything I do. Last night I heard Papa and Uncle Toddy arguing about money. Uncle Toddy said security guard jobs don't pay much and he was giving Papa every cent he could toward rent and food. A lot of Uncle Toddy's money goes into his truck. It's fixed up as cheery as the pickups belonging to the high school boys who cruise by our house, hoping to catch a glimpse of Honey.

BOOK: Uncle Vampire
3.48Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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