Uncle Vampire (3 page)

“Look, there's Richie!” Honey waved as he flew by on his motorcycle. He didn't see us. He wasn't wearing his helmet, or heading toward school. “He's probably getting one of his friends,” she added.

“He's probably cutting class.”

“You don't know that. Why are you always so negative?”

“I wish Margaret would come home,” I said.

“It's her last year of college. She's got her own life now. Maybe she'll come home for Christmas.”

“I doubt it.”

“Will you look on the bright side for a change?” Honey put a smile on her face as we walked into the school.

I have English first period. I like Mrs. Bennett. She tells me I'm a good writer, that I have imagination and talent. Nancy's in that class. She passed me a note that read: “I need to talk to you at lunch. I've got incredible news.” She could've leaned across the aisle and told me, but notes are much more fun.

After English I have history, geometry, and PE. School has always been easy for me and Honey. I plan to go to college. I'd like to be a journalist and maybe write some fiction. Papa says that's a lousy way to make money. Honey wants to be a model or a flight attendant. She's all hopped up about traveling around the world for free. Papa thinks that's a great idea; college is expensive.

I rode on a plane once, to Papa's mother's funeral. It scared me, being way up in the air. How does a heavy plane stay up there? I can't figure out how that works. Honey says: “Who cares how it works? It does! You don't know how a car works either, but you want to learn to drive one, don't you?”

Yes and no. I guess I should. Cars scare me too. They're heavy and fast, crowding all around you, so close. The only thing that keeps you from being smashed any second is those little white lines on the road.

Honey says I worry too much. She's right. I wish I could turn off worry, like she does. I wish I could be happy all the time.

Nancy and I had lunch at the pizza place, which was packed with kids from school. They crowded around our table. Nancy's popular too. Rolling her eyes hugely, she finally said, “Do you mind? We're trying to have a private conversation!” Everybody laughed and gave us space.

Nancy looks almost exactly like she did in third grade, except for her body, which has changed.

“Guess what!” She lowered her voice dramatically. “Guess who asked me to the winter dance!”

“Bobby Sloane,” I said. “Do I win a prize?” He's a nice guy, a football player.

She pretended to pout. “I wanted to surprise you!”

“How could I be surprised? Once you decided he was taking you, he didn't stand a chance.”

“But isn't it wonderful? I'm so happy! Maybe we can all go together.”

“I don't know if I'll go,” I said. I'd declined several invitations. This wasn't a good time to ask my folks to spend money on a fancy dress.

“You have to go! You're such a dud. What's the matter with you?”

“I'm tired, I guess.”

“So take a nap! The dance is weeks away.”

“I'm pretty busy with school and the play.”

“Oh, baloney.” Nancy's always called a spade a spade. “What's wrong with you? You seem so different lately.”

“I've got a lot on my mind.”

“Like what? You can tell me.” Nancy's brown eyes warmed with concern. Many times I've almost told her that my uncle is a vampire. But I chicken out. She likes him. Nancy would think I'm crazy.

Besides, he told me not to tell. In the dream I had. That Honey dreamed too. He warned us. The words float away, out of reach. What did he say? I can't remember.

“I don't know what's wrong,” I said. My millionth lie, a new world's record. “I just feel weird.”

“Is your mother okay?”

“She's doing all right. My father—his business isn't doing too well.”

That sliver of truth made me cringe with guilt. Money is one of our family secrets. We look like we have a lot more than we do. Papa just bought a new car, to impress his clients. The clients he hopes to attract with his success.

“That's scary,” Nancy said. She knows about money problems. Her parents owned a restaurant that closed. Now they're running a smaller place.

“It's not just that.” I was struggling to be honest. I used to tell Nancy everything. But over the years … I've screened things from her. Things I don't want to hear myself say.

“It's Richie,” I said. “He's flunking out. He looks so bad. Real pale and spacey—”

“I know,” Nancy said. “It's really sad. What do your parents say?”

“They don't even notice! It's like they go around with bags over their heads! He comes down for dinner and doesn't say a word—for weeks! But do they ask him if anything's wrong? No! If they did, he might tell them, and they don't want to hear it. It's disgusting. It makes me so mad.”

Nancy patted my arm with her freckled hand. “Have you talked to Richie? He might listen to you.”

“We're not close anymore. He's pulled away.”

“That's what happens when people take drugs. They change.”

“Drugs?” I said. “What do you mean, drugs?”

“Downers. Tranks. I thought you knew.”

“Tranks?” I plunged into a bottomless shaft. Nancy's voice was far away.

“Tranquilizers. Even the teachers know.”

Nancy wouldn't lie to me. I gaped in her face.

“Are you sure?”

“That's what everybody says. Why don't you ask him?” Nancy squeezed my hand. “I'm sorry, Carolyn. I thought you knew what was happening.”

“I thought so too. I thought he was depressed.”

I couldn't finish my lunch. We went back to class. The afternoon passed in a haze; teachers talking, pencils scratching, papers being shuffled and collected.

After school I walked home alone. Uncle Toddy was watching a TV talk show.

“How was school, sweetie?”

“Fine. Where's Mama?”

“Lying down,” he said. “What do you need?”

“Nothing.” I started up the stairs.

“We're having lasagna tonight, your favorite,” he called.

I went into Richie's bedroom and shut the door. It looked like someone had been murdered in there. Clothes and books and shoes were everywhere. Cassette tapes littered his unmade bed.

I tore apart his room. He wouldn't notice the difference. I searched for something that wasn't there—a bottle of poison bearing a skull and crossbones. I found only empty cigarette packages.

I went into my room and lay down on my bed. The shadows from the bare tree outside my window splayed cracks across the ceiling. I heard Uncle Toddy moving around in the kitchen.

Maybe I could talk to Grammy about Richie. She only lives a mile away. I could curl up on her bed, as I had when I was little, and she would cuddle me and tell funny stories. Being in her house always made me feel safe.

Now she's old. She and Grampa are frail. It scares me to notice them changing. I can't talk to her about Richie. She wouldn't understand. Drugs? Our Richie? He's such a good boy.… Grammy's eyes would fill with tears, and I would be to blame.

Once, years ago, I tried to tell her about Uncle Toddy. I'd told Papa, but he said I was pretending. He got mad. So I tried to tell Grammy. How old was I? Little. My plaid school dress. A fragment of memory. My plaid school dress with the lacy white collar. I loved that dress. I thought I looked pretty. I didn't know about vampires. I couldn't find the right words. I only knew that his yellow eyes scared me and that his smile was a big red hole.

We were in her cozy kitchen. She was making me cinnamon toast, cut into squares the way I liked it.

I leaned against her side so I could feel her warmth.

“Uncle Toddy's scary,” I told her.

“Scary? No, Uncle Toddy's not scary. You just don't know him very well,” she said.

“I don't like him, Grammy.”

She frowned at me. I hardly ever saw a frown on my Grammy's face. “You mustn't say that, Carolyn. He's your daddy's brother. Uncle Toddy is your uncle. He loves you.”

Her disapproval shamed me. I was always her favorite. I couldn't bear to have her pull away. “I'm sorry, Grammy.” She reached down and hugged me. I smiled and ate my toast.

When I came down for dinner, Uncle Toddy said, “How's the play coming along, Carolyn?”

I hadn't gone to the rehearsal. I'd forgotten all about it. Something was wrong with my mind.

“The rehearsal was canceled. Mrs. Bennett was sick,” I said. Lying gets easier all the time.

4

I thought the alarm clock had woken me up, but it was Honey. She was sobbing.

“What's the matter? Is he here?” I was instantly alert. I reached under the pillow for my new knife. Its four-inch blade is shiny and sharp. I bought it with my baby-sitting money.

Honey wouldn't stop crying.

“Quit it. You're going to wake up the whole house,” I said. It was two o'clock in the morning.

Our bedroom door opened. Uncle Toddy stood in the doorway, the hall light behind him, his face in shadow.

“Carolyn, are you all right?” he asked. “Honey, are you okay?”

“Everything's fine,” I said.

“I was dreaming,” Honey added.

“It sounded like somebody was crying.” Tears are one of his favorite drinks.

The hand holding the knife crept under the blankets, where Uncle Toddy couldn't see it.

“I was having a bad dream. I'm okay now,” Honey said.

“Is anything wrong? Would you like to talk?”

“No thanks. I'm sleepy.” She faked a yawn. “I'm sorry I woke you up.”

That pissed me off. Why does she always apologize? That bastard haunts our dreams.

Uncle Toddy felt the wall for the overhead light switch.

“Get out. Don't turn that on,” I said. His eyes would've feasted on her swollen face.

“What's the matter with you, Carolyn? Are you sure you're awake?”

“Wide awake. I'm never going to close my eyes again.”

“Lower your voice. Your parents are sleeping.”

“They're always sleeping! They're in a trance.” But I could sense them downstairs, frozen, listening. Honey was pretending to be asleep again, but I knew she was listening too.

It was too dark to see my uncle's expression, but I know how he looks when he's angry. His smile mask slides off, baring his face, revealing his true identity.

He stepped into the room and clenched his fists.

“What's the matter with you lately? You're acting so strange. You're doing too much stuff after school. We hardly ever see you. You're never home.”

“Gee, and this is such a fun place!”

“You're losing it, Carolyn. Better pull yourself together.”

“Do you think I'm stupid? Do you think I'm insane? Do you think I don't know what's going on?” I pulled my gold cross out of my nightgown, but it didn't drive him back. Like me, it's too small.

“Carolyn,” he whispered, “shall I call the ambulance? Do you need professional help? Is that it? Do you want to go away, like your mother did?”

That woke Honey up. “I'm not crazy!” she cried.

Uncle Vampire turned tender. Our tears make him soft. He loves the salty taste of sorrow.

“Of course you're not crazy, Honey. You were having a bad dream,” he murmured. “You've been under so much pressure at school. They expect too much from you kids. It's not right.”

“You're the one who's driving everybody crazy!” I said.

He sighed and shook his head. “Carolyn, you're not making any sense at all. I'm really worried about you.”

But his words weren't directed at me; we had an audience. Richie had materialized behind my uncle. His eyes were wide with alarm.

“What's the matter?” he said. “What's going on?”

“Nothing,” Honey said. “I was having a bad dream. I'm sorry I woke everybody up.”

“Are you sure you're all right?”

“Everything's under control now, Rich,” Uncle Toddy said. “Go back to bed.”

“You know, don't you, Richie? He's a vampire,” I said.

Honey cringed, rocking back and forth.

“He's a vampire, Richie. He's drinking our blood. He's killing the whole family!”

The lamp in the hallway lit my brother's face. The horror in his eyes was like a knife through my tongue. He looked at me as if I were crazy.

“She was having a dream. She doesn't know what she's saying.” Uncle Toddy pushed my brother away. “She'll be fine in the morning. Go to bed, Rich.”

Honey was crying. I was crying too.

Uncle Toddy waited until Richie was gone. Then he spoke, his voice rigid with anger.

“Listen to me, Carolyn. I don't know what's gotten into you lately, but I'm not putting up with this kind of abuse. I don't know where you're getting this vampire stuff, but it's sick, it's stupid, it makes you look crazy. Haven't we got enough problems in this house? Richie's strung out on drugs—you think I don't know that? I'm trying to help him. He's got real problems, unlike yours. You're making up all this shit in your mind. Why? For fun? Or just to be difficult? You worry all the time. You never eat. I make all your favorite foods and you don't even touch them—”

“I'm sorry,” Honey whimpered. “I was having a bad dream. A monster was chasing me and I was so scared and I couldn't get away, but then I woke up.”

“That's all right, Honey.” He turned gentle again. “It could happen to anyone. It's not your fault. Do you want me to stay here until you fall asleep?”

“No, thank you. I'm fine.”

Sometimes I could strangle her baby voice.

Then I noticed something I never had before. How could I have been so blind? There was no lock on our bedroom door. Anyone could walk in, anytime.