Chronicles Vladimir 01 - Eighth Grade Bites

by Brewer, Heather

  Behind Henry, Vlad could see Meredith talking with her girlfriends. When she looked over at Henry, her blush deepened. Vlad shrugged again. “Better to be crushing on her than have my heart crushed by her. Besides, I think she likes someone else.”

  Henry slanted his eyes. “Like who? You’re making excuses again. Just ask her, Vlad. She’s just a girl. Worst thing she can do is say no.”

  But that wasn’t the worst thing Meredith could do. She could laugh. She could tell her friends all about how the pathetic, pale kid asked her on a date, and word could reach Bill and Tom—more fuel for the fire. Vlad would rather die.

  Or worse, go to the dance alone.

  Mr. Otis, who’d also taken on Mr. Craig’s homeroom duties, was leaning back in his chair, his feet propped carelessly up on the desktop, when Vlad approached him after the final bell. The teacher wasn’t wearing a smile, but more the hint of one. “The infamous Vladimir Tod. What can I do for you?”

  Vlad couldn’t recall ever having done anything remotely infamous, but he nodded and withdrew the scrap of paper from his shirt pocket. “I’d really rather pick again, if you don’t mind.”

  Mr. Otis sat up and clucked his tongue. “That wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the class.”

  Vlad didn’t much care what was fair, only that he was a little more than hesitant to reveal the details of his true identity. He had hoped only to discuss vampire lore with the class, having become quite adept at separating the truth from the enormous number of lies spread by various media over the years. He’d much rather write an essay on werewolves or warlocks anyway, even though a thousand words on any of the creatures on the list didn’t strike him as terribly exciting. Vlad lifted his shoulders and dropped them again slowly. He had no reason to offer but the truth. “I’d just really rather pick again.”

  Mr. Otis paused with his hand on the brim of the top hat. Then, with an assenting nod, he nudged the hat toward Vlad, who reached in and withdrew another slip of paper.

  Vlad gazed at the paper with direct intensity, wondering if the letters would move this time. He unfolded it and furrowed his brow.

  Vampire.

  Mr. Otis stood and, after emptying the remaining slips of paper into his bag, popped his hat onto his head. “Fate can be cruel, Mr. Tod. I look forward to your oral presentation from a vampire’s point of view.”

  Vlad’s feet felt like they were frozen to the ground. There was no getting out of this, as far as he could tell. And why did Mr. Otis seem so insistent, so anxious that Vlad tackle the very topic he wanted most to avoid?

  The answer was easy.

  Because teachers, no matter how kind, no matter how friendly, are sadistic and evil to the core.

  Vlad swung his backpack over his shoulder and slipped out the door without so much as a grunt or a glance in Mr. Otis’s direction. Vlad thought about Mr. Craig and wished that wherever his teacher was, he was safe. And would return soon.

  “It can’t be all that bad. Maybe you just need to shift your outlook a bit.” Nelly smiled.

  Vlad found little comfort in her words. “You don’t understand. That paper said werewolf, not vampire, when I pulled it out of the hat. I know it did.”

  Nelly pursed her lips. After a moment of silence, she said, “I think you’ve just been under a lot of stress. Words don’t rewrite themselves, Vladimir. It’s just not possible.”

  Vlad wrinkled his forehead and picked at the corner of his English book. “And who wears a top hat? This guy is weird.”

  Nelly sighed. “Vladimir, give him a chance. You don’t even know him.”

  But Vlad wasn’t sure he wanted to know Mr. Otis. “I don’t know, Nelly. Something just doesn’t feel right.”

  Nelly flashed him one of her overly concerned looks. Vlad didn’t want to argue and he certainly didn’t want Nelly thinking he was crazy. He offered a smile, plastic as it was, and flipped open his notebook. “You’re probably right.”

  “This project isn’t all bad, Vladimir dear. You can finally get all your secrets off your chest without worrying about being exposed. And who knows? It might be fun to speculate about future abilities. And you could throw in some of those silly stereotypes just for laughs.” She sipped the last of her tea and yawned. “I need to get some rest. Don’t stay up too late.”

  “I won’t. But Nosferatu is on cable tonight, so I’ll probably stay up to watch it.” He wasn’t sure why exactly, but the older, the cheesier a vampire movie was, the more it lifted his spirits. Nosferatu was his favorite, as the pointy-eared, bald-headed monster had sent him into hysterical fits of laughter on a number of occasions. Nelly found the movies ignorant and insulting, but supported Vlad’s fondness for them just the same.

  “Finish your homework first.” Nelly was already across the room when she paused and threw him another worried glance. “You don’t sleep enough.”

  “Aunt Nelly.”

  “Okay, okay. I’ll see you in the morning.” She slipped upstairs and out of sight.

  Vlad took out the instruction sheet Mr. Otis had handed out, and scanned it. Maybe he should get started on the essay right away so that it wasn’t looming over him for the rest of the term. Determined to get it over with, he opened his notebook, picked up a pen, and began to write.

  My name is Vladimir Tod, and I am a vampire.

  He sat back for a moment, examining what he’d written. It had been easier than he’d expected to confess his true nature, so Vlad tightened his grip on the pen and continued to write. He went into the details of his hovering ability and telepathy, exploring the question of why he had them. With a laugh, he then threw in speculation on why vampires had no reflection and couldn’t be photographed. It was a ridiculous notion, as Vlad had never had problems with either. He’d managed to show up in every school photo since kindergarten and, to date, he hadn’t heard anyone on the yearbook committee complain. And judging by the slew of pictures he had of his dad, it wasn’t much of a problem for other vampires, either.

  After a paragraph on how stupid people were to think that any living being could live forever, he paused again and wrote one final line.

  I’m not a monster. I’m just me.

  A thousand words had come much easier than Vlad had expected.

  He read the paper over again and resisted the urge to erase nearly every word.

  After scarfing several handfuls of potato chips and drinking a blood bag, Vlad flopped down on the couch and immersed himself in the world of Count Orlok—the creature known in the cinematic world simply as Nosferatu. The movie had just reached the part where Count Orlok is traveling by raft when Vlad’s mind began to wander down whatever road had taken Mr. Craig from Bathory Junior High.

  Rumors at school had echoed the suspicions of both the police and the media. Someone was responsible for the disappearance of the well-liked eighth-grade teacher, and no one knew whom to blame. People were saying that nothing seemed to be amiss. Mr. Craig’s car still sat in his driveway. His belongings remained in their usual arrangement. His bank account hadn’t been touched. If Mr. Craig had vanished of his own accord, he’d left with nothing but the clothes he wore, and that wouldn’t have gotten him very far from the small suburban town of Bathory.

  Forgoing the rest of the film, Vlad clicked off the television and tiptoed upstairs.

  Amenti—Nelly’s fluffy, plump black cat—rubbed against Vlad’s legs. Vlad stroked her soft fur, and she arched her back in response. Nelly had named Amenti after the Egyptian goddess who was said to have guarded the gateway to the after-life. The goddess, much like the cat, had beautiful hair and practically lived in trees. It was a fitting name, as Vlad had come home on a number of occasions to find Amenti’s pudgy body wedged in the lowest crook of the old oak tree in the backyard, though he was confounded to explain just how she had managed to waddle her way up there.

  After a brief interval in his bedroom to retrieve his jacket and one of the many photo albums he’d found in the attic, Vlad grabbed several candles
from the drawer in the library and stuffed them into his coat pocket. Amenti nudged his ankle with her forehead, demanding his attention once again. Vlad reached down and scratched behind her ears. She purred happily and slinked away. He moved down the stairs, careful not to make a sound, and slipped out the front door into the brisk night.

  The streets were empty and dark. Vlad avoided the side-walks, choosing instead the small beaten paths that wove between this house and that—the mark of many kids before him who’d been in search of the quickest route between school and home. Vlad rounded each corner with a careful step and threw a glance in each direction. He hadn’t yet been caught out after curfew, but there was always a chance that he might be.

  He reached the side of Bathory High and paused briefly when he heard laughter. It was likely just the goth kids who often occupied the high school’s steps after dark. Vlad slipped around to the back of the school. Bathory High School had been built up in the hollowed-out remains of a very large, very old Catholic church. It was well known that the church had been deserted sometime in the mid-1800s, as a result of some sort of horrific affair, but locals had protested tearing the historical building down. Then, nearly a hundred years later, a wealthy businessman had purchased the property and developed it into what had been known as Bathory Preparatory Academy. Twenty years later, the school became a public institution.

  It was probably the most interesting thing about Bathory.

  When Vlad reached the back of the school, he looked around to be certain he was alone, then closed his eyes and willed his body upward. His feet left the ground and he floated up to the school’s belfry.

  The bell tower was large and square. Several arching windows lined its walls, open to the elements at all times. Vlad walked along the ledge and looked down on the group of teenagers on the front steps. They wore black from head to toe, merely shadows amid more shadows. Vlad smiled. He slipped inside one of the windows and dug the candles from his pockets. Small mounds of wax dotted the room—remnants from previous visits. Vlad placed the new candles on the floor and lit their wicks with a lighter he kept on one of the windowsills, illuminating the room with a soft glow.

  The bells had long been removed from the tower, and the only door had been sealed shut when the building became a school. The only way in or out was through the windows, and the ground was four stories below them. The room was large and empty but for several books that had been banned from both the school and the town’s library and a framed photograph that had been propped against a stack of stray red bricks at the center of the room.

  Vlad knelt and moved the candle closer to the picture. “Hi, Dad.”

  Tomas Tod smiled back—a portrait of happiness forever fixed.

  Vlad looked around his sacred space and sighed. “I should get a chair.”

  He placed the photo album on the floor near the candle. The cover was green leather. On the front was a family crest. Vlad flipped to the first page and smiled at the photograph of his mother, Mellina. She was standing near an old car, looking young and pretty. Her eyes twinkled. On the hood of the car sat a younger version of Nelly, wearing a bright, happy grin. Vlad turned the page.

  He saw pictures of his parents’ wedding, of their popular Halloween parties, of their lips locked in happy, wedded bliss. He ran his hand across one photograph of Tomas crouching in front of Mellina’s swollen, pregnant belly. His hands cupped her tummy. Vlad’s smile faltered some and he closed the album.

  This was all he had left of his family. Pictures and memories.

  He lay back on the dusty floor. Moonlight shone through the windows, painting the darkest areas of the room in pale blue. The candle’s flame flickered and, just as the first tear squeezed from Vlad’s eye, the light went out. Vlad lay in the darkness and released his pain the only way he knew how. He cried.

  At some point, he must have fallen asleep.

  Vlad rubbed his eyes. He stood and slipped out onto the ledge, leaving the photo album behind with the rest of his treasures. The town was still very dark. Vlad looked down, hoping to catch another glimpse of his fellow nightwalkers, but the goth teens had gone.

  He was alone.

  As he floated down to the ground, Vlad looked back up at the belfry. It was the highest point of Bathory, and each time Vlad went there, he was the closest he’d ever been to leaving the small town behind. He darted between the houses and paused once his front door was in sight.

  Mr. Craig’s house was only two streets over, directly behind Henry’s. He slipped between the houses and smiled at the sight of Mr. Craig’s tiny bungalow. The porch glowed dimly from the streetlight on the corner, a welcoming hue of white on the stark black of night. He stepped onto the porch and rang the bell. As childish as he knew it was, he was half hoping, half expecting Mr. Craig to open the door and lecture him on why it was rude to visit someone’s home in the middle of the night. But no one answered.

  The screen door screeched as he pulled it open. He knocked loudly on the inner door, then stopped as it opened inward. Vlad looked over his shoulder at the quiet street. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The police had been here a zillion times, so Henry had said, but they might have missed something—they had to have missed something—or Mr. Craig would have been found by now. And why was the door left unlocked? Bathory cops were bumbling idiots, sure, but didn’t they know how to lock up a possible crime scene?

  Beside the door sat a dark mahogany hat tree, adorned with Mr. Craig’s jacket and scarf. An umbrella was looped over one of the pegs. Vlad moved through the hall with slow, sure steps. The house smelled like dust, as if no one had been here to fill the air with the scent of pine cleaners and bleach in a long time. He half expected to see cobwebs. But he was sure the scent was a trick of his wild imagination.

  Vlad’s shoes moved soundlessly over the bare wood floors as he approached the kitchen at the end of the hall. A closet door stood open, blocking his path, so he closed it. A painting hung on the wall opposite him of a red-haired woman holding a sword in front of her chest. Her eyes were closed as if she were sleeping, which made no sense, what with the raging fires painted around her. He wondered if it was a painting of Joan of Arc, the famous French heroine Mr. Craig had told him about at the beginning of the school year.

  Up ahead, something moved.

  Vlad didn’t know what, or who, it was, but something had crossed the open door at the end of the hall. It may have been black, but he couldn’t be sure, as there was only a little light illuminating his view.

  Swallowing his fear, Vlad took a step toward the door, where the . . . thing . . . had been. “Hello?”

  A rustling sound answered him, followed by gunshots. Bang! Bang! Vlad ducked, covering his head with his arms, as if flesh alone could protect against bullets. Bang! Bang! Risking a shot to the head, Vlad lowered his arms and tried to get a clear view of his assailant. No one stood at the end of the hall, and a glance over his shoulder showed the similar lack of anyone by the front door, armed or otherwise. Bang! Bang!

  Vlad rolled his eyes and stood. He moved into the kitchen and pulled the back screen door closed. The banging ceased.

  Some hero he was.

  After an extensive search of the living room, dining room, and kitchen, Vlad decided to continue his search upstairs. So far, nothing seemed amiss at all. But Vlad couldn’t bring himself to believe Mr. Craig would just vanish without a word to him. They’d been more than student and teacher—they were friends. He turned on his heel and walked back down the hall to the stairs near the front door. In the darkness, the coat tree looked a bit like a skeleton.

  Vlad froze.

  On one of the pegs hung a rumpled, purple silk top hat.

  Vlad slipped the hat off its peg and looked inside. Embroidered in shiny black thread were the initials O.O.—Otis Otis. His forehead creased in wonder and disbelief. Why had Mr. Otis lied about knowing Mr. Craig? Vlad looked around, suddenly wondering if he was alone in the house. He was almost positive
the hat hadn’t been hanging there when he’d entered.

  With a glance at the stairs, Vlad quietly returned the hat to its peg. Was Mr. Otis in the house right now? Nelly was right, Vlad didn’t know the guy, but could he trust him? What business did he have running around Mr. Craig’s house in the middle of the night? Vlad looked at the stairs again. He should march right up and demand to know what Mr. Otis was doing here.

  Vlad took a step toward the stairs and paused. What if Mr. Otis had something to do with Mr. Craig’s disappearance? What if he was returning to the scene of the crime?

  The noble thing would be to leave the house and head straight for the police station to tell them everything he knew.

  But what did he know?

  Only that what looked suspiciously like Mr. Otis’s hat had been hanging on Mr. Craig’s hat tree when Vlad had gone into the house to look around. Vlad doubted very much it would be enough to convince that idiot Officer Thompson of anything. Plus, Vlad might get in serious trouble for breaking curfew . . . not to mention breaking and entering.