Sanguine Mountain

by Jennifer Foxcroft

  Turning off the engine, I sit and stare up at my family home. Family. I just wish I knew who mine really were. My crazy trip and break down took way longer than I anticipated, but I’ve made it just before curfew. I want to crawl into bed after a long, hot shower, but I have a bat to take care of.

  “Hi, um, there,” I call toward the family room before climbing the stairs. The words ‘Mom’ and ‘Dad’ have caught in my throat all week. I hear the late news on and picture my dad in his leather chair with the remote in hand and the newspaper spread across his knees. My heart breaks a little. I want to run in and tell him about my latest rescue, but I have to keep my distance, otherwise I’ll blurt out the truth for sure.

  Since I can’t come clean about the bat, I’m forced to take it up to my room. The smart move would’ve been to set it on our back porch—safe from predators until it wakes up. I wonder briefly if all lies lead to limited options.

  In my room, I close the door and gently deposit my cardigan on the bed. Throwing my handbag on the scruffy wingback chair, I round the bed to turn on the lamp that’s bent across my desk. It’s in the far corner of my room, and I push the head down and toward the wall. Maybe bright lights will hurt the bat’s night vision? Untying the cardigan, I open it and wait.

  The girl-scout-wannabe in me pushes up the large window opposite my bed that faces onto the street and removes the fly screen. There’s a small section of red tiled roof that runs out from the windowsill to cover the porch—plenty of room for a bat with that wingspan to escape into the night. My white lace curtains are a potential snag. I tie them out of the way. Operation Bat Wake Up—all set.

  Without bothering to remove my old nail polish, I start Operation Cover Up. My black and white panda nails need to go. I grab my go-to shade of Berry Cherry red and sit at my desk. As each chipped panda face disappears under the thick red liquid, I feel my heart settle and my pulse slow. Nail art is another happy place for me. The smell of fresh polish is my version of sitting on a porch swing with a chamomile tea.

  A quick trip to the bathroom to remove my mud boots, and I’m back at my desk monitoring the bat. Feathers is waking up for the night and is squeaking at me from her cage in the corner.

  “I’ll let you out later. Shhh.”

  I won’t risk an interspecies freak out, as I’m sure the bat’s going to be disorientated enough. Resting my feet on the wingback, I inspect my toes. Operation Cover Up must include a pedicure as well. I just might have a real knack for this lying game I think, as I rummage through the endless number of polish bottles in my carry-on suitcase.

  THUD!

  Rocks’ enormous black army boots hit my bedroom floor, and he is standing on the other side of my bed near my built-in wardrobe. He blinks several times. Flicking his hair out of his eyes, he’s frowning, but his eyes aren’t quite focusing on anything in particular. He looks around slowly and spies the window. His dark, almost black eyes find mine. I can’t move my arms, my legs, or my body in any way. I’m a frozen statue. A deer caught in headlights is how I feel right now—they see the twin lights speeding toward them, but they inexplicably can’t move a muscle. There is a boy in my room that wasn’t there a minute ago.

  Not. Possible.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

  SWOOSH!

  I’m looking at a large bat.

  In the spot right where he was standing is a flapping black bat. My room being on the small side, forces it to flap a little closer to me as it tries to keep airborne in the confined space.

  My mind pictures the tattooed fangs on that sneering boy’s face, the bats flying overhead toward the music, the red streamers swaying in the breeze, the Gothic old world feel of the carnival, the lack of fried food …

  Rocks is a VAMPIRE!

  I scream.

  I scream and scream and scream and scream. It’s the only thing my brain seems to know how to do anymore. And just like earlier this evening, the bat that’s flapping in midair, drops like a bomb onto my bed unconscious once more. I have brought a vampire into those people who raised me’s home and even they do not deserve to be feasted upon. I thought only things like this happened in movies.

  Maybe I could chuck him out the window? Does bringing an unconscious vampire into your house count as an invitation? Heavy footfalls thunder up the stairs.

  Dad!

  No!

  I grab my crocheted blanket from the chair and throw it over the unconscious bat—Rocks—bat! My father bursts into the room with a baseball bat over his shoulder. My mother is hot on his heels. She’s by my side and giving me the once over. I know she’s looking for blood—ugh, don’t think about blood—because my scream probably measured on her injury scale as having clipped an artery. I swallow as her eyes land on my face, and she gives me a murderous glare.

  “What’s going on?” she spits out. “You scared the life out of me.”

  I know she hasn’t missed the intensity of my snarky attitude this past week. Dad, meanwhile, has made a full sweep of my room including looking in my wardrobe and under my desk.

  “Um, spiders—”

  “Spiders?” My mom mimics me. She’s watching me like a hawk.

  Act normal. I try not to focus on the heat that wants out of my body. But what on earth is normal about what I just witnessed?

  “And mice.” Maybe I’m crap at this lying game after all.

  Her BS radar clicks on. I wonder if I told her that I was protecting them from a bloodsucking monster that I found in the middle of the forest if her radar would turn off, or permanently go on the fritz with a crazy notion like that.

  “Where?” My father asks. I hear the utter disbelief that such vermin could have breached his outer defenses and exist in his pristine, pest-free castle.

  “Under the bed,” I say, jumping onto it with my feet spread wide on either side of the crocheted heap concealing the creature that was the real cause for my vocal siren.

  Mom narrows her eyes at me. “Well, you, the spiders and the mice keep it down. If you wake your baby sister,” she pierces the air with a pointed finger, “you will be rocking her back to sleep for the next two hours. Got it?” She gives my dad the evil eye on her way into the hall.

  “What did I do?” he mutters. “If it was a mouse, tell me you’re cleaning out Feathers’ cage regularly?”

  If?

  My eyes narrow. He doesn’t believe me. I know I’m lying, but I’ve never been a liar before so why wouldn’t he believe me? Maybe liars have a secret code and can recognize each other on sight. Awesome.

  All I have to do is work out what to do with the shape-shifting vampire on my mattress.

  * * * * *

  It’s been forty-seven minutes. I’m sitting cross-legged in the hallway outside my room. I need an emergency exit if he doesn’t leave. The drive home and nail painting, I’ve guessed took about an hour and twenty minutes. In the time since those people came to check on me, I’ve done my best to vampire proof myself.

  I’m wearing all the silver jewelry ever given to my mom or me. I have to keep still because the bracelets and bangles jingle loudly in the silence of our house each time I rearrange the Children’s Bible and the kindling I found in the fireplace. The kindling looks as though the only damage it’s capable of inflicting is splinters, but it’s the closest thing to a stake I’ve got. My parents—God, that’s hard to say—I mean, those two are in bed, and I’d prefer them to stay there.

  The air is thick with the smell of garlic. I’ve used the entire jar of garlic powder to make a protection ring. I got the idea from one of my favorite TV shows as it’s saved some witches once—but not from vampires and it wasn’t garlic—but who cares. It can’t hurt. Sitting inside the garlic powder power ring, I focus on my bed. I wrap my fingers tighter around the cool metal handle of the meat cleaver resting in my lap. Just for added protection, I pinch some garlic powder from the thickest part of the circle and sprinkle it all over myself. If none of this works, there’s a chance he might no
t attack me because of how utterly ridiculous I look—and smell.

  This is not how I imagined the last weekend of my summer would go. I didn’t really have any idea what would happen if I had found my real mother earlier, but I never expected to be bracing for a supernatural attack. The idealist in me imagined her inviting me back for afternoon tea while we flicked through old family photos of my real relatives. Then I remember her warning. Stay away!

  My mind moves to the carnival and the aggression I faced encircled by those freaks. Are they all vampires? Were they pushing me into the darkness to feast upon me? I think of Rocks appearing dazed in my room and the bat appearing a second later, and play this over and over again. It’s just not possible. But, I saw it. Twice.

  Holy crabapples!

  The worst thought yet about my real parents suddenly occurs to me.

  They’re complete and utter nut cases!

  I’m insane—like them. I'm having hallucinations of mythical monsters. Maybe I’m not supposed to look for them because they’re locked in a creepy asylum for the deranged and delusional? Oh my God—

  Breathe.

  I saw him in my room. Rocks was definitely in my room. My lungs start to wheeze. That’s impossible. Is hallucination a hereditary brain disease? Could my real parents be unstable maniacs who were forced to give me up? No wonder those two never mentioned it.

  I’m staring at nothing, trying to calm my breathing, when two heavy boots hit the floor in my line of vision with a thud. The darkness of his clothing seems at odds with the paleness of my room. Before I can raise the cleaver or brandish the Bible at him, his tight denim clad legs take two large steps toward my window. Without even looking back at me, he leaps out headfirst. I brace myself for the crash of his body hitting the tiled roof, but there’s nothing. Not a sound.

  It’s three a.m. by the time I finally get into bed, but my lamp stays on. I spent a ridiculous amount of time scraping up garlic powder with pieces of paper to reinforce my windowsill, and the front door handle is securely wrapped in silver. Google has not been very helpful. In fact, I’m not sure I’m ever going to sleep again. Almost two million results come up when I typed in ‘protection against vampires.’ Maybe it’s a very realistic hallucination that includes a conversation and a hug, but maybe it’s not. I can’t take the risk.

  My problem is that I know some of these Internet crackpots have never encountered a real bloodsucker. Now that I have unfortunately discovered their existence is very real—I think—I can’t work out which of the websites to believe. So I’ve taken a little from each. My mom is going to have a fit in the morning because I’ve sprinkled poppy seeds all over the porch and at each entrance to the house—inside and out. The fact that vampires love to count things and get distracted by seeds or grains and stop to count them seemed so utterly absurd that it just might be true. I can’t trust Hollywood’s version in case it’s purely about box office sales. And my mind can’t let go of the fact that the Count on Sesame Street is a vampire obsessed with counting.

  There is even such a thing called an ‘energy vampire.’ Well, energy isn’t what I’m worried about Rocks sucking! I cover my eyes with the heel of my palms. Rocks—the boy that I chose to share my secret with; the boy that I hugged after knowing for less than an hour; the boy who seemed to understand me until he turned into a freaking monster!

  What I’m freaked out about the most is that I can smell him. I can smell him in my room and I can’t sleep. That cool, clean, moon smell still lingers. I want to open the window, but that’s not going to happen. Each inhalation soothes me until I remember what I saw.

  * * * * *

  “Connie,” she says, barging into my room. My new vampire tactic is to stay up all night and sleep all day. I won’t fall to a surprise attack. Horror Movie Girl would be proud and never this prepared. “Is that more garlic? For Heaven’s sake, what’s gotten into you?”

  I peak out from under my covers and watch as she screws up her nose, looking for the source of the offending smell.

  “Garlic? What is going on, sweetheart?” The disappointment I hear in her tone stings. For the first time this week, I’m actually doing something nice for them. I’m protecting them. Regardless of our bloodlines, they protected me my whole life and I owe them, not to mention loving them dearly which is why I’m so twisted up to begin with.

  “Nothing.”

  “Your attitude this past week.” She sighs and looks at me, hoping I’ll come clean, but I stay silent. It’s Monday and she’s working so if I keep tight-lipped, my plan will work. “Please clean this mess.” She unlocks my window, dislodging the carefully balanced silver items and pushes the window up. “Vacuum this sill. The muffins cooling on the rack are plain orange. When you go to the store, I need more poppy seeds. I’m all out.”

  “Oh, I’ll be buying more poppy seeds. Don’t you worry.” I should have kept my mouth shut.

  She comes to the side of my bed. “Connie, sweetheart, if there’s something going on, you know you can trust me?”

  Trust! Is she really going to talk to me about trust? How about trusting me with who I am? I bite my tongue because I’m going to find out who my real parents are alone. If I told them that I know I’m adopted, they’d probably just lie about my real parents anyway—particularly if they were committed psychopaths.

  No.

  I’m not crazy.

  “Is that the time?”

  Mom looks at her watch. “Oh, dang. Listen, Connie, we need to talk. Clean your room,” —she’s heading for the door— “stop at the market, pick up Mini before three. Don’t forget your father and I have that fundraiser tonight so we’ll see you around nine. Be safe.” She doesn’t close my door on the way out.

  I have my own agenda, thank you. My plan is set, but first I need sleep.

  * * * * *

  Mini, formerly known as my eighteen-month-old baby sister Jasmine, thankfully has fallen asleep after only twenty-four minutes of rocking chair time. It’s eight p.m. and I have just enough time to finish fully vampireproofing the whole house before the adults return. Vampireproofing a house takes time and effort I’ve discovered. I had to visit three different grocers before I found enough fresh garlic to keep Italy going for a week. The wooden crosses were easier to come by, and the lovely lady I met at Christian Supplies threw in two sets of rosary beads for free. I tuck Mini into her crib and arrange her bear. I can’t really blame her for not being my real baby sister.

  That fateful letter explained so much that I just hadn’t put together. Two years ago when they announced they were pregnant, my mom kept bursting into tears. I thought it was just crazy women’s hormones, but now I know she spent that nine months waiting for something to go wrong. “This was a gift we never thought we’d receive. I just can’t believe it’s really happening,” she used to say.

  Why they adopted me in the first place is another question to add to my list. Dad was only twenty-five and Mom twenty-three. From what I know about adoption, that’s awfully young. But I’ve currently got a little too much to deal with to even go there.

  It’s not that my parents—I can’t believe how much it hurts to say those two familiar words. Anyhow, it’s not that Parents Version 2.0 have treated me any differently, but there was a slight shift. I realize now that I am no longer the only precious gift they’ve been blessed with. To say they were strict when I was growing up doesn’t even come close to describing my life. I didn’t learn to ride a bicycle until I was twelve. That should be counted as abuse. Do you have any idea how embarrassing it is to not be able to ride a bike? “It’s too dangerous,” they would both chant. You name a childhood activity and it was too dangerous—until Mini entered our life. I guess I should thank the kid.

  Tip-toeing back into her room, I slide the ten-inch cross under her bear. There’s a silver bracelet securing her window lock and two long ropes of garlic, each containing over a dozen full cloves, hang from the top of the sill. The roof outside her window is covered in conf
etti. Count them, you jerk! At least, the squirrels won’t eat them during the night.

  Knowing Mini is secure, I settle on my bed with my surprise find for the day. I stopped off at the Fulton County library on the off chance they would have some literature on killing creatures of the night and to my utter delight, they did. I turn to page one of The Monster Hunter's Handbook: The Ultimate Guide to Saving Mankind from Vampires, Zombies, Hellhounds, and Other Mythical Beasts and am immediately impressed by the fact that the author is a professor. Page one hundred and sixteen shows my mortal enemy number one. I really need to write to the illustrator and describe Rocks to him.

  As much as Rocks scares the life out of me now, I can’t help but think about how he made me feel two nights ago. I hugged a guy I don’t even know. I told him everything. Vampire mental mind tricks maybe? I prefer that to hereditary insanity.

  A swoosh and a thud and the object of my obsession is standing on my rug once more. Without hesitating, I scream. I grab the cross and hold it in the space between us.

  “Stay back!”

  He flicks his hair off his face and smiles. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it was his cute, shy smile that he probably reserves for girls, but I now know this is his trust-me-I-am-about-to-drink-you smile.

  “I’m armed and fully prepared to stake you,” I say, almost falling out of bed in my rush to get under it and retrieve the stakes I got from Home Depot. “Back up, Drac!”

  Rocks throws his head back and laughs. His eyes are scrunched shut from mirth, his whole upper body shakes, and it takes him a couple of seconds before he looks at me again. By this time, I’ve got my trusty Children’s Bible, the cross, and two stakes at the ready. Taking it all in, he bites his lip, shaking his head. The smile he’s fighting is even cuter than the previous one, but I’m not going to fall for that trap!