Thea: A Vampire Story

by Steven Jenkins

  I climb onto the bed and carefully pour the blood into Thea’s open mouth. She doesn’t try to squirm or buck. She’s so much calmer than yesterday. Another day or two and she’ll be back to her old self.

  I can celebrate later—right now I’ve got to pack.

  I sprint over to the wardrobe and pull down Thea’s pink suitcase from the top. It’s covered in dust; she hasn’t used this in years. I start to fill it.

  Thea’s eyes follow me around the room. They shouldn’t disturb me—but they do.

  Not long now. Just a few more days.

  Once the suitcase is full to the brim with clothes, shoes, underwear, a few random CDs, her iPad, and a few other knickknacks, I drag it out onto the landing and dash into my bedroom. I pull down the big black suitcase from the top shelf of my wardrobe and open it. It still has small miniature toiletries left over from our last holiday. Within a matter of minutes, I’ve managed to fill the case to bursting point with clothes, shoes, makeup and a few books. The rest isn’t important. I lug it out onto the landing and set it down by Thea’s.

  Next stop: the kitchen.

  Just as I make my way towards the staircase, I freeze outside Ivy’s room. I walk in, staring at all the memories that I’ll be leaving behind.

  I can’t just abandon all these things.

  But I have to. I can’t stay. The police will come. They’ll find the bloodstain; they’ll see the freshly dug mound of dirt in the garden.

  Maybe I’ll just take a few things with me as a reminder. I grab the framed photos, her sketchbook, a few soft toys she managed to hang onto, and the painting of Thea from the wall.

  That’ll have to do. I don’t need possessions to remember her. Everything that was wonderful about her is forever etched onto my soul.

  I swallow hard and then blow the room a kiss.

  I shake off the anguish, and then place Ivy’s suitcase on the landing next to the others.

  I head down onto the hallway. There’s a cupboard directly under the staircase. I open it. Inside, I pull out a large sports bag. It’s filled with old shoes and handbags. God knows why. I must have put them there to take to the charity shop. I empty them out and carry the bag into the kitchen. I can’t leave the house without food, so I practically throw in the entire contents of the fridge, the cereal cupboards, and whatever biscuits and crisps are left in the kitchen. I spot the last bottle of red on the worktop. I think about putting it in the bag, but instead, I grab the corkscrew, open it, and take a giant swig straight from the bottle. I’m past caring about social etiquette.

  I need money.

  All I find inside my purse is a twenty-pound note, about five pounds in loose change, and a credit card. My hand starts to shake again as I place the purse on the table. I suddenly feel giddy, so I sit down on the chair.

  What the hell am I doing?

  I’ve got no money. Nowhere to go. And I can’t use my credit card because the police will trace it. And even if I did have money and a place to go, I can’t even think about moving Thea until the sun comes up. She’s not ready.

  Think, Sarah! Think!

  I need help.

  Kate?

  No, I can’t drag her into this. She’s already done enough for me.

  Mum?

  No, I’d have to be mad to tell her what I did.

  But she’s the only one that I can trust. And she has money.

  I’ve got to. There’s no one else. I can’t do this alone.

  Gulping down the wine, not stopping for air, I think about Mum’s reaction if I told her what I did to Thea.

  She’d hate me.

  Detest me.

  She’ll disown me.

  I take another huge swig and then take the bottle into the living room. At the window, I peek outside onto the street. I don’t see any police cars. But there will be. It’s just a matter of time. I hope to God they hold off until tomorrow. What on earth would I do if they came before dawn?

  They’d take everything from me. In a matter of moments.

  I finish the bottle, wiping the residue from my lips.

  That’s it—I’m out of options. I’ll have to tell Mum.

  But what the hell do I say? That I infected my own daughter? That there’s a teenage boy buried in my garden?

  No.

  I could tell her that Thea just found the blood in my sock drawer. Maybe she thought it was something else.

  No, I can’t. Mum would never forgive herself. I’ll just need to tell her that I’m desperate for money. Maybe a secret gambling debt. Yeah, that might work. First thing in the morning, I’ll take out as much cash from the ATM as I can, and then stop off at Mum’s house to grab some money. She doesn’t have to know the truth; she’s got enough on her plate with Dad. Thea and I will head down to South Wales; find some cheap place to rent. Hell, maybe Kate’s got a few connections for a job—off the books of course.

  Yeah, I can do this. We can do this. People run away all the time.

  I take a slow, deep breath, and then pick up the house-phone from its cradle. My heart races when I dial Mum’s number.

  I’m starting to regret this already. Should I hang up?

  No, Sarah—you need money.

  The phone keeps ringing.

  It goes to voicemail.

  Where the hell is she? In the shower? Sleeping?

  I ring again.

  Voicemail again.

  I dial her mobile phone instead.

  “Hi, Sarah,” Mum answers, her voice croaky.

  “Hi, Mum. You sound hoarse,” I say. “Is everything all right?”

  She doesn’t answer.

  “Mum,” I say, “what’s wrong?”

  I hear the sound of weeping.

  “Your father’s passed away,” Mum snivels.

  That sentence should be meaningless to me, especially after the life that that man gave me, and especially in the light of everything Thea is going through. But for some reason, a reason that makes absolutely no sense at all, I burst into tears.

  Why?

  For Mum?

  I move the phone away from my face as I wait for the sobbing to pass. When it finally does, I hear the faint sound of Mum calling my name, so I return the phone to my ear.

  “Are you okay?” she asks.

  I sniff loudly, wiping the tears from my eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just in shock, that’s all.” Shock? There’s no shock. The man was days away from dying. The only shock is feeling these tears running down my cheeks.

  “I’m still at the hospital with Uncle Roy,” Mum says. “Do you and Thea want to come down?”

  “We can’t leave the house. Thea’s too sick.”

  “That’s okay, Sarah. I’ll be leaving here soon. Is it all right if I come up to your house? I don’t think I can go back home alone tonight.”

  A rush of panic shunts me.

  She can’t come here tonight. Not with Thea so ill? It’s too much. Neither of us is in a fit state to cope.

  But maybe it’s better that way. She can see the mess for herself. She’ll understand. She’ll have to. She’s already lost a husband and a granddaughter. She knows what will happen to Thea and I if the police find us. She’s not an idiot.

  Yes. Face to face is better.

  “Of course you can, Mum,” I reply. No turning back now. It’s done.

  I sigh, my mouth away from the phone. It’s the right thing to do. A moment in Thea’s room and she’ll see how desperate I am.

  “Thank you,” Mum says. “I’ll see you soon.”

  “Okay. I love you.”

  “I love you, too, Sarah.”

  I press the cancel button on the phone and then return it to its cradle.

  Mum should come with us. There’s nothing left to stay for. And she knows lots of people. All over. She’s bound to have somewhere for us to lay low.

  Suddenly the room starts to spin, the effects of the wine hitting me hard. Closing my eyes, I sit back on the couch, my body sinking into the cushions, and wait for t
he feeling to pass.

  After a few minutes of silence, I open my eyes. The fog has lifted, but the chaos all around me is still here.

  The baby monitor on the coffee table catches my eye. Pushing the On button, I stare at the small screen as it lights up, coming to life.

  I see Thea’s bed—it’s empty.

  My heart stops dead as I drop the monitor. It hits the floor with a crack.

  “Oh, shit!”

  Racing out of the living room, bolting up the staircase, all that’s coursing through my mind is Thea loose on the streets, all alone. I leap over the suitcases and then take out the skeleton key from my pocket. My entire body tightens up in panic when I see that Thea’s door is wide open.

  Jesus Christ, I forgot to lock it!

  Bursting in, I find her bed still empty and the ropes scattered across the quilt. Oh, fuck. Where’ve you got to, Thea? Scanning the room, I don’t see her anywhere.

  “Thea?” I call out softly, disguising the fear in my voice. “Where are you, sweetheart?”

  I listen out for movement; maybe she’s hiding. I dart over to the window. It’s still locked. Opening the wardrobe, I separate the hanging clothes at the centre. She’s not there.

  “Thea,” I call out again, this time a little louder. “Mummy needs to speak to you.”

  Nothing.

  I bet she’s hiding under the bed.

  Throat dry with trepidation, I drop to one knee. “Thea, don’t be afraid,” I say as I lift the quilt to see under the bed. “Mummy’s not going to hurt you.”

  It’s deserted. Just a few stray shoes, old magazines and other bits of junk. Where the fuck is she?

  “Thea?”

  Just as I begin to stand, I hear something. It’s the sound of shallow breathing.

  It’s coming from above me.

  “Mum,” a gravelly, strained voice says. “I’m here.”

  I tilt my head back to see Thea stuck with her back against the ceiling, her fingernails and bare feet digging into the plaster like a cat.

  I try to speak, to call her name, but no words form. I slowly reach up to her, staring at her inflamed eyes, her wide mouth, oozing with brown spit.

  Just as my fingers are within inches of her, she suddenly drops down, crashing onto my body.

  I shriek in fright as she pins me to the floor, her hands pressing down hard on my wrists.

  “Thea!” I yell, wriggling and squirming, trying desperately to throw her off me. “Stop it!”

  She doesn’t hear me as she aims her mouth at my neck. Managing to move my head a little, her teeth miss, sinking into the top of my right shoulder instead. The pain is unbearable as her jaw clamps down, cutting through my skin. I shrug my shoulder violently, dislodging her mouth, and then buck my hips as hard as I can. Thea’s body flies off me, her back crashing against the bed. I pull my wrists free from her iron grip and scramble to my feet, running towards the doorway. With no time to close the door after me, Thea chases me out onto the landing. Blood pouring from my shoulder, my vision narrowing from the pain, I sprint towards the stairs.

  This is not my daughter!

  This is not Thea!

  I leap over the suitcases again, but this time my foot clips a handle. In a swirl of colours, I fly headfirst down the stairs. I try to grab the banister but my shoulder slams painfully into it. So does the side of my face. In a split second, I’m at the bottom, my back in agony, staring up at Thea as she scurries after me. Head throbbing, vision blurry, I crawl across the hallway towards the kitchen. My crawl turns into a sprint as the sound of Thea landing on the hallway hits my ears.

  Hissing like a snake, she reaches me in no time, digging her nails into my forearm. I twist my body viciously, freeing myself from her grip.

  Charging into the kitchen, I take the handle and slam the door into her face. My stomach somersaults when I hear the cracking sound of her nose.

  Oh, Jesus Christ! Jesus Christ! I’m so sorry, angel.

  The blow doesn’t stop her. Instead, she thrusts the door, screaming like a psychopath. I tug at the handle with both hands. She’s strong—I can’t hold it.

  “Stop it, Thea!” I cry. “Please!”

  The snarls are deafening as the handle starts to slip from my grasp. Sweat pouring, I glance at the window. It’s still dark outside. The sun is hours away. The handle is yanked from my hand, and the door is pulled open. With no other options, I make a dash for the back door. Is it locked? I grab the handle and the door opens. Rushing through the gap, I’m outside running along the concrete path, heading for the garden gate. There’s a thick bolt-lock on the gate. It’s always stiff, so I pull on it hard. After a second or two, the gate opens and I’m out onto the pavement, racing, heading to God-knows-where.

  As I whizz past the houses, fences, and driveways, something dawns on me: Thea isn’t chasing me.

  Why?

  Has she come to her senses? Seen the damage she’s done?

  I slow down, coming to a complete stop about a hundred metres from home. She’s scared. She’s all alone in the house. Sick and disorientated. She needs help. My help.

  What kind of mother abandons their daughter in the middle of the night?

  I start to run back towards the house. She’s my little girl. She’s not a monster. I prod my stinging shoulder, cringing in pain. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She can’t help it. At the garden gate, I wipe the blood on my jeans, take a deep breath, and then open it.

  “Thea?” I whisper as I step into the dark garden, faintly lit by the moonlight. “Are you out here?” There’s no response. “Thea? It’s Mummy.”

  Pulse rising, I scan my surroundings, expecting her to jump out at any moment. But the garden is small; there aren’t that many hiding places. She’s still inside the house. Probably cowering under her bed.

  Mummy’s coming, sweetheart!

  The back door is still hanging open. Cautiously stepping into the kitchen, I try to push the dread to the back of my mind.

  Don’t be afraid, Sarah. It’s just Thea.

  The kitchen is deserted.

  What if she’s fled the house? She might hurt someone.

  What if I never see her again?

  Shut up, Sarah! She’s here! This is her home, for Christ’s sake! She’s just gone back to her bedroom to calm down. That’s all.

  “Thea,” I whisper as my entire body trembles. “It’s Mummy.”

  The house is eerily silent as I step onto the hallway. “Thea?”

  Nothing.

  At the foot of the stairs, I peer up to the landing. I can’t see her. “Thea?” I open the living-room door and slowly step inside; my body clenched, ready for an attack. Walking over to the couch, I glance behind it. She’s not there. Why would she be there? This isn’t a game. She’s hungry. She wouldn’t toy with me.

  I exit the living room and make my way upstairs. What if she’s hurt?

  Or worse…

  I check the bathroom; it’s empty. Across the landing, I step over the suitcases as I reach Ivy’s bedroom. The room is dark, with just the light from the landing seeping in. Poking my head inside, I shudder in fright when I see the bed. Thea is lying on her side, facing the window. Ivy? From here, she looks just like her sister. Like the last time I saw her.

  Maybe it is her.

  “Thea?” I whisper, sweat trickling down my face.

  She hears my voice and slowly sits up. She turns to me, and I see Thea’s tear-filled eyes, dried blood stuck to the sides of her mouth.

  “I’ll never run out on you again,” I say as I walk towards the bed. “I should have been stronger. I thought I was.” I sit on the bed as my eyes start to fill with tears. “But it’s always been you, sweetheart. You’ve always been the strong one. Not me, or Ivy. Just you. You’ve been through so much, and you’re still here, still with me.” I reach for her hand. She looks at it for a moment, but then takes it. “I’m sorry for what I put you through. But I promise—as God is my witness—I will spend the rest of my
days trying to put things right. Can you ever forgive me?”

  My racing heart begins to slow as Thea smiles.

  She’s come home to me.

  And I’ll never let her down again.

  But then I see her eyes slowly shifting downwards to my bleeding shoulder, and that wonderful smile disappears.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask as she starts to squeeze my hand. “You’re hurting me, Thea.”

  Suddenly she lunges at me, pushing me off the bed.

  “Stop it, Thea!” I cry as she pins me to the carpet, this time with even more force. I scream out in agony when she clamps her jaws around my neck. I twist and squirm, but she’s locked on tight. I close my eyes in pain as her teeth pierce my skin.

  No, Thea! Please!

  I manage to free one of my hands, so I grab a handful of her hair, pulling as hard as I can. Thea cries out as her blood-drenched mouth comes away from my neck.

  “Get off me, Thea!” I shout, still pulling on her hair. “You’re hurting Mummy.” But she grasps my wrist from her head and slams it back onto the floor.

  “No, Thea!” I shriek as she drops her head onto my neck, her teeth re-piercing the skin; the pain coursing down my spine.

  I hear the sound of swallowing as she sucks hard.

  “Help me!”

  Thea’s head comes up, my blood running down from her lips onto her chin.

  But it’s only to catch a breath.

  Her teeth clamp down again.

  I start to feel lightheaded, weak. But this is not how I plan to die. Not at the hands of my own daughter. I somehow find the strength to push my hips high off the floor, lifting Thea’s body up. Twisting frantically, I manage to free myself from her grip. Clambering on my hands and knees towards the doorway, I feel Thea’s full weight land on top of my back. My face hits the carpet, cracking my front tooth. But I keep crawling, ignoring the agony in my mouth. She bites down on the side of my neck, tearing a fresh piece of skin clean off. But this time, there’s no pain, no panic—just sadness.

  But even when things get bad, there is always hope.

  Thea will get better. She will be mine again.