Bite Me

by Donaya Haymond

  “No need to slam the door, Dianne, I can hear you in any case,” called a voice from upstairs.

  A voice again, I thought, dropping my bag to the ground. Will I never be allowed a reverie?

  He came down the stairs slowly, also looking drowsy. Mom sometimes jokingly complains that by the time she’s fifty, Andy—that’s what she calls my father– is going to look like her kid brother. It is true that he’s been perpetually twenty-five for the past eighteen years. Dad was really twenty-two when he made his fateful solo trip to Romania and camped out at Dracula’s famous castle, but he claims that bleeding almost to death ages a guy a little. A century-old ghost of a twenty-fiveyear-old may be a more accurate description of his features. High school photos show a completely different Ferdinand Anghel from the one I know.

  But I love the one I know. Call me a daddy’s girl; I don’t care. I have a similarly close relationship, not unusual for an only child, with my mother. I’m more like her in personality, but she isn’t as lonely. As a vampire, Dad has more trouble hiding what he is from people, and needs my company. He’s always around when I’m home, too. Mom often has meetings and extra work after school, but Dad works while the rest of us are asleep. Because of this, I tend to feel the way my mother would, but every day I express myself more and more the way my father does.

  He came over and gave me a hug. I could feel the ridges of bone in his chest and the unnatural cool of his skin. “How was your day?”

  “As usual, it’s do or Di,” I replied, squeezing tight. It was a little ritual we had, the hug and the silly pun with my name. “You should eat more, Dad.”

  He let go and raised an eyebrow. As a small child, I spent months trying to do that, and never succeeded. “I seem to recall that as the father of a teenage girl in this modern age, I should be the one saying that. I did go for groceries last night, though. Found a new little butcher shop on the far side of town. In fact—no, you should go first.”

  I went over to the kitchen for a snack. If we have non-family people over at our house we always have to empty the fridge. Typically, our stocks include milk, juice, fruits and vegetables, bottles of blood in neat rows, raw hamburger meat (Mom gets cravings sometimes), various dinners cooked up on the weekends and reheated over the week, a little junk food, and these weird red Plasma Pops. Dad was getting tired of slurping his meals all the time, so I came up with the idea of freezing the pig/cow blood into popsicles. They’re especially good on hot days, he says.

  First I took some beef jerky, then felt horrified at the thought of my inner wolf springing up, and exchanged it for a cup of chocolate pudding. I pulled up a stool and sat at the square island in the middle of the room. “Do you want something to drink?”

  “No thank you, I’m not hungry. Were there any catastrophes? Victories? Revelations?”

  Not many people, when they imagine vampires, visualize them in green checked flannel shirts and blue jeans, perched on chairs in kitchens and asking their children about school.

  I made an effort to stall. “Did I wake you up? You look sleepy and like you haven’t shaved.” Dad’s clothes are always immaculate, something that’s almost a religion to him, but his hair tends to be awful and he usually has some cuts on his cheeks and chin from a razor.

  “No, I was up for a while. I just didn’t feel like it today. Mirrors are my least favorite piece of furniture.”

  I shook my head sadly. “Very rude things, I think. Ignore you completely.”

  “Now, Di. . .”

  “All right, all right, my day at school. Well, it seems now that I am likely a supernatural on my own account, and not just by association.” I continued from there, swirling my spoon around in the pudding as I talked. My gaze stayed down on the counter, tracing the fake marble design. When I got to the wolf-claw part, I heard a sharp hissing noise and sat up.

  My dad was folded and bent over, his elbows on his knees and his head just barely above the countertop. Though all the blinds were drawn to keep the lighting down, his eyelids were squeezed shut. After a moment, without moving, he whispered, “Go on.”

  “There’s nothing else to tell. I was in detention today, and will have it for the rest of the week. Tammy might need stitches or something, and you can ground me if you want.”

  He shook his head and looked at me. “I think you’ve gone through enough. I—I’m very sorry.”

  “It’s not like it’s your fault. You didn’t know for sure, right? Besides, I’d rather exist as some kind of wolf-girl than not at all.”

  “It’s not just that. It’s you feeling like you have to defend yourself, and me, every day. I can’t be the best father for you. If there were any way I could end it–”

  “Hey, it’s okay. You and Mom are the best parents a girl could wish for. Besides, if you were like other dads, I might not see you as much.” Dad still looked despondent, so I hurried on. “And Mom can control when she changes most of the time, so I should be able to as well with a little practice. I wish I could ask someone about what’s going on. Wouldn’t it be great if there were werewolf doctors?”

  A sudden light shone in Dad’s dark red eyes, and he banged a hand on the counter. “Of course!”

  “Careful there, you might wreck it again.” Usually he made a sizable dent every time he made that gesture. Today, though, there wasn’t even an imprint.

  “I was ready to tell you about an unusual thing that happened last night, but I didn’t know how much we would need it,” said Dad. “I found the location of a new butcher shop last Thursday, and decided to stop by. The manager had plenty of blood, and he asked me if I was here for Nat.”

  “Who’s Nat?”

  “That’s what I asked him, but then a man beside me spoke up and said he was called Nat. Apparently he usually came around during the other employee’s shift. Now I know why people continue to comment on my, um, complexion. He was very pale as well, and almost as thin. We helped each other load up our cars, and got to talking.” He paused for emphasis. “It turns out that I have found likely the only other vampire in this town, though it seems more than probable there are more in the world. His full name is Nathan Silver, and his office is only a short drive away. He’s a practicing physician.”

  I blinked. “Wow. That is just too coincidental to be real. Did he say where he turned?”

  It took Dad a moment to process the euphemism. “Dr. Silver was traveling in Los Angeles. He didn’t say when.”

  “Hmm. Vampires are never close to home, are they?”

  “I suppose the man-eating ones prefer tourists.”

  “Did you get his number?”

  “He gave me his card.”

  I jumped up. “I’m done with what’s due tomorrow, Dad. Call now, please. I really want to find out all I can. Even if he’s never heard of what I have, at least I can get a check-up from someone who’s not going to scream and run away. We can be back by six to have dinner with Mom after her meeting.”

  “I’d rather wait for her, Dianne. Oh. Ouch. Ahh... “ He grabbed his temples.

  “What?”

  “I suddenly have a headache. No, a migraine. Should I be able to have a migraine?”

  Vampire health is not, and never will be, my strong point. “Maybe you should see the doctor too,” I replied, tossing away my snack and going to get my remaining homework. Dad mournfully swallowed an aspirin and washed it down with a sip of blood. As I worked, he crouched next to me at the kitchen table, staring into space. He stayed there until Mom came home.

  Chapter Three

  Leave Me

  Mom, however, thought that we should wait until Friday night. “Are you sure that you can trust that man?” she asked at dinner. Dad sat with us just for the conversation.

  “He seemed nice. . . besides, he is a vampire, “ Dad said, as if that automatically was a point in his favor.

  I had been quiet for some time, but suddenly choked on my broccoli.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” Dad interjected. “But i
f he has a secret of his own, he likely won’t reveal ours.”

  “That’s what you said about Sh–”

  Before I could finish the name, Mom shook her head urgently. “I thought you wanted to go to the doctor.”

  “But you won’t let me!”

  “I just want you to go the day after tomorrow, Di, so your father can check up on this Nat’s authenticity.”

  Waving my fork to indicate resignation (kind of hard, but I pulled it off), I said, “Meh, if you say so. But do realize that I am going to be a social leper tomorrow.”

  In a moment I wished I hadn’t said that, as both parents stared at the food, or lack thereof, in front of them. The only sound was of the Calvins next door laughing loudly enough for us to hear through the paper-thin walls between the houses.

  Slow minutes ticked by, until a very slight whisper escaped Mom’s lips. I strained to hear, feeling absolutely terrible. She looked up, and her eyes suddenly brimmed. “Dianne, honey....” she quavered. Somehow it sounded unnaturally loud.

  “I’m sorry if I was insensitive, okay?” Too much had happened that day. I had felt too much anger, confusion, dread, and defensiveness. No wonder I had gone feral at school. I thought you would understand, I wanted to say to my parents. I don’t need someone to treat me either like a freak or a little kid. I’m a teenager. I’m supposed to be volatile.

  My dad put down his cup, so utterly expressionless that I knew he must have been either furious or heartbroken. “So that’s what it looks like. Di, you might want to check your ears.”

  “You don’t need to shout,” I replied, wincing.

  “I’m not shouting. I am just barely speaking above my breath.”

  Bewildered, I reached a hand up to the left side of my head, and gasped. A shaggy triangle of an ear met my fingers. Not only did it amplify the sounds I had been trying to hear, it was also pressed backwards, a canine signal of aggression.

  “H-h-how d-do I turn it back?” I stammered.

  “What were you trying to do?” Mom asked.

  “I was trying to hear what you were whispering. I guess I wanted you to know that I was upset, too.”

  “Well then. . . stop trying!”

  The Calvins must have heard that, even if they were in the basement. I nearly jumped out of my seat.

  Dad was pressed against the wall, completely shocked. “Why did you do that, Selene?”

  She looked drained. “If Dianne can only shift involuntarily, she has to return involuntarily as well. See, her ears went back to human ones to avoid being hurt.” Then she ran over and hugged me tight. “I’m so sorry that I scared you like that. I’m sorry for all of this.”

  “Earlier, I imagined this happening, actually,” I said, my voice muffled in her arms. “It seemed funny at the time.”

  In a moment Mom let go of me. “That’s my girl. Though if you weren’t, I suppose you wouldn’t have this problem in the first place. Now promise me if you feel any strong emotion at school, excitement or loneliness or anything at all, you’ll run to a bathroom or somewhere you can be alone.”

  I nodded mutely, thinking this moment certainly qualified.

  **** When I walked into my first class the next morning, I could feel the stares boring into my back. It wasn’t very helpful for my goal to keep calm at all costs. Hyun Young, a friend of mine, was saving me a seat.

  “People are saying that you beat Tammy up,” she whispered. “I didn’t think you’d do something like that.”

  “Thanks for the confidence in me. I didn’t beat her up.”

  “Oh good. What did you do, then?”

  “Slapped her.”

  Hyun Young was the prettiest of my friends, and certainly better looking than knobby, straggle-haired me. Unlike the BBQs, however, she seemed completely unconscious of her appearance. She shrugged. “That’s nothing at all here. She had it coming. Besides, I don’t see why one slap is such a big deal.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Tammy wasn’t at school that day. I felt a mixture of guilt and relief, assuaging the guilt by sliding an anonymous, typed Get Well card into her locker. Let her think it was from one of her groupies. To add authenticity I added some comments about what a nasty dork the freaky Dianne was, and how Tammy should stay away from her because she might be, like, all mean and stuff, and totally not worth, like, her, like, valuable time, or whatever.

  The hours managed to pass without incident. The popular kids, of course, stayed at least five paces away at all times, but this was more of a gain than a loss. Some of my friends, whom I swore I’d seen just a moment ago, mysteriously vanished when I went up to talk to them. I hoped if I could keep from any other metamorphoses, the rumors about my first one would eventually fade away. Somehow this failed to comfort me.

  **** That evening I was doing my homework while Dad worked on a short story on his laptop. Mom was taking a shower, which she likes to do at night instead of in the morning. Dad hoped to come out with a publishable novel sometime in the near future. Most of his work is historical fiction, though he’s thinking of beginning a theme of misunderstood vampires, “to create an environment of tolerance.” I thought it was a cute dream, though I never would’ve told him that.

  Presently he turned off the computer, stood up and stretched. “Getting writer’s block,” he said. “I think I’ll go out for a fly.” “Wish I could go with you,” I replied. The ability to transform, though limited to nighttime and to an animal that was rather puny, was the only part of his condition that Dad liked. It helped him get through the less pleasant parts.

  Without answering, he changed—I had been used to it for years but it was still cool. His first smile in a while flashed across his face, microseconds before he was about eight times smaller than his usual form. The little mammal looked up at me from the carpet with beady eyes, looked up at the window, now entirely too far away, and squeaked.

  “Hah! You can’t get off the floor. Should’ve thought of that.” There was another squeak, but this time high enough in pitch to make my ears hurt. I obligingly bent down and picked my father up, cradling him in my hands. How many girls get to do that? I set the bat on the windowsill and opened it wide. He gave me a nod and flew out.

  The werewolf of the house came down soon after that, drying her long black hair with a towel. “Where’s Dad?” she asked, sitting down on the chair across from mine.

  “Practicing his echolocation skills.” She was pleased. “I’m glad he’s gone out. Have you noticed him being a bit withdrawn recently? Listless?”

  “Kinda. Maybe he’s depressed.”

  “No, it’s not that. He just seems tired all the time. I’ve never seen him sick before, though.”

  “Can vampires get sick? Besides from garlic and excessive sunlight, I mean.” Dad got sunstroke one summer, which effectively ruined our vacation.

  “I’ve never heard of one that did.”

  “Then it’s nothing,” I said cheerfully. “Could be midlife crisis. Although if you’re not getting any older, is it possible for your life to have a middle?”

  “Perhaps,” Dad groaned.

  We turned our heads, surprised. He had come back in through the window without us noticing, and was limp against the wall. Sweat plastered his hair into dark streaks on his forehead and temples. “I don’t. . . . know. . . why so tired. . . couldn’t go on. . . .” The words came in halting stops and starts. Even after a couple deep breaths, he couldn’t talk any more.

  Mom went over and gently pulled him up. “Did you eat anything tonight?”

  He shook his head, forced to lean against her to stay upright.

  “Then why on earth are you trying to exercise?”

  “I wasn’t hungry,” my father protested. Then he unwound her fingers from his arm. “I’m fine.”

  All gentleness left her voice then. “Oh, so collapsing all over the place and losing your appetite is what you call fine? I heard you come in at six yesterday and at five this morning, and you slept i
n that little coffin of yours that you use when I’m gone instead of joining me. You can’t go on being like this without a word of explanation, Andy! I’m worried enough about Dianne. I don’t need to have to deal with you suffering too.”

  Dad dropped onto the couch. “All right, Selene. I doubt there’s anything at all wrong except for a little lethargy–”

  “A little?”

  “. . . but I will ask Dr. Silver about it tomorrow if that would reassure you.”

  “It would.”

  “I called the clinic and asked around. He has proper credentials, and began working here ten years ago.”

  “Say, Dad,” I mused, “how old do you think he could be? Wouldn’t it be cool if…? “

  “This is not the time,” Mom said.

  Can’t I say anything right anymore? I wondered in despair.

  Chapter Four

  Examine Me

  Shadows crossed the seat, the lights of downtown painting orange stripes in the blackness. My brain was doing it again: the boiling over of thoughts and feelings. It was a sort of amorphous blob that made me think in purple prose. I fiddled with the air conditioners on the dashboard, occasionally looking at my reflection in the window. My fingers traced the hair that went just below my ears, designed for low maintenance rather than beauty, the faint echo of a mouth floating in the glass. Nothing could seem less frightening or magical. Nothing gave even a hint of the wolf inside. Could there be something in the eyes? No. One hundred percent human girl was what I was, according to the mirror.

  “I used to do that,” Dad said quietly. I pulled away from the window. When Dad went out at night, he often wore blue contacts just in case anyone got a good look at him, but this time there would be no need. He didn’t appear to be looking at me. Usually he didn’t talk much when he drove. Then again, usually he didn’t look so worn out. I have heard that a certain level of tiredness actually makes people speak more, not less.

  “Do what?” I asked.

  “Stare at my reflection.”