OK, just kidding on that last part! Mom’s fine (depending of course on your definition of fine). My hand is cramping, though, and by this point I figure you’ve probably gotten the general idea. If not, please feel free to call me over once you’ve finished reading. I’ll be happy to give you some more “Tales from Mom’s house” if you truly desire such. I have plenty more. Trust me on that one.
If not, just know that I’m sure the holidays will come again soon enough and that once more her phone calls will beckon. I am still a good (also depending on your definition of good) son, which means I’ll definitely be heading out again to visit her someday in the near future.
Perhaps you’ll wish me well and send me on my way alone. Perhaps your curiosity will be piqued and you’ll want to join me for a visit (although what that tells me about you, I can only guess)
Whatever the choice you make, all I ask is that you feel a touch of sympathy and perhaps even a little pity for me. For now you know why I will spend a full week whining and complaining about it before flying out. You now know and perhaps even understand what awaits me out there. Hopefully you may even shed a tear for my plight.
Or you could just smack me upside the head and tell me to, “man up, pussy!” That’d probably work too.
THE END
About the Author
Rick Gualtieri lives alone in central New Jersey with only his wife, three kids, and countless pets to both keep him company and constantly plot against him. When he’s not busy monkey-clicking words, he can typically be found jealously guarding his collection of vintage Transformers from all who would seek to defile them.
Defilers beware!
Rick Gualtieri is the author of:
Bill the Vampire (The Tome of Bill - 1)
Scary Dead Things (The Tome of Bill - 2)
The Mourning Woods (The Tome of Bill - 3)
Holier Than Thou (The Tome of Bill - 4)
Sunset Strip: A Tale From The Tome Of Bill
Goddamned Freaky Monsters (The Tome of Bill - 5)
Half A Prayer (The Tome of Bill - 6)
The Wicked Dead (The Tome of Bill - 7)
The Tome of Bill: Volume One
Bigfoot Hunters
The Poptart Manifesto
To contact Rick (with either undying praise or rude comments) please visit:
Rick’s Website:
www.rickgualtieri.com
Facebook Page:
www.facebook.com/RickGualtieriAuthor
Twitter:
www.twitter.com/RickGualtieri
Bonus Chapter: BILL THE VAMPIRE
Chapter 1: The Day I Died
*Thud, thud* Okay, somebody needs to turn off their goddamn stereo before I put my foot up their ass. God forbid a guy be allowed to sleep off a major bender without some dickhead blasting their bass to eleven. At least, I think it was a major bender. I know I’m asleep, but I can still feel the room spinning. Yeah, I’ve gotta be drunk off my ass.
The funny thing is, I don’t remember getting shitfaced, although that doesn’t mean anything. The best parties are sometimes the ones you don’t remember. Still, I’m not even sure I went to a party last night. It is morning, right? I can’t see anything. Well, duh, my eyes are closed.
Okay, my eyes aren’t opening. I guess I must be pretty trashed.
*Thud, thud* There it is again. For fuck’s sake! Some days I hate living here. There’s always some little white bread, teenaged douche pumping out Tupac from his daddy’s Beemer because he’s sure he can relate to life on the streets. Although why is it so loud? Maybe the window’s open. I should get up and close it. Oh yeah, that’s right. I’m out cold. I can’t really check the window in my current state. Oh, well, maybe I’ll get lucky and some real gangstas will come cruising down the block and pop a few caps in homey’s upper middle class ass.
*Thud, thud* ARGH! It’s really starting to piss me off now. Huh? What the hell was that? Holy shit, are those voices? Maybe I'm not at home, after all. If that's the case, I must still be at a party. Oh, crap. I hate passing out at someone else's place. I really hope they aren’t drawing dicks on my face. The last time that happened, the fuckers used a permanent Sharpie. Let me tell you how much fun that was to scrub off. Probably took off five layers of skin, and you could still see it. Tom was an asshole about it, too. He kept pretending to be helpful just to get a laugh. “You want me to go to the store for you, dickface?” “I’ll get it. Hello? Oh, Bill? Sorry, he can’t come to the phone right now. He's too busy trying to wipe cock off his face. Can you call back later?” One of these days, I’ve really gotta get my own apartment.
*Thud, thud* Okay, it's getting a little lower now. The song must be ending. I still can’t make out what the voices are saying, but at least it doesn’t sound like laughter. That’s good. Hopefully it means they haven’t started using my face as an easel yet. Maybe I can still wake up before that happens.
Jeez, my body still isn’t responding. Man, what the hell was I drinking? Even passed out, I still feel seriously fucked up. I’m wondering if maybe I was doing a little more than drinking. I vaguely remember Ed saying something about scoring a few joints. Shit! I hope they weren’t laced with Drano or something - although that might explain why I’m lying here, having an internal soliloquy. Hold on, though, didn't that happen last week?
*Thud, thud* Why does that sound so familiar? I don’t usually listen to any shit rap music, but damn if that doesn’t ring a bell. It’s right on the tip of my tongue...UGH! Speaking of my tongue, what the hell is that taste in my mouth? Oh, shit. Please don’t let me have puked. There’s nothing worse than puking at a party and waking up in it. Nobody ever gets laid after that. Well, okay, puke or not, it’s been a while since I scored at a party, but it could still happen...maybe. Although not if I’m lying in a swimming pool of my own spew.
Crap! I hope someone turned me on my side. The last thing I want to do is pull a Hendrix. Okay, okay, relax. No one is that big an asshole. If I can hear them talking, then that probably means I’m all right.
*Thud, thud* It was weird tasting puke, anyway; kind of coppery. Oh, okay. Maybe I didn’t puke. I probably bit the inside of my mouth instead. That makes sense. Hopefully, I just bit the inside of my mouth. Damn! What if this is some kind of seizure? I could have bitten off my own damn tongue, and these assholes are just standing around debating the artistic merits of penises on my face. Maybe that’s why I can’t wake up. I popped a blood vessel in my brain and even now, I’m spiraling into a coma.
Still, I don’t think I’d be quite as lucid if I were in a coma. Then again, I haven’t been in enough comas to know what it'd be like. All right, calm down. I'd probably feel it if my tongue was bitten off. I think that would be a wee bit on the painful side. Okay, I need to try and concentrate. Let's see...I can still taste that crap in my mouth, but I can sorta feel my tongue, too. At least I think I can.
I tried moving it around a bit inside my mouth. Yeah, I still had a tongue...OW! What the hell was that? Had my tongue a second ago, but I’m not so sure now. What the hell? Did someone stick a razor blade in my freaking mouth?
*Thud, thud* Thank God. The music was barely a whisper now. That damn song just went on forever. It’s funny that I can hear the bass, but nothing else, though. It still sounds so familiar. Almost like a...
Oh, no.
That can’t be right.
*Thud, thud*
It can’t be.
Please don’t let that be my heart that I’m hearing.
*Thud*
Oh, shit!
I am choking on my own puke.
Or having a seizure.
*Thud*
Or a goddamn brain aneurysm.
*Thu...*
Ohcrapohcrapohcrap!
Okay, I shouldn't worry. I’m sure someone will start CPR on me.
Any second now.
Any minute now.
Come on, people. I only have a few minutes here before that whole brain death thing.
FUCK!
Please start beating again.
Pretty please.
It’s not fair. I still have so many reasons to live. I was going to go out with Sheila. Well, okay, maybe. One of these days, certainly. Hell, I would have gotten to it eventually. You don’t just walk up to an insanely hot chick like that and ask her out, especially when you look like me. You have to work your way up to it. Sure, it’s been two years, but I was almost there, dammit. Now it’s all gone.
Or it will be all gone.
Any minute now, it’ll be all gone.
Jeez, this death thing isn’t quite like I thought it would be. I can still taste whatever is in my mouth. Yep, I can still move my tongue, too. Can dead people move their tongues? I don’t know. I haven’t Frenched too many corpses.
Okay, this is starting to get a bit odd. Shouldn’t I be seeing a tunnel with a light at the end? Maybe I’ll see Grandma and Grandpa - hell, maybe even Elvis is waiting for me at the end of it.
Nope, nothing.
No, that’s not quite true. Is that...yes. I can feel my left arm now. Do dead people start getting sensation back? Hmmm, I can’t move it much, but it feels like I’m lying on something soft. No, I’m not in my bed. It feels like carpet. Yep, I’m definitely on a floor somewhere. It feels thick...kinda like a...oh, no...a shag carpet. Either I’m stuck in a bad seventies’ flashback, or I’m at that...
Loft!
Oh, fuck! And with that, the fog suddenly clears from my head. I can remember where I am and how I got here. If I’m right about what’s going on, then a face full of dicks isn’t going to sound all that bad in comparison.
* * *
Bill The Vampire
Available in both ebook and paperback.
The Poptart Manifesto Page 12