by Hood, E. B.
Collecting some sheets, blankets and a pillow from what I deemed to be guest locations, I made me a little hidden bed, in the corner of the attic. Before the sun came up completely I had noticed that one of the rooms upstairs was an office. I bet a dollar that I could figure out where I was and what the date was. Some basic info would be nice.
So I walked into the office and noticed, on the corner of the desk, some mail. Perfect, I picked it up; to James Richa, 304 High St, Collbran, CO 81624. Well one mystery put to rest. I am somewhere in Colorado; I camped a couple of times in Colorado with my folks. I was eight or nine, and I stayed almost a year with Star. She is the one who taught me how to sing. I miss her and wonder if I could look her up, or should I look her up. Maybe, on second thought, I will look her up some other time.
What, no way, what the… that can’t be right. On the desk lay one of those calendars that took up most of where you worked. According to the calendar it was February 2, Friday 1990. 1990, only it is 1975. Nicks said five to seven days, not fifteen years; NOT FIFTEEN YEARS… WHAT THE HELL. That can’t be right. It’s not right, stomping my foot against the floor.
I am tired and the sun is coming up. Noticing the room was filling up with the light of day, I will have to figure all this out tomorrow.
I ran up to my hiding place. Pulling up the ladder, I slunk off to my corner curled up in my blankets and pillow. Then I did what any, strong, self reliant, independent, woman or man would do in my situation. I quietly cried myself to sleep.
I sleep like the dead. It was kind of strange; I didn’t move an inch and had no dreams whatsoever. I simply fell asleep, then woke up with no real idea how much time had passed away. The attic was dark but not dark enough for night time.
I move into the middle of the attic and listen to make sure no one is home. After listening for a little while, I was sure the house was empty. Plus I saw a notice on the calendar that it was marked for a weekend trip to Grand Junction, to visit mom for the weekend.
So I kicked the ladder down and went down to the second level again, but this time, when I stood in the hallway, I could see all the sun streaming in from the adjacent rooms except for one. I had closed the blinds to the boy’s room with all the strange toys. I am glad that I did; I walked back into the room and looked at the strange clock. It stated it was 4:15 PM, so much for sleeping all day long.
I am thinking my first idea of burying myself would have sucked. I would have been stuck underground for hours wide awake. Well I am not a person to sit around and feel sorry for myself. I need to go forth, though I have no idea how. Sometimes you have to start with what you know. And what I know right this moment wouldn’t get you a cup of coffee, but I am dirty and dressed in what’s left of a fifteen year old cotton white dress that isn’t white anymore.
Down the hallway there are three rooms. The first room is the boys’ room; the second across from his room is an office; the third is full of exercise equipment, with filing cabinets and random stuff everywhere, and one more door at the end of the hall, a beautiful baby blue bathroom, which happened to have an outside window.
I could see the light shining out of the bathroom. The sunlight was not as blinding as I believed it would be. I found these really groovy sunglasses in the boy’s room called Oakley's, they are really strange looking. They’re just one big lens, and they are really dark. With them on I am enjoying life just a little bit better.
Now here comes the hard part; do I really burst into flames just because a little sunlight hits me? Well there's one way to find out for sure, and find out I must, or I have to wait till tonight to get a bath.
I walked up to the edge of the doorway. Why could I have not covered all the windows up last night? In my defense the whole 15 years missing had me a little preoccupied. Enough stalling, I stuck my hand out into the light. My whole body tensed as I got ready for the pain.
Then nothing happened. I could feel the heat of the sun, but my hand was not on fire; whoopee, so I stepped out of the hall into the bathroom. It was annoyingly bright and now that the sunlight from the window was on my entire body, it was quite bothersome.
I really couldn't complain because I wasn't bursting into flames. So, with that, I covered the window with the boy’s comforter with the strange Star Wars symbols on it, and now it was very groovy in the bathroom. So I started the water. I ripped off the soiled cotton dress and did what I've been dreaming about since I woke up in that grave. I had a long hot bath.
Bath, shower, bath, shower, and then a bath; I was white again. Well maybe even more white than I remember. I never had a tan living in California; I was still as white as a snowflake, but now I was taking white to a new level.
I watch my claws come out of my hand like a cat. It was so weird; even my fingers became longer. I found that my teeth moved like a new muscle that extended and retracted at will; they never went completely away. If I lifted my top lip, the teeth lay right in front of my old teeth. I guess you can say that my teeth didn’t change; rather, new ones grew in. It was the same with my nails; the new nails were thick and hard, pointier and sharp around the edges. If I looked under the nails, I could kind of see my old nails.
And now that I did find my claws and teeth, I couldn’t help but play with them like a new toy. I moved them in and out. I did something I remember Nicks telling me about; I cut my hair off rather than cleaning it. Throwing it over onto the bathroom floor watching it turn to mud as it mixed, with the water on the floor, I kept cutting it off until all of my hair was brand new. It was the cleanest I could ever recall it being.
I was playing with my claws in the bath. I looked up into the mirror that sat above the sink. I stood up and looked at myself. I lifted my hands up and made my claws go long; at the same time I elongated my teeth and opened my mouth. Then I made a growling sound; I scared myself; I wanted to run away.
I put my teeth and claws away. I looked almost human. The things that gave it away were my skin tone and my eyes. It took me a second to really understand what was wrong with them. My eyes were huge, I stepped out of the tub and walked closer to the mirror.
My eyes were twice the size than they originally were. It was like I had owl eyes, and man, did I look like a freak. My eye color didn’t change; they were still blue as the sky, just more to look at. If I kept my teeth up, and my claws away, the only thing that keeps me from passing for human are these eyes. I will need to keep my sunglasses on.
After that, I went downstairs and found my way to the master bedroom. Wearing nothing but a pair of sunglasses, I ransacked the room for anything of use. I found several items, first a good-sized gym bag with a strap. That would hold clothes I found in the closet that semi-fit me.
Second, I found a 45 1911 pistol, with one clip of ammo that might be handy even though I have never shot a gun before, I shoved it inside the gym bag. After digging around a little bit more, in the same drawer that I found the pistol, I also found $200 in cash, now that I needed.
I've always worn dresses and skirts, not pants, so it was good for me this lady had some dresses, but most of her clothes were pants. I wonder why? I guess in 1990 a lot of things are different; nonetheless I found black tights which I put on.
I slipped a dark blue dress on that hung to my knees. A big bulky jacket with a big hood finished my outfit. I settled for the pink snow boots. This lady’s feet must be huge, or mine small; all her other shoes won’t fit. They just fell off. Walking barefoot was what I wanted to do, but that would bring way too much attention to me, especially since there was snow on the ground, with the temperature hanging around freezing; I couldn’t go without footwear. With my sunglasses on, and the hood over my head, I put my gym bag over my shoulder.
I was ready to hit the road, but I was hungry again. Now this wasn’t the starving of last night, but I was still ready for some breakfast. Since no one was around to help me out in my new life, I was not sure what to do.
I was finding out that most of the legends were bullshit, like in
viting me in, and sunlight burning me. I had an image in the mirror. So maybe I could eat food too?
* * *
It is so unfair; I made French toast, scrambled eggs and bacon, and here I am puking my guts out in the sink for 15 minutes.
Damn, where is someone to hold my head? It would've been one thing if the food was nasty or smelled bad, but no it smelled delicious, and it tasted fantastic. Where's the justice? This means I'll have to go through my existence, smelling food that I once loved and be unable to eat it.
* * *
It was around 7:00 PM when I got out the door and headed down the street. I was heading for uptown, with a simple plan to catch a bus back to LA and then eat bikers.
As I walked I couldn’t help thinking of those poor people's house that I just left. First they were robbed of a gun, clothes, and cash. Then the perpetrator destroyed their bathroom with mud, leaving a ring around the tub that will never come out. Then someone threw up in their kitchen sink, vandalizing the entire kitchen and living room.
It was like a giant tornado, or a 15-year-old vampire throwing the biggest fit you've ever seen. Apparently I was strong enough to toss the refrigerator into the next room landing on the TV. The walls shattered like paper when I punched and kicked them; even the two by fours, shattered like toothpicks. I couldn't help but laugh, as I imagined how the insurance agent looked as he wrote the claim.
I was now walking down High St at 8:30 at night. Apparently this town was in the middle of nowhere. When I reached the uptown area, they didn’t even have a bus station. After walking up the main drag, there were only four little shops, and an old country hardware store.
In front of the hardware store is where I ran into a nice helpful middle aged woman. She directed me to Grand Junction City. She told me that’s where the big city was and the nearest bus station. The confrontation was strange, and she was glad to see me walk away. Apparently I did not put out a good vibe.
So now I am hitchhiking down highway 330 to I-70 to Grand Junction. At least that is the plan. Now it is awful strange that no one has stopped for me. When I was a child, me and my parents hitched around the country, and it was never more than a few minutes before someone stopped. My dad used to say it helped to travel with girls, because, if it was just him, it could take almost fifteen minutes before someone would pick him up.
I think, but I am not sure, that I have been walking for a half an hour. A dozen cars went by, and I hardly got a brake light. Now I guess I could just run there, but that seemed like a bad idea because I was already hungry again. And it is not rocket science that motion takes energy. Finally a big, old looking Chevy Impala pulled over in front of me, so I ran up to the passenger side and jumped in the backseat; there were two men sitting in the front.
“Thanks for stopping,” I said to the men in the front of the car. I threw my bag in the empty seat next to me, and had barely got the door shut when the man took off.
Both of these men looked to be about forty; it was hard to tell. The men were both sporting beards of gray and brown hair. One had long messed up hair that he kept in a ball cap. The driver just looked like he missed his haircut by a week or so with a much neater and shorter beard to match. They were both heavily dressed for the cold with flannel jackets and jeans. The Old Spice one of them was wearing didn’t even start to cover up the smoke smell or the scent of their blood for that matter.
The passenger turned to face me and had a friendly face. “Where you going on this God forsaken night?”
“It’s not the only thing God has forsaken.” I replied with a little laugh; then I went on to say. “Need to get to Grand Junction bus station.”
The passenger gave a little chuckle at my remark. The driver turned around and gave me a quick go over. He then went back to driving before saying in a nice soft voice. “What a strange thing to say.” And, after a short pause, he continued. “You’re not running away from home or anything like that?”
“No sir; I am heading back home.” I said to the driver. There was something off about these two guys as they gave each other a quick look. Some unsaid understanding passed between them. The driver went back to looking at the road, while the passenger went back to looking at me.
“My name’s Dave” said the passenger “and this right over here is my coz Jim… what’s you go by?”
I paused; what is my name? I don’t think I should tell him my name is Melanie Elizabeth Dare. I was caught off guard; and I said the first think that came to mind “Melabeth”
“That’s a real pretty name you have” offered up Dave.
“I have never heard the name Melabeth before. Are your parents from around these parts?” asked Jim. He was definitely trying to find out a little background info.
“No sir.” I was not going to offer up too much info.
“Well it don’t matter none, Jim” Dave said as he spun himself forward in his seat. “And don’t forget my stuff at the hunting lodge; we need to get it.”
Jim gave a look at Dave, but then he looked forward to the road again. “Oh, ya, I almost forgot. No problem Dave. Little girl...”
Dave cut him off. “It’s Melabeth, Jim.”
Jim said smoothly with his soft voice. “I am sorry; meant no disrespect Melabeth; I was just sayin; it will only take a few minutes to grab Dave’s stuff. Then we will be able to drive you all the way to the bus station.”
Before I could respond, Dave added. “And you wouldn’t have to stand outside hitching.”
“Maybe never again.” Jim said with no real emotion in that soft voice.
I wasn’t meant to hear that, but my hearing is amazing, so I just answered. “Yep, no problem. Do what you need to; if you guys don’t mind, I am going to grab a little shut eye.” Not that I had to sleep. Far from it, I was wide awake. I just didn’t want to talk anymore with these men, and, if their intentions were not pure, well I guess I wouldn’t have to go hungry all night after all.
As I lay there pretending to be asleep, memories of my past came to my mind as I thought back to the first time I was called Melabeth. My father wished for my name to be Melanie, something about being the music to his heart. That was the story he gave me, but it was probably the name of his ex-girlfriend. My mother wanted to name me Elizabeth, after her grandmother who had already passed away.
I guess it's better than being named after my grandmother Norma. After my mother passed away and my dad was out on his drinking binge, I lived with my grandparents James and Norma Bergman, who were the closest things I ever had to real parents. My grandfather James used to sit me on his lap and tell me all kinds of stories; after my mother died I was a little too big to put on his lap. Too big for the lap maybe, but never too big for the stories, he used to tell me the stories every night sitting on my bed, until I fell asleep.
For a 12-year-old girl dealing with the death of her mother, it was the only thing that kept me sane. Every time my grandfather looked at me, you could see that I reminded him of my mother, his only daughter, and there was a deep sadness in his eyes that I feared would never leave him. One night my grandfather was sitting on the end of my bed, telling me a story about my mother and father. He had a great way of telling stories.
* * *
My grandfather started his story one night. “Well you see honey for years I believed you had a sister. I know I never saw her, but your father always called you Mel. And your mother always called you Beth. So see every time you came to visit, you liked to play hide and seek. And who were you hiding from? I don't know, but then I could hear your parents calling for you… MEL WHERE ARE YOU? BETH COME DOWN TO EAT. And when you did not answer, they would call for your sister. MEL BETH, MEL BETH; and so that's when I begun to understand that your sister, Melabeth, was better at hide and seek than you were.”
As my grandfather told this ridiculous story, we were busting up with tears in our eyes. After that story, for the few short months I lived with him, he would come up to me when I was sad and say. "Hey Melabeth, e
verything going okay?" And then he gave me a big old wink.
No matter how many times he did that, it brought a little smile to my face. The story made me forget about my mother for a minute or two and wonder where my sister was hiding.
My father's parents were good people but a little on the flaky side. It was on a weekend visiting them that my father picked me up and took me to California.
* * *
So here I am sitting in the back of an old Chevy Impala that was probably brand-new when they shoved me in the ground in 1975, and in the front seat are either a couple of weird rednecks or perverts. Of course pervert is also spelled lunch for vampires, and I was kind of hungry.
After a long ride down back roads, the two men in the front smoking cigarettes and chitchatting about hunting, we finally pulled onto a dirt road. Jim looked back at me, and said something along the lines. “If you're awake, we’re almost there.”
Pretending to be asleep is no longer an option. As the car rocked back and forth down the old dirt road, between the ruts and poor suspension, I had to hold on for dear life. It was hard not to be thrown across the car.
Finally the car pulled up in front of an old wooden cabin. From the outside it didn't look to be much more than a shed with windows. It was square with four windows in the front and a small porch with antlers over the door. Boy, I didn't see that one coming; antlers, who would have guessed?
Jim shut off the car, got out and headed towards the cabin. Dave opened his door, then turned around and looked at me and said. “Come inside; it’s nice and warm. This may take a few… and I don't want you to shiver.”
Oh sure just need to grab some stuff. Of course I didn't mind going along with this. I think in another life it would have been scary, but this was exciting. So I responded, and tried my hardest to sound hesitant and a little fearful. “Okay… I guess… you guys are not going to take too long are you? I mean I need to get to the bus stop. I am kind of in a hurry.” And then I couldn’t help myself and added. “And no one knows where I am.”