The Vampirists

by R. G. Nelson

  I stare at this for a while and find myself extremely surprised that I’m not that surprised. I suppose even after all the movies and TV shows and books about vampires, you still don’t really expect to ever encounter one in reality, or even to find out that they exist for real, but when you see someone do something like I saw Vera do, vampire lore insinuates itself into the back of your mind. But could there be another explanation, or could she be something else? After all, if I’m willing to accept vampire as an answer, why not fairy or some other magical creature? But she’s not: she’s a vampire. It’s like I completely knew without really allowing myself to know that I knew. I never consciously registered it last night: I didn’t let myself. But I did run away at full speed and sleep with the lights on for a reason.

  Well, jeez. What do I do now? I’m still not sure what the chances are that this is for real, but I think I’m inclined to just assume that she is a vampire to be cautious. I can admit to myself now that this was no prank–she didn’t know I would come back into that alley; she thought I’d gone already. This has to be the real deal. But should I try to gather more evidence? Would that be dangerous? She hasn’t tried to hurt me yet, and God knows she had plenty of chances when we were walking around all alone. Should I try to fight her? Take her out somehow? The page mentions all the usual defenses. I know I have garlic downstairs and could probably get holy water and a stake from somewhere.

  No, that’s crazy. Even suspecting this, I’m not sure that I could hurt Vera unless she came after me. But would she come after me? All those looks she gave me, the caresses, they had to be real, didn’t they? No one is that good at pretending to care about someone–to like someone–are they? Actually, maybe they are. Don’t people fake relationships all the time? Why should I be any different to fall for something and someone that isn’t real? And even if she doesn’t want to hurt me, what if she is out there hurting other people? Don’t I have a responsibility as a fellow human being to help them? But how would I know if she is? She certainly doesn’t seem like the type.

  My mind races around like this for a while. But it’s pointless really. I can come to only one conclusion: stay away and never invite her inside if she ever finds me (the site mentions inviting them inside as a major no-no). I obviously can’t go to the authorities about this, my dad is a wreck and wouldn’t listen to me anyway, and let’s not kid myself, I can’t fight frikkin’ vampires on my own even if I wanted to. I’m no warrior vampire hunter.

  Just then, my phone rings. I look at the caller ID: Franklin. How could I have forgotten about him? I guess pretty easily when distracted by the chance that the girl I thought I was falling in love with is a vampire. I brace myself for what promises to be a very awkward phone call.

  “Hello?” I say tentatively.

  “You coming tonight?” Franklin asks.

  My mind is drawing a big blank. “To what?”

  “The Shatterday Bash!” he says with real excitement.

  Oh. Yeah. That. I’m less than enthusiastic. Even Vera somehow knew not to bring it up with me last night. “You really want to go around vandalizing and smashing up storefronts?” I reply. “Isn’t that not only against the law but also just kind of mean?”

  Franklin isn’t deterred. “Dude, it's a demonstration of our dissatisfaction with business as usual, where we let them know that their capitalist ideology is as flimsy as the glass of their stores. I mean, do we really need five stores selling gourmet probiotic frozen yogurt when there are homeless people sleeping out front? Humanity is disgusting.”

  “You memorize all that?” I say testily. It really pushes my buttons when I hear him quoting other people without processing what he is saying for himself. “Look, man, I don't really think that's my thing.” And suddenly I remember another really good reason why we shouldn’t go. Leave it to Franklin and our inane debates to make me temporarily forget that I might have just had an encounter with a real vampire.

  “Is this about your dad or are you too scared to come?” he says, obviously trying to shame me.

  I can’t think of how to respond, so I go with the truth, “Actually, I am scared. And no, I don’t think a night spent trying to dodge guys that my dad used to work with, that used to throw around the football with me at police barbeques, sounds like fun.”

  “You can't bail on me, dude. It will be fun, and there'll be too big a crowd for the police to arrest us,” he says.

  “Franklin, I have a very bad feeling about all this stuff. For a lot of reasons.” Should I say more? Probably not: There is no way that he would ever believe me. He’d think it’s just some super lame excuse that I made up. How could he think otherwise unless he saw what I did? How could anyone nowadays?

  “I know you don't like the Movement, but I thought you'd come for me. I'm starting to really vibe with them. And this girl Laney is into me,” Franklin counters, trying to pull out the sympathy card.

  “Look, I can't really explain it. I'll sound crazy. But just promise me you'll stay away from those gatherings. I know the girls are cute, man, but that whole movement … they're bad news. Trust me, seriously.” That’s the best I can do while still have him possibly listen to me.

  “So, you're really out?” he asks. The tone of defeat in his voice is promising.

  “Yeah. Sorry. I'll make it up to you. I promise,” I concede.

  “Okay, well, come get a drink with me downtown then. You just said you owe me,” he says. I guess I can do that. As long as it’s not at a place where Brad and those idiots are.

  “Yeah, sure,” I say. “I’m in.”

  * * *

  Later at night, Franklin and I head down a nameless gloomy alley. He actually looks like he belongs here: he’s wearing all dark and drab colors. I tried to dress up a bit, putting on a corduroy blazer over my tee. He said we were headed to some new underground bar that only has an entrance on an alley and no name plate, blah-blah. People seem to go crazy for things that are hard to find. That has to be frustrating for a bar owner: People will want to come only when you don’t advertise, but if you don’t advertise, it will take a long time before people know to come. We humans can be strange.

  I feel the cold of the crucifix I’m wearing press against my skin under my shirt. I’ve never worn one before, but I definitely feel better with it on. I wish I could somehow give Franklin one, but I have no idea how to explain it. I just have to hope he heeds my warning and stays away from the Movement.

  I see other small groups around us as well, also headed in our direction. I guess this bar is doing well after all, despite its unusual location. Still, I’m a little edgy right now and don’t really want to be wandering around city alleyways at night. I mean, I wouldn’t before last night either, but definitely now it doesn’t seem like the brightest of ideas. Alleys seem like a place for vampires.

  “So, where is this bar exactly?” I ask impatiently. “You didn't mention it was so far down an alley.”

  “Dude, relax,” he says. “Finding it is half the adventure. What's the big deal, anyway?”

  “You know alleys aren't safe in the city at night,” I say weakly.

  “There are other people around. Quit being a girl,” he quips. If only he knew about the “girl” I hung out with last night.

  Up ahead, the alley seems to come to an end in some kind of lot. I hear a lot of people and then see a large crowd gathering. I instinctively slow my pace as we get closer. My face begins to flush, but tonight it’s from anger. He tricked me.

  I stop on the edge of what is revealed to be a hidden parking lot between buildings. A U-Haul is parked in the center of a crowd that’s bustling with frenetic activity. Joseph is there handing out baseball bats. Nearby, someone else hands out bandanas that people use to cover their faces. I s
ee giggling groups of teens trading colors and helping each other tie them on. Others are painting camouflage patterns on the areas of their faces that are still exposed. A few more serious-looking types wearing deep crimson tee-shirts seem to be sizing up and testing various nefarious looking blunt instruments. Wow, people are really gearing up for this Shatterday Bash thing.

  In the middle of all this my eyes instantly pick out Vera. She stands in the midst of a group of males, who buzz around her like bees on a pretty flower. She appears to be flirting with them; she’s all smiles and light touches on their arms. Despite everything, I have to admit this hurts me. I know that I have absolutely no claim over her, but watching her like this with them somehow makes last night feel cheapened. I think I even gasp or involuntarily suck in a large breath.

  Just then, she looks up and over at me: Our eyes lock. She looks at me expectantly, as if inviting me to come say hello. I see nothing but her happiness at seeing me–no trace of suspicion over what I might have witnessed last night. Her warmth seems so genuine that for a moment I consider walking over to say hi. There is no way this beautiful girl can be a vampire. It is so completely beyond the realm of possibility that I almost laugh at myself. She is too pure, too innocent, too feminine to be dangerous.

  But then Franklin speaks, and the spell is broken. Memories of last night come flooding back into my brain.

  “So?” Franklin asks.

  “Man, what the hell?” I say angrily.

  “Well, you're here now, so you might as well join in. I wasn't trying to be a dick, I figured you just needed to get here and see it for yourself to get over your fear,” he replies.

  “That’s absolutely not what I needed,” I say. I notice that I am automatically backing up slowly. “Not cool, man. We shouldn't be here.” I see Vera still watching me, waiting, and I try to stop myself from turning and running and giving the game away.

  “Yeah, I’m really sorry I dragged you to this horrible place with cool people and hot girls. Suck it up, man. Look at this crowd!” Franklin says happily, completely missing the terror that’s surely displayed all over my features. “Hey, there's that girl Vera. Go say hi. She asked about you before and is totally checking you out now,” he says, oblivious. Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m gonna do … voluntarily walk up to a vampire to say hi.

  I see another one of the girls from the coffee shop meeting heading over. She is blonde and also extremely pretty, but in more of a classic kind of way, whereas Vera has a wild, seductive exoticism about her–but maybe I’m biased. Franklin’s grin at her approach lets me know this must be Laney.

  “Franklin, I was hoping you'd make it. And your friend–I don't think we've met before,” she says, extending her hand. She seems so cute and friendly; she’s probably not even over twenty-one. But then I freeze, and the only thing I see is her icy blue eyes.

  “This is Adam,” Franklin says, bringing me back to the conversation.

  “Nice to meet you,” I remember to stammer as I shake her hand. I note the fact that she is wearing gloves. Maybe this doesn’t mean much as many people around are wearing gloves, I guess because of what they are about to do tonight. And her blue eyes could just mean that she and Vera are sisters–maybe Laney is still human. Vera did say she had family in the Movement. Well, actually she said the Movement was her family, but I guess it could be both, couldn’t it? Still, I know this is not a place I should linger–the site mentioned pale blue eyes as being vampiric. I don’t know quite how to get out of this, but decide I should just pretend to be nervous about the event.

  “Look guys, I'm not staying,” I say. I turn to Franklin. “Dude, just trust me. Come with me. This is not a good scene. There will be police, people out of control, man, who knows what will happen? Someone will get hurt for sure. You don’t want to be here.”

  “Dude, seriously? No way, man,” he says, sinking my hopes of getting him out of this situation. Franklin turns his back to me. “I'm sorry, Laney. My friend is very rude.”

  I give up. “Fine,” I say softly and hopefully with some malice. “Your funeral.”

  I should have known that he would never listen to me. I could have tried some reverse psychology, but with a girl involved that probably wouldn’t have worked either. Either way, though he is staying, I’m still going. I just have to trust that after spending and surviving so many nights with the Movement previously, nothing bad will happen to him on this one either. Franklin is already putting on a bandana Laney handed him. I see that it has the Movement logo emblazoned on it and note that it’s dark red, crimson in fact. That adds all new kinds of creepiness for me.

  I take a few steps back before turning away and see the surprise register on Vera’s face. Her body language changes, her shoulders seem to droop a bit as if she’s just been dealt a blow. She and Laney exchange perplexed glances from afar. I realize that they’ve talked about me. Again, for some reason this makes me a little happy.

  I’ll really have to work on getting over that.

  I turn and go. As I walk away alone down the alley, I feel a peculiar sensation coursing through my body. My hair stands up on the back of my neck, and there’s a primal tingling all over. I’m reminded of a time when I was snorkeling in Thailand on one of those tour boats. I had swum away from the main group toward a rocky outcrop called Shark Point that everyone else seemed keen to avoid. I did indeed encounter sharks there, the mostly-harmless-until-they’re-not reef kind, which was my intention I guess.

  I floated motionlessly in the calm, tropical water and watched them for a while. It was amazing for a bit; a cool life-story. But after a few minutes, I became discretely aware of how vulnerable I was just floating there awkwardly on the surface, alone, and without a method of defense. Realization dawned on exactly what it was that I was doing. And risking. So I quickly came to the conclusion that I had had enough fun and turned around and swam away.

  But the whole way back, I had this same primal feeling and kept turning to look back over my shoulder. It was partially the feeling of really being alive that comes from extreme sports. But deeper than that, and more important, it was the feeling of wanting to stay that way. For there I wasn’t the apex predator–I was the prey. And all the eons of evolution that had gone into producing my being were warning me of danger and telling me to get away.

  5)

  I see images on the news of the Movement’s Shatterday Bash. It was coordinated across most major cities in the US and even some internationally. The rioters or protestors or however you want to label them used social media and their smart phones to stay connected and be one step ahead of the police. In the end, there were surprisingly few people arrested, but a lot of damage done. Franklin is probably quite proud. My dad took it personally when he found out and was quite upset for an hour or so until he finished his first six-pack. After that, he seemed to forget all about how his streets have deteriorated recently.

  I read the news trying to see if there are any mysterious deaths, but I never see anything that looks suspicious like a vampire attack. Not that I really expected to find anything: If Vera and her friends are really vampires, I doubt they’d last long if the papers were filled with articles about people killed and drained of blood. So I can’t really reassure myself by the lack of gruesome murders in the periodicals.

  Otherwise, I try to continue my life as it is with some obvious changes. For example, I routinely skip any late night painting sessions I otherwise would have had to avoid a potential run-in with Vera in a place so isolated. I’m still kinda sad that I’ll never get to hang out with her again; it’s amazing how deeply someone can get their hooks in you after such a short time. But I’ve been downloading and watching all the vampire movies that I can for research purposes and also, honestly, to motivate myself to stay away from Vera.

 
On the streets, the Movement has become more visible. Sometimes they camp out in public places until the police chase them away. Sometimes they loiter around areas and hand out fliers. Generally, I try to avoid them, not making eye contact (except to check the color of their eyes) and walking briskly by. But some of the Movement people are more aggressive than others.

  There was this one girl, a sort of emo or punk chick, who took it upon herself to stand in my way and shove a flier at me. I felt like maybe I had seen her somewhere before, maybe at one of the few events I had attended. Perhaps she recognized me as someone who had bailed on the cause and gave me extra grief because of it. In any case, when I tried to ignore her she blocked my path and wouldn’t give ground. She shouted out questions as I walked by, like “Don’t you care about the corporate rape of society” and “Do you really want to be a tool of the man?” I held my ground with a solid, “Not interested” and hustled by as best I could.

  I made it only a few steps before I felt a crumpled pamphlet hit my back and heard her say loudly that I should be ashamed of myself. Her partner added ominously that the world is changing and I had better ride the wave rather than get hit by the tsunami. I wonder what they’d do if they ever found out that vampires were among them, framing their misguided view of the world. Would they even care, or are they too brainwashed or brain-dead? I walk away feeling slightly superior to these lost souls, but also a bit sad that Franklin seems to be headed that way, too.