I don't particularly like the dark parts of this town, and I've only been here a few weeks. I fiddle with the ring in my cartilage piercing (which I did in the high school bathroom in junior year) pulling up my hood and trying to be as discreet as possible about my appearance. You're less of a target if you're invisible. I shouldn't be this paranoid. It's a nice part of town. Even then, my gut tells me it's not great.
Allow me to introduce myself. I'm going to be your not so humble narrator for the next god knows how long. As long as I'm here, probably. That's gonna be a while, considering moving my shit out of the old apartment took me three and a half months.
Spoiler alert: moving is a pain in the ass. Moving is even more of a pain in the ass when you're also moving away from the college that somewhat helped you but is now leaving you in debt.
Needless to say, I moved from the middle of nowhere to the middle of nowhere with more woods, dropped out of college, dyed my hair blue at some point (it's grown out a lot), and found myself a job at the local 7/11.
From a suburb of Chicago, Illinois, to Blackwood Ridge, North Carolina. It's a small town, incredibly suburban, trees all over the place. Half the locals acted like they hadn't ever seen someone dressed in black outside of a funeral.
But that was during the day. During the night the town was an entirely different animal. At night, I didn't just avoid alleys. I knew the exact route back home and it had only been a few weeks. I never knew what caused it, but everything felt eerie here. Halloween must've been incredible around here.
As a preemptive warning: I talk a lot about things that are completely irrelevant. Don't be alarmed, it's completely normal.
Even then, it feels chillier. I don't like it one bit, I never do. I pick up my pace a bit, trying to get home as soon as I possibly can. I've always been paranoid, thanks to the part of me that would spend my nights in Chicago. I don't exactly have anything defense wise, either. I've got a few sharp rings that I wear, a studded bracelet, and the two years of karate I took in middle school before the phase I've been in since eighth grade hit.
I know this seems relatively random, but I assure you it'll make sense. Since my teens, I've been obsessed with supernatural things for no apparent reason. Doesn't matter what, I've got the traditional lore nailed to a T and the other ones ready to fire off at a moment's notice. (We aren't going to talk about the twilight phase I had, though. That relationship was toxic)
I take the turn I usually do at the corner, and I swear the breeze gets faster. I grasp the spiked bracelet I'm wearing, sliding it a bit over my knuckles. In case of emergency, that'll hurt.
Part of me freaks out when I'm almost certain I see something move out of the corner of my eye. Part of me says I'm ridiculous, but the rest says I'm perfectly logical for being scared.
And then it hits me. No, literally. It literally hits me.
And by that I mean the back of a brick wall hits my back, and I'm suddenly in an alley at the speed of fucking light.
Is it bad part of me just said "kinky"?
Good job brain, I'm probably going to die and your last thoughts are "kinky"
"Dude, if you're going to kill me, get it over with."
Fucking impulse control. I have none, never had, probably never will.
"And please, stop gripping my shoulders. You're starting to make them hurt and I don't feel like dealing with bruises I can't explain tomorrow."
I swear, this dude licks his lips and grows fucking fangs. Fangs of all things. Now he's making me regret making that death comment. I wanna know how he does his prosthetics so damned well.
The dude continues to push me into the wall, doing what looks like an attempt to rip part of my neck out (which by the way, is not fun. People literally breathing down your neck is incredibly uncomfortable.)
And then there's a second blur that flashes by, and all the pressure I was feeling miraculously vanishes.
"And what would your name be?" The stranger asks, the man who tried to kill me limp on the asphalt, maybe dead.
"Depends. What'dya need it for?" I raise an eyebrow.
"Just asking, nothing bad." He seems genuine enough.
"My apologies, I'm Ricky. Ricky Kennedy. By the way, what's with the dude on the floor? And what's with the running? Are you an athlete or somethin?"
Good job Rick, questioning every little thing. They probably think you're at least mildly crazy now.
"Floor dude should be awake in about two hours, the running is a bit more complicated, but let's just sum it up to "Vampire" for now. And I'm Michael, by the way. You must be new around here." He smiles. I feel like I can at least somewhat trust him.
"Yeah, I moved in three weeks ago."
He chuckles. "I could tell, considering the reaction to the word "Vampire". I'd suggest heading town to the local library and finding a history book, but long story short if it goes bump in the night, it exists here. And by the looks of it, you know a thing or two."
I blush (the embarrassed kind), and scratch the back of my head. "Thanks to a decade long phase, I do. I've always been the resident mythology expert."
"It's not often you find people like you. Quite frankly, it's a good thing." He does one of those embarrassed laughs. "The knowledge, I mean."
"I figured as much, it happens."
His lips creep into a smirk/smile. "You know what? I've got a good idea on how you can put that knowledge to use. Meet me by the 7/11 at 8."
That's... a little straightforward, but it feel like he's saying it with good intentions.
"I work there. I get off at 8 too."
He nods. "I'll see you at eight then."
He disappears into the night.
YOU ARE READING
How To Not Eat Thy Neighbor
VampireRicky had never expected to become a teacher. In fact, she was a music major. But after a poorly timed drop out from college, and a midnight run in, she finds herself teaching a night class. A night class for vampires. With something much more sinis...