Teeth: Vampire Tales

jerky or something, you were nasty. So I stuffed you into the old backpack, I threw you into the back of the closet, and I almost didn’t let you out. Almost. Except I finally did, and I let you fasten on, too. And you were happy, Baby, I could tell, that night it was like both of us were flying. After that, no matter what I did or who I hooked up with, or even if I didn’t come home all night, you never ran away again. I knew you needed me, then, more than I needed you. And I realized that I didn’t really need you much at all.

But that was going to happen anyway, right? Because really, the older I get, the more I can do for myself, and the less I need the things that you can do — and the things I can’t get you can’t get either, I mean I’m not going to send you into the liquor store, right? Crawl up into the cold case, get me a six-pack of Tecate, Baby! And even the fastening on — even though we still do it, and I still like it, I can get to that place without you now. Driving really fast, smoking up and then drinking — it’s mostly the same feeling, not as pure or as. as good as with you, but I can be with other people when I get it. People like Bobby, or Justin, or Colin. Or Rico. Especially Rico.

I told Rico about you, Baby. I didn’t plan to beforehand, but I did. We were in the storage room — Rob said to go unpack the napkins, there must have been like fifty boxes — but instead we were joking around, and flirting, and I was trying to think of ways to keep him talking; I wanted to stay that way, the two of us alone together, for as long as I could. I wanted to show him that I’m. different, from Carmen, and Kayla, and those other girls, those pervy night-shift girls, I wanted him to know something about me. To be. familiar with me. So I told him about you.

At first it seemed like he was impressed: Whoa, that’s some crazy shit. How’d your grandma get something like that?

She was, like, in a war, or something. “Her Nazi dance-hall stuff” — that’s creepy to think of, actually, because I’d never really thought about where you came from, or how Grampy got you. Or who might have — made you, or whatever. You weren’t born like normal, that’s for sure.

You saying the doll’s, like, alive, Jani? For real?

Not alive-alive. But he moves around and everything. You should see him when he eats!

Rico was smiling — That’s so crazy — but I couldn’t tell if he thought it was cool crazy or weird crazy; I couldn’t tell if I’d just made a big mistake. And then Rob came looking for the napkins, and bitched us both out for taking so long: What were you guys doing in there anyway? Everyone laughed, Rico, too. Later on, I asked Rico if he wanted to come over and use the hot tub, but he said he was busy, and maybe we could just hang out at work instead. So I guess you can’t help me with Rico, Baby, after all.

And even if I wanted to ask Grammy about you, or give you back, I can’t: Because she’s gone, right, she finally died in that hospice in Ohio. Mommy said she found out too late to be able to go to the funeral, but she sure got there fast enough for the will, she must have taken half the furniture from that house. I wonder what happened to all of that other stuff, those old clothes, and the medical books. Maybe I should have asked Flaco about you, back when I had the chance.

The thing is, Rico finally said yes, Baby, when we were up on the roof last night, I was leaning over the railing and he was standing next to me, and I told him that Friday was my last night at Rob’s Ribs, that I was quitting to go back to school; it’s online school, but still. Mommy said I could quit working if I take at least one class, and anyway I didn’t tell him that part. I’d like to, like, be with you, I said to Rico. Before I go.

And he smiled so you could see all his dimples, God, he is so hot. And then he said, Okay, wild child, how about I come over tomorrow? I have to drive up to Northfield, but I can be over by midnight. Mommy might be home, but Mommy doesn’t bother me, she doesn’t care what I do. So I said, Absolutely, I said, Come over whenever you want.

But the thing is, you can’t be there, Baby, I don’t want you to be there, I don’t want Rico to ask, Hey, where’s that crazy doll? And if he does, I want to be able to say, Oh, that? Oh, I don’t have that anymore.

But I don’t want to — to bury you alive in some old clothes box, you didn’t like it the first time, right, when Grammy or Grampy stuck you in there? I know you didn’t. Just like you don’t like living in my old backpack with the April-May-Magic stickers and the black-plaid bows, stuffed way down in the very back of my closet, behind the Princess Jasmine bedspread. When I take you out to feed you, now, you just — look at me. I hate the way you looking at me feels. I’m just too old to play with dolls.

It really does smell like incense in here, like hot, sweet wood, burning. No one’s supposed to mess with the smokers — Rob does that himself, all the cleaning — but Andy helps the cooks load, and he says it’s not that hard; he’s going to help me, too. He doesn’t know what’s in the backpack, when he asked I just said, Memories, and he nodded. Andy will do what I want him to do; like you, Baby. They keep the smokers at, like, 250 degrees, but it can go a lot higher, a lot hotter, I bet it won’t even hurt. Not like falling off the roof, right? No Tuesday-night special, just ash, and gone. I’m going to throw in that stupid SMOKIN’ SPECIALIST hat, too.

I wonder if you knew that’s why I let you fasten on, last night, for one last time? You seemed so happy to get out of the closet, and the backpack, to be close to me again. I’d take you out again to say good-bye, right here behind the shelves, but if I look at you, your sad glass eyes, then I won’t do it, maybe. Maybe. But I can’t keep you forever anyway, and Rico will be over tonight.

The smoke smell is everywhere in here, digging a barbed-wire itch in my throat, in my chest, it makes me cough. Afterward, when Andy’s done, I’m going to go up onto the roof and lean over the railing, let my feet dangle and feel like I’m flying. Flying and crying, for you and for me: Because I am crying, Baby, just a little, because I’m going to miss you a lot.

In the Future When All’s Well by CATHERYNNE M. VALENTE

These days, pretty much anything will turn you into a vampire.

We have these stupid safety and hygiene seminars at school. Like, before, it was D.A.R.E. and oh my God if you even look crosswise at a bus that goes to that part of town you will be hit with a fire-hose blast full of PCP and there is nothing you can even do about it so just stay in your room and don’t think about beer. Do you even know what PCP looks like? I have no idea.

I remember they used to say PCP made you think you could fly. That seems kind of funny, now.

Anyway, there’s lists. Two of them, actually. On the first day of S/H class, the teacher hands them out. They’re always the same, I practically have them memorized. One says: MOST COMMON CAUSES. The other says: HIGH-RISK GROUPS. So here, just in case you ditched that day so you could go down to that part of town and suck on the fire hose, you fucking slacker.

MOST COMMON CAUSES

Immoral Conduct

Depression

Black Cat Crossing the Path of Pregnant or Nursing Mother

Improper Burial

Animal (Most Often Black) Jumping Over Grave, Corpse

Bird (Most Often Black) Flying Over Grave, Corpse

Butterfly Alighting on Tombstone

Ingestion of Meat from Animal Killed by a Wolf

Death Before Baptism

Burying Corpse at Crossroads

Failing to Bury Corpse at Crossroads

Direct Infection