VAMPIRE CRAZE – ROBIN LOCKE

The sunlight slipping through the cracks in the shades was blindingly bright and it burned. A beat pounded away against the inside of Shane’s skull, threatening to crack it open. The consequences of a midlife crisis gone awry. They buried their face in the pillows and moaned.

What time was it even? Morning? Noon? They didn’t bother checking the bedside clock for an answer. It was Monday, at least they assumed it was Monday. Monday meant work. But that point was irrelevant. Anything requiring movement or coherent thought was out for the day. Going to the office required both. Forget it.

Shane rolled over and pulled the covers over their head instead, only to discover their bed was full of glitter. Great. That’ll never come out. Their cheap pleather halter-top mini dress squeaked every time they moved. Ug. Get me out of this thing.

Shane stumbled into the bathroom. Their body felt strange and shaky all over. They clutched the countertop holding on for dear life just to stay upright. They squinted, examining their reflection in the mirror. Their pale face makeup had smeared and their mascara had gone runny. With their dark hair, dark eyes, and darker eyeshadow, their look was something between a mime caught in a rainstorm and death.

Vamp punk. Shane snorted. Young people these days. Sticking punk on the end of everything as if that automatically makes it a hip aesthetic. Shane didn’t care if it was a billion-dollar business and it was. You name it, they sold it. Fashion, books, music, clubs. Vamp punk. What kind of a name was that anyway? It didn’t even sound nice when you said it. Completely Ridiculous! And yet they’d dressed themselves up in this get up and went out, in public. Sucker.

Were those needle marks? Shane suddenly felt ill. It was two little pin pricks just above their collarbone. Their stomach spun itself through a three hundred and sixty degree turn. Shane lunged for the toilet bowl. By the time they stopped heaving they were reasonably certain their stomach had squeezed itself up their throat and into the toilet for a swim.

Ah. Last night was coming back to them now.

Sort of. The details were a little fuzzy, and remembering them was kind of like finding a week old avocado in the back of your fridge, moldy and squishy. The inside of the club was all shadows and strobe. The dance floor pulsed. A gelatinous mass of sweating bodies, sequins and bare skin. It had swallowed Shane up like a living thing. The speakers blaring the deep baseline of its monstrous heartbeat. It throbbed through their chest, their heart, their head.

It was still pounding away in the back of their brain, keeping tempo with those insidious pop songs. Happy Birthday.

The big Five-O.

Shane made a face. The inside of their mouth was dry and their tongue felt too big. They were so old now. They felt like a relic, irrelevant and useless. They’d been desperate to be interesting again. This vampire craze had seemed interesting.

Shane had thought they’d take life by the jugular. A night out on the town. A wild celebration of life. The gin on ice had been good. Sharp. Refreshing. All their inhibitions gone in two glasses. Maybe a little too uninhibited.

He’d had glimmering green eyes and a laugh like a deep purring cat. He flashed a perfect, white-toothed smile. “I like you.”

Shane rubbed their neck nervously. They stole another peek in the mirror as they rinsed out their mouth over the sink. The needle marks remained angry and red against their pale skin. They scrubbed off the remnants of their makeup. The cool water a welcome relief for their aching head.

They were sure they’d just meant to have a little. Just a taste to blend in. But from there the club had split into triplicate, all conscious thought vanished, and the room wouldn’t stop pulsing long enough for Shane to remember how they’d gotten home.

After a brief struggle, they managed to get out of their mini dress and back into bed where they lay drifting in and out of sleep, waiting for the drug to work its way out of their system. They’d sleep it off by morning.

But Shane’s condition only worsened. They lay in bed shivering under a mound of blankets and puking between fevered hallucinations. They called into the office sick, or at least they hoped they had. It was not unlikely they’d dreamed that.

When Shane's fever finally broke, they were ravenous. God they could practically kill for a pizza right now. They groped their way through several kitchen drawers before they finally found a menu. They ordered two extra-large pizzas even though it was far too much food for one person.

Shane paced the apartment anxiously until they felt so light-headed they were forced to sit down. Finally a rap-tap-tapping came at the door. They reached for their robe fumbling with the tie as they answered it.

Shane inhaled, their nostrils filling with an unidentifiable sweet aroma. They had the odd feeling that was something akin to what the scruffy pizza delivery man would taste like. They salivated, drool nearly dribbled down their chin before they remembered to swallow.

“What a tantalizing creature.” Damn it, what were they saying? “I’ll fetch your tip,” Shane added quickly to make up for their blunder.

The pizza stayed steaming in the delivery man’s arms, forgotten. He shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. “Um excuse me...but your pizza?”

The outline of his carotid artery pulsed against his skin. All that sweet, sweet blood inside just waiting to get out.

“Oh, yes.” Shane licked their lips. “The pizza.”

Shane made no move to take the pizza or get the tip. Had they ordered extra red sauce? They hoped there was extra red sauce. Blood was red. Their stomach rumbled. So hungry.

“Forget the pizza,” Shane said brushing the boxes aside, “I’ll have you.”