Date Published: June 21, 2021
Publisher: ZB Publications
Issaquah, Washington, USA
My name is Norma Mae Rollins. I’m fourteen and an illegal vampire. I miss my mom, but new ghoulish appetites force me to remain with my creator.
Bill didn’t mean to transform me. At least, that’s what he claims. His frightening temper, relentless lies, and morbid scientific experiments makes it hard to know what to believe. However, someone snitched about Bill’s experiments to a nearby coven. Now both of our corpses will burn.
Bill won’t run. He is curious what happens to a vampire after final death. I don’t want to die again. It hurt so much the first time. Bill thinks his vampire boyfriend might shelter me. I must brave an eternal existence with elder vampires and other monsters who don’t think I ought to exist. Oh and figure out who I am allowed to eat.
A vampire’s reality is nothing like the movies.
From the diary of Norma Mae Rollins
Icy fingers, too big to be Teddy’s, gripped my arms.
The Fuzz, I thought.
The sheriff would call Mom. I had a few sips of beer and smoked, but I wasn’t blitzed. At worse, Mom would be “very disappointed” and give me extra chores.
My feet lifted from the ground. Wind bit the bare flesh of my arms, legs, and face. Branches whipped past me in frenzied movement. Nothing made logical sense. I seemed to fly underneath the dark shape which held me. I was dropped onto the concrete floor of somewhere cold that smelled of rotten meat and filth. Fangs loomed in front of me.
Vampires aren’t supposed to be real!
I screamed and struck the vampire with my flashlight. His pale lip split open and quickly stitched back together. He yanked the flashlight from my hand. I protected my throat with my arms, because in the movies, vampires always bite people in the throat.
He punched me.
Dazed, I fell backward into a metal table. He lifted me onto it and rolled me over.
I spotted the pit half-filled with rotting bodies. Their mottled flesh twisted in bizarre angles. Cloudy eyes stared at the ceiling.
I wildly kicked backward. I felt air. I connected. He grunted and leaned one hand on my back, pressing me into the metal. With his other hand, he ripped off my shoe and bobby-sock. His fangs pierced my heel. When he reopened his mouth, he whispered something about Achilles.
I tried to lift myself off the gurney, but the vampire still had me pinned as he dictated into an old Sound Scriber.
Cold leeched through my summer blouse. My muscles ached, then spasmed. The barn spun. Darkness.
No! Mom’ll wake up…I won’t be home… She won’t know what happened. I’ll be a rotting body covered in lye.
The vampire loosened his grip to check his stopwatch. I twisted. With my uninjured leg, I kicked the vampire as hard as I could.
Freed but light-headed, I sat and elbowed him in the chest. Agonizing pain radiated into my arm. Ignoring the throbbing, I punched him in his mouth, maybe his nose. Blood sprayed onto my face. My eyes teared, burning with his fiery blood. My lips tasted like copper.
The vampire grabbed me.
With one final burst of strength, I lunged and clamped my teeth onto his hand. Salty, syrupy blood coated my mouth….
Journal of William T. Caruso
Subject 073, Adolescent Female
Method: Bloodletting though the heel
How is it possible I created a vampire from this girl when grown men have perished by my fangs?
I simply wanted to discern the rate of blood loss if I opened the posterior tibial artery near the Achilles compared to other methods. This is an unexpectable complication, but now I comprehend the pain in creating a vampire. I have created one, I can create others.
I had been hunting for suitable subjects when flashlight beams on the west side of Tiger Mountain attracted my attention. Six teenagers played in an empty field. I originally thought about taking a boy, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Subject 073.
My mind linked with hers per the magnetic connection I share with Derrik. Another telepath? A modern teenager like her did not believe in anything beyond her human existence. Vampires were movie apparitions, superstition. Yet, she looked at the tree where I concealed myself.
Mostly her mind was full of the pleasure of girlish infatuation, but her hidden wish had nothing to do with boys. Better she be my victim than see her future dreams die long before she did. After the world squashed her, she would be a farmer like her mother. Or some idiot would drop The Bomb. Wasting such spirited blood would be a sin…
About the Author
Elizabeth Guizzetti is an author, podcaster, illustrator, and a collector of dragons — the ceramic kind. Elizabeth lives in Seattle with her husband and poodle. When not crafting stories, she can be found hiking, birdwatching or hanging out at the dog park.
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