A White Trash Vampire, Part One
Today, we’re trying something different here at Proud White Trash. In the spirit of both Halloween and White Trash, I’m posting a story about…well, Hallowwen-y stuff, starring White Trash.
I wrote this story 5 years ago, and it was the first of my stories to be published in a fancy-pants magazine. I’ve improved since then, but I’ve always had a soft spot for this story.
It may be a fiction story, but it’s a true story, if you know what I mean. I lived among these people and in this world. Not one damn thing here is the least bit exaggerated.
Much like the old serials of yore, I will post this story in 3 different parts, so…tune in tomorrow!
Without further ado, “Vampire”, by Rooster, many moons ago.
VAMPIRE
Runt was hot and sweaty and not in the mood for Stella Mae Wilder, who clenched the hem of Runt’s shirt in her teeth.
“God damn it, get off.” Runt shoved her hard in the chest. With a shrrrriiip of ripping cotton, Stella Mae fell backwards and landed hard on her skinny butt, a piece of Runt’s T-shirt hanging from her mouth.
She spit it out and glared at Runt. “You’ll be sorry for that, when I come in the dead of night to suck out your blood.”
“And you’ll be sorry if you ever try to bite me again, when I kick your ass.”
Stella Mae considered this. “Sorry.” She sat on the porch beside Runt, who scooted away. Stella Mae didn’t smell so fresh in the heat of the summer day.
Stella Mae moved closer to Runt. “Sometimes I get a taste for blood and I just can’t help it.”
“Would you quit with this vampire thing? You’re weird enough already.”
Stella Mae stared at Runt defiantly. “It’s true. I am a vampire.”
“Shut up.” Runt’s hair had tumbled from its clasp during her struggle with Stella Mae. She gathered it back up into a thick bunch.
“You’ve got pretty hair.” Stella Mae twisted her fingers in Runt’s ponytail. “I love blond hair.”
“Jesus Christ, Stella Mae. Can you keep your teeth and hands off me for five minutes? And don’t sit so close to me. It’s too hot.”
Runt hadn’t bothered changing out of the shirt and underwear she’d slept in. She couldn’t stand another layer of clothes in this weather. She squirmed but she couldn’t get rid of the sticky feeling of sweat pooling in every crevice. The fierce afternoon sun bleached the sky bone-white and baked cracks into the hard red dirt. She could feel it singeing the tiny blond hairs on her arms. It was a wonder Stella Mae hadn’t dropped dead yet, in the long black skirt and thick old-lady stockings her mother always made her wear.
“I’ll be right back.” Stella Mae bounded across the dirt path of a road to the Wilders’ trailer, a formerly condemned dwelling held together by spit and rust, sagging dangerously beneath the weight of a huge satellite TV dish. The Wilders didn’t have indoor plumbing but they could pick up 200 channels, most importantly every evangelist on the airwaves. Total Jesus freaks, the Wilders spent the time they weren’t testifying at the Freewill Southern Baptist Church trying to convert everyone else. The Wilder kids brought a fresh batch of tiny green Bibles to school every Monday and preached scripture on the playground, ignoring the jeers and clumps of mud hurled their way. Stella Mae had attended school covered in mud plenty of times. She was the only girl in the eighth grade smaller, and more unpopular, than Runt.
Her brothers and sister were weird, too. Amber Sue oozed rolls of fat through gaps in her dark clothing and muttered to herself a lot, and Harvey Lee, while he looked normal, spent too much time alone in the shed cleaning his gun. The youngest was a big-headed cross-eyed kid they just called Baby Boy, who could be found at all times of the day perched on the front porch like a gargoyle.
A door slammed and Stella Mae returned, carefully balancing a glass full of dark brown liquid. “Hi, Runt. I can see your underwear.”
Runt yanked her shirt over her knees. “Quit looking.”
“I brought us some Coke. It’s cold.” She shoved it under Runt’s nose.
Runt pushed her hand away. “I don’t want any of your slobbery drink. Anyway, I thought vampires only drank blood.”
Stella Mae gulped the drink before replying. “I’m only a vampire at night. I need the moon to bring out my powers. The vampire explained it to me that night before he bit me.”
“That was a dog, Stella Mae. A dog bit you.” A few months ago, a dog had attacked Stella Mae during one of her night wanderings. Her parents found her crumpled in a heap in the road, her skirt soaked with blood. They carried her to their church where they laid her on the altar and wailed for Jesus to save her. Somebody finally had the sense to call an ambulance. After spending a week in the hospital, Stella Mae was transferred to a foster home, but returned to the Wilders shortly after. Nobody wanted to live with a sharp-toothed Jesus freak.
Stella Mae continued dreamily. “He told me he’d been watching me for years and decided to make me a vampire on account of my special qualities. He told me I’d have to drink some good blood soon or I’d die. When I woke up at the hospital a nurse came in my room and I grabbed her and drank some of her blood. It was good blood and I felt better. Then I put a spell on her so she wouldn’t remember.”
Runt frowned. “Keep talking like that and you’ll end up at Twin Oaks.” Amber Sue had spent some time there last summer when she’d swallowed a bunch of pills.
Stella Mae stretched her legs in front of her and stared gloomily at her thick boots. “I hate these clothes.”
“Change into some shorts.”
“Mama would whip my butt. You see that welt?” She pulled her collar down to reveal a dark red puff on her pale neck. “That’s for wearing my pajamas outside when I went to look for Baby Boy. Mama says it’s sinful.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. Who cares what she says?”
“Wouldn’t your mama smack you for saying that?”
Runt ground her toes into the dust. “My mother never touches me.”
“Wish mine didn’t. A while back when I got my monthly and I told her, you know what she did? Smacked me right across the face. What did your mama do when you got yours?”
“I didn’t tell her.”
“I guess I shouldn’t have, either.” Stella Mae savagely crunched a piece of ice between her molars. “Of course, she wouldn’t smack me now, if she knew I could kill her with my powers. I could kill anyone, even you, Runt. But don’t worry, I wouldn’t kill any of my friends.”
Runt rolled her eyes. “I’m not your friend.”
Stella Mae clutched Runt’s elbow with sticky fingers. “We could at least be summer friends. You don’t have to talk to me when school starts.”
“Quit.” Runt pulled her arm away. “I told you it was too hot for that crap.”
“Want to come over to my house? We got a fan set up.”
“No thanks.” The last time Runt had gone over to the Wilders, she hadn’t made it past the porch before Mrs. Wilder sprang out to slap her on the forehead to clear out the evil spirits, and Baby Boy started humping her leg. Runt had staggered back from the slap, tripped over Baby Boy, and landed in a painful heap on the ground. She’d never go back.
Stella Mae brightened. “You could come to church with us. They got air conditioning in there.”
“Isn’t it a sin to be a creature of the night? Aren’t you worried about going to
hell?”
“Vampires don’t die, duh. I don’t have to worry about it.”
“So why do you still go to church?”
Stella Mae shrugged, her thin shoulders poking the faded material of her shirt. Mama makes me.”
“If you’re a big scary vampire, why don’t you just suck her blood or put a spell on her and do what you want?”
Stella Mae tossed her hair loftily. “I don’t care to waste time with non-believers.” It was the same thing she used to tell the kids she’d try to convert, after they threatened to break her neck.
“Goodbye, Stella Mae.” Runt escaped into her house and slammed the door behind her. A person could only take so much of Stella Mae Wilder.
To Be Continued…
Instant Del.icio.us Bookmark This - 
|
| RSS for this post's categories: ">Primitive Rubbish People
This entry was posted
on Wednesday, October 19th, 2005 at 11:10 pm and is filed under .
You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
You can leave a response.
Trackback:
