A White Trash Vampire, Part Two
To read Part One and an explanation of this story, go here.
She went into the kitchen and found her mother sitting at the table in a stained bathrobe, lost in a swirl of cigarette smoke. Runt stopped, searching for something to say that would coax some words out. “That Stella Mae Wilder sure is weird.”
Her mother sucked on her cigarette and stared into space.
Runt faltered. “She’s, um, preaching vampires now instead of God. It’s something.”
Her mother crushed her cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and reached for another. She shook her head as she struck a match. “ If God can do this to a woman, he can kiss my ass.” She swept her arm in a gesture that included the tiny smoke-filled rooms, the dirty dishes, the pile of unpaid bills, and Runt too, maybe.
“Mom, do you want to go to the grocery store? We need—”
“I’m going to watch TV.” Her mother yanked her belt robe tight and disappeared into her room.
Runt sagged into the chair her mother had just left. She plucked one of the butts from the ashtray and put it between her lips, then squinted into the smoke like her mother did, looking for something. She replaced the cigarette and saw an envelope addressed in her father’s strong block lettering. He’d left more than six months ago but still sent money every so often. Runt pulled out the forty dollars and hid it in the freezer. She’d go grocery shopping later.
The house hummed with the drone of the television set. Her mother spent her days in her dark bedroom, smoking and staring at a bright jumble of old sitcoms. For a while, Runt had worked hard to keep the house clean, and the yard neat. She mowed the grass every Sunday until the lawn mower had died with a cough and sputter. She’d kicked it again and again, hard enough to bruise her toes but it never responded. She’d finally just left it and gone inside. The grass had withered away, leaving nothing but hard red dirt. Their house was going to end up looking as trashy as the Wilders’ soon.
Piles of laundry spilled over the couch while dirty plates congealed in the sink. Runt hesitated, then went to her room. She’d clean later. She grabbed a book of horror stories from one of the piles of paperbacks jammed into every available space and stretched out on her bed. Her fingers stuck to the book’s slick cover. Grape jelly. Stella Mae had borrowed this book a few months back. Runt hurled it away in disgust and wiped her fingers on her shirt. She grabbed another book but with a thick blanket of heat and boredom pressing her down, she soon fell asleep.
…..
Runt woke up and stared into the wide gray eyes of Stella Mae, just inches from her own face. Runt shrieked and jumped out of bed. “How did you get in here?”
Stella Mae smiled and wiggled her fingers mysteriously. “I have my ways.”
Runt stomped over to the open window and looked down. Baby Boy crouched on his hands and knees, apparently still in the position where Stella Mae had used him as a step stool. He grinned up at her, pink tongue lolling from the corner of his mouth, pale eyes almost glowing in the dusky purple twilight.
“You climbed on your brother?”
Stella Mae frowned. “Is he still out there? It’s been half an hour.” She leaned out the window. “Get on home, Baby Boy. Go on, get.”
“Why don’t you follow him?” Runt suggested.
Stella Mae returned to the bed and sat cross-legged, her muddy boots pressing against the white sheets. “You talk in your sleep, you know.”
“Get out.”
Stella Mae ignored her. “You kept saying I wish Stella Mae was my friend, I wish Stella Mae was my friend, over and over just like that.”
Runt grabbed her underneath the armpits and yanked her off the bed. Stella Mae jammed a bony elbow into Runt’s stomach and they collapsed to the floor in a tangle of arms and legs.
Runt’s bedroom door flew open. Her mother stood there, pale and smudge-eyed, hair falling in wilted strings down her back. “Knock off the noise. My head hurts.” She slammed the door shut.
Stella Mae stared after her solemnly. “You know, Runt, I think your mama might need some good blood, too.”
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