The Obsessive Compulsive Vampire

Sorry about any mispelling, bear with me! This is the first section, second is coming.


"Can you turn your head a little to the side?” He asked, fanning his hand in her face.

“I am. Are you going to do this or are you going to keep stalling?” she came back, her midnight hair brushing right where he was aiming.

“You’re hair’s in the way.”

“So move it!” She grumped. Her side hurt and her neck wasn’t feeling too much better.

“Can you just wait for a moment?” He stood up and went in to the only bathroom in the small apartment. She straightened back up and rolled her head from side to side. Brenda had thought this was going to be cool, but this guy was turning out to be a drag. She heard him messing around in the cabinet. She was starting to get a headache.

He came back into the room, holding a small folded cloth.

“What’s that for? She asked, her eyes pointing in the little square’s direction.

“You have something on your neck.” He handed her the wipe and she started rubbing at the intended spot, exhaling impatiently. He reached up and pointed to it again.

“Have I got it?” she asked, still wiping away. “What is it?”

“Your hair. Let me do it.” She handed him the wipe and barely noticed the cringe. He held his hands up to her face and signaled for her to tilt her neck again. He used the cloth to first wipe down the locks of hair and then to move them from her neck. Once her neck was thoroughly soaked, he placed the wipe in the basket behind him. She straightened back up.

He looked at her and threw his hands up in the air. “Your hair!”

“What about it?!” She screamed.

“It’s on your neck!!”

“Forget this! This is not worth it. I’m leaving!” She got up from the couch and stormed to the door. He crossed in front of her blocking it.

“No! Please don’t go. It’s ok. Your hair’s ok. Please, just sit down. Please?” He brought his hands up in a prayer and did his best puppy dog look. She glared at him; her arms crossed and then went back to the couch. She tilted her head and waited.

He was hesitant again, but finally lowered his face to her neck. He put his lips on her jugular and she tensed. Ten seconds passed, and then twenty.

“What are you waiting for?” She sat there with him just sitting there.

“I’m not sure how to do this.” He said his breath and the vibration tickling the nape of her neck.

“Just bite me!” She yelled.


Chapter One


Two weeks ago, Charles had been a thirty year old, normal, healthy, obsessive compulsive. The silverware in his drawers, the glasses in his cabinets, the brooms in his closet and the books on his shelves were lined up perfectly like bars in a prison he had built for himself.

Even though he was single and mildly good looking, he was in no hurry to look for someone willing to over look his ‘small’ eccentricities. Women didn’t understand him and that was ok. He just hadn’t found the right one.

It was all his mother’s fault. She had talked him in to that 15 minute dating thing that night. He didn’t even like to go out after dark. You never knew what kind of people were lurking out there and there was no sense in taking unnecessary chances. He still kept a night light in the hallway, just in case he stubbed his toe. That’s what he told himself.

He was tired of mom’s constant berating. “Why don’t you date more? Do you remember your cousin; he’s having his second child. When am I going to have grandchildren? Charles, are you gay? I’ll still love you if you are, just tell me.” On and on it went. She’d been bringing up the dating thing more since he turned thirty. Yes mom, I know I’m not getting any younger. He finally gave in two Thursdays ago and agreed to go to the 15 Minute, Meet your Mate! Party sponsored by the local youth chapter of his mother’s church. The drawback…it was winter and at six in the evening it was already dark.



“It’s not at the church,” she said, “so you don’t have to worry about bursting into flames.” His mother smiled and crossed her arms. She was trying to kid with him. Trying to get him into a good mood. It wasn’t working. He stood there stiff as a board, barely tolerating her hugging him.

“Brother Henry is donating his coffee house for the night. You remember Henry, don’t you? Barbara’s father? You remember little Barby, don’t you? She’s been away at college and she’s getting married next month. I’m happy for her, but she was so perfect for you. I just wish....’

“Mom, I’m going, I’m going. I’m going find some girl and we’re going to have a tryst and she’s going to get pregnant with our love child and I’ll have to marry her and we will grow old in a loveless marriage and our child will hate us and I’ll resent you forever and then I won’t bring the grandkid to see you cause the ex-wife has sole custody and I’ll start drinking and…”

“I get it. I get it! You don’t want to go, but you are! So get out of here and don’t be late. Here are your wipes. Try not to use them right after shaking the girl’s hands, it’s insulting. Trust me, I know.” She shoved him out the front door.

It took him twenty minutes to get the courage to go inside. Even then he couldn’t bring himself to stand with the group listening to the old lady.

“Now, the way this works is all you girls sit at a table. All you boys will line up. Since there are more women than men, some of you girls might have to go a few minutes without a date, but we’ll make sure everyone meets everyone else. When we say go, you boys in line first will go to a table, 15 minutes later, the timer will ring again and you move a table. At the end we’ll all mingle and you can exchange numbers or propose, whatever you kids do now a days.” She cackled. Charles grimaced.

This was going to be a long night.

He did what mom told him not to. As soon as he shook the hand of the blond at the first table he sat at, he pulled out the handy wipes without thinking. She looked as self conscious as he felt, but that did nothing to put him to ease. There were a lot of silent moments.

Thirty minutes later, he was on the third date when he noticed the woman at the last table. The girl in front of him was telling him how much she just loved cats and how she just didn’t know what she would do without her three babies when the woman sitting in the shadows leaned forward and raised her glass to him, her date oblivious to the flirtation not directed at him.

His throat was dry and he felt the urge to get up and go over to her. He kept seeing himself being suave and making sure he was the only date she would have for the rest of the night. Her fifteen minute date would get angry and refuse to let him take his place. He would deck the man and grab her and take her somewhere more private.

“Do you like cats? I’ve always had a cat. They are so cute and fluffy and sweet, I mean they do have a temper, but”

“I’m allergic to cats. They lick themselves and you have to clean up the litter boxes.”

“Dogs have to be picked up after too.”

“I’m allergic to dogs.”

“Birds?”

“Everything.” The buzzer went off and he was one table closer to the raven beauty with blood red lips.

Next to the last table and he was sweating. It was getting harder and harder to concentrate on what the women were saying. He just had to get through the next six minutes. He looked at his watch. Four and a half minutes left to go. He took a drink of water.


“I’m not really a girlie-girl, you know? I mean, I don’t do flowers, but that doesn’t mean I won’t roll in the dirt once in while, you know?” the Brunette blocking his view was saying.

“Sounds dirty.” He replied. He wasn’t listening. Another sip.

“That’s the way I like it. Do you like it dirty?”

“No, I don’t like getting dirty.”

“Why not?”

“It takes to long to get clean.” Two more minutes. He picked up the napkin on the table and wiped up his upper lip. He checked his watch while he was using a handy-wipe to clean up after wiping down. He folded it up and laid it neatly in the ash tray.

“I could help you get clean” She laid her hand on his arm. The Raven Beauty faded away as well as everything else in the room. He focused right in on her freckled hand with the bitten nails that did have dirt under them.

His spine bent backwards and his arm tensed up and he retracted his hand. The other hand fisted and went to his mouth to keep from gagging. He stood up and raised his hands in the air like claws. He felt his sphincter tighten in disgust.

“What’s wrong?” She asked. Her hand remained in the same spot his had been in a moment before.

“Just don’t do that,” he said pulling another wipe from his pocket.

The buzzer rang and another man stepped in to fill his place. He was scruffy, wearing a second hand jacket. His hair was mangled mess. The two would be married less than six months later.

“Sit down.” He was still wiping his hands thirty seconds after the buzzer when the Beauty from behind him tried getting his attention. He was wiping his brow as he turned around. She was lighting up a long cigarette. He watched her take a long drag and tip the ashes off in the last guy’s water glass, ignoring the ash tray in front of her. He sat down and folded the wipe to place it in the ash try.

“What’s your name?” She asked, blowing cigarette smoke across the table right in to his face. He coughed lightly not wanting to offend her.

“Chhckuh-Charles.” He extended his hand over the table just to pull it back when she ignored it. He was relieved.

“Charles. Hmm. Not much into parties, are you Charles?”

“Not really.” He smiled and folded his hands on the table. Then he remembered that was a sign of closing someone out. He unfolded them and then couldn’t figure out where to put them. They ended up flat on the table. He smiled at her, feeling like an idiot.

“I’ve been watching you all night.” Tap tap.

“Really?”

“Yes, you don’t seem very comfortable at all. What’s with all the wipes?”

Here we go. More than likely she would act sympathetic and then make the excuses as to why they shouldn’t go out.

“I don’t like germs. There are a lot of things you can catch if you’re not careful.’

“You like girls though don’t you?”

“Yes.” His face flushed.

“What else are you afraid of?” Tap tap.

“I’m not afraid o…”

“Sure you are. I can tell. If you can tell someone your fears, you let them get close to you. You do want me, close? Don’t you?”

“I, uh yeah, sure, I…” His palms were sweating. He was hoping there re no sweat stains on his shirt. He was having a hard time breaking eye contact. Her black hair hung swept to one side, barely covering her right eye. It was that old forties style that was so appealing. Her lips matched her red dress, but he could swear she wasn’t wearing lipstick.

“So spill it.” Suck, exhale. He watched her put out the cigarette and then proceed to light up another one.

“Germs of course. I’m afraid of the dark and I have claustrophobia. “He stopped there. That was enough.

“Spiders?”

“Bugs in general. Yes.”

“Clowns?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Are you afraid of clowns?”

“Yes.” He hung his head. He was finally able to break eye contact. Afraid of clowns. What grown man is afraid of clowns?

“So, Charles, if you took me to dinner, where would we go?” She asked tapping more from her cigarette.

“Hmm. There’s a nice little vegetarian place I like to order from every once in a while.”

“I don’t eat vegetables. I’m a carnivore.” She laughed and drank some of the coffee that by now must have been cold.

“I don’t like meat.”

“Are you one of the PETA people? Don’t tell me, you feel sorry for the dumb animals.”

“No. I ‘m more worried about getting sick from it. You know you can get worms from eating under cooked meat. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“I love it. I couldn’t live without it. You should try it sometime. Live dangerously. Order it raw.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He laughed. As attractive as this woman was, it wasn’t going to work out. It bothered him how down he was when he thought that.

“I think I could help you learn to live dangerously. How do you feel about leaving the ‘party’ a little early?” She placed her hand on his arm and he hardly noticed. Her eyes held his and distracted him. He did not have to answer her. She put her cigarette out and pulled him up by the hand and led him out of the coffee shop. No one noticed or tried to stop them.

She guided him down the street by the hand further and further from the warmth of the coffee house. They passed a few partiers coming out of a bar and Charles watched the group cross the street. He watched one of the boys bounce back once he hit the other side of the street. Charles had to stifle a laugh when he realized there was a street sign and the kid had walked right into it. He watched him look up and grab the sign like he wondered where it had come from. His Beauty never glanced over.

Once they passed the bar, they started to cross the alley that ran adjacent to it. She pulled him down it and then pulled him around so that she slammed him into the wall of the bar. His air left his lungs and he realized he was up against a urine stained wall in a garbage strewn alley.

“Listen,” He said. He arched his back away from the wall and tried to pull himself off of it with his shoulders. He was aware his hair was getting wet from the wall. She slammed her hand into his chest and pressed herself up against him.

“You listen, Charles. I’m going to completely change your life. After I’m done, you won’t be afraid of anything. And you’ll love raw meat.” She laughed in a whisper and pushed his head back and forced her mouth on to his neck. He started giggling, her breath and mouth tickling him. She was so close! Part of him was excited and the rest of him was revolted by being touched.

His nervous giggling was cut short by the pain in his neck. It swept up over the top of his head and then turned from pain to a numbing pleasure. He lost the use of his legs and slid down the wall losing consciousness.


He was floating. He couldn’t move his arms and legs but he was able to move his head from side to side. He was in a body of midnight, black water. An ocean of darkness. There were no stars, but there was a light, a moon above him. No, two moons. Eyes. The eyes stared back of him and their middles began to disappear into blackness. Two black pools with bright light whites. They were coming close to him and they were crying. He drank their tears and then sank.

He couldn’t see. His nose tickled though. Oh, my eyes are closed. He opened them to see a fuzzy face in his own. A rat!!

He jumped up and was still in the alley. His back was soaked and he smelled like pee. He had been lying in urine!! There was a rat in his face and there was urine… everywhere! There weren’t any wipes anywhere. They were gone and so was the Beauty. She took my wipes, he thought. Why? And what happened?

Damnit! What’s wrong with my neck? Feels like I’ve had it in the same position all night. Can’t look left. He envisioned himself walking in circles all night because he couldn’t make left turns. I’ll never get home. He would have laughed but he hurt too much.

He needed to get home. It would take forever getting home in this much pain, but there was no way he would hail a cab. They were nasty and he’d seen what they did in Taxi Cab Confessions. His apartment building was only four blocks away, but it took him a good half an hour before he got there.

It hurt walking up the three flights of stairs. It hurt digging in his pockets for his keys. It hurt when he stubbed his toe in the dark looking for the light switch and it hurt starting the bath water that wouldn’t fill the tub fast enough. He gasped taking off his clothes and then gasped again getting into the hot water he ran to sanitize his body. He made the decision to burn his clothes, but was too tired to do it tonight. He jerked his head and screamed as he almost slipped in the tub. The water was luke warm before he could move enough to scrub down.

When he was done, he toweled off and crawled into bed naked. He pulled the covers over his head and fell asleep.



When he woke up, he lifted the coverlet just enough to see the alarm clock. It was 9:05. He had slept in. It took him a moment to realize he must have been out of it last night, he didn’t even remember closing the curtains last night. There was no light coming in. He felt like he had a hangover, so it was a kind of blessing.

He leapt to his feet. At least the headache didn’t affect the rest of his body. He slipped on his robe and went over to pull open the curtains. It was still dark outside. He knew it was ten o’clock when he got home last night, so there was no way it was the same night. Had he slept the whole day?

As much as he couldn’t believe it, his stomach told him something else. He was ravenous! He went into the kitchen and pulled out a tofu burger and some V8. He tossed the patty on to the grill and downed the V8. Two minutes later he pulled the patty off the grill and threw it on to a plate. It wasn’t frozen but it sure wasn’t hot. He tossed it down with another V8 and still felt hunger pains.

He pulled out the sprouts he just bought and forked them down in no time. He finished off the takeout from two nights before and drank even more of the juice. What’s wrong with me, he thought. Fifteen minutes of stuffing his face ended as he ran to the bathroom, vomiting everything he just ate and more than he had realized he ate.

The worst of it was he was still hungry! He leaned over the sink in the bathroom and splashed water on his face. When the water ran down his jugular, he found the two tender spots that had not been there before.

He stood up to examine them in his mirror and fell backwards into the hallway, screaming. He didn’t want to look again. He did anyway. He wasn’t there. Where was he? His reflection was gone. How? He raised his hand and touched the mirror. Still not there.

He dressed and ran into the hallway. He ran down the three flights of stairs and almost fell out on to the sidewalk. The first person he ran in to was homeless, lying on the street.

“Excuse me?” He leaned over the guy, trying to get his attention without touching him.

“Excuse me, sir. Sir? SIR???!!!” He yelled.

“What!?” The man yelled pulling himself from the cocoon he had made from himself.

“Never mind…sorry to bother you.” Charles stumbled off, too shaken to take a chance at making the man mad. It wasn’t until he saw the quickie mart, that he also saw another human being. Two in fact.

A nice looking woman was standing in front of the counter, talking to the older Indian man taking cash from her. Charles walked inside and stood behind her, waiting as not to interrupt them.

“You are a very nice girl,” The proprietor was saying. He was trying to reach across the counter and pat her on the hand.

“Thanks Mr. Karma, I really appreciate it, but I should be getting home. My husband will be wondering where I am.” She pulled her hand away from his. She was visibly uncomfortable with his statement and his approach.

“You just remember, if you get tired of him, you just come and see me. My wife will be more than happy to let you stay. She’s even visiting her family tonight, so it’s very quiet at home. I have no one to talk to.” His smile came across as smarmy, even to Charles.

“No, really, it was just a little argument; I shouldn’t even have mentioned it.” She backed away from the counter and made her way to the door, not even noticing the man behind her. Mr. Karma came from around the counter and started to follow her. She made it to the door and the old man placed his hand on her shoulder. He leaned over and she barely avoided his kissing her cheek.

“Uh, have a good evening.” She rushed out and the bell hanging on the door rang as it slammed shut down. The clerk stood there a moment and then turned around. The charming man was gone.

“What can I help you with?” He asked, going back behind the register. “Please hurry, I am very busy.”

“So you do see me,” Charles said under his breath. He was relieved and released the breath he had been holding. For a moment there, he was afraid he was lying dead in that alley back there.

“Of course I see you. It’s getting late. My family is waiting up for me.”

“I thought your wife was out of town.”

“May be you shouldn’t listen to other people’s conversations.” The man hit a button on the old cash register and the door flew open. He started to count the money in the drawer and flipped the light over the counter off.

“Sorry.” Charles walked over to the freezer to grab himself something to drink. He at least didn’t want to look insane. He grabbed a bottle of V8 to replenish his stock at home and started back to the front. He stopped when he passed the meat case. Charles couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten real meat.

All of the sudden, he wanted some. It was insane, but he realized it was par for the night. He hesitated with his hand over a pork loin and then snatched it up.

He walked up to the counter; thankful he had remembered to grab his wallet before he ran out and threw the items on the counter with his credit card. He hadn’t used cash since the report said how much fecal matter was found on a dollar bill a correspondent had tested. He was wrung up and his food placed in brown paper sack. The clerk followed him to the door and flipped the sign to close behind him.

Charles refused to walk back into the bathroom when he got home. He was tired and considered the incident just a result of the fatigue. He was starving though and that prevented him from just crawling back into bed. He popped the top on the V8 and pulled the plastic wrapped meat out of the sack.

He pulled a set of tongs out of the drawer along with a pair of scissors. He held the loin with the tongs and used the scissors to cut the plastic from the meat and the Styrofoam tray. He cussed under his breath when some of the blood got on to his counter. He was going to be doing a lot of sterilizing tonight.

He used the tongs to put the loin in the pan he had pulled out. He thought about washing the meat, but the thought of washing the blood down the sink seemed…wasteful. He also knew he would have to hold it. Not happening.

He put the pan in the oven and sat at the table to wait. This would take awhile. He took a couple of aspirins and went into the living room to watch some TV. Nothing on by this time of night but old horror movies and cheap movies where the girls were required to wear no more than skimpy bikinis. He opted for horror.

Bela Lugosi stepped from his coffin and smiled. Nice teeth, Charles thought, taking a drink from the bottle. His stomach turned some. The V8 was giving him problems. An hour and a Frankenstein monster later, a nasty smell started coming from the kitchen. It was the smell of cooking meat.

I knew I should have stuck to vegetables, he thought. He ran into the kitchen and used an oven mitt to pull the pan out. It was still pink and dripping blood. He couldn’t even stand the smell of any cooked meat. He grabbed a knife out of the drawer and sliced it down the middle. He hoped he could rescue enough to give some to his mom to fix for her dinner. The blood squirted out of the middle and the veins of fat contrasted against the red. His stomach growled.

He wanted it. Not the pale, brown, cooked meat on the outside, he wanted the marrow, the blood, the flesh! Part of him was revolted, the rest was just excited. He was drooling and he was hard. He shook his head and looked back down.

His fork was in the middle of the meat and he was digging it out. The thought of eating raw meat, and getting worms made him gag. He had to swallow over and over again to keep the contents of his stomach down. Still he wanted it. He was watching himself in slow motion. His arm rose up and he watched the shredded, bloody meat disappear under his nose. A warm sense of completeness fell over him. It was tender and perfect. He chewed through the first bite and began to rip through the middle of the meat. In minutes it was hollowed out.

He turned and spotted the Styrofoam he had left on the counter. He walked over to it and saw the spots of blood still left on it. He grabbed it and licked it. When it was clean, he tossed it into the trash and cleaned up the rest of the meat. He wiped down the counters, using sterilizing pads and went into the bathroom and showered down. He still refused to look into the mirror.

It was two in the morning now and still he couldn’t go to sleep. He was mentally fatigued and a little disgusted with himself, but his eyes wouldn’t close. He felt like something in his brain was holding them open. He lay in bed and his mind kept drifting back to his meal. His stomach still rumbled when he thought of that first bite. Can’t do that again, he kept telling himself.

He would have to see a doctor. He knew he had to make sure he didn’t get worms, or scurvy or whatever you get from eating raw meat. It was delicious though. What he wanted was more. He turned over on his side and saw that it was now four in the morning.

He was glad that he had given up a nine to five job to work from home. If not for that fact, he would be laying in bed thinking, I have five hours to sleep, I have four hours to sleep, I only have two and a half hours to sleep. The working man’s curse.

He lay looking out the window until he could see the faint light of sunrise in the eastern sky. He pulled the covers off of him. He was so uncomfortable. He might have to consider a new mattress soon. He got up and turned off the heat. He lay back down and the sun still hadn’t crested, but his eyes hurt.

It reminded him of his times he had spent working in an office building and at the end of the day, he would leave, seeing the sun for the first time in the day, just before it set. He would feel his eyes focusing rapidly, hurting, as they tried to adjust.

This was what he was going through now. Just as the first sliver of sun came up, he screamed. His flesh hurt! His eyes were jelling. What the hell? He thought. He couldn’t take it any longer.

He ran from his bedroom and into the kitchen. He tried to calm down, he tried to stop gasping for air and when he relaxed, he tried to go back into the bedroom. The first step into the sunlight sent white hot cold chills from his body and there was steam, no, smoke coming up from his foot. He ran into the living room and into the coat closet. He passed out and slept for the next twelve hours.

His stomach woke him up. He climbed out of the closet, weak and famished. Something is seriously wrong, he thought. His abdomen spasmed and he bit down hard, right into his cheek. Ow!

So much pain!! He sat there with his back propped up against the couch and just started crying. His neck hurt, his stomach burned and his cheek throbbed. He sat there staring across the room, his eyes blurring and he started calming down. His heart was slowing down, his stomach stopped tensing. There was a strong metallic taste in his mouth. It was blood like chocolate!!

He started gnawing at the inside of his mouth. This was wonderful! It was so good! It was cannibalism! He slapped his face. It was the only way he could stop himself. He pulled himself up and headed toward the bathroom.

He flipped the light on and screamed like a little girl. He could have looked like one for all he knew. He still wasn’t in the mirror. There was no Charles doppelganger. He raised his hand up to his teeth and felt the instrument of his cheek’s demise. Fangs. Of course. And the blood.

He was still dead in the alley like he originally thought. But, Mr. Karma had proven that to be wrong. Unless he was the reincarnated Bela Lugosi, he had to be a vampire. “Hehehe. Hehehehehehehehehehe” He was laughing. Even to himself, he sounded crazy, but he just couldn’t stop.

He ran some cold water into his bathtub and stuck his head in it. He had the briefest concern that someone had blessed the water in the pipes. He choked when he sucked in the water, laughing. Could he drown?

Did he have any liquor? No, he didn’t. Stupid question. He never drank. May be he should start. What time was it? Oh man. It was Tuesday night and he had fifteen minutes to make it to mom’s house. It was their weekly night at the buffet. His least tolerable outing. He hoped they didn’t sit in front of the floor length mirror next to the kitchen.

It was difficult brushing his hair and making sure he looked half way decent. He was not going to tell mom. He didn’t believe it, so he knew she wouldn’t. He wasn’t going to think about. He was starving.


Chapter Two


“Hey mom.” Charles kissed his mother on the cheek. He flashed to an image of him ripping off her cheek and, and, and…

“Sweetie, sweetie? Charles? Are you ok? Are you ready to go?” Her hand was on his forehead, checking his temperature.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m ok mom. Let’s go.”

They paid for their dinners and were led to a table near the back; thankfully well away from the floor length mirrors. He was reminded of his situation when he was picking up his silverware. He was starving again, of course.

He went straight to the salad bar, as usual. He started to pile his plate with raw spinach, but the smell wafted up to his nose. It was an organic, dirt smell. It was dead. It had been dead the moment it had been picked in the corporate garden it had been grown in. Oh, and the smell of the dressing was making him ill. This sucks! How can I live without eating, and I’m starving to death. He handed his partially laden plate to one of the servers and went to get some apple juice. At least that would be something.

He saw mom getting her black bean soup, her usual and had to jump out of the way of the toddlers running over to the ice cream machine. Unattended. As usual. He was getting his ice for his juice when he realized there was something running down his chin. He was drooling.

He found himself near the grill and had become Pavlov’s dog. He watched the chef preparing the steaks and cutting the ribs to people’s preference.

“Sir? What would you like?” Oh, I’m in line now and it’s my turn. Why do I keep losing time?

“Uhm, I don’t usually eat meat, I’m not sure…”

“Well done? Medium? Medium-well? Medium-rare?”

“Rare.”

“Medium-rare sir?”

“Rare.”

“Like this?” The Latino chef held up a piece of meat that looked like it still could have been mooing.

“You got anything…pinker?”

“We’ve got raw, but we can’t be held responsible if…”

“Raw, yes. I want raw.” Charles held his hands out to take the plate.”

“Can I have more?” And waited as the chef piled on another piece. And waited. After two more six ounces were piled on, Charles started to walk away and then turned.

“You can’t be responsible for what?”

“Excuse me! Some of the rest of us are starved!” And he was nudged out of the way by the walking pink muumuu.

He bypassed the drinks and made his way back to the table his mother was already sitting at.

“Aren’t you going to get something to drink? Charles? Charles?” He didn’t’ hear his mother. Once he sat down, he only had eyes for his dinner plate. “Charles? You’re eating meat? Charles! It’s still moving! Charles, why aren’t you talking to me? Eew! Charles, there’s blood dripping down your chin, oh you’re embarrassing me! Charles! Charles!”

SLAP!

Charles found his chin wet, his face stinging and everyone in the restaurant looking at him. He looked down to find half a piece of raw meat on his plate and blood all over his hands. He knocked over his glass when be bumped the table, trying to get away from the mess he had made. He ignored his better judgment and ran into the public restroom at the end of the hall. He couldn’t see himself in the mirror, but it wasn’t too hard to tell what kind of mess he had made.

There was blood on his hands; meat was stuck under his fingernails. It had dripped down his shirt sleeves creating candy cane stripes on the white shirt he had worn. It was in his lap. It ran down the front of his shirt and his face and neck were sticky.

He grabbed hand towels so he could turn on the water faucet and began cleaning himself. It was again hard to so this without a reflection. I look like I’ve been shot, he thought. He could imagine what his mother was thinking. She had had to slap him to bring him around. He imagined her sitting, wiping the blood off her hand, the people around her whispering and the waiters asking her if she was ok.

He would have to tell her. The ‘blood lust’ was more than he could handle. He couldn’t risk taking her out like this and having this happening again. He composed himself and made sure not to stand in front of the mirror when another customer came in.

He ignored the stares of others as he made his way back to the table. His mother sat there, dabbing her eyes. There was a little mascara running down her cheeks. He hesitated and then placed his hand on her shoulder and she looked up at him.

“Charles, what’s wrong with you?” She watched him as he sat down across the table. Thankfully, the waiter had already removed the partial carcass he had left across from his mother. He sipped the water the waiter had left and waited for her to finish drying her eyes.

“Listen, mom, there is something I have to tell you, but I really can’t do it here. Why don’t you finish eating and then we’ll head back to your house and I’ll explain.” He took another sip of water and waited.

“Charles, leave the tip. I can’t eat anything, I’m a little nauseated.”

“Mom, I’m sorry. Really…”

“It’s ok. Just…let’s go.”

Charles pulled out a five and laid it on the table. When he turned around, mom was already out the door. He started noticing that his nights kept getting longer. He had to pick up the pace to catch up with her. She remained quiet the two blocks it took to get back to her home. They walked up the porch stairs and he waited for her to get the front door open. He had to rush up behind her to hold the door open so he could follow her in.

He followed her into the kitchen and sat down at the table. He watched her get down his grandmother’s tea pot and run water into it. She placed it onto the stove and began boiling. She didn’t say anything. She got the good china cups and placed in the tea bags. He waited until she pulled the pot off the stove and filled up both cups.

When she had placed the kettle back on the stove and sat down, she spoke.

“Ok. Spill it. I’ve never seen you eat that way. Last time I saw you, you would have killed yourself if you had gotten that dirty.” She sipped at her tea.

“Mom, I don’t know how to start this. I went to that dating thing the other night…” For the next fifteen minutes he described his night, the woman in at the last table and then waking up in the alley. He told her about the hunger, the pork loin and lastly the mirror. Then he told her about wanting the meat tonight and the almost inescapable hunger for it.

She sat there the whole time and never made any remark. She sipped her tea and watched him.
“Well, what do you say?” he asked. She looked at him and put down her cup.

“Show me your teeth.” She looked at him with a deadpan stare.

“My teeth? Why do you…oh.” He opened his mouth and had the impression that he was a gift horse. He expected her to inspect his teeth and then give him a pat on the rear. He sat there as she leaned in closer. Her index finger disappeared into his mouth.

“Ouch.” She pulled her hand back and went to the sink. He closed his mouth and tasted what tiny amount of blood had been left on his canine. He tried not to think of his mother as a pork chop. He went over to where she stood and looked over her shoulder.

“You ok?”

She turned around. She looked startled. She hadn’t heard him come up behind her. He saw fear in her eyes.

“You don’t have to worry. I don’t think I have the soul of a demon or anything. I just have different …cravings.”

“What are you going to eat?” His mom looked past the teeth and the weird appetite and saw her little boy.

“I seem to be doing ok on raw meat so far.”

“I thought you were supposed to drink, blood.”

“Maybe that’s just superstition. I am hungry though.”

“It’s not going to be enough, is it?”

“What?”

The meat. She was talking about the meat. Already his stomach was growling. It was loud enough for her to hear. She looked older than her age and he imagined her as grandma and he was the big bad wolf.

Her eyes were glistening.

“What? What now?”

“It’s my fault, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t pushed you into going to that coffee house. If I had just…” and she started sobbing, pulling great gasps of air till I thought she was going to pass out. And even though he agreed that it was her fault, he told her it wasn’t.

Fifteen minutes later after she had stopped crying and they had argued about it not being her fault, they still had the dilemma. His stomach growled loud enough for her to hear it from the kitchen sink.

“We have to do something about that first.” She said. She walked over to the freezer and pulled a wrapped, white package from it. She opened it and dumped the contents into a bowl. It made a loud clanging noise as it fell in. She walked it over to the microwave and punched a few buttons. She sat down and took note of his tea cup.

“You didn’t finish your tea.” She said.

“I think it makes my stomach upset.”

“It never used to before.”

“Mom…”

“Never mind. I’ll have something for you to eat in” she looked around at the microwave,” in six and a half minutes.”

“Mom, I don’t think I can eat cooked meat.”

“You won’t, but you can’t eat a meatsicle either.” They sat there in silence and Charles had a hard time keeping his eyes from the rotating bowl in the little box. The timer went off and mom pulled a fork from the drawer and the bowl from the microwave. She laid it in front of him.

“It was a cold bowl of defrosted hamburger. It hadn’t been grounded completely, because to Charles it looked like a bowl of bloody worms. Man, it looked good. He place his fork in between the little ringlets and watched it slide in. He pulled it to his mouth and squished it. Metallic liquid, cold and clammy squeezed out of the meat and filled his mouth.

“I can’t watch this.” His mother left the room.

Ten minutes later, he was wiping his mouth off and yelling to let his mom know that he was finished. She came back in and picked up the bowl, rinsed it in the sink. She sat back down next to him and put her hand on his wrist.

“Feel better?”

“Much.” Then his stomach growled again and he realized he was still hungry.
“The cold, was kind of, icky you know…I” He lowered his gaze and pulled out one of his wipes to clean up. He knew if he kept talking, the conversation would lead to what he was already starting to conclude. Mom skipped ahead for him.

“Go home. Come back tomorrow night. I’ll fix your supper and let’s see if we can’t do you one better.” He stood up, a big, bloody smile on his face and leaned over.

“Charles. Bring a tooth brush with you tomorrow night. Please don’t kiss me.”

He walked home, sucking the meat out that had become lodged in his teeth and burped when he got in the door.


Wednesday night and he found his mother’s front door open.

“Mom?” He yelled in. He was a little nervous; she never left her front door unlocked.

“Come on in! I’m in the kitchen!” She yelled. She sounded upbeat. She was in a good mood for a woman who has learned her son is a vampire.

Charles walked into the kitchen and into a crime scene. His mother stood at the counter. There was a trail of blood from the back door to where she stood. Bloody hand prints were on the knob of the door and the hands that had made the prints were holding a feathered carcass above a bowl in the sink.

“Don’t look so shocked. When I was younger, your grandparents owned a chicken farm. I learned early how to twist their necks and chop their heads off.” She smiled at him, holding the chicken upside down and letting the blood drain into the bowl.

“What will the neighbors think?” He asked. Already the flow had turn into droplets and his stomach answered the call.

“Why do you think I waited until after dark? Also, I thought you might like it better if it were fresh. Take your coat and shirt off. I’ve left you one of your old father’s flannels on the bed upstairs. No need to ruin a perfectly new outfit.”

Charles ran upstairs and changed. This was the most he had looked forward to a meal in a long time. He tried to hurry, but he buttoned the shirt wrong twice. He didn’t want the food to get cold.

When he came back into the kitchen, his mother had placed the bowl on the kitchen table. She had also placed newspapers and old towels on the floor around him. She had learned what a messy eater he could be. She stood there and placed a spoon next to the setting and stepped back.

The next twenty minutes were better than Charles could remember in his life. He tried to refrain from spilling it down his shirt. He also resisted the urge to pick up the bowl and slurp it down. It was warm and salty.

He was happy, but underneath it all he noticed that it left a funny aftertaste. Like a generic soup someone had opted for over Campbell’s. Still he was satisfied.

“Aren’t you eating?” He asked her. She came over to him after he had licked the bowl and wiped the corners of his mouth.

“I ate early today. Trust me; if I had eaten any later I wouldn’t have been able to keep it down after that.”

They sat and watched some TV and talked about how many commercials there were and how language used had changed. It was almost ten o’clock when Charles decided he better let her get some rest.

“I have something for you,” she said and he followed her back into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator and handed him a couple of bottles in a sack.

“I told the butcher I was having some relative from England visiting and I was learning to make blood pudding.” She laughed and smiled. “He asked me if I had enough sheep intestines. I’ve never made the stuff in my life, but I said I sure did! I heard about it one time on the travel channel. Nasty looking stuff, but it worked!” She smiled real big and he could tell she was proud of herself.

He smiled back, self conscious of his teeth. He’d brushed though and he leaned over and gave her a kiss. Then, he went ahead and hugged her.

“Mom, you’re the best” He headed towards the front door and she followed.

“Remember, that’s not fresh. You might have to warm it up. Not too hot though, you don’t want it to congeal. When you’re done with that, we’ll get you some more, ok?”

“Sure mom. Thanks!” And he headed out into the night.


Chapter Three

Charles spent the next three nights adjusting to his new schedule. He would get up around nine in the evening, heat up a large cup of blood and then sit down at the computer to work on this month’s travelogue. He was careful not to spill any on his keyboard. Past experience told him he could let it dry if he spilled water on it, blood, he wasn’t so sure of.

He was a little proud and somewhat ashamed everytime he received his check in the mail. There was something terribly wrong about being paid for a story on exotic places and trips he had never been to or seen. With the internet at his fingertips, he had learned that it was possible to write travelogs without having ever stepped out of his apartment. It wasn’t something his mom was proud of, and neither was he, but at least he didn’t’ have to leave put up with a lot of crowds to write his stories and from some of the other stories he had read, he was one of the best. His editors thought so too.