Friday, 25 September 2009

Evil Summer II: Part 4

Jennie (Click here for Part One. Click here for Part Two. Click here for Part Three. Aaaand here for the original.)

I stood at the corner, my hand in the air, waving down a cab (like I just didn't care) and acting like I wasn't leaving a trail of blood and eye goo on the ground behind me as I paced. I wasn't exactly sure where to find the rest of my childhood gang, but if I didn't hurry, I wasn't going to have time to catch up on my TiVo'ed shows. Grey's Anatomy wasn't going to just watch itself, you know.

An old, dilapidated Gypsy Cab Company cab finally screeched to a halt in front of me and the back driver's side door automatically popped open. It seemed a bit out of the ordinary but after the evening I'd had so far, I honestly didn't care. I scraped the edge of my heel on the curb, trying to dislodge what I thought was a piece of cornea from the tip.

"Where to, Miss?" asked the driver.

"Um...that's just it," I said. "I'm not exactly sure. Do you know where the old, abandoned warehouse is down on Route 13?" Christ, I thought, I sound like a character from Scooby Doo.

"Sure do, Miss. Hold on tight."

I did not, in fact, hold on tight and was thrown backwards with the force in which he took off, swerving through traffic and zooming up and down alleys.

"Slow down, man!" I screamed, grasping the 'oh shit' handle above me.

"No, Miss. There's no time. He's already there. With your friends."

Eff, I thought. Double you tee eff, in fact. The cab stopped suddenly and I was thrown forward to make out with the glass partition a bit, even though we'd only just met. I sat back and rubbed my face, wondering how badly my makeup had been smudged at this point. Probably pretty badly, considering I'd run from and then murdered my driver/Randy/Patrick and could only assume that I had gotten sweaty and a bit covered in blood and retina in the process. If only I'd thought to bring my Pretty Princess Peppermint Patty Makeup Touchup Kit. If I was going to die tonight, I wanted to at least look my best.

"Uh, Miss, you should probably get in there," said the driver, racing out of the cab to open my door. Very gentlemanly of him, really, under the circumstances. I wondered if he'd consider becoming my new driver. You know, if I survived the night.

I got out of the cab, straightened my pantsuit, and walked toward what could only be described as an old, abandoned warehouse, conveniently sitting next to a sign for Route 13.

"Must be the place," I muttered. I opened the door, wincing at the loud squeak it made, and walked inside to find my old friends sitting around a long table. Their bright, smiling faces were all turned toward the man standing at the head of the table. He was wearing a nametag. It said "Patrick."

"Um..." I said. "What's going on here?" All the bright, smiling faces turned toward me.

"You're here!" shouted Chris. "Finally! We were just about to get started!"

"Started with what?" I asked. "What is this? A tea party?"

"Why yes, it is!" said Patrick of the nametag. "Please sit."

"Yeah, I'm going to need an explanation first," I said. " feet do hurt, so I'll sit for it."

"Excellent," said Patrick, not Randy/My Driver. "I've gathered you all here to apologize for my rudeness all those years ago. You see, I wasn't trying to kill any of you. I just needed your help getting back to my real body, which you see before you. So...thanks."

"Patrick," I said. "That makes no sense whatsoever."

"Of course it doesn't make sense," he said. "This is reality."

Everyone was staring at me now, sipping their tea and munching on crumpets. Well, hell, I thought, I love crumpets. I snatched one off the plate in front of me and took a bite. Delicious.

"Here," said Patrick, pouring me a cup of tea. "Have some."

I took a large, unladylike gulp and felt my head go fuzzy.

"What is this?" I asked, my mouth having trouble forming the words. "Did you put Roofies in this? Did you give me Forget-Me-Now tea?"

"Oh, right," said Patrick. "I also forgot to mention that I'm what you might call a...GHOST VAMPIRE. I MIGHT have invited you all here to turn you into ghost vampires, too. We're endangered, you know."

I passed out before I could tell him how ridiculous he sounded. When I came to, I had a sudden craving for a big, raw, bloody steak and my body felt a bit lighter and more see-through than it used to. Great, I thought. No one is going to buy candy-flavored fragrances from a ghost or a vampire, let alone a friggin' ghost vampire.

"Hooray, you're all awake!" cried Patrick. "Let's dance! Ghost vampires love to dance!"

I started to protest but found that as soon as I heard the music, I wanted to do a little dance. Make a little love. You know. Get down tonight. I was powerless against the mad beats. It was kind of nice, actually, to dance along with my old friends and not, for once, be worrying about what new sort of sweet treat I'd be trying to convince Susie Homemaker to rub all over her body the next day. I was done with all that. I didn't need it anymore. Ghost vampires could make their own luck, I assumed. Just like Billy Zane.

The music stopped. I kicked off my heels and sat down to catch my breath, wondering what my new life was going to bring me next.

"Hey, everyone!" shouted Patrick. "Who wants to go to a Werewolf Bar Mitzvah?"

Sounds spooky, really. Scary, even. I wouldn't miss it for all the Kit-Kat cologne in the world.

THE END (or is it?)

(yes, it is)

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