This blog is currently being transformed into a book. That’s right, a full novel and will be available soon!
If this is your first visit, you’re welcome to start sinking your teeth into Edna the Teenage Vampire’s story right away. (It is suggested that you begin with the oldest post and work your way back to the present.)
Stay tuned and feel free to leave a comment!
Despite what humans believe, killing is a necessary evil that falls under the category of survival. From the majestic lion to the domestic cat. One minute they’re basking in the sun in all of their beautiful feline glory, until the next moment when they’re transformed into a beast that hunts, taunts, kills.
No remorse. No regrets. And definitely no shame.
I almost feel sorry for humans. They’ll never have the opportunity to indulge in a thirst that is as luscious and gratifying as the burning desire that drives us.
And unlike the seeming savage side of our nature, we – mom and I – have turned the beast portion of our essence and tamed it into an act of kindness. Last night’s visit to the prison found us in the company of some pretty dark souls.
We don’t claim to play the human’s version of god. But I can guarantee that no one would dispute the disposal of the creatures we fed off of last night.
If you think mom and I are monsters, the deeds of our prey make us angels.
Me again.
Could this day get ANY worse?!!
So here I am . . . working very hard at being GOOD. At NOT giving in to an insatiable thirst. Waiting for midnight because midnight on a Monday is a good time to run in the dark like a crazy animal. To a prison that’s two towns over.
When suddenly there’s a knock on the door. A knock that’s almost too polite to be anyone that either mom or I know. I was sitting in the kitchen, watching the clock on the stove and therefore way too busy to get up to answer it (and too afraid of what I might do). So mom answered. It was – of all walks of life – two Jehovah witness dudes.
I came so close to high-speeding my hungry ass to the front door so that I could suck the god-fearing life right out of them.
Feeling well-acquainted with your deity? Well then here. Let me help you give an up-close-and-personal ‘hello’ to your beliefs. Knock on my door? Well here’s knocking on your god’s door!
Like don’t they realize that a hungry vampire lives here?!!
I am going insane with thirst!
Help. Me.
If you follow my tweets you know that I was going to Jessica’s after school today. With a math test coming up, we decided to hit the books and do some actual studying. Not that we never study . . . but we don’t study as often as we say we do.
And can you blame us? There are just so many other interesting things to do besides math. Like talk about Andy Templeton, for example.
Jessica is so infatuated with him that some of her obsession is starting to rub off on me. Like today. I was walking to my first class when suddenly I realized that I was not only looking for him, but hoping to run into him! And then when I did, I felt a surge of excitement erupt in my stomach, just below my belly button . . . well maybe closer to “there” than that. It felt like a reversed lightening rod jolting up into my heart like I had just taken a wicked turn on a roller coaster.
I have to ask: what the hell is that all about?!
Need I remind myself . . . he’s a fricken HUMAN!!!
Then to top off my wonderful day in civilian life, my stint at Jessica’s after school almost turned into a disaster. A vampire disaster! I hate to admit this (even here!) but I came way too close to losing control.
We were lying on the floor in her room, pouring over an exciting page of math problems when I got this sudden whiff of her sweet scent. That’s all it took for an incredibly strong urge to come over me. Yes, there’s something about young blood that’s irresistible but usually I’m so good at controlling my thirst. I’m like a pro at avoiding all vamp temptations!
Luckily Jess was too absorbed in her homework to notice me breathing her in like a mal-nourished pervert. Any thoughts of consequences dissipated like steam on hot asphalt and I knew I had to get away from her and fast!
“Just realized that I’m supposed to help mom clean out the basement,” I said as I jumped up and away from her as fast as I could . . . BEFORE she noticed my protruding fangs (hate it when that happens!).
It was hard. Really hard. Even my voice wasn’t concentrating properly. I gathered up my books, stuffed them into my back pack and walked out of her room before she had a chance to get up off the floor. Before she had a chance to ask me what was wrong. Before I sunk my teeth into her delicious flesh.
How do I feel? Terrible! I mean, Jess is my best friend and I haven’t had a best friend since whenever and here I am, wanting nothing more than to imbibe the fluid that sustains her life!
On my walk home I sent her a text telling her how sorry I am and about how the last time I was late for something, mom had given me one last chance before she grounds me for the rest of my life.
She should believe that, right? I mean, it sounds teenage-ish, right?
Usually I’m so good with the whole control thing. I don’t know what happened. By the time I got home I was sooooo week with hunger that Mom took one look at me and knew right away that I was fighting the urge to feed.
“Time for a visit to the prison,” she said.
So that’s the plan. And it’s a great plan. Need blood. Enter child molester or some other offender who doesn’t deserve to live.
The only problem with this plan is that it is now 4 p.m. and we have to wait until the wee hours of the night before we can indulge. My ravishing hunger is at a point where it’s controlling me; my sense of control thinner than a thread of spider web.
Okay. I better find something else to think about. Like meticulously cleaning the insides of mom’s thimble collection.
A few weeks ago Mr. Lee decided it would be a good idea to pair us up. Strong students with those having trouble with math. I’m in the “strong students” category. Not because I love math. I don’t. But because I’ve done this class so many times that if I don’t get it by now . . . well even I would be worried.
All that to say that as much as Tommy wanted to be paired up with me (he falls under the “strong students” category as well. His excuse is that he has no life.), I got paired with this girl Jessica. I hadn’t noticed her before because she’s a quiet girl. But now that she’s my math partner, we’ve been hanging around quite a bit.
I hate to admit this, but she’s pretty cool. For a human, I mean. Mom likes her too. Jessica is what mom calls “a nice girl” because she’s polite and soft-spoken.
The truth is she’s a little on the crazy side. She totally makes me laugh out loud. Like the other day when she decided it would be fun to freak drivers out by lying across the road and pretending she was dead or something. Like who does that?!!
And she hates Sabrina the teenage bitch as much as I do. Apparently they were friends when they were little kids. And then Sabrina grew up to be this total click-snot and ditched Jessica.
And remember the detention dude, Andy Templeton? Well turns out his mother is the school secretary and Jessica has this total crush on him. He is cute, I admit. But he’s HUMAN.
When we’re not doing math homework (to be honest, we don’t spend that much time doing math), we’re talking about Andy. Jessica is totally obsessed with him.
“Andy said ‘hi’ to me today!”
“Andy looked at me during lunch and I’m SURE he likes me.”
“Andy isn’t in today . . .”
Sometimes I get a little annoyed with the fricken Andy campaign but apart from that I actually like hanging out with Jessica. She thinks Tommy is an annoying loser too and although she’s quiet, she’s not afraid to tell him to get lost. Love that about her!
And the nice thing is that she lives in walking distance! In human walking speed, we live about 20 minutes from each other. (When it’s pitch dark out I can make it to her house in under five. But I’m special that way – being a vamp and all.)
And, NO. Jessica does NOT know that mom and I are vampires.
Yesterday, I decided to check out the caf. Major mistake . . . or not, depending on how you look at it. What a busy place! Card games . . . group meetings . . . meaningless babble and shouting. It seemed that everyone was doing everything EXCEPT eating. I have noticed that a lot of the kids eat during class, so I’m thinking that maybe eating in the caf is like an uncool thing to do at this school. Except for the odd apple-chomper, there wasn’t a sandwich or food tray to be seen.
Finding a place to sit was . . . challenging. Obviously Tommy wasn’t around. I would have known if he was. Yes, from his annoying display of, “Hey Edna! Come sit with me!” – but more from his scent. Luckily, I always know when he’s around . . . BEFORE he has a chance to scout me out.
It wasn’t until I reached the very back of the rectangular room that I finally found an empty seat. The long table was filled with conversation – mostly from girls, I noticed – and I could feel their eyes on me as I sat down. Instead of returning their curious gazes, I pulled out a notebook from my backpack and made a good attempt to look busy.
“Hey new kid! Where’s your boyfriend?”
When I looked up I realized that I had sat at the bully table. Yes, Sabrina and her stupid friends. Great. I tried. Really, I tried. I just wanted to be left alone. But it seemed the more I ignored them, the more they bothered me.
“What’s the matter? Tommy’s braces got your tongue?”
That’s when I lost it. The girl who said it, Heather, I think her name is, was on the other side of the table and I jumped over it so fast that I was on her before anyone had a chance to realize what had just happened. In pinning her down, she fell backwards from her seated position, her legs remaining wrapped around the bench. I have to say that luckily, she was wearing a backpack because it helped to break the impact of her head crashing down on the tiled floor.
I “allowed” some kid to pull me off her chest but not before I had a chance to growl in her face, fangs extended.
Was she scared? Let’s just say that she won’t be making any comments about me and Tommy for a while. Stupid bitch!
I left the caf before Mr. Fat-Ass got there but made sure that both Sabrina and her sidekick, the Heather kid, saw my don’t-fuck-with-me look.
So, although it may seem on the surface that I shouldn’t have gone to the caf in the first place, I see it as the opportunity that it was – to convey a message. I’m sick and tired of the snide remarks from Sabrina and her friends.
Being the only kid in school who doesn’t know anyone has to be the loneliest feeling in the world. Everyone just looks at you as though everything about you is all wrong. I HATE teenagers! They have no compassion and because it’s happening to you, they feel that they get gloating rights simply because it’s not happening to them. They’re so stupid that way!
The night that mom and I broke into this dumb-ass school I saw pictures of this one girl everywhere. Well guess what? I met her today. Well, not “met” exactly but found out who she is . . . the hard way.
She looks like a young version of Morgan Fairchild but her name is actually Sabrina.
When I walked into my math class today Tommy did everything short of pee his pants to get my attention. He wanted me to sit next to him. The dog and pony show was so unnecessary because the seat next to him was the only empty one in the class room. I had no choice but to sit next to him, right in the front row.
“Oh look. Tommy has a girlfriend,” I heard someone say from the back of the class. When I turned my head to see who belonged to the sardonic voice I recognized her right away from the pictures.
“Is something wrong, Sabrina?” The teacher asked.
“No, Mr. Lee. Nothing at all,” she answered a little too sweetly, “I was just saying how nice it is that Tommy has a girlfriend.”
“Well, keep your comments to yourself, please,” answered Mr. Lee.
Just before I turned around to face the front again, Sabrina and I locked eyes. The daggers she shot me sent a message loud and clear: “watch yourself”.
So I mouthed my own message to her. Soft as a whisper but she got it. And from the laughter, so did several others between us.
“Sabrina the teenage bitch,” my lips said.
The girl sitting beside her sucked in her breath so rapidly that she almost choked on it.
Later on during the class I felt a discreet tap on my shoulder and was handed a folded up piece of paper. I didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to figure out who it was from and there was no way that I was going to give her the satisfaction of reading her note. I waited for Mr. Lee to turn towards the blackboard before throwing the note back in Sabrina’s direction. I don’t know where it landed because I through it over my head – quickly before Mr. Lee had a chance to turn back to face us.
But Mr. Lee must have eyes in the back of his bald head because he turned and looked at me right after the note left my hand.
“Edna . . .” Mr. Lee started but then the bell rang and the entertainment was obviously already forgotten as everyone rushed out of the class room.
I got up and as I was gathering my books, Sabrina walked by and whispered something in my ear. Something about my ass being grass.
Ahhhhh so this is the school princess, I thought.
Should be fun.
If you’re up to speed on my life, you know that yesterday was my first day at my new school. And if you’ve been following my Tweets, you know that at one point I wanted to shoot myself in the head.
It all started in the principal’s office. Turns out that Mr. Fat-Ass has a real name. It’s Mr. Rogers. (I prefer Fat-Ass and you can read about how he got THAT name here.)
Mom and I were sitting in his office – the principal’s – and I was looking over my agenda as they talked about whatever. The visit was going on way too long but I’m used to that. Mom has this effect on men. She had it before the change too. Becoming a vampire only made it worse.
It wasn’t until I heard mom say the name “Tommy” that I zoned back into the blah-blah of their conversation.
“Oh Edna does know one person. Tommy Moss. He’s our neighbour and I’m sure he’d be happy to show Edna around,” she said, ignoring my glare.
At this point I didn’t know where Tommy fit into the scheme of high school life and the last thing I needed was to be associated with a nerd.
“Mrs. Templeton, can you bring Tommy Moss to my office, please?” Mr. Fat-Ass said into his phone.
Templeton. The night that mom and I broke in, that name, specifically “Andy Templeton” had multiple listings on the detention list and I wondered if there was any relation.
That’s when I jumped out of my seat saying, “maybe I should get to my first class.”
“Tommy will be here in a minute. He’ll take you to your class . . .”
“No that’s alright,” I said. “It’s a small school and the classrooms are numbered. I can figure it out . . .”
“Patience is a virtue. Have a seat, Edna.” My reaction to Mr. Fat Ass’s sterness? I had to suppress a growl deep within my throat. I sat down, yes. But it was more of a distraction than an act of obeying. I don’t need to go into details about what I really wanted to do to him – but visions of his drained body stuffed into his Twinkie drawer played in the darkest corners of my imagination.
“Well I do need to go to the washroom,” I said standing up again. And this time I didn’t give him a chance to speak. I opened the door to his office and walked out. As I closed the door behind me, I could hear mom asking him something . . . anything. I knew she just wanted him to look into her eyes so that she could charm his impression of me. Great. Not ten minutes in my new school and already mom was covering my ass from Mr. Fat Ass. How appropriate.
I walked down the hall, straight towards the bathroom. Thanks to our adventure during the Christmas break, I knew exactly where it was. Mom was right. That night did give me an edge. And with the first class in session, I knew I’d be alone; and happy to be.
This was the first day. THE. FIRST. DAY. Also known as the most important day of any high school career. Why didn’t mom get that?!! She could be so smart and yet sooooooo . . . HUMAN!
Looking at myself in the mirror, I managed to calm down. The last thing I wanted was Tommy to walk me into class. I didn’t want to be associated with anyone. Not just yet. As the “new kid”, I knew that I was going to be the highlight of the day. And while they assessed me, I needed to assess them. All of them. Including Tommy, the neighbour.
A quick glance at my agenda again told me where I needed to be. Room A-27. “A”. That meant down the hall on the other side of the gym. No prob, bob. Confident that I knew where to go, I walked out of the bathroom only to find Tommy walking towards me. He was on an obvious mission. And that mission was me.
“There you are,” he said, gleaming metal spilling out of his mouth. I hadn’t noticed his braces during mom’s dinner party – partly because he hadn’t smiled much and partly because I had avoided looking in his direction at all cost. (Although I did remember a faint metallic odour that night. My note to self at that point was about crossing Tommy off my list of potential feeding grounds. One thing mom and I have noticed is that the blood of people who wear braces has a tinny taste. Not appealing and far from appetizing.)
As Tommy walked towards me, his mop of curly, ash brown hair bopped to the beat of his lanky steps. His hair, the colour of dirty water, matched the washed-out tint of his glasses.
“A-27,” he said as he glanced at the agenda in my hands. “This way.” And they couldn’t make the agenda with a bigger font?!
“Yes, I know,” I said. Now that he knew where I was going, I had no choice but to walk with him. I was a little annoyed about that.
“Your mom’s a great cook,” he said.
“Yeah.” (Was he expecting me to carry that on???)
“So how do you like living here?”
“I don’t,” I answered.
“Oh. Uhhh, well I guess it’s not as exciting here as some of the places you’ve been.”
“How do you know where I’ve been?”
“Clarisse says you and your mom get to travel the world for her job. She’s a photographer, right?”
“So?”
“I’m a photographer too. Well . . . want to be,” he said (because I wanted to know about his life).
“Hey, maybe we could have lunch together,” he said. It seemed the faster I walked, the faster he talked.
“No thanks. I already have lunch plans,” I answered. Why wasn’t he getting it? Oh. Yeah. Because he is a human.
Finally (as in FINALLY!!!) we got to my class. A-27. My new favourite number.
“Well here we are,” I said dismissively.
“Yeah. Uhhhh . . .”
“Later,” I said as I knocked on the door.
“I’ll meet you here, after your class and take you to your next class,” he said almost desperately.
NO! I wanted to scream. Why couldn’t he understand that I didn’t want . . . didn’t NEED . . . him to tour-guide me around? I looked back at him just as the door opened and he had this pathetic look on his face. It was almost desperate. And I knew then where Tommy fit into the scheme of high school life. Near the bottom. No friends. No life. And obviously no personality.
“I’ll save a seat for you on the bus after school,” he said, loud enough for whatever awaited me in the class room to hear. Two words came to mind at that point: “Oh great”. A million sperm racing towards life and YOU were the fastest, I thought. Just goes to show how messed up universal laws can be.
My day went downhill from there. And I wanted to rip Tommy’s head off for setting the tone to my first day as the new kid.
I had the pleasure of running into him a lot. And he made a huge thing about it every single time. Like we were suddenly BFFs or something.
Well today’s another day and I get to go through it all over again. Only today, I’m going to show Tommy – and everyone else – just how mean I can be. Mom says I have to be nice. Because he’s our stupid neighbour and we need to keep a low profile.
Two more words for you: “fuck that!”
Mom was on my case all week last week. It started with getting the kitchen ready for Saturday night’s dinner party. Finally, everything was perfect – to mom’s standards. Then suddenly, the decor in the rest of the house wasn’t right so we had to go shopping for that. (I am so SICK of shopping. If I don’t see the inside of a mall for the next 75 years, I’ll be happy!) And of course the local Walmart – that’s the only “real” store around here – wasn’t good enough. So off we went to, as mom calls it, a “real city” to shop.
“How can we live in that big house and not look like we had a life before coming here?” She asked. Naturally mom has a point. She always does.
I can’t tell you what city we went to, but I will say this: once we got there I realized how much I missed the eclectic panache that you can only find within the masquerade of a busy metropolitan area. It was both refreshing and exciting! Yes, feeding was easy. The buffet of homeless people that will never be missed let us give way to our indulgences and we managed to buy some great decor-house-stuff that makes mom and I look like we “get around”. Which we do. We just never end up keeping most of the stuff because 100 years of living and moving could only lead to an accumulation of the outdated and useless. (Can you imagine a house full of knick knacks from the 60s?)
Mom, being the sentimental fool that she is, has a collection of favourites that she would never part with. Ever. Like the kitchen table and hutch that her brother (“real” brother; before the change) made her. It was a wedding present.
While in the city we managed to buy some great pieces – prints for the walls, ancient art sculptures . . . Even I don’t recognize the place.
And about that dinner party . . . the one I was soooo excited about. (Yeah. You know I wasn’t.) Well it turns out that Walter is pretty cool. He’s much older than mom’s human-35 (he’s in his 50’s) and travels a lot, so as a human, he’s actually interesting. According to him, the Patagonia region is the cleanest place on earth. When he spoke about it, mom and I gave each other a look because we keep a mental rolodex of places we’d like to live – since we have to move around so much.
Clarisse . . . well she’s a pill. Obviously wants to sleep with Walter and I could tell she wasn’t particularly happy about the “friendship” developing between him and mom.
How can I describe Clarisse? 40 something. Lives alone in a desperate sort of way. You can tell she was never “pretty” but dresses well to hide the fact (although it’s hard to hide since she’s so in your efin face).
More than once, Clarisse mentioned how she’s not a big eater and yet she ate more than anyone else at the table. She didn’t think anyone noticed, but mom and I both watched as she spread half an inch of butter on her slice of baguette.
“I make a point to eat well,” she said once, while taking a pause between servings. She was trying to say that she eats healthy. But just looking at her fat ass, you know her “well” means “a lot”.
Clarisse annoyed the hell out of me and I told mom after they finally left, that I would gladly put an end to my misery by having her for dinner.
“You had better not,” mom said while giving me her famous there-will-be-consequences look.
So fine. I won’t feed off of Clarisse. But I bet if she went missing, there wouldn’t be any complaints from the rest of the street!
David and his wife Janet, who also live on our street, were too polite to tell Clarisse to shut-up but you could see the words lingering on their gracious smiles. In fact, whenever Clarisse spoke, the entire table suddenly wore an expressionless haze. Courteous attention turned to her babble but no one ever had anything to say in return. A passive monologue of Clarissisms.
And I didn’t dare speak to their son, Tommy. He followed suit and didn’t even look at me. The one time that I did ask him to pass the bowl of garlic potatoes (no, garlic is not a vampire rival) a sudden silence fell over the table as everyone focused in on his reaction – as though he was about to declare his love for me. It was disgusting!
Turns out though that Tommy goes to my school, so at least I know one person.
First day today. Can’t wait . . .
Okay. Confession time here. My first day at my new school is next Monday. Exactly one week from today. And as much as hanging out with humans while I pretend to be learning it all “for the first time” appeals to me (yeah, just a wee bit of sarcasm) . . . I. Can’t. Wait.
Turns out that mom is not only fraternizing with Walter the neighbour. She’s getting friendly with the entire fricken street! Next Saturday she’s planning a dinner party.
“We can’t keep living in our little bubble,” was her answer to my “but why???”
And then she told me that I have to start working at making friends too.
“Humans can be nice, Edna,” she said as though the effin idea had never occurred to her.
“But mom, why get attached? We’re just gonna end up leaving anyways. What’s the point? Do you forget what happens when we befriend a human???”
“Yes,” she said (a little too calmly, I thought), “but humans are different now. They’re more open and less superstitious.”
So mom is turning into a human lover and when I think about this stupid dinner party, four words come to mind: fuck you fucking fuck!!!
This is off topic, I realize, but next Saturday is Elvis’ birthday, which makes me think: “IS NOTHING SACRED ANYMORE?!!!” (No, we don’t actually celebrate Elvis’ birthday. But I’d rather do THAT than entertain a bunch of humans – neighbour humans – in my home!)
So now that mom is in “entertainment mode” guess what we’ll be doing from here to Saturday . . . Can’t guess? Fine. I’ll tell you. We will be working at making the stupid kitchen look like we actually use it! (Also known as wasting our time.) Shopping for stuff like a blender and dishes and ketchup . . . because ALL humans own ketchup. Yeah, sounds like great fricken fun, doesn’t it?
“So who’s all coming anyway? I mean, besides Wal-ter?” I didn’t actually mean for his name to sound like something I was regurgitating. It just sort of came out like that. Like half-digested and almost identifiable puke.
And mom, who follows a pick-your-battles philosophy, completely ignored my tone, but not the question, and listed the guest-list as though I was half as excited about all this as she is.
“Clarisse from across the street and Janet and David Moss, who live two houses down . . . and their son, Tommy. He’s 17.”
“Wonderful,” I said. “I’ll buy a new Alice-in-Wonderland dress and pull out the red carpet from the basement.”
“Sarcasm is NOT becoming,” mom said. “Get your coat. We’re going shopping.”
And that’s how we spent our day yesterday; spending a fortune on stuff just to show the humans that we’re “normal”. Stuff that we’ll end up leaving here when the time comes for us to move again.
I feel like a fricken fugitive! And the ironic part is that we’re putting on this show – smokescreening our true identities – from people who weren’t even born when we were “alive” (before the change). I don’t care how old they are in human years. They’re naive and stupid and think that life revolves around THEIR existence.
GRRRRRRRRR!
The secret blog of a teenage vampire