SO THERE I WAS, a fish out of water — or should I say a Victorian-era kid in a modern high school? Yeah, trying to blend in with the humans was about as easy as playing cricket with a cactus. But that’s a whole other story. Anyhow, school finally decided to call it quits for the day, and there I was in the back seat of a taxi, staring out the window like a puzzled penguin, lost in thoughts about Vivaldi. Just then, the monotonous drone of the car radio transformed into something a bit more attention-grabbing — the kind of voice that you’d stop and listen to even if you were in the middle of a pie-eating contest. “Breaking news,” the radio announced, and my eyes almost popped out of their sockets. You see, I wasn’t exactly the type to get all hyped up about news and stuff — in fact, phones, TVs, and techy doodads bored me to tears, or at least they did until I stumbled upon Vivaldi watching the news. You know, if it weren't for that fateful day I stumbled upon Vivaldi watching the
I'M SPRAWLED OUT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE road, gazing up at the full moon, which is shining like a giant silver coin in the night sky. I'm flapping my arms and legs around, making snow angels on the asphalt, while my mind is going a million miles an hour, dreading the misery that awaits me in that blasted cave. Before I lock myself up for a month-long werewolf extravaganza, I've got some last-minute errands to run for my belly. Suddenly, the road lights up like a Christmas tree as a car's headlights shine right on me. The engine roars like an angry lion as it zooms in my direction. I close my eyes, bracing for impact, when suddenly—SCREECH! The car swerves and skids to a halt, stopping just inches from turning me into a vampire pancake. Phew, that was a close one! I let out a sigh of relief, but my respite is short-lived. The car door slams shut with a loud BANG, followed by hurried footsteps and a panicked female voice. As she catches sight of my motionless body sprawled ac
“WHERE IS FIONA?” Casper's voice booms through the cave, louder than a monster truck rally announcer. I let out a sigh of relief—at least it's not the hunters!—before putting on my best “who, me?” expression. “Fiona? Who the heck is that?” I ask, feigning ignorance like a seasoned con artist. Casper's eyes narrow, and I can tell he's not buying my innocent act. “You don't wanna piss me off, Vivaldi,” he warns, sounding like a B-movie gangster. Before I can come up with another clever retort, he whips out a shotgun that was strapped to his shoulder like a murderous designer handbag. “Hey, whoa there, Snow Boy!” I yelp, feeling more alarmed than a cat in a cucumber factory. “What the hell do you think you're doing?” Casper proceeds to crack open the chamber of his shotgun, its hinges creaking like the world's spookiest door. The sound echoes through the cave, as if to emphasize just how royally screwed I am. “I'm about to send you to hell if you don't tell me where she is,” Casper
AS I STROLLED UP TO FIONA'S HOUSE FOR the second time that day, I rang the doorbell, and Fiona's mom answered, her hair in a messy bun and a faint whiff of burnt lasagna wafting from the house. “Well, hello there, Casper!” she exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with a mix of hope and mild desperation. “It's so nice to see you again.” I smiled and nodded, doing my best impression of a concerned friend, and all the while shaking my head on how this woman was so blissfully unaware of her daughter's disappearance. She ushered me inside, practically beaming with excitement, and I couldn't shake the feeling that she was hoping I was Fiona's secret boyfriend. “Oh, Casper,” she confided, “I'm just so glad Fiona has someone like you looking out for her. You know, I've been worried she might be… well… a lesbian! I mean, she never brings boys home, so I figured…” I tried my best to keep my eyebrows from reaching my hairline. This lady was something else, spilling her guts to me like we were B
SO, HERE I AM, sprawled out on the cold, damp floor of a dark cave, naked as the day I was born. My tiny hands are cuffed with these gigantic chains that look like they could hold down a whole friggin' ship! I let out a groan that'd make a wounded bear sound like a whimpering puppy. Every bone in my body screams in agony; it's like a sledgehammer-wielding madman has gone to town on me. As I try to move, the pain just won't quit. I reach for the keys to freedom, lying oh-so-close on the cave floor. But my hands are shaking like leaves in a hurricane, weighed down by the chains and that ceaseless, pounding pain. I have to wait it out, waiting for my secret superpowers to swoop in and patch me up. I know they'll stitch my broken bones, mend my torn flesh, and silence that shrieking pain. So, I lay there, wincing and writhing on the ground, my eyes tracing over the bloody remnants of my, shall we say, “transformations.” The cave walls are splattered with dried blood, like some abstract p
I'LL BE HONEST, FOLKS—my blood runs colder than an Arctic river at that moment. This isn't going to end well. I cock my head to the side, my lips forming a thoughtful 'O.' Now, what have I called him again? Oh, right—Mr. Bean Head and his glorious bald dome. I've really gone and stirred the pot now, haven't I? “I say I want a mug of beer!” I chuckle nervously, trying to backpedal faster than a clown on a unicycle. But my new friend isn't buying it. Not one bit. “No, no,” he growls, his chest heaving like a stormy sea. “What did you call me?” I clear my throat, scrambling for a way to defuse the situation. “Uh, I said, Mr. Blonde Head!” I lie, hoping he'll buy it. “But... I'm not a blonde,” he says, his brow furrowed in confusion. Well, if he wants the truth, I'll give it to him. My lips curl into a mischievous smirk. Oh, this is going to be good. “If you're not a blonde,” I say, drawing out the moment, “then that means you're a...” I pause, letting the tension build like
SO HERE I AM, FEELING like the cat that got the cream as I lap up the rich, honey-like blood. My serpentine tongue savors every sweet drop, like it's the nectar of the gods. I can't get enough, but eventually, the poor guy's body goes limp in my grasp, so I let him drop. His glassy eyes stare up at me, so I gently close them. I'm not a complete monster, you know? I let out a long, satisfied breath, then hop up onto the bar counter, my gaze sweeping over the rows of glittering bottles. So many choices! I can't decide which one to go for, so I do a little “eeny meeny miny moe” until my fingers land on a fancy-looking bottle of Johnnie Walker. “Aha!” I exclaim. The thick, curvaceous glass and the swirly pattern on the label catch my eye, so I figure, Why the heck not? I grab the bottle, jump back down to the ground, and crack it open. As I take a long, deep swig, the sweet, bubbly liquid dances on my tongue. I can't help but let out a contented sigh. “Next time, you won't argue with m
RIGHT, SO THERE WE ARE—THE GIRLS STANDIN' there, wide-eyed, lookin' around the mansion as if it were some kind of flyin' saucer from another planet. You can almost see the wheels spinnin' in their noggins, tryin' to work out where the devil they've ended up. The look of awe on their faces is mixed with a touch of fear, mind you. I mean, who wouldn't be a bit spooked in a place like this? Meanwhile, I am peltin' it down the stairs, breathin' like a racehorse and with me heart poundin' in me chest like a bloomin' steam engine. The girls stare at me, as if I've just sprouted horns and a tail, no doubt wonderin' what the blazes I'm doin', runnin' down the stairs like a ruddy lunatic. I finally find me voice, and manage to blurt out a “Thank you.” I'm tryin' to sound all cool and composed, but inside, I'm just about ready to shake their hands off for stickin' by me in this creepy old mansion. So, before they can say another word, I pull 'em both into a massive bear hug. I swear, I could