Diary of a Reluctant Vampire

Diary of a Reluctant Vampire

by

LC Cooper

Copyright LC Cooper, 2012 - 2013

Published by LC Cooper at Smashwords

Cover design by Joleene Naylor

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

Please visit my author page at Smashwords.com. Titles by LC Cooper, published at Smashwords and other fine retailers:

Christmess

Diary of a Reluctant Vampire

Legacy

Man Cave

My Slice of Heaven

Simmering Consequences

The Voices of Cellar's Bridge

"Barefoot Homecoming"

"Dan's Accidental Convertible"

"Halloween's Perfect Storm"

"Heart's Lust"

"Of Yellow Snow And Christmas Balls"

"One Lousy Wish"

"There Was a Knock at the Door"

* * * * *

Chapter 1

Dear Diary – it was a dark and stormy … toilet bowl. Yep, Mom fixed her nasty old bean burritos for dinner last night. Man, those things blow through me. Ha! That ought to get Aunt Tess hollering (Hi, Auntie!).

I absolutely hate diaries. The only reason I'm writing in you is because my Aunt Tess gave you to me as a Hanukkah gift, and she's coming for a visit in two weeks. So, Mom has me writing three entries per day to impress her sister. Apparently, we Kleinmans lead very boring lives if a highlight of Aunt Tess' visit will be a review of my diary. I think I'll stir things up and sett you on fire in front of her.

Here's something to think about. If vegetarians eat vegetables, what do humanitarians eat? Isn't that a riot! My best friend, Antonio O'Rilley, is hilarious! He freaked out the cafeteria lady with this one. I laughed so hard, milk squirted out my nose, which made Tina Martin vomit. Trifecta!

Got another one for you: What's the last thing that passes through a bug's mind when it smashes into your windshield? It's butthole! Hilarious, eh?

You know what? I have like 153 more entries to write before Aunt Tess gets here in two weeks. Why fight reality? There's no way I'm gonna fill you up with a ton of stupid things – my life just isn't that interesting.

Humph, Mom's bellowing again. It's that time of the month – not for me, for Mom. She can't get out of the house much, so I walk to the pharmacy to buy Mom's monthly stock of feminine stuff. How fun is that for a thirteen-year-old guy? Never fun and always embarrassing. Needless to say, I never ask anyone to tag along. I usually hide in bushes and take back streets to avoid being made fun of on my way home from these stupid shopping trips.

For example, last month, I was walking across the pharmacy's parking lot when the wind yanked the sack out of my hands. Boxes of Mom's pads and douches, packs of wipes, tubes of gels and sprays flew everywhere. Naturally, it happened right in front of a van full of my classmates. This kind of thing happens to me so often that I expected it. While the bunch of jocks and babes laughed and pointed at me, I waved and tried coolly to scoop up some of Mom's junk. Most of it made it into the bag, while what didn't, like one box of pads, was annihilated when I kicked it to pieces and stomped what was left into dust. But, at no time was I frustrated or mad, even though I wasted thirty minutes rounding up all of Mom's essentials, as she calls them.

Anyway, as I flailed around in the parking lot, the van pulled up alongside me. A cheerleader rolled down the window. Seeing her smile, I thought she was going to help me find a missing tube of rash ointment, but no.

Smile! she yelled, a moment before snapping a picture.

Front page again? I deadpanned, knowing my story and photo would appear in the school's newspaper. I hated Tuesdays for that very reason. The only way most kids and teachers knew me was from the number of times I appeared in the newspaper. I wasn't popular, not a jock, and not a good-enough student to make the honor roll. Nope, I was the class idiot—not clown—idiot.

It could have been worse—I wasn't born with the first name of Richard and last names such as Urtz, Head, or Tator. I know a guy named Kim, but he's not Korean, and no one makes fun of him. Kim is on the wrestling team. He probably got a bunch of muscles so he could kick the rears of anyone who made fun of his name. I wish I could do that.

I wasn't taught by my parents to fight. I was told to avoid confrontation, so I get picked on a lot. Whenever I tried to use a martial-arts move, it always lead to my butt getting kicked harder than if I had just dropped into a ball on the ground.

It was this fetal position that first made the school's newspaper. EEK, the Geek, roared the headline. Billy McGuire, the bully, called me that as he stood out of frame when the photo was taken. He graciously took a break from shoving his boot tip up my rear to give the school photographer time to snap the picture.

Since that day, the weekly paper runs a column entitled EEK the Geek, which details my latest humiliation. The popularity could be nice, but only when I fantasize that it is. Can you imagine how difficult it is for me to walk down a hallway every Tuesday? Not just students, but teachers also point and laugh as they seem to share details about my latest failing. I shuffle past, pretending it doesn't hurt.

EEK, get over here, demanded the raspy breaking falsetto of Billy McGuire.

I ignored him, knowing he wouldn't try anything in the middle of the school's lobby, or so I thought.

Up my buttcrack went my underwear. Thankfully, Billy's grating voice disappeared, replaced by more giggles and the sound of snapping cameras.

Perfect, I muttered, more filler for next week's paper.

While digging out my underwear, I was mumbling and shuffling to class when a sweet voice sang out, Why do they call you EEK?

Without lifting my stare off the ground ahead of me, I replied, "The letters EEK are my initials. Eugene Elliott Kleinman …"

See you around, Eugene, interrupted the angelic whisper, just as the abrasive tardy bell clanged.

I looked up and all over, but couldn't see who spoke to me. Probably one of the voices in my head, I mused, shrugging my shoulders before returning to my shuffle.

I stomped and ground my feet as I walked across a copy of one of last month's newspapers. Pulverized under my shoe was the photo of me in the pharmacy parking lot, crouched over a box of douches.

I often wondered why Mom never sent my sister, Hagatha, after the feminine things. True, the toad was less than feminine, but I'm guessing Mom sent me as a remote way of punishing Dad for his lousy performance as our father. What did she expect? The guy works day and night at the yam-packing plant. Although he says he puts in the long hours to keep us out of the poor house, Mom believes he works so much to stay away from her, Agatha, and me.

I can't believe I'm blathering my guts into a stupid diary, but who else listens? Maybe Mom wants me to do this to relieve stress – that Aunt Tess' visit is merely an excuse. Maybe I don't hate diaries after all.

On second thought, yes, I do. There goes Mom again, yelling for me to go to the pharmacy. Well, all for now. Not sure if I'll write more later. If I do, no doubt it'll be about something miserable that happened at the pharmacy.

* * * * *

Chapter 2

"Here's this month's list," Eugene's stepmom, Stacy, said as she slapped the dreaded piece of paper and a fifty-dollar bill into his outstretched palm.

If there's any extra, can I buy …

Absolutely not, Eugene. Your father won't get paid until Friday. We'll be lucky to make the house payment this month.

Here's an idea, Mom. Why don't you skip on this list of gunk for the month? Better yet, if you cut out half of this stuff, we could probably save enough over a year to build a swimming pool out back. Heck, I'm certain we'd still have money left over to get Haggy's back waxed, Eugene said with a chuckle while darting, Matrix-like, under and away from his stepmom's backhand.

You rotten snot, she spat. Don't tease me about my hygiene and your sister's …

Bushiness? Eugene said while sidestepping another backhand.

Eugene's stepmother yanked open a kitchen drawer, the one containing mixing spoons, tongs, and the like. This meant only one thing. If Eugene didn't get out of the house quickly, his hide was in for a tanning.

See you soon, Mom! Love ya! Eugene hollered as he raced out the front door.

Always cracking jokes about Agatha and me being stinky werewolves or Sasquatches. I'm sick of his mouth, Stacy grumbled as she tossed the massive wooden spoon. It crashed into the other utensils in the drawer. She slammed the drawer shut, and then clicked on the small TV in the kitchen.

Can't believe it's almost suppertime, she sighed. After rummaging through the refrigerator, Stacy grabbed a couple of jars and a loaf of bread from the pantry. Looks like another night of PBJs, she grunted. She glanced at the wall clock and wiped the sweat off her cheeks. Nathan will be calling any minute. Better get Agatha to take her Daddy his dinner tonight. That good-for-nothing Eugene won't make it home before Nathan's dinner break. Stacy bellowed, Agatha, get in the kitchen and help me with putting your Daddy's dinner together.

Muffled by distance, Agatha hollered her reply. Satisfied, Stacy took it as a yes, and with a grump and a nod, went on with slathering peanut butter onto a stale piece of bread.

Eugene was glad to be out of the house, even though it meant another emasculating trip to the pharmacy. At least I got away from Agatha before she had another one of her fits, he sighed in relief.

He and Agatha despised each other. They were both products of prior marriages. Three years ago, Stacy and Nathan's marriage resulted in the collision of Eugene and Agatha's distinctly polar personalities.

Nathan admitted to marrying Stacy to keep the Department of Children's Services at bay. Tired of arrogant and demeaning social workers yanking Eugene away and in to foster care, Nathan made certain Stacy and his courtship lasted but one month. Eugene appreciated what his father did to keep the two of them together, but he questioned the cost. Although he referred to Stacy as Mom, he never felt she was much of a mother.

According to Stacy, her ex-husband abandoned Agatha and her the day Agatha was born. Eugene couldn't fault the guy for his decision. During her earlier years, Stacy probably was attractive. Agatha bypassed any vestiges of beauty and inherited the full set of her mother's detractions. As a result, the beastly pair frequented Eugene's nightmares.

Another curious outcome of Nathan and Stacy's marriage occurred when Nathan demanded that Stacy and Agatha sync together their monthly cycles. Then, with the coming of each full moon, he and Eugene would disappear. Although Stacy despised Nathan for his choice of working longer hours during her two weeks of need, she begrudgingly kept her mouth shut because the family desperately needed the extra money he earned.

Eugene hated moving around between the city's cheap motels, but staying in them two weeks every month was better than the alternative. Being around Stacy and Agatha when they were at their most ferocious wasn't even a consideration for Nathan and Eugene.

The trip to the pharmacy was always the first indication of the coming storm. The next day, Eugene would pack his and his father's belongings while Stacy and Nathan were at work and while Agatha was off doing things that Agathas do. Eugene didn't care for their lifestyle, but he admitted it was better than bouncing around between foster homes.

Perks included hanging out more with his father, eating whatever he wanted, watching TV and playing video games, and, best of all, staying far away from his stepmother and stepsister.

Although Agatha never stopped her witchieness, Stacy was sweet and calm at the end of each cycle. She and Nathan always disappeared into their bedroom immediately after dinner and remained in there until breakfast. Once Nathan departed for work, Stacy would dutifully empty Nathan and Eugene's suitcases and wash all their clothes. This was the point in the cycle when Eugene enjoyed being around his stepmom, not because she behaved like a housewife, but because she'd hug him and listen to what he had to say.

That endearing time wasn't now. As Eugene trudged through the slushy snow, he reviewed the list of supplies he needed to buy for his and his Dad's upcoming departure. His Mom's list was relatively easy, so it was committed to memory. The other list was slightly complex. Each month, he had to buy a different scent of air freshener. Switching up fragrances prevented Stacy and Agatha from being able to follow and find them.

Eugene nervously spun the silver serpentine chain around his neck while reading his father's list. I'm not sure they'll have all this stuff, Dad, he grumbled.

Who are you talking to, Guh-EEK? shouted Billy McGuire as he clobbered Eugene with a snowball.

Standing up and wiping the sludge off his tattered overcoat and boots, Eugene politely hollered, No one in particular, Billy. Just praying for deliverance. While Billy stared blankly, trying to figure out the meaning behind Eugene's comment, Eugene scrambled away, finding effective cover behind a long hedgerow. Tossing big words at Billy is like dropping a handful of rice in front of a vampire, he chuckled.

~~ * * ~~

Eugene was grateful that the shopping trip was uneventful. He wondered what the folks at the school newspaper would conjure up since he didn't give them any fodder for the upcoming issue. They tried, as always, to trip him up or trick him into doing something sensational, but they left the pharmacy sad and empty-handed. Eugene wasn't stupid, and he wasn't lulled into a false sense of security. On the contrary, his senses were more alert than ever. He suspected that, during his trek home, the discouraged reporter and photographer who continually ambush him outside the pharmacy, were sure to do something during Eugene's walk home.

Deep in thought, Eugene wasn't staring at the ground ahead of him, like he usually did. He kept spinning his head back and forth, searching for potential places where Billy McGuire, Reggie Duggins (the reporter), or Harry Fostwick (the photographer), might be hiding. Brilliant sunlight poked out from behind a rooftop, momentarily blinding Eugene. Instinctively, he drew the shopping bags into his chest and wrapped his spindly arms around them in anticipation of the inevitable faux pas. Sure enough, while stepping his right foot forward, the toe of his boot caught the edge of a crack in the sidewalk. Here we go, Eugene muttered as his body lurched and stumbled.

Here we go! echoed Reggie Duggins as Harry Fostwick snapped a quick series of photos. They had been hiding behind a street-side dumpster, the perfect place to capture Eugene's desperate attempts to recover his dignity.

Just like the previous month's photos and article of Eugene flailing around in the pharmacy's parking lot, the school newspaper would showcase the series of Harry's photos and Reggie's over-exuberant and flowery descriptions of Eugene's failings. But what they didn't capture on film was what happened next.

A severe breeze snatched Reggie's notepad, causing him to chase after the fluttering projectile. Harry's camera ran out of batteries the moment after he snapped a photo of Eugene crashing into a tall man. When Harry developed the photograph later that afternoon, the image clearly showed Eugene's frantic explosion of arms and shopping-bag contents, but the image of the man was missing.

How's that possible, Harry? Reggie asked as they both examined the photo. See, here? The Laundromat was clearly visible. It should have been blocked by the man.

I don't get it, Reggie. He and Harry looked nervously at each other then at the photo. After a moment