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    Mortimer the Vampire: And Drake The Dragon
    Mortimer the Vampire: And Drake The Dragon
    Mortimer the Vampire: And Drake The Dragon
    Ebook252 pages3 hours

    Mortimer the Vampire: And Drake The Dragon

    By Cameron Glenn

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    About this ebook

    Ditzy teen Lizzy becomes entangled in a centuries old drama involving a vampire, dragon, and fairy.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherCameron Glenn
    Release dateDec 29, 2015
    ISBN9781311731692
    Mortimer the Vampire: And Drake The Dragon
    Author

    Cameron Glenn

    Cameron Glenn grew up the third of seven children in Oregon. As a child he dedicated hours to the pursuits of basketball and cartooning, as well as waking up way too early for his paper route in order to earn money to buy toys, candy and comic books. He also loved to read and write, which he continues to do voraciously. He currently lives in Salt Lake City after having earned a BA in literature from Boise State.

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      Book preview

      Mortimer the Vampire - Cameron Glenn

      Mortimer the Vampire and Drake the Dragon

      By Cameron Glenn

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright 2016 Cameron Glenn

      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 recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Mortimer The Vampire

      (and Drake the Dragon)

      Preface

      I was an idiot when I was a kid, in high school. Crazy things happened to me, crazy creatures sucked me in, and I wrote about it. I recently found the old journal and looked over my account of it all. I showed it to my friend. She said that the prose was purple, the sentence structure incomprehensible; silly and sloppy asides sprung and leaked out all over; the tenses switched, and so on. Maybe she’s right. There are whole sections that are text examples of word salad. Although I actually don’t mind all that. It was my voice as a high school ditzy teen, with a hyper heart and a racing mind ,so whatever. Although I am ashamed of some aspects of my former self; embarrassed by my acts and ways of talking, writing, and being. If you read further some of my shame will be revealed to you. We can’t polish over our pasts. Yet I decided to take this old written thing, written in 2008, seven years ago, and at least try and clean it up just a pinch. Still, 96.8% of this file will be the same as what I had scrawled in my journal. For better or worse. I hope that this new working of my old thing will at least make it slightly more readable. It really is a bonkers story. …I wonder where Mortimer is now. I haven’t dreamt of him in a long time. I miss it in some ways.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Magical creatures do exist. I knew so when I first saw the new student exchange guy from England, Mortimer, and in his eyes I saw this bursting vivid life liquid. It looked so powerful that it could strike a person dead. His hazel eyes were just so unnaturally powerful and beautiful. Then when I saw the blue of Arielle’s eyes I thought of perfect Caribbean ocean water, so clear that you can see straight to the bottom, and on the bottom are gold sands and shining blue sapphires. The strength in her eyes made me think stars and galaxies were contained in them. Then Drake’s green eyes were perhaps the most magic seeming of all. They were so fierce and piercing; I could see red flames in them sometimes, somehow, despite their hard emerald concentrated greenness. All three were from England, all, it would later become apparent, knew each other, and for some reason all had decided to make my sleepy nothing happens town of Forflick Oregon (which I couldn’t wait to get out of to pursue my bigger and booming exciting life destiny) the stage of their continuing centuries old drama, and, it would eventually come about, make me a character. Or maybe I made myself one, thrusting myself into their actions, not being one to sit back and just watch; I’m the type of girl who has magnetized blood which pulls spotlights towards her. My name is Liz, a high school junior, and those three destroyed me forever.

      But it was Mortimer’s magic which consumed me first and most, unrelenting. I first saw him in a Carl’s Jr. /Green Burrito, where me and my boyfriend Chad and the popular crew were hanging out after school. I got the red punch Fantana mixed with Dr. Pepper, to make this dark red fizzy drink I pretended to be vampire elixir (so sticky delicious) because vampires, the sexy brooding high school bad boy yet sensitive type, were on my mind. I guess they’re on everyone’s minds lately, because of this pop culture vampire frenzy swirling around us. When one thing becomes popular it breeds imitations and so far the vampire imitations have been pretty good and successful, which makes it continue and it’s continuing, we’re still in it, this sexy brooding vampire boy craze.

      I sucked up my drink and laughed, I don’t remember at what. Sometimes I just laugh when with my friends because it looks cute and cool to laugh. Everything is all about appearances. But what excuse do you ever really need to laugh? Some of my drink fizzed out my nose, which looks real adorable with my nose being so cute. My friends laughed at me. And then in walks this guy, and oh my gosh, he’s freeze people stunningly good looking; like, people freeze to look at him and soak him in and pause in the presence of his beauty and wonder what he’s all about. How quickly the imagination fires out scenarios, back stories, possibilities, when looking at a new cute boy. And it’s like we’re all imagining that we’re in a teen soap opera show on the CW, like Gossip Girl or Vampire Diaries or something, which we do a lot actually, and we know if a guy came on screen looking that good that there would be a slow motion pan over him while some hip indie song played, so we edit that in our minds, when we see this guy who’s all mysterious and gorgeous walk into our little local Mexican owned Carl’s Jr./Green Burrito.

      So he comes in and we stare at him and he stares back, but only at my boyfriend Chad. He stares long and hard at Chad. And then he walks out. And wow, that’s weird, we all said to each other, and ask Chad what that was all about, do you know that guy, and Chad told us he didn’t. Then we all laughed again, feeling pretty cool about ourselves, per usual.

      What are you looking at loser, Laura snapped at this nerd boy named Gillman who was staring at us.

      So the next day I see him, Mortimer, with his brown wool coat and thick heavy bangs cascading down half his face, his deep and dark and gorgeous magical eyes, show up at my school. We had English together and he spoke and he had this adorable English accent and he said his name was Mortimer. After he said his name all the girls giggled. What a weird funny name. But I didn’t giggle. I stared at him, transfixed and mesmerized by him. I didn’t realize then, looking at his smooth creamy white skin and unreal eyes that he’d destroy me and turn me into a mess.

      I saw him again in the cafeteria during lunch and I gave him a long look over, just, I told myself, out of customary curiosity. My friend Laura said, I know, he’s totally emo.

      Aren’t all English guys emo? my friend Janelle responded. Like, because of all the rain and gray clouds over there?

      It rains a lot here, I mumbled.

      All English guys are fags, Chad said.

      Don’t use that word, it’s offensive, I said.

      Doesn’t fag mean cigarette in England? Laura asked.

      Ohhhh, maybe he’s a vampire, Janelle suggested. We all laughed loudly enough to make sure that everyone else in the cafeteria could hear us. I kept looking at Mortimer, struck by how uninterested he was in us, in me, as if we were blind or deaf, stuck in his own world or something—how irritating. I noticed that all three times seeing him, first in Carl Jr.’s, then English class, and then in the cafeteria, he had this constant expressionless bored of it all façade. My curiosity glance/stare spiraled into a longing linger which I couldn’t escape from. I was helpless the way that light is helpless from escaping the gravitational pull of a black hole, like he were sucking me in. I sensed that I had seen him or known him before yet I couldn’t place where or how and this mystery, the whole mystery of him, this Mortimer, irked me to such a degree, the annoyance of unknowing, that I feared it might drive me insane, similar to how people can become over preoccupied in trying to recall the name of some song they know they should know but is just beyond their grasp, or how obsessed people’s obsessions, whatever they may be, causes them to be abnormal and unable to function; the object of their obsession being both their prized love and paralyzing killing curse. I guess that’s sort of the message of the ring in The Lord of the Rings; oh my gosh I can’t believe I just thought of that, I really hate fantasy crap.

      Anyways, I began studying him, from a distance, since he wouldn’t allow me to get close. It’s so not like me to be timid and uncertain about a guy. Usually I’m bold, certain and confident of my good looks and attributes, so not intimidated by guys, or anything, in life. But there was something about Mortimer that scared me, in both a gut wrenching yet wonderful ticking way, butterflies in my stomach, feeling shy and too self aware, wondering, daydreaming, deep sighing, only able to admire from a distance, like feeling he were something too high above for me to reach that I’d have to climb to get. I didn’t feel guilty having these feelings while still supposedly with or going out with Chad; I wasn’t emotionally cheating on Chad with Mortimer or anything, or if I was I didn’t feel guilty about it. Mortimer kept to himself, isolated himself, distanced himself from others, with an heir about him as if he just didn’t care; so unusual for teenagers to not seem to care about peers or what the world thinks. I mean, we all act like we don’t care, but we all know that we really do; the ones who aren’t, like, dead already anyways. Like, even trying to look Goth or counter-culture or whatever, like that spider clique at our school, takes obvious effort as a result from caring. But Mortimer’s level of not caring was like at a level I hadn’t seen before, like he were a new college grad who had to go back to high school for some reason and he just hates it. It’s just the vibe he gave off, nothing really specific I can think of—like, he pretended not to even notice me. Not caring is usually a gross turn off, like, people who give up and stop showering or making any money and junk, but Mortimer still looked fresh and clean and hot and sexy. Whatever he did seemed to work for him somehow. Or, it worked on me anyways. I couldn’t really gage if he acted this way out of shyness or a sense of superiority, thinking himself above and too good for us lowly slob unrefined small town Americans.

      On the Friday after the first week I saw him I mustered the courage to throw a gracious flirty smile at him and did a little finger wave and wink, and I was wearing a low cut blouse that always gets lots of attention (but it’s not slutty, I promise—there’s a way of owning and wearing a low cut blouse and showing that top heavy cleavage sexiness in a classy not slutty way; it’s a skill). So I did all that for him, passing him in the hall, and he pretends to not even look at me. So I assumed he had a condescending superiority complex. Or that he was gay. Other self-imposed social outcasts glare derisively at the popular crowds and pretty and peppy girls who actually (oh the horror and offense!) display outward happiness and excitement about living. The socially self imprisoned put on this thick skinned armor of sneering condensation to mask their intense jealousies and insecurities in witnessing the popular, bubbly, active, proactive ways (or clichés) of the happy winners, jocks, cheerleaders, socials, who decide to actually care and try; those who choose to believe more in sincerity than in irony. But Mortimer didn’t have that sneer other exiles possess. He’d stare off and out at nothing, seemingly always weighed down and burdened by the deepness of his own thoughts. Occasionally he’d cock an eyebrow and lick his lips.

      He should be terribly boring to me, as he acted as if he was so bored of it all; of me and this town. (I can’t blame him for finding Forflick Oregon boring; we, or the cool people, all hate it here and give it rude disparaging nick-names like Horror Flick, Foreskin Lick, Four Hicks, etc.) But as I’d study him, in English, in the hallways, in the cafeteria, he still excited me. He appeared pained by his boredom yet somehow oddly content with it as well, or used to it, like not all stir crazy the way people can get when pent up in cages, like he probably felt like he was. He seemed comfortable in his skin if not his surroundings. I can’t explain how I got this vibe from him; he didn’t really seem to be doing anything ever, yet still I sensed an aura about him, which was a strange sensation for me because I never believed in astrology or mysticism or auras and witchcraft junk. Yet I could somehow pick up vibes from Mortimer’s presence that gave me insights into him beyond what mere physical observation could determine. And that I could do this fascinated, perplexed and frustrated me.

      Have you noticed how he’s always looking at Chad? Janelle said to me during one of our lunchtime conversations.

      Um. No, I said.

      Well he totally does, it’s so gross; if I were you I’d tell him to stop, Janelle said.

      Well who can blame him for staring at Chad? Laura said.

      I mean, his name is Mortimer. And he’s from England. How can he not be gay? Janelle asked.

      I wish I were you so badly, Laura said to me. To feel Chad’s bulging muscles…

      Janelle raised her eyebrows and gave an expression as if to say I’m not even going to go there. Laura laughed. I would have laughed also except that I’m not as laugh-ready giddy as I used to be. Just seeing Mortimer had changed me. I thought over what Janelle had said. I guess I had noticed Mortimer looking at Chad. The only time Mortimer ever really appeared interested in anything was when he’d look at my boyfriend Chad; I must have just blocked that fact from my mind. With a name like Mortimer and being from England he could be gay. Chad is really muscular with spectacular hair. I don’t know if I should feel jealousy or threatened or what.

      Well so what if he is gay, I don’t care, I said.

      Well if he were gay that’d solve one dilemma for you, Janelle suggested.

      What’s that?

      It’d mean he’s unattainable to you so you can stop your school girl crush on him, Janelle said.

      Nuh-uh! Laura said bulged eyed. She shoved me. You like Mortimer?

      I don’t know what you’re talking about, I mumbled, trying to sound casual.

      Duh, I’ve seen you stare at him, Janelle said.

      That’s true, Laura said. Well if you go out with him and break up with Chad, then I call dibs.

      You can have him, I mumbled and then took a drink.

      What?! Laura exclaimed.

      Nothing, I said. I mean, just what’s his deal? Like, he pretends I don’t even exist or something.

      Who, Chad? Laura asked.

      I think she’s talking about Mortimer, Janelle said. And duh, hello, gay, he’s gay.

      No he’s not, I said.

      How do you know? He could be? Laura said and then added, I’ve always wanted a gay friend.

      I sort of think he looks like a gay vampire, Janelle said.

      I laughed.

      Gross! Laura exclaimed.

      Why is that gross? Janelle asked.

      You know. The whole… sucking thing, Laura said. We all laughed. We’re idiots.

      Alright, let’s change subjects, I said but then I didn’t heed my own suggestion because I then said: You know, Mortimer and Chad sort of look alike.

      Well, we’re often attracted to people who look like ourselves, Janelle said.

      Where’d you hear that? Laura asked.

      I don’t know. Just as observation, Janelle answered.

      I guess that’s sometimes true, Laura said. Like ugly people get with ugly people and hot people hook up with other hot people. Laws of nature.

      Mortimer is more like the slender but fit European GQ model and Chad is like the body-building big meat head American jock football player, I said.

      Well I don’t know what you guys see in Mort, Laura said and then added: gay vampire and laughed to herself.

      You know, each day before school I tell myself I’m not going to stare at him, I began. But then I do. I can’t help it. It’s like…I’m under some spell. And I feel guilty at staring at him and thinking about him so much, like, an alcoholic who relapses and feels guilty or something. Then I tell myself I’m not going to think about him, but of course trying not to think of him is still thinking of him.

      True, Laura said. That’s deep. Like, when you think of someone you shouldn’t you start getting ideas you shouldn’t.

      Like you hooking up with Chad? Janelle asked.

      Exactly, no, wait, Liz, totally not, Laura stammered.

      I chuckled and then continued my monologue rant-ramble: Stupid thing is, what do I really know of him to think of? Nothing; so much of nothing that there shouldn’t even be any base or foundation in which to conjure up and imagine all his deep and hidden mysteries or whatever. Like, how he looks so bored…

      Well of course he’s bored, there aren’t any other gay vampires for him to play with, Janelle said.

      …His mystery, I continued. His beauty.

      "Beauty?" Janelle and Laura said in unison.

      Look, you really need to get this figured out, because, you know, you’re still with Chad, Laura said.

      You wouldn’t have a chance with Chad even if he were available, Janelle said to Laura.

      Some friend you are, Laura pouted.

      I decided that I wouldn’t tell them, or anyone who matters, the dreams I’ve had of Mortimer. They’d think me crazy; I think I might be crazy to have them, the way they come, so dense and vivid and real; these dreams are a big factor, maybe the biggest factor, fueling my thoughts and bubbling obsession with Mortimer. They have this dense texture and realness to them, as if recalling a memory, or not just

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