THREE

DEAD THINGS AND JUNK

Dora shot a sideways glance at Terrence. He was smiling while gazing across his vast garden. He appeared completely oblivious to the fact that the garden was a barren landscape of dead weeds and rubbish.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” he asked, turning to face her.

She grimaced as she stared at the twisted old oak tree, which was a hollow husk now and quite dead. “Yeah, if you like dead things …”

He let out a loud laugh, and then kissed her on the forehead. “You know I do, my love.”

She rubbed the Terrance-spit off her forehead while scowling at him.

“Did you just call me dead?”

“Oh, don’t be so coy. Dead, undead or whatever term you use nowadays. I know I’m behind the times, but there’s no need to be sensitive, my dear.” He condescendingly patted her on the head before turning on his heel and walking over to the dried-out pond in the middle of the garden.

She frowned as she watched him cross the overgrown lawn.

Am I fucking dead?

In some ways, it made sense. She didn’t breathe normally, and her senses were super-sensitive now. She’d begun to notice improved hearing, eyesight and ugh—a stronger sense of smell.

I’m not a fucking vampire. I just can’t be!

“Are you coming, dear?” He called out behind him as he paused at a dead rose bush.

She reluctantly walked over to him. She needed information, and unfortunately, he was the only available source she had right now.

“We need to talk,” she said when she reached his side.

“Of course, my love.”

“Let’s start with that. Who do you think I am?”

“My Carissa.” He beamed at her, and she scowled back.

His smile faltered for a moment. “My Dora?”

Her scowl deepened.

“Just Dora?” He tried again.

She smiled at him. “Good. Now tell me who Carissa is.”

“You are,” he said. “I like this game.”

She punched him in the shoulder. “No, dumbass! I’m not. I’m just Dora.”

“You look like Carissa.” He leaned over her, and his hot breath warmed her neck. He inhaled deeply. “You smell like her.”

She idly wondered what she smelled like.

Mud and hell–dust?

She shook her head and pushed him away again.

“Look, it doesn’t matter what I smell like. I’m not Carissa.”

“You have her hair.” He played with one of her ringlets, and she slapped his hand away. “So does orphan Annie.”

“Who?”

“Never mind.” She sighed. “Lots of people have ringlets.”

“Lots of people aren’t creatures of the night with ringlets.” He tried to play with her hair again, but she was onto his moves by now and swiftly smacked his hand away.

“I’m not undead!” she snapped, shaking her head.

“Well you’re dead and still walking around,” he said. “You have supernatural powers, and …” He sniffed her hair again. “You smell as if you’ve danced with a demon.”

“I’m not dead! What powers? And the demon thing—well, that’s because I’m sort of dating one.”

His eyes widened as a look of pure horror appeared on his face.

“Tragedy befalls my blackened heart. Woe is me for loving such a devious temptress. Betrayed!” he wailed as his face fell in anguish. “Betrayed by my eternal love. I must end this pain, and take thy final kiss as my final breath.” He reached for her in a dramatic stance while ripping a branch off a nearby tree and holding it to his chest like a stake.

Oh great, a suicidal vampire. That’s just perfect.

She kicked him in the balls with all her strength. There was a loud clanging sound, and he didn’t react.

“What the hell was that?”

“What?” He pulled an innocent expression.

“That clinking noise in your er, pants.”

“You mean my bond with my maker?” he asked.

“If your bond with your maker clinks in your pants, then yes,” she said.

“Well yes, it does on occasion.” He appeared uncomfortable talking about it.

“Could you describe your bond with your maker?” she persisted.

“It’s um, made of silver, and it protects my maker’s claim on me,” he evasively replied.

“In what way does it protect their claim?”

“Oh you know. Honor, loyalty, ahem-tity.” He coughed out the last word.

“What?” she asked.

“Chastity,” he muttered.

She burst out laughing.

“It’s not funny!”

“It so is, man. You’ve got a silver chastity belt on your—” She burst out laughing again at the idea.

“I assure you, it’s quite a terrible punishment. For one thing, it chafes.” He appeared appalled by her reaction.

“Sorry, it’s just … bahahahaha!” She fought to control the laughter, eventually managing to gain control of herself.

“Just take it off, and it won’t chafe.”

“If only I could,” he said. “I can’t touch silver. It burns.”

“Doesn’t it burn your er, bits?” She tried not to imagine burning vampire junk and failed.

“No it’s silk lined,” he said. “I wonder if perhaps one of those nice peasants would assist me?”

“Just don’t ask them when I’m around.” She laughed again.

“Once it is removed, I can seduce my devious temptress once more.” He lunged at her, and she punched him in the face on instinct. He reeled backwards and fell onto his ass.

“Woe is me! Bound to a heartless maker and punished by my love.” He held the stick up to his chest.

“Dude! I’m not your devious temptress. I don’t even know who she is. And if you’re going to stake yourself, can you fucking do it after we’ve figured out why you think I’m dead?”

“My heart cannot endure this.” He sobbed while peering down at the ground. “Why would love abandon me with such vicious intent?”

“Maybe she got tired of hearing you whine and cry like a wet blanket?”

He peered up at her. “Do you think so? Because I could resolve that and be the man she wants. But then, what if it is not enough? Perhaps I should end it now, once and for all. Perhaps I should remove myself from this world, so that my love can find a man worthy of her daunting beauty. Into the dark night I should go, bravely forward into the abyss of—”

“Bullshit.” She interrupted his tirade of suicidal glorifying. “How did you end up in that coffin?”

“Oh, her evil mother tore us apart and had me exiled there, and I vowed to wait there until my love came for me,” he said. “It was a cruel exile, but I would suffer it until she came. She was supposed to come find me when she had forgiven me. She was supposed to set me free when her heart was ripe with forgiveness, and we could love again.”

“Did she know you were in the coffin?”

“I sent her a note.”

“A note, you mean a flimsy piece of paper? Are you sure she even got the note?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t she? There’s no postal service more reliable than the Royal Mail. With a Penny Red on my letter, it’s certain to have found my love.” He declared while twirling the stake between his fingers.

“What the fuck is a Penny Red?” She wondered if it was a fish of some kind. It sounded like one.

Please tell me he didn’t send a fish to Carissa with a love letter.

“It’s a stamp. Surely, you still have postage stamps in this year?”

“Yes, we have stamps and pennies still, but we also have dead letter offices. What if the letter got lost in the post?”

He frowned for a moment. “No, but—” He stood up and dropped the stick from his hands. “But if she didn’t get the letter, then my years of exile were for nothing. If she didn’t get this note, does that mean she didn’t get the others either?”

“How many notes did you send?”

“One for every time I took my life in her name. She always came back for me, but not this time. I waited, but when she still did not come to me, I chose eternal exile.”

“And how many times did you kill yourself over a girl you haven’t even had sex with?”

“Only a few hundred times, I’m not that desperate a soul.” He shook his head and laughed.

She stared at him in disbelief.

“It’s not desperate!” He defended his actions with a pout on his rosy lips. “Only a few hundred is nothing in all my years.”

“How old are you?”

“What year is it?” he asked.

“What year was it when you went into that coffin?”

“Eighteen sixty-five.”

“And what year were you born?” she asked.

“That’s not relevant.” He shook his head.

She just stared at him.

“Fine! I’ll tell you if it will satisfy thy accusing eyes. I was born in eighteen forty-five.”

“When did you become undead?” She realized that twenty years since birth didn’t give him much time to be a vampire.

If that’s even what he is.

“My journey into the dark realm of the undead began in the year eighteen sixty-three. I was but a young man of eighteen years when the dark kiss was bestowed upon me.”

“And you killed yourself over a hundred times in two years?” She blinked. “What the fuck, man?”

“There are three-hundred and sixty-five days in a year,” he said, appearing offended by her accusation as he turned away from her.

“So, what happened? You woke up every morning and said; I feel like killing myself today. It must be Tuesday.”

“You clearly have no concept of the darkness within.” He shook his head at her.

“You clearly have no concept of overdoing it,” she muttered.

“So it’s probable that when Carissa didn’t get your notes, you exiled yourself in a coffin because you’re a total emo?”

“Well, yes. No wait, it was for love! What’s an emo?”

“Was it worth missing a hundred and forty plus years of living? And you are an emo!”

“Um, I dunno? What did I miss?” He peered around the garden. “It seems the world is a far more barren place now.”

She grinned as an idea came to her. “How I about I show you the world?”

“Oh, that sounds lovely. Should we pack for a journey?”

“No need,” she said. “The mall is just down the street.”

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