A Biting Secret (Tentative Title) - An Excerpt

           “Vampires don’t exist,” I told my sister. “They’re myths.”

                “Yes, they do,” she whined all the way down the staircase. As we stepped to the ground floor and into the dining hall, she kicked the carper below her feet and continued to complain. “Vampires exist, Janus! They’re real! I saw one—honest!”

                My five-year-old sister Nevaeh insisted on believing in fairy-tales like any child would, but she had been adamant as of late. As a nonbeliever since that age, I dismissed her claim. She knows there is no Santa—mom and dad buy us gifts. She also knows that Halloween is a day of dress-up and candy-hunting and not transforming into anything she wanted to. My parents make sure we are not lied to about those things. So, her new belief had unnerved me.

                Upon entering the dining room, we stumbled upon our father—a stocky, square-framed, suit-and-tie-wearing spectacle of a man. Sitting upright with both feet on the ground, he conversed with a man I did not know. This man was much smaller, more rounded, and dressed down to a collared shirt and slacks. My father rested both hands on the table, turned to us and greeted us with a coarse-toned, “Good evening.”

                “Good evening, father,” I echoed back, and as soon as he tapped the chair to his left, I took my seat. Nevaeh waited for a moment before taking her seat on father’s opposite.

                My father looked back to the man and gestured a hand to me.

                “Gilbert,” he said, “This is my son, Janus. Janus, call him Mister Newberry. He’s one of my new partners at the firm.”

                With due respect, I shook the man’s hand. Making eye contact, I greeted, “It’s nice to meet you, Mister Newberry.”

                He grinned, and nodding to me, he replied, “Your father was telling me about you, earlier. I heard you started touring new students around the school.”

                I looked to my dad. The shameless smile read ‘total snitch’ all over his face. Before I could answer, he spoke with praise, “Janus knows Moorland High School with a blindfold on and his hands tied. Whenever he gives these newcomers a tour, they never forget where to go. Now, that will help his social skills in the long run—when he’s in law school next year.” He grabbed his coffee cup and took a sip.

                Mr. Newberry clasped his fingers together and agreed, “With a father like you, he won’t fail.”

                That man had much to learn about the wolf under the wool.

                Suddenly, a red crayon rolled in front of us and stopped just by the edge. I looked to my right. Nevaeh was drawing at the dining table. Her black crayon in her hand, her eyes searched for the object that fled. Her eyes turned to me, and she asked politely, “May I have the crayon, please?”

                I reached for the crayon, retrieved it, and handed to her. She said, “Thank you,” and continued to etch.

                Mr. Newberry looked at the paper, and a smile crawled from under his dusty-colored mustache.

                “You never introduced me to your daughter,” he mentioned.
                My dad turned.
                “I’m sorry,” he apologized, “That’s Nevaeh. She’s only five.”

                The introduction, as usual, was half-assed.

                She stopped what she was doing and waved to the man. Setting her crayons down, she showed all three of us the picture. Albeit, the picture was nice and scribbled—but I could already tell she had that fantasy on her mind.

                “I drew Dracula,” she told us. “He’s the king of all vampires.”
                “That’s very nice,” Mr. Newberry complimented her. “My son is a big fan of vampires, too.”
                Nevaeh smiled wide and said nothing for a moment. Taking the black crayon, she asked, “What’s his name?”
                “His name’s Alvin.”

                She wrote, ‘To Alvin, From Nevaeh La-Saint,’ on the side, and she handed him the picture.

                “Here,” she replied, “Give this to him.”
                “I sure will. Thank you, Nevaeh.”

                I eyed Mr. Newberry, and then our dad. His smile had excused itself. Nevaeh stared hard at his eyes. After scanning him for what seemed like two minutes, she slid herself from her chair and took a few steps away. She stopped and then made an about-face. Now looking right at us, she said quietly, “It’s okay, daddy—I know you weren't ready for me.”

                She turned and slowly ambled back upstairs, taking more careful steps than usual.

                My jaw hung from its hinges before I forced it shut. Mr. Newberry, however, could not close his.

                “Is she alright?” he asked.
                I opened my mouth, but father urged me to keep quiet by waving his hand.
                “She’ll be alright,” he explained, “She sees a therapist every Thursday at her school, so she can adapt to her class. Yesterday’s meeting really concerned us, though. She claimed to have seen a vampire. The counselor called me into the room, and when she was asked to repeat it, she wouldn't say a word. Her eyes locked on me.”

                His fingers tapped the table, and standing, he abruptly asked, “Can you keep him company, Janus? I’ll be back.”

                

               As he left, Mr. Newberry waited. After my dad was out of sight, he turned to me and wondered, “Is this a normal thing in your house?”

                “Not exactly,” I responded. “Nevaeh is—different, mentally.  Mom thinks she’s autistic while dad’s trying to get doctors to diagnose her with different disorders.”

                Mr. Newberry’s eyes widened.

                “How are her grades?”
                “They’re excellent,” I told him, smiling.

                While he scratched his head in thought, Nevaeh returned from upstairs and ran right to me. She gave me a hand-drawn picture of a vampire. I flinched at the advanced sketch. This portrait was more refined—a long-haired, porcelain man with two sets of fangs on each side.

                I turned to her.

                “Did you draw this?” I asked her immediately.
                “You get the best ones,” she told me, giving me a hug, “because you’re my brother and I love you very much.”

                I choked back my heartfelt feelings, and hugging her back, I thanked her and told her, “Love you too, sis,” before letting her go.

                She then said, “I gave one to mommy and daddy. Mommy got the second one. Mr. Newberry got the third one. Daddy gets last place.”

                “Now,” I laughed, “why does dad get last place?”
                She frowned. She shook her head and shrugged. Then, she looked out the window and pointed to the moon.
                “Look,” she gasped, “It’s almost full!”

                I turned to look.

                She was right—the moon was at the end of its waxing phase. I then asked her, “What do you call a near-full moon, Nevaeh?”

               

“A waxing gibbous,” she blurted. “Then, after tomorrow, it’ll wane before we get the new moon.”
Swiveling in my seat, I whistled, “Good job, Nevaeh.”

She looked at me—and noticing her wide eyes, she looked as though she did not believe my praise. Yet, she nodded and smiled silently. Taking another piece of paper from the table, she sat on the floor and started to draw again. This time, she had a pencil.

“You can sit with us,” I offered.
                “No,” she declined, “That’s daddy's chair. I'm not allowed to sit at daddy's important chair.”

Important chair or not, I wanted her to sit with me and not on that tile floor.

Dad soon returned with mom—who looked like Nevaeh as an adult. Same blonde hair, same thinness and bright blue eyes. My sister might as well be her clone. As Dad returned to the table, mom walked to the oven and pulled out a platter of lasagna.

“Would you like some lasagna, Mr. Newberry?” she sang lightly.
                “Yes, please,” he accepted, setting his paperwork in his bag and putting it by his feet.

As we sat around the table, mom cut the platter into square slices and set each one on our ceramic saucers. Each one of us thanked her—and when Nevaeh joined, she thanked her, too. Mom pecked her forehead before she sat down. After a moment of silence and our father’s ritual blessing of the food, we all took our forks and dined on our dinner.

Well… all except Nevaeh. 

                She stared at her plate. With worry on her face, she looked at mom and asked with a matter-fact-tone, “Mommy… Is this blood?”

                       I eyed her, and my parents' jaws slowly hung, nearly swinging on their joints.

               “No, sweetie,” she answered with a slight chuckle, “the lasagna is made with tomato. Why?”
               “It smells sweet like blood. We should give it to the vampire. He needs it.”
               “Sis,” I whispered, “Trust mom. It’s tomato.”

She eyed me, said, “Okay,” and then ate a piece. After chewing and then swallowing, she told me from across the table, “At school, I know a kid who thinks aliens are real. He walks to school with a tin foil hat to protect his brain.”

“That’s cute,” Mom cooed, “When I was your age, Nevaeh, I believed in being able to fly.”

Her eyes widened.

“You did?” she gasped.
               “I did. I would prove it by climbing onto things and jumping from them.”

My sister quieted. Looking down at her plate, she then whimpered, “You couldn't prove it to anyone because no one believed you, right?”

Mom looked at dad and then at me. The girl was hard to fool.

She then said, “I know, mom. When someone doesn't believe in you, you lose belief and then you stop believing it because no one believes you. I don’t know. I still think vampires are real, but no one will believe me.” Looking at dad, she then said, “I’ll stop believing in vampires for you, daddy.”

“Thank you, sweetie,” he sighed in relief.

I can tell from how her eyes cast downward she was crushed. She shoved her plate away from her, grumbled, “I’m full,” and then left.

I looked down at my emptied plate, and then to mom and dad.

Dad grumbled, “Can you talk to her, Janus?”

I nodded and made my leave—following Nevaeh into her room. She crawled onto her bed and curled into a defeated fetal pose. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I reached a hand to comfort her, but she yelled, “Don’t touch me!” at the top of her lungs.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

             She shook her head, and looking at me from her position, she asked, “Janus… does daddy not like me because I like vampires?”
            “Dad loves us very much,” I tried to tell her. “You can believe in vampires all you want. I know some people at my school who believe in the zombie apocalypse. We all believe in something. You shouldn’t let one person tell you otherwise, sis.”
            “Okay,” she muttered, wiping a tear away. “I can tell you about vampires, right?”
            “Of course,” I agreed. “I know I said they’re not real, but you can tell me.”
            “Okay, then.” Getting up, she faced me and then lowered her voice. “I know I saw one after school today. I couldn’t get its face, but it was really tall and sort of thin with hands like claws. It hid under a tree. My friend and I just stared before it ran into the woods—to the abandoned house.”
           “Oh, wow,” I breathed, “That house has been there since 1858. I can drive there on my way to school tomorrow to see if he’s there, okay?”
             Nevaeh’s smile returned, and he hugged me tight, saying, “Thank you, big brother.”

While she would not let me go, my phone rang in my pocket. I pulled it out, tapped ‘answer’ and put it to my ear.

“Hello?” I greeted, “This is Janus La-Saint speaking.”
                “Janus, this is Principal Stellar.”
                 I flinched. Tightening the grip on my smartphone, I tried to swallow the stone in the throat as I greeted, “Good evening, Mister Stellar." Swallowing, I then asked the man, "How are you?”
                “I’m great, thank you.  I am calling you at this time of night because I want you to be here at seven in the morning. You have a student who needs different accommodations. I notified your teachers that you will not be attending any class due to how much time this will take. Are you available?”
                “I will definitely be there,” I promised.
                “Thank God,” he then huffed on the other line, “You’re doing the staff a huge favor, Janus. Thank you. I’ll see you then.”
                “Good night, Mister Stellar.”
                “Same to you,” I bid adieu, and I ended the call there.

          Nevaeh started giggling.

            “You sound like a girl,” she taunted, “You sound like me!”

“I do not,” I rejected. I felt my cheeks burn under my skin.
                I stood, and as I tucked her in, she settled down and yawned, “You've always been a good big brother. Why can’t daddy be like you?”
                As backwards as that sounded, I smirked and answered, “Dad’s a lawyer, sis.”
                “He’s still bad, though.”
                “Don’t worry. He cares about us.” I pecked her forehead and told her, “Good night.” While she closed her eyes and went to sleep, I carefully turned on her night light on the vanity and closed the door.

                Across the hall, I walked into my own room, untied my hair and dressed down to my muscle shirt and boxers before crawling under my own covers. I set my alarm for four in the morning and laid there. I worried about Nevaeh for a good five minutes… but I told myself she would be fine as long as I was around before I could finally get some rest.

A Welcome.

To My Guests;

       Thank you for stumbling upon my page. Even if you were searching for another door in the blogging realm, I assure this is a wonderful place --- a bed and breakfast of sorts. You will be fed and sheltered through my writing, my insight and a little bit of silliness. What fun will it be if I just groan about the bygone days? Like so many, I am old enough to understand some basics, but young enough to be lively and entertaining. Once you are ready to continue your journey, you may go --- unless you wish to extend your say. That, I recommend.

       Throughout these halls, you will find stories --- mostly my fiction --- on my wall.

       On the other side, I suggest you be careful during your stay. You will trip over a couple grids. I have yet to fix the floorboard. Every time I stamp a few nails into the ground, the nails push themselves up and fall flat on their sides. So, I might have to use glue to force the planks into their places. Then again, these grids are not those high-priced, name-labeled types. I bought the grids from a private contractor. I'll find that old man when I find his number on the internet.

       You should also watch out for are a few characters who have made themselves right at home. All three wish to remain anonymous until they wish to be introduced, so you will have to bear with me.

       Firstly, there is a young man who has constant nightmares. Every few nights, he's holding his head with his hands and screaming. Some of the other residents have become so used to his tantrums, their ears have deafened. I have not been given harsh complaints, but they are concerned. When the poor soul's at work, I am then met by one man in particular.

       A man with a violet, 'M' shaped scar on his face says to me: "I hope he doesn't take his nightmares to work."

       "I agree," I reply to him as he sits at the table, "but I believe the case he's handling isn't doing much to help him. Maybe his career is poisonous."

       "That could be. Perhaps I should mentor him when he gets back."

       I welcome the scarred man's endeavors. As a teacher, he is willing to extend a hand to anyone who asks or anyone who absolutely needs it. When I am not around, and when people like you walk in, he will be the next one to show you around. Like me, I hope you can look past that enormous facial feature because he is this way. Now that I think about it --- he should help me fix the floor grids instead.

       There is one more who visits my place, though he prefers to stay the night before leaving. He's a teenager; unwilling to speak much and suspicious of everyone around him. The kid's secretive --- and luckily for me, the scarred man teaches children like him.

       All I ask, while you are here, is to treat them the way you would like for them to treat you. Respect them and your good social karma will make it back to you. The very opposite will happen when you cross their thin lines.

       As long as you follow these rules, you will have a very enjoyable stay. I hope you will leave my blog with great, interesting and even mind-boggling memories.

From The Owner;

                 K. A. Riffle