Mr. Meanie

The Stake & Garlic Vampire Contest  (13+) Write about vampires! :-) #377129 by Jenn

~*~February's Prompt~*~
Write a story about the evilest vampire ever.

Special Note: The following story tells of a vampire who is so beyond evil, he preys on children. Caution all ye who read it; you will be incensed by the injustice of it.

Mr. Meanie

“Enter, please,” he intoned, his smile a gentle welcome, his satin black cape thrown to the side in a gentlemanly manner. Mr. Smith's bow to me was done with such courtly politeness, I almost giggled.

So I walked inside. My mother had told me not to. She’d said never to enter a stranger’s house, but this man wasn’t a stranger. This was a neighbor, the gentle man who never said anything grumpy to children who passed by. This was the man who never called the police on teenagers who flung bottles at his windows or sat around in his quiet woods singing and drinking. He never complained about them or the balls that were flung into his backyard, or the kids peeking into his windows, and he always tipped the paperboy. I know because the paperboy was my brother, and Joey always talked about how nice Mr. Smith was and how polite. How could I not go into the house when Mr. Smith asked me? I thought Mr. Smith was a gentleman.

I was hesitant to pull my wagon into his house. Mr. Smith had beautiful, wood floors. I knew my mother wouldn’t have let me run those wheels across such a beautiful finish, but Mr. Smith just smiled and told me he didn’t mind.

I liked the way Mr. Smith tilted his head and listened as I talked about the varieties of cookies I had. He was very handsome. I loved the way his soft brown eyes, wreathed in dark, romantic lashes, looked at me as I told him about the lemon sandwich, the macaroons with chocolate drippings and the plain sugar with dainty speckles.

Strangely, Mr. Smith seemed nervous of me, and he kept looking out the window. I wanted to reach out and take his hand and reassure him, but, of course, I didn’t. I just kept talking about the different kinds of cookies and crackers I had, and how he’d be helping me to get my patch if he bought some.

“Patch?” he said with a lilting question.

So then I had to show him each of the patches on my sash. I told him how I’d earned the reading patch, the campfire patch, the story-telling patch . . . He smiled as I spoke, so I kept talking. Sometimes it’s hard to find a grown-up who will listen when you have things to say. It was fun telling him about the patches.

I noticed as I was talking that Smith had very white teeth, but some of them were extremely pointy. I think if I were he, I’d probably ask the dentist to file some of them down a bit. If he were a kid, everyone would tease him about being the big, bad wolf. It’s a good thing Mr. Smith is all grown up.

Of course, I didn’t say anything about Mr. Smith’s teeth because he was telling me by then how he’d love to buy four boxes of my Girl Patch cookies. He wanted the chocolate mints, he said. I smiled because that was everyone’s favorite.

“I’ll be right back,” he said. “I need to get your money.”

I nodded and pulled out the boxes. It only took me a moment. I even had time to count how many more boxes I needed to sell to get my patch – thirty-four. Then I took a moment to calculate the cost of Mr. Smith’s order: 4 times $4. I figured that out with a pencil, since I still didn’t know my times tables really well. After all, I did know my addition, and adding works just fine for when you have to multiply so I really didn’t see a reason to learn a whole new system.

Mr. Smith was taking a long time. I wished he’d hurry. The sun was going down, and Mother had said that I must be home before dark.

I turned my wagon and got ready to leave. If Mr. Smith didn’t come back in a moment, I figured I’d have to go without getting his order.

“Don’t leave, please,” he said as he came down the stairs. He had that same gentle, warm smile. Of course, I smiled back.

“I was going to wait. It was just that I was turning my wagon around,” I said. “Four boxes will cost $16. Is that okay?”

Mr. Smith walked closer. He looked kind of hungry. I wondered if he’d had any dinner yet. I bet he was really eager for the cookies. Yet, I didn’t see any money in his hand. Why didn’t he have it out? Maybe he was broke.

“Did you find your money?” I asked. “I can come back tomorrow, if it’s a problem.”

“No, I have it. What did you say your name was?” he questioned me.

I sighed. My hand was feeling sweaty all of a sudden. Nervously, I dropped the handle of my wagon and turned to pick it up.

“I’m Elizabeth Stamps, and I live in the yellow house three doors over.” I told him, clumping my sentence all together like it was one word.

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Smith said. “I have seen you playing on your bike. How old are you, Elizabeth?”

I darted a glance at my watch, but I’d forgotten to wear it. It was a Barbie watch, and the hands lit up so I could even see it in the dark, but it must be sitting on my dresser at home. Once more I sighed, nodded, and stretched out my hands to give the boxes to the man.

“I’m nine. Chocolate mint, you said. That will be sixteen dollars, please.”

“Yes, Elizabeth. I know.” He took the boxes and placed them on the table beside the door. I waited, trying not to sigh again, still fidgeting with the wagon handle, wishing I could leave, but not wanting to be rude. After all, he was buying four boxes.

“Elizabeth, put down the wagon handle and come here so I can hand you the money.”

That made no sense. I had two hands. I didn’t need to drop the handle, but I sighed and lowered my grip on the wagon, placing the metal part down gently so it wouldn’t scratch his polished wood floor.

I stepped forward then, as did he. His hands were clenched. I was curious as to which fist held the money. I thought he was going to do the old guessing game, but when he spoke he gave me the strangest order:

“Look into my eyes, Elizabeth Stamps. Look deeply.”

Mr. Smith had incredible eyes, eyes of a movie star. I stared, and then, somehow, I fell into them. I hardly remember what came next. I know he pulled me closer, but that was all part of it. He was swallowing me up into his eyes. He was sharing himself with me. I wasn’t the least bit scared. I didn’t resist, either. I wanted him to swallow me, to invite me into his world.

He must have bent down to reach my neck. I don’t remember him doing so. It was more like we were the same size. Perhaps he lifted me up to his mouth. Perhaps, he shrunk. I know now that he could have done either.

I felt his teeth bite down. Maybe it was painful, but I didn’t feel any sting. It honestly felt like strawberry ice cream slipping down a sore throat. It was a relief, a sweetness, a pleasure that floated me into warm water. I smiled, and afterward, for there was an afterward, I laughed.

It was the last time I ever laughed. Probably I’ll never laugh again.

Mr. Smith was not a gentleman. He robbed me of my childhood. He drank my blood, and he made me one of his apprentices.

There are so many things they teach us in school and others we learn through the movies or through books. None of them are correct, not about vampires. For you see, Mr. Smith did not turn me into a vampire when he drank my blood. I still walk the days and eat hamburgers and French fries with my friends. I earned my patch for selling all those cookies, and I’m working on another one -- a sewing patch. I go to school during the day, and I do my homework every night, but I’m in Vampire training, so I have to study more.

Mr. Smith has started a school, you see. All of us kids he’s bitten are required to go for an hour every day. Mr. Smith sips from each of us first, and then he teaches us. It isn’t fair. I resent it very much.

I would tell my mother, but Mr. Smith has warned me not to. You see, he is searching for a bride, so we’re all afraid to say anything. Who would want their mother to lie stretched out in a coffin with vampire teeth and blood-breath?

So we hide the truth about our training, and we obey his summons. But it is all so unfair. All I wanted to do was to sell Girl Patch cookies, and then I met Mr. Meanie. I think he's the evilest vampire in the world.



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