“Leaving me so … So … I don’t even know what I’m mad about!”
Janie sat on the corner of the bed, saying, “Okay, let’s deal with this once and for all. What’s all this anger really about? Is there a mean girl at school? Or a popular boy that prefers blondes to redheads?”
“You’re kidding? In a male POV story? And I don’t even go to school anymore. You help homeschool me. Remember?”
“Oh, that’s right. So instead of being thankful for being spared from an awkward and unusually dangerous high school scenario, where all the students look like models in their twenties, you’re just angry because—”
“Mom!”
“What? You could have some evil bitch from school trying to destroy your life for no good reason apart from jealousy. How great would that be?”
“Don’t you get it?” Evie fired back. “We’re all male creations. Don’t you see how weird that is for me as a female lead?”
“And you think everything is all fun and games for our author? Believe me, no man anywhere really understands females. And nowadays the majority of fiction is purchased by, you guessed it, females. You try guessing what the hell they feel like reading.”
Evie was shaking her head. “I refuse to go along with this guy’s version of me,” she stated emphatically.
Her mother scowled. “Let me get this straight. Amid everything that’s happening here, your greatest issue is having a male author? Baby, that’s not so PC. You know sexist sentiments go both ways. And in case you’ve forgotten, there is a vampire trying to start a global plague. As if the world isn’t screwed up enough as it is.”
“So what?” Evie said, sitting up beside her mother. “It’s only a dream. And what can he do to me?”
“The vampire or the author?”
“Author.”
“Well,” Janie said thoughtfully. “It’s not like he’ll kill you off or anything. But he might shift more of the focus to your cousin Erica. She’s got that Nordic name and fighting spirit going for her.”
Evie slouched.
“You want my opinion?” Janie asked.
“No.”
“You might not like it.”
“I’m pretty sure.”
“I’m telling you anyway.”
“Fine, get it over with. Then we can go kill the stupid vampire to save the stupid humans that won’t appreciate anything we do anyway. Then maybe this stupid dream will be over. Did I say stupid?”
“I raised you right,” Janie said. “So behave. You’ve never given us a bit of grief until now.”
“Kind of a weird situation, don’t you think?”
“You are in complete control of whether you freak out or not. Sure it’s weird, but so what? Focus on all the good things our author has given us. Let the other stuff go.”
“That’s it? It all boils down to my attitude?”
Janie shrugged. “Either that or risk making people not like you. I mean, honestly, you have a pretty awesome life here. Never sick. Perfect teeth. You’ll look thirtyish at a hundred. Fishing for sympathy from readers that enjoy your life as an escape from the daily grind might not be your best bet.”
“I don’t really want my life to change,” Evie said. “The point is, with a male creator, I can’t go in a different direction even I wanted to.”
“So it’s purely a freedom issue?”
“Basically.”
“Well, that’s not so bad. It’s not like you’re locked in a cage in some horror story, or being forced into an arranged marriage. Try pushing the perceived limits a little bit. Nothing crazy. Just enough to see what happens.”
“I can do that? Safely?”
“Within reason, I’d say. I mean, you’re asking these questions and haven’t been struck by lightning.”
Standing, Evie took a deep breath and said, “I’d like to feel less stressed.”
It happened.
“And … I think I’d like a really beautiful gown.”
The gown appeared, hanging on a hook on the door. It was white.
“Red, please. To match my hair.”
It turned red.
“Dress me.”
Her robe switched places with the gown, and the gown fit perfectly. She looked down at it and made a few turns, running her hands all around. It was beyond amazing. She could create traffic jams strutting around in this thing.
“And amazing shoes that hurt my feet but make me taller and make other girls jealous,” she said next. “And my hair and nails all done up perfectly. And some freaking crazy diamonds!”
It all happened.
“See, isn’t this fun?” Janie said. “For a male author, he’s willing to work with you.”
“I guess he’s not so bad,” Evie admitted.
“Random question. Do you feel bloated? Have cramps?”
Evie shook her head. “Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever have.”
“Male POV.”
“Men can’t be that clueless.”
“They just assume we feel as good as we make ourselves look. Plus, not all wolves mate.”
“My boobs sure look bigger. Either they’re growing or the cut of this gown is ridiculously flattering.”
Janie nodded admiringly. “Maybe a little of both.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Evie said. “I don’t want to be Jessica Rabbit with chronic back pain.”
“You should be fine,” her mother said. “In the long run, we really haven’t had anything too crazy to deal with around here. If you think about it, the male imagination could easily produce Stallone and Schwarzenegger, smoking cigars and riding through town in a tank. Or Clint Eastwood gunning down scumbags with his Smith & Wesson model twenty-nine.”
“Mom, seriously, how do you even know the gun details?”
She made a gun with her finger and pointed to her head. “Male POV.”
“You could have Jack Reacher going around head-butting people,” Matthew added, poking his head into the room on his way back from the bathroom.
“We have Lars,” Evie pointed out. “Same idea as those tough guys.”
Matthew nodded. “Speaking of tanks, have either of you seen Fury?”
“No,” Evie said.
“I did,” Janie said. “Powerful film.”
“That ending, right? Those dudes gave their all.”
“Aren’t you going to compliment me?” Evie asked him.
“What’d you do?”
“Look at me! I look like a fairytale princess. This gown must’ve cost ten grand. The jewelry must be a small country’s GDP.”
“Is that a zit on your forehead?” he said, squinting and staring.
She slapped both hands her forehead and felt around. She couldn’t feel anything.
“Gotcha,” Matthew said and he laughed and went up the hall to the kitchen.
“Mom,” Evie said, shooting her mother a pleading look.
“Relax,” Janie said. “There’s no zit. And you got your amazing outfit. Can’t you just be happy now?”
“I should be. Shouldn’t I?”
“That’s the myth of materialism. None of this crap offers lasting happiness. It’s like a high that requires more and more of the drug to achieve.”
“Back to me,” Evie said. “Isn’t the whole point of dressing up to have everyone making a big deal about it? To be the center of attention for a while?”
“You look amazing.”
“Of course you’d say that.”
“Well, what else do you want? Your name spelled out in the night sky?”
“No.” She shrugged and made a thoughtful face. “Maybe. Just for a minute or so.”
“Look, honey, here’s the deal. We’re supernatural beings living secretively in the real world. That means if you get into trouble Superman will not reverse the rotation of the earth to save your life. That would end all life as we know it.”
“No, I’m not listening anymore,” Evie said. “This is my dream and I’m taking the reins. L
ike a true fairytale … or at least a paranormal teenage story … now that I look red carpet fabulous, I’m gonna go get lost in the dark woods wearing this completely impractical attire. I might even complain about being cold. And when I do complain, it will be completely unapologetically, in spite of the fact that dressing this way is totally my idea, and I’m well aware of the cool climate. Take that!”
“Why would you do that?” her mother demanded.
“Because I can. Why else? I might even demand that someone cranks up the heat to accommodate my poor planning.”
“Fine, I give up,” Janie said with a wave of her hands. “But just so you know, crap like that irritates men and keeps them from being more willing to communicate and connect with us. It’s much easier on them to just get lost in their hobbies. Who do you think is watching all those YouTube videos about sharpening axes and building log cabins?”
Evie ignored her as she turned and dashed up the hall, running awkwardly in the fancy shoes.
***
“Open the doors,” said Joseph Snow. “This house feels like an oven with all these warm bodies packed in here.”
The front door was opened as well as the sliding glass door off the great room. Brisk autumn air wafted in.
“Now for the details,” Joseph said loud and clear. Then he paused, because from where he stood on the edge of the fireplace overlooking the great room, he saw Evie run out the front door in her fabulous red outfit.
“Tell us,” someone said from the waiting crowd.
Joseph collected his thoughts again and said, “We are dealing with—”
Just then Evie rushed back in carrying a plastic sled. All eyes were on her. She pushed through the crowd, stomped up the stairs like a horse in her fancy shoes, sat down on the sled and then came zipping down the stairs, screaming comically, skidded through the kitchen, and flew out the open doorway. Very much like scene of a popular Christmas movie.
“Are we almost done with this nonsense?” Joseph asked, looking around.
Everyone was quiet.
“Okay,” he said. “We are dealing with none other than—”
“Daddy,” called Janie from the kitchen. “Evie’s refusing to cooperate with the plot. Should I go after her?”
“Not yet,” he told her. “If the focus stays solely on her, we’ll never get this vampire problem dealt with. And if we don’t deal with it, I’m afraid this dream will just go on and on.”
Janie stuck her head out the front doorway and called after her daughter, “Go build an ice palace, you spoiled brat! Maybe find some bozo to lean over the railing of the Titanic with!” Then she composed herself and looked to her father.
“Well,” Joseph said. “Let’s get on with the problem, shall we?”
“Do we need to know the vampire’s name?” someone asked from the crowd.
“It can’t hurt,” Joseph replied. “Because he’s no average vampire. In fact, we could call him a son of dragons, as his father’s name implied. Yes, we are dealing with one of the sons of the legendary Wallachian prince.”
“Where?”
“Think of the Carpathian region of Europe.”
“Oh …”
“Vlad the Third,” Joseph resumed. “The infamous impaler, said to feast in the presence of his dying enemies. Known more commonly, thanks to Bram Stoker, as the wicked Count Dracula.”
“What’s the son’s name?” asked one of Joseph’s sons. “Vlad Four?”
“Strangely, no,” Joseph answered. “According to what I’ve read, he was simply known as Dennis Dracula. His friends apparently called him DD for short.”
A murmur of scoffing passed through the great room.
“Okay, let’s be serious,” Joseph said. “This is Stoker’s nightmare coming to us through Evie’s dream, so it’s bound to take a few strange turns.”
The room settled again and Joseph resumed.
“As this old document describes, the young Dracula fled Europe after the news that the Turkish Sultan finally succeeding in killing his father. We know that according to Mr. Stoker, Vlad endured the grave to become the count. But his son, not realizing this, feared for his own life, and offered much gold to be smuggled west secretively by ship. Who provided the service? None other than a band of fierce Northmen, comfortable with the seafaring life. Not loyal to the Sultan, but rather to the highest bidder of their services.”
“How did Dracula’s offspring end up buried?” asked one of the many family members. It was someone without an assigned name or steady role in the series.
“That answer is found in the text of the sea crossing,” Joseph said. “Evidently the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in the Dracula family. The young Dracula attempted to feed on the Northmen during the crossing, just as his father did in Stoker’s account. After the first man was killed by surprise, the others deduced the cause, and after close examination realized their passenger was no average young man, but an undead parasite masquerading in human form. From there they took steps to lock him by daylight in the box of earth he had so strangely insisted upon taking aboard the ship. Once contained, they saw no need of opening the box again. When they found an uninhabited island here in the west, they decided to reinforce the box with oaken planks and bury him as is.”
Another murmur swept through the room.
“Now, now,” Joseph said, quieting them. “Leaving Dracula in his sacred earth may seem like an oversight to us, but let us be fair. These Northmen had not the benefit of Stoker’s work to guide them through the proper disposal of a vampire. Nor could they predict modern detection equipment discovering the box so far underground. They certainly didn’t know the island would become an object of obsession for treasure hunting centuries after their voyage. Rather than criticizing, let us credit them for setting up a chain of silent sentinels, the very cause that brought our pack to this continent. That protection extended long after the original men had passed, ensuring the island would be guarded until all possibility of Dracula’s survival had passed out of their realm of plausibility.”
“Then people got curious,” his son Lester said.
“Yes,” Joseph agreed. “I’ve tried and tried to purchase the island, to keep the suspected tomb undisturbed. But Oak Island is one egg I’ve never been able to crack. It may actually be as cursed as it is rumored to be.”
***
Standing up from the sled ride, Evie exclaimed, “I’ve always wanted to do that!” Then she kicked the sled aside and gave herself a quick check. Everything was still flawless. The sort of flawless that made plenty of women hate themselves.
Yet, for some reason, rather than seeing the cause of their problems, many of these women continued to use their spending power to support the massive industry based on completely unrealistic vanity and fictional glamour.
Clothing.
Shoes.
Accessories.
Jewelry.
Weird products and wrapping rituals (not terribly different from ancient paganism) promising to be the fountain of youth.
Lotions and cleansers tested by being rubbed into the eyes of dogs and bunnies.
Horrid fragrances promoted by horrid celebrities. Many of the ads suggest the possibility of fairytale love, but instead the actual fragrance only gave you and those around you a headache.
We’ll leave surgical procedures out and focus mainly on products affordable to women of average income.
“Okay,” Evie said. “Back to me, please.”
(Sorry, I was ranting.)
She glanced around at all the vehicles parked in the yard. She didn’t want to run in her fabulous gown and shoes, so obviously she needed a vehicle. But under the grand circumstances, no normal vehicle would do.
Then, in the distance she saw two figures moving up the drive toward the house. They appeared to be teenage guys on BMX bikes.
“We heard you had a vampire problem,” one guy said as they skidded to a stop. He was breathing hard from pedaling, and on top of that it sounde
d like he was forcing his voice to sound deeper than it really was.
“Yeah,” agreed his less popular brother at his side.
“We’re the Fog brothers, from the best vampire movie ever,” said the first brother. “Edgar and Alan. We’re here to help you kill the bloodsucker.”
“Seriously?” Evie said, glancing from one to the other.
“Sure. We’re extremely dedicated to the cause.”
“You rode your bikes here to help us kill vampires?”
“All the way from California.”
“Whatever,” she said, motioning them to the door. “Go join the party. My mom will probably want your autographs.”
***
Now, back to the car issue.
Evie had a Miata. It was a fun car, but nothing spectacular. What she wanted now was something that screamed Look at me! A pumpkin turned into a rickety carriage just wouldn’t do. She needed something so rare and exotic that the manufacturer decided who they would sell their car to.
“I want the craziest Ferrari ever!” she demanded.
A red Ferrari Enzo appeared. Its V-12 engine was idling, purring a beautiful note from its tuned exhaust pipes.
“Sweet,” she said as she climbed in, and without having any insight as to the operation of such a rare car, she stomped on the gas and hit the paddle shifters through the gears, zipping down the long driveway as fast as she dared.
Now, the Ferrari was an amazing machine for a track, but it was poorly suited to a dirt road. She could barely control it, and when she reached the pavement at the end of the excessively long driveway, she got overconfident and stomped the gas hard. The tires instantly spun and chirped, the back of the car kicked out across the road, and it came to a crunching rest in a stony ditch meant to accommodate all the spring runoff of melting snow.
Our heroine was uninjured. She climbed out and ascended the ditch and stood in the road smoothing her gown. The car was a mess, but at least she still looked killer. Before she could demand a resolution to the car issue, a man in a truck arrived and offered to help.
“That would be wonderful,” she said. “I’m sure you know, women looking like me never have to personally change a tire on the side of the highway, or crawl under the car to hook a chain to the frame.”
“Wow, you are gorgeous,” the guy said. “You could say anything right about now, and I’d work very hard to pretend to be interested.”
“Easy there, buddy. I know I look twenty-something, but really I’m only sixteen.”