Thirsty Read online

  “I’m tho alone! I’m tho alone!” I scream, terrified.

  For a moment, the un-celestial being eyes me up and down. Almost with compassion. Then slowly, whimsically, he recites, “In the midst of life, we are in death. Of whom may we seek for succor, sucker?”

  He smiles at me.

  Then he vanishes and leaves me appalled; for I know, and realize, that all he has said is true.

  I am in my room.

  I’m grounded for staying out after midnight. Somehow, that does not seem important to me now.

  I look at my posters on my wall and at the stack of CDs next to my CD player. They don’t seem like mine anymore. I don’t want to listen to any of them. I don’t want to look at the posters. They are of someone else’s favorite thrash bands. They are covered with someone else’s clever comments in black and silver magic markers. So I tear them down and crumple them up.

  For a minute, I consider drawing big Xs on the walls where they hung. But I can’t. It would take too long. Instead, I throw the pen against the wall. I pick it up and throw it again. I can’t be violent enough to the pen, so I twist it and step on it until it breaks and spreads ink on the tasteful wall-to-wall carpeting.

  Earlier today, I saw Lolli die on TV. We were all sitting around the television, eating together and watching the news, like everyone else in town. They were showing the footage as I came back from throwing up.

  Even with the special lens filters they use, Lolli hardly showed up on the screen.

  “. . . Unfortunately, the police did not manage to get the vampiress inside the courthouse. During the ride from the Rigozzi house, where she was first injured, she regained consciousness. It appears that the substantial contusions, breaks, and fractures she sustained as a result of the automobile impact had healed to such an extent that when the police attempted to remove her from the vehicle, she attacked. Fortunately, her spine was still snapped, leaving her unable to move the lower half of her body. The crowd . . .”

  I didn’t listen any longer. The words were a babble. I just watched.

  It had all happened as Chet said it had. The police went to take Lolli out of the car and transport her into the courthouse. She lashed out. One of the escorts tripped and fell. The crowd couldn’t be controlled. They swarmed in around her. She tried to fight them or run, her eyes rolling crazily, her hips lying motionless in the muck of the gutter.

  People poured around her with knives, with stones, with bits of glass. Each one taking their turn to gouge. Piling on top of one another. Screaming and yelling. Then I couldn’t see her. People were all around her. They were on top of her. She was gone beneath them. She was gone.

  At the back of the crowd, I saw Chet. He was there before the courthouse, standing at the back of the crowd, his face red and distorted with rage, shaking his fist, urging them on to kill her.

  “. . . of sixteen apparent years of age. Her companion, nicknamed Bat, is still at large. Peter Gallagher, the teen injured in the first heroic struggle with the vampires, was rushed to the hospital, where he is reported to be in serious condition.”

  They interviewed Mayor Pensonville. He straightened his tie pin. “It was a brave thing Peter Gallagher and Anthony Rigozzi did. I’d like to shake those young men’s hands. It took something to stand up to these vampires. If everyone in this country had that something, then maybe, just maybe, there would be less vampires, and more —” (he hesitated) “more streets that would be safe for our children. All I can say is ‘Bravo! to them’ and ‘Vampires beware!’” He held up a finger. “I pledge — yes, I pledge: We will not stop until our children are safe to walk on the streets at night! We all are on the lookout!”

  I turn and see that my mother has put down her fork and is watching me. Her eyes blink quickly, nervously. “Tomorrow we’re going down to see the doctor again. We’re going down there tomorrow, and if it turns out that all this time — if it turns out you’re a vam —” She can’t say the word. Her face twists around it, looking frightened and dangerous, and it won’t come out.

  “Goddamn, Mom,” says my brother, glaring at her. He slams back his chair and leaves the table.

  She points. “I’m telling you. If you’re —”

  Again, she just shakes her head.

  My father looks at his empty plate.

  No, I think to myself as I throw up again in the bathroom. She would not turn me in. My own mother would not. She would not actually turn me in.

  Sometime in the afternoon, Jerk calls.

  Brrring brrring. Brrring brrring.

  “Christopher,” says my father through the door. “It’s for you. It’s Je — uh, Michael. You can take it.”

  I go down to the bottom of the stairs, past my father, to take the phone.

  “Hey, Chris. Yo. Hey,” says Jerk.

  “Hi, Jerk. How can I help you?”

  “Man, how are you? I mean, what happened? I was really worried about you.”

  I ask sharply, “Why, Jerk? Why were you worried?”

  “We were all worried. Rebecca was really worried about you.”

  I’m jumpy now. “Why? What did she say?”

  “She said you, like, freaked out. She thought there was really something wrong with you.”

  “Oh god, no. She didn’t.”

  “I mean, not like wrong with you wacko funny farm, but wrong with you, like something bad had happened. She said you were hiding your mouth and talking really weird.”

  “Oh, man. Oh. Damn!”

  “What’s the problem? Are you okay?”

  “Did she say anything else?”

  “I mean, she talked about it with Tom. He kind of explained that he’d been worried about you for the last couple of months, concerned ’cause he said you’ve been acting kind of, you know. Like he always says, that you’ve been acting like you have some problem.”

  “He said that to her? What did she say?”

  “Then we heard that that girl you knew, you know, Lolli, the one from out of town, was a vampire. Did you hear? She, like, tried to kill Pete Gallagher. She was completely crazy. Man, it was horrible. He’s in the hospital. They say he’ll probably never play lacrosse again.”

  “What about Rebecca?”

  “I don’t know. She was really worried about you and stuff, especially after we heard about Lolli. And then Kristen started crying and Chuck put his arm around her, so Tom put his arm around Rebecca. They talked about how everything was so frightening, and how they were all really worried about you, and, you know, I left but I guess they all stayed out really late, sitting down by the reservoir, talking together about you and stuff. So I guess Tom and Rebecca are sort of, you know, like, going out now.”

  “What?” I scream. “He’s doing this just to spite me! Isn’t he? He’s doing this just to spite me!”

  “No,” stutters Jerk nervously. “No, no he’s not.”

  “That’s why he’s going out with her! Just to goddamn show me I can’t! That bastard! Isn’t that the reason?” I am in a fury. I pound my fist against the wall. My mother opens the door to the living room.

  “Why are you out of your room?” she jabbers anxiously, hanging back, as if ready to bolt. “Why are you out of your room? Get back to your room until I tell you to come out. Go on!” She gestures once, agitated, then ducks back into the living room.

  Jerk waits for things to quiet down.

  “Isn’t that the reason?” I hiss. “For Tom.”

  He says, bewildered, “No. He’s doing it because she’s really nice. I talked to her for a while. She is. I mean, really nice. He’s going out with her because she’s really nice and interesting and stuff. She knows all this stuff about ancient spells and —”

  “Thank you, Jerk,” I say. “I really value your opinion.”

  “Look, Christopher —,” he whines.

  “What, Jerk. What else do you have to tell me?”

  “I, I just called because I was worried about you, man.”

  “Worried? I’m reall
y touched, Jerk. Your concern means so much to me. Like you understand what’s going on. Like you understand any goddamn thing in the world.”

  “Hey!” he says. “I’m your friend. What are you —”

  “Jerk, your only friend is your stupid dog. Your dog is so stupid. Why don’t you go talk to your dog? It’ll be sort of like your having a girlfriend, but the dog will have less chest hair.”

  “You,” says Jerk. “You think I’m shit, don’t you? Don’t you? You just think I’m shit.”

  I sneer, “You are what you eat —” And instantly, I realize what I’ve done. And I can’t believe it. “No, Jerk, I’m sorry. Please, Jerk, I’m sorry,” I plead to the dial tone. “Jerk, I’m so sorry.”

  And now I am all alone.

  I am up in my room.

  I am grounded.

  I am going to die soon.

  The night has fallen, and the stars are out over the town. This is the town where I grew up. I grew up near the reservoir and used to play in the hills here. I don’t want the life of that person who played in the hills and walked by the reservoir dragging a Tinkertoy ray gun to end. I want that person to be alive.

  I someday want to go to exhibitions of spattered modern art with women with strict hairdos, and I want to murmur in their ears. I want to look out across the lake where I’ve bought my summer cottage and have arranged the playing cards in the phone desk drawer. I want to have memories of people laughing and driving in cars. I want to be alive in ten years to have a college pennant on the wall, and in twenty years to have a wife whose family I know well, and to have a microwave with a built-in convection oven with a two-year limited warranty. This is what is due to me, because I am an American; and I can’t believe the thing I can feel squirming in my chest, that it is eating its way outward, and that I am going to be a killer.

  I know that it is there, my vampiric heart, squelching in the cavern of my ribs, spitting and sucking blood. It will destroy me. It will.

  As darkness grows thick around me and wraps itself on the furniture like black sheets hung in a house that will not be lived in again, I know that there is no hope and that there is nothing for me to do. My rage is wild and I am pacing around the room; I am pacing around it quickly because it is very small, and every moment it seems smaller.

  Just tell my mother? Yes, yes, I think, because she will protect me in spite of everything. Mothers love their children, and she will protect me. It is only natural for mothers to love their children, it is the natural thing that always happens in the wild. Even with animals. Tonight on Wild Kingdom, “Mothers and Their Children.” Natural. But —

  Except that birds — and I remember — if a baby bird is touched by an alien hand — a human, a dog — and put back in its nest, the mother will peck it apart. She’ll peck it to death because it’s been touched. — I remember — when I was younger, a baby bird fell out of the nest, fell onto the ground; the other boys started throwing stones at it. I ran crying “Stop!” and took it in my hand (it was cheeping), but —

  “You can’t save it now,” said one of my friends. “Its mother will kill it. She’ll just kill it.” He slapped my hand and made the chick fall out. Taking a rock, aiming at the sprawled chick, he said, “This is mercy.”

  He threw his rock. Its sharp edge hit the bird’s eye, which popped like a blueberry. “This is mercy,” he repeated, throwing another.

  And the others picked up stones and hurled them. And even the little kids who were too little to understand the words repeated, again and again, as they flung their stones, “This is mercy!” “This is mercy!” (shrieking with laughter) “No, this is mercy!”

  Its mother will kill it. She’ll just kill it. I remember the changeling we heard about on TV, yowling in the fire. It wasn’t even human, my mother said. It wasn’t even human. And I’m coiled on my floor. Saliva drooping out of my lips. Teeth huge. Swollen. Hurting.

  I’m hiding behind my door. It’s near eleven. Television downstairs. Out in the night people are moving on the streets. Kids still playing kickball on the road by the streetlight. Footsteps shuffling along the hall.

  I don’t want anyone to knock. I don’t want them to knock. When they do, I’ll be tracing their blue veins in my mind from their fist up their arms, up to their necks, their soft, pulpy necks.

  And suddenly, I love them because they are so fragile, because I am no longer one of them. And because I love them, I should run from them; run into the night and do the savage things I need to do.

  No, I cannot do those things.

  But I have to.

  I don’t know — no, I do know. I can’t do those things. And I realize that the decision to be human is not one single instant, but is a thousand choices made every day. It is choices we make every second and requires constant vigilance. We have to fight to remain human.

  And now I can’t, now. (I’m huddled on my bed, rocking back and forth, my teeth gaping from my mouth. I moan while I rock.)

  Shudders go through my body. My fingers grasp unseen objects and pull at them.

  I’m hiding behind my stereo now. Don’t want to see the light under the door.

  Night is growing thick. House is dark. Sighing breaths rising and falling in soft white throats.

  Three right here, right in this house.

  And I’m hiding behind the doorway. There is no hope for me. That is all I know.

  Hiding behind the doorway. Not that I would jump at someone who came in.

  Not that I would jump.

  I would never jump on a member of my family and drink their sweet, tart blood.

  I would never.

  Soon it will be the loneliest part of night.

  Soon it will be the quiet hour.

  My chin is wet.

  Muscles twitch.

  No, I think.

  Don’t do what you’re.

  Don’t do.

  No, please.

  Behind the door.

  I am thirsty.

  I am thirsty.

  Oh, god.

  I am

  so

  thirsty

  M. T. Anderson is the author of The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Volume I: The Pox Party, which won a National Book Award, and its sequel, The Astonishing Life of Octavian Nothing, Traitor to the Nation, Volume II: The Kingdom on the Waves. He is also the author of Burger Wuss, Feed, and several books for younger readers. About Thirsty, he says, “I grew up in a suburb very much like Chris’s. It seemed to me that there were always a lot of kids struggling with the isolation of wanting to do the right thing when there was no right thing to do.” M. T. Anderson lives in Massachusetts.