Conversations on Bullying

My new book is out and deals with the topic of bullying.  I was wondering if any of you had experiences with bullies growing up or as a parent are dealing with it for your child.  If you ever faced the horrors of bullying, were a victim of controlling abuse, or witnessed something of the like, let me know.  I would love to dialogue with you...listen to your stories...share your journey.

I look forward to your comments...your stories...your innerside.

Mitchell

Accepting Your Challenges or Questions

I'd like to offer everyone an opportunity to ask me a question.  You may ask anything about:  the mind of a writer, the heart of a teacher, the soul of a pastor, or the life of a husband/father.  I will do my best to respond as honestly and thoroughly as possible.

I'd also like to invite your writing challenges.  If you would like to give me a scenario or a writing prompt, I will happily respond in the like.  I will take the writing challenge, create a story using your prompt or scenario, and discuss the process I took to complete the task.

I have said, "Welcome to the Innerside."  I think it's high time I invited you into my world a little deeper than before.  I welcome your thoughts, your questions and your challenges.  Let's see what becomes of them.

Mitchell

"On the Innerside" - First completed short story...not published

The attached short story, "On the Innerside" was inspired by a temptation I had, but never acted on.  My father was a dentist and I was his janitor.  Having worked one summer as his assistant, I knew how to hook up and run the Nitrous Oxide gas, which the main character uses to visit the Innerside.

When I was a little child, and had my first cavity, my father used the gas on me.  I did experience the vortex (created by the numb feeling and the sounds of the suction and drill combined).  These were called upon to catapult the protagonist of this story to this inner world.

Ironically, when my father read this story, he asked if I had done this.  I was able to honestly say, "No."  But my older brother, who had previously been my father's janitor admitted he had used the gas on his own.  Which is stranger...truth or fiction.

I hope you enjoy..."On the Innerside."

On the Inner Side

by

Mitchell S Karnes

            Eric wasn’t so much addicted to the Nitrous as he was the place it took him.  He was hooked as a child, the first time his father put him under.  You see, Eric’s father was also his dentist and a gentle one at that.  He had no intentions of hooking his son on the gas; he simply wanted Eric to have a pain-free experience at the dentist.  After all, unlike most kids Eric had to live with his.

            Eric wasn’t necessarily a rebellious child, but when it came to sweets and his father’s desire for him to eat healthy foods he was seemingly rebellious to the core.  So, as consequences naturally fell, Eric ended up with quite a few cavities over the years.  Little did his father realize, Eric’s rebellion wasn’t about the candy at all…he just wanted to make another journey to the Inner Side. 

            Eric was the youngest of three children.  His sister, Katy, was two years older and very popular at school, with her friends and teachers.  His brother, Mike, was popular everywhere else.  It was amazing, but for his less than average size and muscle mass, Mike was the block bully.  He was a master of intimidation; he had this way of getting into your head and scaring the pee right out of you.  Not Eric…he was small for his age and the ultimate quiet introvert.  If given the choice, Eric would choose time alone over time with friends…probably because he felt he had none.  The kids at school called him a freak and a loner.  He was the butt of their jokes and the target of their constant harassment.  Of course, no one teased or bullied Eric in Mike’s presence.   On the occasion someone was stupid enough to do so, Mike would “rescue” Eric, pound the life out of the idiot who tried, and then beat his little brother to a pulp anyway, saying “No one can beat up my little brother but me.”  It was lose-lose for Eric, which is why the Inner Side was so appealing.  There he could be anyone…do anything…there he was a beloved king!  There he had friends.

            It all began with Eric’s first cavity at seven years of age.  He remembers it well, for he always returned to that moment before crossing over to the Inner Side.  He lay in the dental chair awaiting his father’s return.  Alice, the aging dental assistant with the old fashioned nurse’s cap, loomed over him.  Eric couldn’t tell if she was angry or happy…her face was hidden behind the white nurse’s mask.  She just stared blankly…silently.  The only sound in the room came from the ticking of the cat clock in front of him.  It eyes blinked as its tail clicked back and forth like a metronome.  Its smile devious…like the Cheshire cat’s in Wonderland.  In the corner of the room, near the only window, a country picture of a field covered in golden prairie grass, and in its middle, dissecting the field, a small dirt path with a two-person-wide bridge spanning a small river.  It called to him in silent whispers.  He watched it intently as Alice slid the rubber device with the connecting hoses over his nose.  He lost sight for only a moment when the hoses past his eyes, but he never stopped looking for the bridge.  He could hear it calling.

            Then slowly…ever slowly…the heaviness pulled at his legs, and they obediently slid to the sides of the dental chair.  He hadn’t noticed his father’s return, but as the chair tipped back, Eric could see his smiling eyes.  It didn’t matter that his father wore a mask; Eric could still see his grin.  He fought the heaviness and the darkness, but they won out against his will.  And the sounds…those incredibly weird sounds of the dental office did something strange…something magical…something he would never forget…something that he would forever long to repeat.  The distorted sounds of the suction and drill formed a gentle vortex.  It was not like the violent assault of Dorothy’s tornado, but a gentle twisting and turning like the man’s cardboard tube at the carnival as he made cotton candy.  The gentle spinning and the heaviness of the gas pulled at him, and, Eric felt himself drifting…drifting…drifting ever downward.  When his feet alighted softly upon the ground he couldn’t believe his eyes.  He was in the painting of the field, in the middle of the dirt path, facing the bridge.  He could hear the gentle flowing river water licking against the banks that corralled it onward.  But there was another sound…a sweeter sound…one that beckoned him closer.  “Eric,” it whispered.  “We’ve been waiting for you.  Come and play”

            It was the voice of a man.  He should have been frightened.  After all, he was alone in a strange place, called by a stranger’s voice, but he wasn’t afraid at all.  He was at peace.  Unlike the world above, this place seemed to call him closer…to want him.  What did he have to lose?  It was just a dream…right?  I mean those kinds of things don’t really happen…do they?  He was under the influence of Nitrous-Oxide.  This was all an illusion…a hallucination.  This inner world was just a visual representation of the last thing Eric saw before he went under.  He had stared at his father’s picture of the bridge as Alice turned on the gas.  That’s all it was.

            That’s what he thought too.  But it wouldn’t be the last time he went there.  On his second journey six months later, he actually braved the bridge.  No, he didn’t cross it then either, but he did touch the rail.  It was as solid as any other bridge he’d ever seen or touched.  So why shouldn’t this one be real?  It was his third cavity two weeks after his ninth birthday…his third journey to the Inner Side…

            “Eric, we’ve been waiting for you.  Come and play.”  He couldn’t tell at the time, but the voice was a little more insistent, a little more anxious, a little more…

            “I’m coming,” he said.  “Where are you?”

            “We’re right here, on the other side of the bridge.  Can’t you see us?”

            Eric looked.  He saw nothing but more than the field and a little deserted shack.  “Are you in the shack?” he asked.

            “No.”

            “Where are you?” Eric persisted.  Now he was getting a little nervous.  There were voices, but no bodies with them.  Are they ghosts? Eric wondered.

            “No, we’re not ghosts.” 

            It was the voice of the man.  “Eric, come and see for yourself.” 

            Suddenly, he recognized that voice, but they said he wasn’t real…that he was Eric’s imaginary friend.  “Max?  Is that you?”

            “Of course it’s me, Eric.  Who else would be waiting for you on the Inner Side?”

            Eric paused.  Was it a trap?

            “No, Eric, it’s not a trap.”

            “How are you doing that?” Eric asked. 

            “Doing what?” the voice asked.

            “You answered my questions, but I never said them out loud.”

            “What’s so special about that?” the voice asked.  “Just come over the bridge and you can see for yourself.”  There was a long silence.  Then the voice asked, “We used to talk and play all of the time.  Are you afraid of us?  What’s happened to you, Eric? ”

            “Nothing!” he shouted defensively.  Then in a defiant stomp, Eric marched out across the bridge, more to prove he wasn’t afraid than to see the Inner Side.  But something magical happened.  The moment his foot touched the middle point of the bridge, he began to see odd glimmering shapes…not only of people, but of things as well.  He rushed across the second half.  Every step made the images brighter and clearer.  As his foot touched the other side of the field, he seemed to step through some sort of invisible wall.  He felt its gentle resistance, like he was running through Jell-O.  His eyes widened and his smile broadened.  A carnival!  And there, looking down at him was Max, a towering figure of kindness.  Max was Eric’s protector and best friend all in one.  And so Eric’s journeys on the Inner Side began.

              For years, Eric returned to the Inner Side…not only to play, but to escape the lonely tortured world outside.  He played.  He rode the carnival rides…rides he was too short to qualify for in the real world.  But his favorite game…the game he wanted to play most of all…came right out of his comics.  The Marvel Comics world gave Eric the same pleasure, the same escape, the same sense of power he always longed for.  His favorite game of all was “Super-hero.”  One day he was Iron Man soaring through the clouds, blasting away all of the bad guys.  The next he was the Hulk smashing and scaring others as the outside world had smashed and intimidated him.  He ran the gamut of the Marvel hero world, but his favorite of all was Colossus from the X-Men.  He couldn’t fly…he couldn’t see through things…he couldn’t shoot laser blasts…he couldn’t teleport…and he couldn’t get hurt.  Colossus was super strong, but the best part was he morphed into an impervious form of metal…he was impervious to harm.  Oh, Eric thought, if I could only be Colossus nobody could ever hurt me again!  That was the thought he expressed to me, the one thought that led me to tell his story and to explain why Eric made the choice he did.

            If Eric believed things were bad in middle school, he never should have gone to high school.  Our first day of school was awful.  From the start we were bullied, teased, locked in lockers, and became the laughing stocks of the entire school.  Those few boys who called us friends abandoned us on day one.  We were left to ourselves…left to survive the cruelest world of all.  It didn’t take long for the boys in our P.E. class to realize Coach Jackson never came into the boys’ locker room, so it didn’t take long for all hell to break loose.  I call it hell because that’s what I think hell will be like…no end of torture…no limit to the depth of physical, emotional and verbal attacks…no escape…and no one cares.  Eric always got the worst of it.  They seemed to enjoy his animated reactions more than my silence.  We tried to tell Coach Jackson, but he laughed it off, saying, “Boys will be boys.  Suck it up.”

            His last day at school Eric reluctantly entered the locker room.  I was already duct-taped to the wall, my mouth gagged with someone’s dirty jock.  They pushed him, teased him, and stripped him.  Then the unthinkable happened to Eric.  Putting a handful of Icy Hot on the end of the plunger handle, they reenacted a scene from Lord of the Flies making Eric the pig.  They gagged him with a dirty jock so his screams couldn’t be heard outside the locker room, tortured him for five long minutes, and left him lying there sobbing through the gag.  All the while I had to watch helplessly, stuck silently to the wall.  We both remained in those helpless positions until the class returned from PE.  It seems Coach Jackson never even missed us.  It was probably a better class without the two “Pansies” anyway.  A few of the boys turned Eric over while others approached me.  Charlie Williams said, “Either of you says a word and I’ll kill you.  Don’t think I won’t.”  And just to make his point, he took out a hunting knife and made a motion across his neck.  Then he cut the tape and let me down.  They tried to help Eric to his feet, but he pushed them all away.

            After everyone left, I said, “Are you okay?”  Eric shook his head.  “What can I do?” I asked.  I was only fourteen years old and scared out of my life.  I wanted to hurt somebody.  I wanted to find Mike and give him names.  I wanted to do a lot of things.  But the image of Charlie’s knife made me do what I always did best…stay quiet.  I tried to help Eric up, but he pushed me away too.  That was the last time I saw him until…

            They say Eric walked home and told no one of the events of the day at school.  He sat quietly around his family’s dinner table, nibbling at his food while his sister, Mom and Dad all shared stories from their wonderful day.  When Eric was asked about his day, he simply said, “Same ole, same ole.”  Never expecting him to say much, the family went on about their nightly routines. 

            Eric waited until everyone else was asleep.  He stole his father’s keys and walked the seven blocks to his father’s dentist office.  Eric had followed his father around enough to know where everything was and how to even work the instruments.  That too, included the Nitrous Oxide.  So Eric found the tanks, turned them on, and made his way back inside the main office.  Once in a patient room, Eric turned the dials and set his mixture, adding a little more Nitrous than usual.  He tried and he tried to find Max and the Inner Side, but something was wrong.  Finally it dawned on Eric that the sounds of the suction and the drill created the vortex that took him to the bridge.  After several minutes of trial and error, Eric got the devices working and lay in the chair.  He had previously tilted it to the exact position his father preferred.  Then, unattended and unsupervised, Eric put on the nose piece and lay back.  Inhaling the Nitrous in deep breaths as he closed his eyes and listened to the distorted sounds of the drill’s whizzing and the suction’s slurping, Eric slowly but surely drifted downward.  He returned, as always to the old office and the person of Alice.  The Eric closed his eyes and drifted further down to the bridge to the Inner Side.

            This time there were no voices…no pleading…no hesitation.  Eric ran across the bridge and came out the other side as Colossus, the metal powerhouse of the Uncanny X-Men.  At his bidding, building-sized robots, called Sentinels, approached and tried to capture him.  But, unlike the Eric of the outside world, Colossus was ready and able to withstand their worst.  He caught the giant robot’s foot as it attempted to stomp him into the ground and toppled it backward.  Colossus jumped to the fallen robot’s chest and in one mighty punch, crushed its chest cavity.  Another attacked and then another.  This time he was not left alone to fight.  The rest of the X-Men came to his aid.  And when the battle escalated, the Avengers and Fantastic 4 joined in.  All listened to his command.  All followed his instructions.  All stood by his side while enemy after enemy were destroyed.

            The next morning Eric’s father awoke and readied himself for work.  It wasn’t until he grabbed for his keys that he realized something was amiss.  Not only were his keys missing, but Eric as well.  Eric’s mother and father drove around looking for him.  Finally, after hours of searching, as they happened by the office, they realized that was the one place they hadn’t checked.  They pulled in, used his mother’s keys, and found Eric unconscious in the dental chair.  The Oxygen had run out before the Nitrous.  Both had long since stopped pumping any gas at all. 

How long had Eric been under?  No one knows.  What damage has been done to his brain?  No one is for sure.  But even now, years later, I am convinced that Eric lives on in his Inner Side, living out heroic acts and savors the praise and admiration of an entire world.  They say he is a vegetable to this day, and the arguments continue as to whether or not his parents should pull the plug.  I still visit him often.  Every once and a while, I think he squeezes my hand.  They don’t believe me.  They think Eric is oblivious to everything.  It’s not true.  That’s why I had to write this and let everyone know why Eric did what he did.  He’s not oblivious.  He’s not dead inside.

He sees…he knows…and he pities us all.

Cover Art for My New Book

I just got the cover art for my new book, which is due for release August 22, 2013.  Here it is:

I never realized how hard it is to summarize a book.  As the author you have so many layers in the story from the superficial action and dialogue to the innuendos, symbols and thematic lessons that it is extremely difficult to decide exactly what to say and what not to say.  I did my best and know that I am still in the novice/leaner stage of authorship.

I hope to learn as I enjoy the fruits of years of labor pains.  I made several suggestions as to my preferences to cover art, but with the input of David King, the production editor, we went with the "less is more" approach and put the images of the four main characters on the front.

Let me know what you think...what you like...what you don't like.  Please take a few moments to make suggestions, so that when I am ready for book two I have a better idea of what I am doing.  Thank you so much.  I hope you buy a copy and read it.  Then you can send me a note telling me what you thought of the story as well.

I look forward to booksignings, readings, and more adventures.

Thanks - from the Mind of the Writer, Mitchell S Karnes

Prioritize - From the Strength of a Family

It's amazing how life suddenly stops and everything falls into proper perspective when a family member falls ill.  While I was on sabbatical in New York, my father-in-law had heart issues.  The Monday I returned, I had to have surgery on my nose (in order to breathe), and today my wife went to the ER with heart problems.

We just put a contract on a new house yesterday.  This house would enable us to move my wife's parents (her mother suffered a severe stroke 6 years ago & her father's heart issues continue to worsen) in with us.  Keep in mind we still have five of our seven children living with us.  So, we just found the perfect house, put ours up for sale, and my wife is in the hospital.

Everything falls away except family.  Everything takes its proper place and people supplant things in our lives...that's the way it should be every day.  So, sorry for the lack of posts in the past several days, but that too fell to the wayside.  My posts will return and expand when family is alright and everything is as it's supposed to be.  Well, not everything.  That only happens in Heaven.  Well, you know what I mean.

Until then...so long and fair well.

Mitchell

Individualize the Lesson - From the Heart of a Teacher

Sorry about the lag in my posts.  I returned from my sabbatical and have been inundated with home responsibilities.  I just had surgery this week and am now getting back on task.  Thank you for your patience.

I have the heart of a teacher.  God has blessed me with the ability to empathize and identify student learning styles and frustrations.  If you remember one of my previous posts, I spoke of the advice given by one of my teaching mentors.  In a quick paraphrase, he reminded me I teach students, not English.  The point being, every lesson plan should include a variety of teaching/learning styles.

This is a picture of my parents (top), my sister's family (her husband, two daughters and son-in-law), my wife and I (second row to top), and our seven children.  I include this to reinforce my message to teachers today.  All seven of my children learn differently.  They are uniquely motivated.  They value and fear different things.  If I have learned anything in the adoption of the sibling group of five children...adding to my two biological children it has been to individualize my teaching and parenting styles.

As you may know, there are three basic learning styles:  auditory, visual and kinesthetic.  Auditory children learn best by hearing.  This is wonderful for a lecture format.  Unfortunately, this is the smallest group of learners.  In our electronic age today, many children are visual learners and need to see in order to comprehend and remember.  The third group (kinesthetic learners) need to experience the subject with hands on or participatory lessons.  

So, in short, whether you are a professional teacher, a volunteer at a church, or a parent, remember to vary your styles of teaching.  Discover your child's/student's learning style and individualize the lesson appropriately.  It will not only help that child learn and succeed, but it will give them hope and confidence.  Take the time to teach so that every child may have the opportunity to learn.  And thank you for sharing your gift of time, love, and self.  You make a difference!

"See No Evil" a short story about a regretful vampire - From the Mind of a Writer

See No Evil

by

Mitchell S. Karnes

            Seventeen year old Antonio Moretti tosses frantically in his bed as he tries to escape his nightmare.  For the past two nights, he has been haunted by a dark shadow that lurks in his dreams.  The shadow has no face to speak of, no name to utter, but it terrifies Antonio with its mere presence.  A chill runs down his spine.  Antonio’s body spasms uncontrollably.  His second story bedroom window rises slowly, making an unnerving screech.  Antonio wakes him from his dream.

            He feels a chilly breeze blowing across his bed and pulls the sheets up around his neck.  He cracks one eye praying to see without being seen.  The curtain moves.  The shadow suddenly appears.  It drifts incorporeally through the cracked window, to the floor of Antonio’s bedroom.  The stranger from his nightmare!  Antonio watches helplessly from the other side of the room, praying it won’t notice him.  He slowly inches the bed sheets upward, pulling them even further toward his face.  The shadowy stranger floats his direction. 

            Antonio realizes the sheets offer no substantial protection from the hideous shadow. He leaps from the bed and rushes to the door.  The bedroom door slams shut and locks itself.  Oh God no!  Antonio tries the door in vain.  He screams and beats on the wooden panel for help.  It’s useless.  His world goes silent…even the pounding of the door makes no noise.  After moments of silent torture, Antonio turns to face the darkened mist.  He is frozen with fear, so terrified of the strange apparition that he cannot move.

            The shadow hovers over him, seemingly fascinated by the boy’s reaction.  The sound of sniffing breaks the silence.  The shadow hovers closer and sniffs him again.  As it descends upon him, it finally takes physical form.  The creature’s mouth opens wide.  Large white fangs appear.  They move closer to Antonio’s neck, and he is paralyzed with fear.  “Not again…please, God, not again.”  Antonio winces as the dagger-like teeth pierce the soft tissue of his neck.  As the blood rushes forth from the wound, the creature bites even harder.  It sucks Antonio’s blood.  All the boy can do is feel.  Blinding pain.  Dizzyness.  Darkness.

            Antonio screams in agony.  He sits up in his bed and looks around the room.  He is alone.  Thank God, it was just a dream.  Antonio wipes his forehead and peels the sheet from his body, slick with sweat.  A cool breeze comes in from the open window.  It feels good on his hot face.  It’s going to be okay.  It was just a dream.  Just a dream.

            Wait a minute.  I know I shut that window before I went to bed.  Antonio scratches his head.  His hand slides down the left side of his neck.  Tentatively, he explores his neck with his fingertips, affirming his fears.  There are two small tender spots.  He examines further with his fingers.  It’s blood.  Antonio’s mind races for a solution other than the obvious.  Nothing else comes to mind.  He’s been bitten.

            He has to know the truth, no matter how horrific.  Antonio forces himself to walk down the long narrow hallway to the bathroom and turns on the light.  At first he sees nothing.  He leans closer and bumps his head against the glass of the mirror.  The only thing he sees is the fog from his breath and the wall behind his head.  He puts his hand to the mirror.  It too has no reflection.  Oh God, it’s true.  I’m already turning.  He falls in despair.  He lies there trembling on the cold, hard tile floor.  Antonio finally forces his body up and walks back down the hall to his bed.  He cries himself asleep.

            The alarm blares.  Antonio jumps up and hits his head on something solid.  He rubs his forehead and wipes his eyes.  For some reason he slept under his bed on the hardwood floor.  He shakes his head, crawls out and reaches for the snooze button. 

            Just as he begins to fall back asleep, the door opens and his mother hollers, “Oh, no you don’t.”  She stomps her foot and puts her hands on her hips.  “You can’t be late for school again.  Antonio Giovanni Moretti, wake up!”  She walks to the window.  “I don’t know how you can stand it so dark.  It’s like a tomb in here.”  She pulls the curtains aside.

            “No!” Antonio screams as he puts his hands over his eyes.  The bright morning sunlight fills the room.  To his surprise, nothing happens.

            “Are you crazy?” she snaps.  “Get up and get goin’.”

            “Thank God, it was a dream.”

            “What was that, Baby?” she asks as she picks clothes up from the floor and puts them in a corner hamper.

            “A…nothing…Momma…what’s for breakfast?       

“By now…cold waffles and eggs.”  She looks at her watch.  “The bus comes in five minutes and I can’t drive you today.”

            “But Momma, I need a shower…I’m all sweaty.”  Antonio smells his armpits, looks at the clock and grabs his body spray.  Throwing on an old t-shirt and his pants, he sprays his entire body with the refreshing fragrance.  “Great.”  He rushes down the stairs, realizes he forgot his backpack and returns to his room to retrieve it.  He notices the open window.  No way.  It’s enough to bring back a sliver of doubt.

            Antonio runs out the front door to catch the bus before it leaves the stop.  He glances up at the sun and smiles.  It wasn’t real.  So what were those little sores?  He touches the two spots on his neck.  The sores are still there.

            The next day, Antonio wakes to the first morning alarm.  He looks out the window at the overcast day and goes to the shower.  He turns the water temperature up as hot as he can stand.  He still can’t shake the cold that has seeped deep into his bones.  He finally turns off the water and dries off with a thick white towel.  He wraps it around his waist and runs hot water in the sink.  He lathers his chin and face with shaving cream.  Antonio lifts the razor to his chin and wipes the foggy mirror with his other hand.  The razor drops to the sink.  It rests under the flow of hot water.  It is true.

            Later that afternoon Antonio hops off the bus, completely famished.  How can I be so hungry?  I ate three helpings at lunch.  He enters his house and rushes to the kitchen to grab a snack.  “Not until you clean your room,” his mother says from the corner of the kitchen.

“But Momma, I’m starving.”

“I don’t care.  Clean your room and then you can eat.”

He rushes up the stairs in a huff.  The room is a mess.  I thought Momma just cleaned this up.  He tosses dirty clothes toward the hamper.  Antonio grabs his aluminum baseball bat by the barrel to put it away.  It crushes under his grip.  What the hell?  What’s happening to me?  He tosses the bat under his bed and picks up the rest of his mess. 

As soon as his room is clean, Antonio bolts down the steps and into the kitchen.  He grabs an entire packet of lunch meat and gnaws on it like a wild animal.  His mother shakes her head and says, “Teenagers.”  She shoos him out of the kitchen.

Even though he ate less than thirty minutes ago, Antonio is still hungry.  He keeps craving meat, and yet it ceases to fill him.  Just as he is about to go back downstairs to get something else to eat, his mother yells from the kitchen, “Supper.”

I could eat a horse.  Antonio rushes down the stairs and jumps the final four steps in one leap.  Instead of landing with a thud like he always has, Antonio’s body floats to the floor.  He lands lightly on his feet.  Oh God no. 

“Come on, Baby.  I made your favorite…lasagna.”

“Thanks, Momma.”  Antonio takes his seat and bows his head.

Momma says, “Bless us, O Lord! And these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord.” 

They both say, “Amen.”

Antonio begins to feel queasy and covers his mouth as Momma scoops a huge helping of lasagna on his plate.  He is suddenly and violently repelled by the overwhelming odor of the spices.  His nostrils burn as if he had just inhaled fire.  He suddenly excuses himself.  He runs up the steps to the bathroom.  He puts his head under the tub faucet and flushes the sting of the garlic from his nose with cold water.  He gags with the surge of water, but continues to flush the spices from his nose. 

“Antonio, Baby, what’s wrong?” Momma asks from the door of the bathroom door.

He turns the faucet off, grabs a towel and dries his face.  “Nothing, Mamma.  I just got sick to my stomach is all.”  He stands and looks in the mirror.  Nothing but he wall behind his head.  This isn’t happening to me.  This crap only happens in the movies. 

“Oh, Baby, I’m so sorry…and this is your favorite meal.”  She trudges down the stairs and eats supper alone.

As soon as his mother is gone, Antonio puts his hand on the mirror and confirms his fears.  He touches the glass.  He sees the back of his hand but no reflection.  He runs to his room and locks the door.  He locks the window and pulls the curtains to.  He lies down and falls asleep. 

That night, his dreams change.  Antonio opens the window and pulls the curtains aside.  He looks up at the moon and smiles.  As he looks down, he notices the landscape changing…moving underneath him.  He’s flying.  What a rush.  The trees disappear beneath him.  He counts the blocks as he passes over.  Then he quickly descends.  His body lights upon the ground silently.  He sniffs the air and smiles.

“Wasn’t that Superman guy hot?” one teenager asks her friends.  They all giggle.

“Oh, and that one scene,” a second girl adds, “when the fire burns off his shirt.  OMG.”

The three laugh so hard they don’t notice the dark figure behind them. 

The first girl says, “Oh, I’d marry him in a heartbeat.”

“He’s to die for,” the third one adds.  She sees something move in the corner of her eye.  It’s too late.  Antonio engulfs her in darkness and silence.  He covers her mouth with his hand and bends her head to the side.  He bares his fangs.  The razor sharp teeth plunge deep into the soft white flesh of her neck.  He sucks the hot pulsing blood from the holes until there is no more.  Antonio gently sets the limp body down.

“Okay.”  The first girl asks, “Who’s hotter, Orlando Bloom or Superman?”

“OMG it has to be Superman.”  Just as she finishes the sentence, she too is enveloped in darkness.  Antonio drains her body as well.

“Well,” she says as she stops.  “What about you, Lydia?”  The darkness takes her before she can even turn to see it. 

Engorged with blood, Antonio takes flight and returns to his home.

The alarm blares.  He sits up and bangs his head on the bottom of the bed.  Again?  He climbs out and turns off the alarm.  He showers and brushes his teeth.  This time he doesn’t bother to look up.

He heads down to the kitchen.  Momma left a note.  “I have to work a double shift today, so I won’t be home until tomorrow around noon.  There’s food in the fridge.  Call me if you need me.  Love Momma.”

Antonio turns the television on and grabs the cereal and milk.  A special news report cuts into his Saturday morning show.  “We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to bring you this special report.  Early this morning the bodies of three local girls were found at the corner of Sycamore and Elm.  Each girl’s neck was bitten and her body completely drained of blood.  You heard me right, people.  They were discovered bitten on the necks and drained of their blood.”

Oh, God, please no!  You can’t let me be a…

Antonio’s cell rings.  He answers it.  “Hey, Tony, are you watching the news?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that awesome?” his friend says with excitement.  “It’s like Twilight in the flesh, Tony.”

“Yeah, Drake, just like Twilight.”  Antonio half listens as he focuses on the news report.  Everything is just like his dream.  “Just like Twilight.”  Except I’m the vampire.  “Hey, Drake, I gotta go.  I’m sick.”  Antonio runs up the stairs, just in time to make it to the commode.  He vomits pink liquid.  The second time he vomits it’s all red.

Even though it is only eleven-thirty in the morning, Antonio forces himself to sleep.  He hopes this might just be another dream within a dream.  He hopes he might wake and see that it wasn’t real at all.  But his dreams are wild and dark.  He wakes the next morning feeling even sicker than the day before.  His stomach is bloated and nauseated.  Feeling the sickness coming on, he rushes to the bathroom and vomits until there’s nothing by dry heaves.  Relieved from the pressure and nausea, Antonio wipes his mouth and notices the blood stains on the toilet paper.  He really doesn’t want to, but Antonio looks down into the water…it too is red…red with blood!

Antonio drags himself back to his room and flips on the television.  “Once again tragedy strikes Windy Cove as yet two more young women die at the hands of a mysterious killer.”  Antonio listens to the details.  Another girl’s throat was punctured and her body drained of blood.”

His phone rings.  “Hey, Tony.”

“Not now, Drake.”

“Come on, man.  This happened two blocks down.  This is too creepy, Tony.”

“I know…”  Drake starts to laugh and says something about a Bloody Mary drink.  “It’s not funny.”

They don’t talk long.  Antonio has other things on his mind.  Thank God it’s Sunday!  Antonio stays in his room most of the day, searching the internet about vampires, trying to sort fact from fiction.  It’s all supposed to be fiction, he thinks.  Getting hungry, Antonio goes downstairs to see what Momma is making.  “Momma, what’s for lunch?”  He looks in the kitchen, but she’s not there.  “Momma?”  Just then he sniffs the air and follows his nose around the corner to the counter top near the sink.  Before Antonio realizes it, he is face first in the raw ground beef, licking the blood from the bottom of the Styrofoam tray.

“Sei pazzo?” Momma screams as she enters the kitchen from the back porch.

Antonio stops, looks up, and realizes what he is doing.  “Sorry, Momma.”

“Sorry, Momma?  Sorry, Momma?” she screams.  “Sei pazzo?”

Antonio wipes the blood from his chin and face and runs back upstairs.  His mother says several derogatory things in Italian about teenagers and their craziness.  She throws the meat away.  As she curses Antonio in Italian, Momma takes cold luncheon meat out of the fridge.  She throws it and some bread on the table. 

Antonio is so embarrassed that he stays in his room through lunch, and his mother is so angry she lets him stay there.  For the rest of the day, she doesn’t speak a word in English.  Around seven that night, Susan texts Antonio and asks where he is.  He realizes he was supposed to have been at her house thirty minutes ago to take her to the movie.  He texts that he is on his way and climbs out the window.  Working his way down the trellis with ease, Antonio is surprised that his acrophobia isn’t bothering him in the least.  He runs to Susan’s house, apologizes for being late, and walks her the final two and a half blocks to the movie theater on Main Street.  He’s amazed at how well he can see everything in the dark…and how easily he is able to tell who and what is near simply by the smell.  He feels great!

They enter the theater, get their cokes and popcorn and take seats near the back of the darkened auditorium.  Susan relaxes as soon as she realizes all they missed were commercials and previews.  Antonio smiles, puts his arm around Susan and allows her to snuggle close.  About half way through the movie, Susan turns and kisses his neck.  The hairs on his neck and back stand on end.  She uses her tongue to tickle him, moving it in tiny circles near his ear.  Antonio finds himself getting highly aroused, but not in the way teenage boy would.  He hears her heart beating faster.  He can smell the blood flowing through her veins.  And as he leans over to kiss her neck, he feels the sudden rise and sharpness of teeth…canine teeth!

“I gotta go,” he says and runs to the restroom.

Susan smiles, thinking she’s turned him on.  If she only knew how…

Antonio barges through the men’s restroom door and splashes cold water in his face.  He feels for the teeth, confirming his fears and looks in the mirror.  Nothing.  Of course not.  He says, “Idiot!”

“What’d you say?” a gruff old man asks as he flushes the toilet and staggers out of his stall.  He reeks of alcohol.  His body odor is so strong, it nauseates Antonio.  The man threatens Antonio and comes at him.  Angered and full of fear, Antonio shoves him, knocking the old man into and through the metal stall divider.  It was a simple push.  Yet it was so forceful and destructive.

Antonio rushes out of the bathroom and through the theater lobby, running as far and as fast as his legs will take him.  He suddenly finds himself in the neighboring town, twelve miles away.  What in the name of God is happening to me?

Antonio wakes to the burning bright light sneaking through the cracks of the blinds.  Once again the night’s events are a blur to him.  He rises and thumps his head on the underside of his bed.  He slept under the bed on the cold hardwood floor again.  Why is this happening to me?

He slips out from under the bed, shielding his eyes from the light.  He wipes his mouth with his sleeve.  It is covered with blood.  As Antonio hesitantly looks down, he realizes his shirt is also stained with fresh blood.  He looks at the clock and realizes it’s already after ten.  Thank God it’s Memorial Day.  Reluctantly he grabs the television remote and flips past the multitude of talk shows until he finds the local morning news.  Oh, God, no…not again!

His cell phone rings.  “Yeah,” Antonio half answers, trying desperately to focus on the news report of the sixth victim.

“Tony, did you hear me?  Man, it happened again…this time in Bayville.”

Bayville?  That’s where I ran to last night.  But I don’t remember anything.  Not even a dream.

“Tony, did you hear?”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“Hey, man, you better talk to Susan.  She’s pissed.  You left her hanging at the movies last night.  And with all these strange killings going on, she’s really upset you made her walk home alone.” 

Drake is so busy talking that he doesn’t hear Antonio’s repeated confession.  Finally, Antonio shouts, “Drake, it’s me!”  Antonio pauses for Drake’s reaction, but hears nothing.  “Did you hear me, Drake?”

“I heard, you.  You serious?”

“Yeah, man.  Cross my heart.”  Antonio looks into his wall mirror.  Again no reflection. 

“Seriously man, where where’d you go last night?”

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, O, it’s me.  You got another girl on the side or something?”  Antonio looks at the call trying to come through and ignores it.  Drake continues, “Susan came by your house and talked to your mom.  They couldn’t find you anywhere.”

“She came here?”  Antonio finally notices the note slid under the bedroom door.  It is from his mother telling him she has gone to work and wants to talk when she gets home.  Suddenly Antonio’s face turns deathly white…his voice becomes a shaky whisper.  “Drake, do me a favor?”

“Anything, man.”  Drake’s phone buzzes.  He puts Antonio on speaker and reads the incoming text.

“Tell Susan I love her.”

“Tell her yourself, man.  She’s heading over to your house now.”

“What?”  She can’t!  “Oh God, Drake, I got to do something before I lose my nerve.”  Antonio turns the chair over on its side.  He grabs the leg and rips it off with ease.  He picks up the wooden chair leg and examines the rounded bottom and the jagged, splintered top.  Perfect!

“What was that, Tony?” 

“Drake, you got to tell her…”

“Tell her what?”

“Tell her I am the vampire…”  After a long moment of silence, Antonio says, “Drake, have you heard a single thing I’ve said?  Man, it’s me.” 

“Don’t be stupid.”  Then it hits Drake.  “Wait, Tony.  Don’t you dare.”

“I have to before I hurt anybody else…especially you or Susan.  Please, Drake, don’t try to stop me.”  He drops the phone, takes the broken leg and heads down the stairs. 

Drake runs as fast as he can to Antonio’s house.  On the way, he passes Susan.  He stops, grabs her by the arm and tells her what Antonio thinks is happening.  They rush to the house.  The door is locked.  Drake kicks on the door.  “It looks so easy in the movies,” he says as his kick does nothing.  He kicks again and again.  It finally splinters open. 

They search desperately for their friend.  “Antonio, baby, where are you?” Susan yells as she rushes up the stairs to his room.  The broken chair lies splintered upon the floor.  The curtains torn from their rod.  The sheets thrown from his bed.  “Antonio!” Susan screams.

Antonio hears the commotion upstairs and knows it is his friends coming to stop him.  He

tries to plunge the stake into his heart, but can’t.  He kneels before the antique full body mirror and cries.  He looks up one more time to confirm once again that he has no reflection. 

“The basement,” Drake says and rushes out of the room.  They pass Antonio’s mother as she is coming up the steps to see if Antonio ever came home.  Susan and Drake jump to the landing, grab the railing knob, and spin around the corner.  Drake runs down the hall to the open basement door.  “Tony, don’t do it, man!” Drake yells as he rattles down the steps.

Susan prays as she follows Drake down the stairs.  “Please, God, don’t let him die like this.” 

Antonio can smell them.  He can hear the pumping of their hearts.  The hunger builds.  He’s torn.  His body hungers for their flesh, but his heart cannot bear to harm them.  He holds the broken leg of the chair in both hands and whispers a prayer.  “God, if You can hear me, forgive me.  Forgive me for killing those girls.  Forgive me for ignoring You.  Please, God, give me the courage and strength to end it now before it’s too late.”

            As Drake hits the bottom step.  He looks left and then right.  He calls out, “Antonio, stop.  You don’t know for sure.  It can’t be you.”  He sees Antonio’s reflection in the mirror as he rounds the end of the stairs and screams, “Stop!”  But he’s too late. 

“Sorry.”  Antonio lowers his head and thrusts the wooden stake deep into his chest.

“No!” Susan cries.  She falls to her knees and whispers, “I love you.”

Drake stops dead in his tracks.  He watches helplessly as the wooden stake erupts through the back of Antonio’s blood stained shirt.  They are too late to stop him.  Antonio Moretti falls to the cold hard cement floor…a wooden stake straight through his heart.