I See You
I See You
My name is Dyson Bremmel. 
I am not immortal.
I am not a vampire, like my father, but neither am I naively human.
I am not a werewolf, like Naomi and her family.
I cannot get married and raise a family at fourteen, even if I wanted to.
I am not the Undead, but the More Fully Awake.
I do not have the luxury of living in ignorance.
I do not have the ignominy to live in denial.
I am neither blissfully stupid, nor knowingly superior.
I see. I think. I feel.
I see more than most, the costs of immortality: the strain that it puts on families, the crazy hours, the special foods, and how unsuccessful you must be, to go unnoticed.
It limits your friends, your involvement with politics or religion, it even limits your leisure-time activities, for who would fail to notice your superhuman strength at the bowling alley or the pool hall?
I think the world would be a better place if we could go back and level the playing field.
Undo the undying,
Drink the wine of blissful innocence.
I feel alone.
Not one of them. Not one of you.
Aware but unbeguiled.
Awake but not able to move.
My name is Dyson Bremmel, and I see you.
What Sucks About Being a Werewolf
What Sucks About Being a Werewolf
Naomi was fourteen years old and she’d been a werewolf for as long as she could remember. She was pretty sure her father was one too, although her parents never spoke of such things. In fact it was because of her father that Naomi even knew that werewolves existed.
In school, they said that such things were figments of the imagination: werewolves, vampires, ghosts, and gremlins, yet our literature is full of them. The popularity of the subjects flourish and ebb according to what is in fashion. So, at any given time, one creature may be in vogue, while the others languish in the background, bit players on the stage of the Undead.
Most books and werewolf movies portray just a human man, walking around outdoors and then, as soon as the full moon rises, BAM, he turns into a werewolf. That just doesn’t happen. A wolf is a wolf is a wolf, no matter what day it is; however the full moons are the strongest plus or minus four days. For a lunar eclipse, you might want to extend that out for two weeks.
It starts with the hair.
Every fortnight, Dan, the barber, opens his shop at 6am and conducts non-stop business for fifteen hours straight. Naomi’s father sees him twice a day, every day, for the better part of a week. He gets a shave and a haircut each morning and a shave and a haircut at noon. He has to. For men working two jobs, or a single man with a date in the evening, Dan will work them in three times a day, to keep the Others from asking questions.
Naomi first became aware of her father’s frequent trips to the barber when she cut herself shaving. She had been shaving her legs since she was seven years old. Other seven-year-old children, she knew, did not have hair on their legs an inch long. Other children’s hair did not grow all the way down their back within a week. Other kids did not buy Nair Hair Remover by the case.
The Nair was for her face and forearms because, when Naomi cut her lip shaving, the whole family started acting weird. That’s when her mother took her aside and filled her in on hair-removal products and eyebrow waxing. That’s when her father said it’s too bad that Dan the barber didn’t work on little girls.
Not that Naomi was little – she was bigger than anyone else in her class – but she was only seven years old at the time, and just a child. A werewolf child.
She knew that some of her brothers and sisters were werewolves, too. She knew it by the way they acted when she cut her face that day: They walked around straighter. They listened harder. They sniffed the air when she walked by. And now that Naomi’s monthly cycles have started, they were acting weird again. This time, Naomi’s mother said, she’ll need to get married. Quickly. Blood is not a good thing.
Naomi will need to marry another werewolf, and she will need to remain pregnant at all times. She will marry Abe Stoneham and move far away. Far away, where no one will know that she’s only fourteen, and no one but Abe will know she’s a werewolf. She will keep up the Nair and shaving her legs everyday for a fortnight. She will no longer go to school and gossip about Britney or discuss Justin Bieber’s latest CD.
She’ll have to move far away from family and friends. Because she’s a werewolf, and that’s what they do.
Freaking vampires. Dude, they really suck.
(click on this link for a slide show) Vampires Suck Or you can read the story (minus the creepy music) here:
Vampires!
Where on earth had they come from?
Monroe Daggit had lived in this town for fifteen years and never saw a vampire.
But Smiley Lukos, from down at the mill, said he knowed for sure that what he saw was a Vampire and Monroe had no choice but to believe him.
Smiley wudn’t the top dawg yet, but he was close to it. Monroe knew that one day Smiley would turn on Mr. Ranger, and that would be the end of that. Every wolf in this town would scatter when that partic’lar argument started, and Monroe didn’t want to be within two hunnerd miles until the dust settled back down.
Didn’t matter one way or t’other to Monroe. He wasn’t interested in politics. No one listened to him anyhow. All’s he cared about was someone to sign his paycheck every week. He just kept his head down, did his work, and brought his check home to the Mrs.
But vampires? Here in Douglas Hollow? Downstate, maybe: New York City, or Jersey, for gawd sake. Not here… And when there was one, there’d be a hunnerd. Damn it all.
Monroe wasn’t scared a no vampires. Vampires and werewolves were not sworn enemies. They didn’t kill each other. Couldn’t kill each other, ‘matter of fact. But they were bitter rivals, nonetheless.
Because those idiot vampires would protect humans, like a farmer protects cattle. But, blast it, they both needed to eat! Wolf and vampire.
But here’s all these namby-pamby vampires running around, “Green this. Sustainable that. Global warming…” Oh, my gawd, ENOUGH already!! He saw it on the news every day, some “environmental group” saying this or that. Everyone knew they were just the puppets of the freaking vampires! Everyone knew it and didn’t say a blasted thing. Just like the Smiley/Ranger thing, no one wanted to get in the cross hairs of an all-out turf war.
Vampires were like roaches, they would never go away. Vampires in Douglas Hollow could mean the beginning of the end for Monroe and his family. For all the werewolves in these parts, matter of fact. It was enough to make him wake up howling, two mornings in a row. Damn daymares!
But one thing Monroe hated worse than vampires, and that was moving. Oh my gawd, what a freaking chore! Packing all the boxes, loading them on the vans. U-hauls full of furniture. Trying to get back the freaking cleaning deposit…
This was highly unlikely, because every werewolf spilt a little blood here and a speck there, and it was almost impossible to get the brain matter off the ceiling, but Dorothy tried. Every stinking time. Monroe tried to talk to her. “Dot,” he said, “Just let it go. We gotta pick up and move on. Nevermind the $750 security deposit.” “Even if the place was spotless,” he said, “we would still have to go through the trustees of the estate, and that would take years!” But would she listen? No.
So every time they had to move it was not only a pain in the neck – and the back!- but then he had to listen to her howling, not to mention the kids. No one knows what it’s like to have to drive three hours, out to Timbutktu and beyond, listening to fourteen snarling brats who didn’t want to leave their friends.
Well, the three oldest were gonna be on their own, from here on out. It was high time they found their own den. He’d have to talk to the Bailey’s or ole Buck Alvarez, to see what direction they were fixin’ to go. He needed to get his daughter, Naomi, married off before she fell for some damn fool human like that Dyson Whatsisname.
Jerry’s song
This neighborhood has gone to the werewolves.
It used to be a vampire could sit out in the moonlight and enjoy some peace and quiet, maybe get a nice moonfade going on… But no more. The neighborhood werewolves are out and about at all hours and their children are everywhere.
Dyson has a crush on one of the little she-pups. Of course, he doesnt know that she’s a werewolf. (They never know until they’re attacked.) I wont let him date her. He thinks it’s because he is only 14. Well, it is that, but it’s also the fact that she is a werewolf.
They hunt in packs, you know. And they really don’t stop until they devour a human. Not like us vampires. We bite once, the guy doesn’t even remember. Or the woman. (I like the women. Their blood is so fresh.) We bite; we can go back and back. Self-renewing energy, you know. Very CHI CHI. Keep our carbon footprint low, haha.
But not the werewolves, no. They tear up humans and spit them out. Soon there wont be any true humans left at all.
I bet you didn’t realize it, but vampires have no sense of smell. I mention it because I imagine if we did, we could tell human from werewolf before the first bite. Ugh. Werewolf blood tastes like sulfur, well, sulfur and onion, really, but yuck.
Vampires can keep going back to our human crop, or we can tap into the carotid artery and make them immortal. A werewolf just eats a person and keeps having pups. I’m not even sure that they actually eat a person, as in chew, swallow and digest. I just know they attack and rip the guy limb from limb. All that blood wasted, spilled on the ground.
So now, it takes hours, sometimes two or three nights tracking, before I can get a decent drink. I have my wife stopping off at the butcher’s to pick up some raw steaks, but that gets expensive. Soon, it’ll be that or a big mouthful of sulfur.
Dyson’s not really at any risk from the werewolf girl. The fact is that he is part vampire. A fact that, if the wolves decide to attack, would not go unnoticed. And, as soon as they know that vampires are in the area… well, let’s just say, werewolves are not known for being subtle.
Employees Suck, Sometimes
If you run an underground parking garage, there is just no better employee than a vampire. They don’t take breaks. They don’t bitch if a light burns out. You never see them, but you know they’re always on the job.
You can get guys who don’t mind working in the daytime. It’s cool under there and the clients will sometimes tip you. Guy could make $20-30 bucks a day, just in tips; valet, my ass. Driving around in Beemers and Audi’s, once in awhile you’ll get a Jag:. “Don’t scratch that, boy.”
Boy? Are you friggin’ kiddin’ me? I’d like to key the whole neon yellow door. Boy, THIS, Meathead.
But I don’t key the damn car, you know I don’t; ’cause sure as shit that gets a scratch on it, guy’ll put in for insurance to the tune of $20 grand.
One guy, I kid you not, brought in a brand new Maserati. You don’t park that shit on the street. Even in here, gotta hope your guys are clean, no sticky fingers. Be just my luck. Got any priors? Guy checks “No” on the application, who the hell has time to check?
So I run the parking garage. I’m what they call a Manager. Guy that owns this garage, owns ten or fifteen more, all over the city. I hire. I fire. I write up the schedule. Fill in when some asshole don’t show up for his shift ’cause his wife is having a baby or some stupid shit. What? He thinks I got time to give a rat’s ass?
They’re always bitching about Working Conditions: “Mikey, the light’s burnt out on 3-C.” “Mikey, ya gotta repaint the yellow lines, cause the last guy just got done parking the cars all cockeyed.”
Mikey, this. Mikey that. Mikey my friggin’ ass. Soon’s I get home the wife lets me have it, too. “Mikey, Deena has dance class.” “Mikey, could you run to the market?”
I’ve thought about this a lot. I swear, one of these days, I’m gonna change my name to Why-Dont-I. As in, WhyDontI, get up and make the coffee. WhyDontI, get the kids to school. WhyDontI, fix my own damn light.
So, like I said, having a vampire working the night shift is perfect. You never see them, but you know they’re always on the job. They don’t expect a whole lot of money, ’cause really, what else are they gonna do? And, yeah, if someone comes in and tries to raid the place. Comes in with a slim jim, set of lock picks, what have you. If someone comes in, tries to pop the hood and hot-wire a client’s car, well, who am I to stand in the way of a vampire out for a little midnight snack?
My Dad sucks… no, really.
My Dad sucks, and it’s not just because he’s a vampire.
My friend’s are like, “Dude, it’s so cool that your dad is a vampire.” But they don’t know what they’re talking about. First of all, I have to do everything: mow the lawn, clean the garage, paint the fence… He just sleeps all day and yells at me at night, if it’s not done just right. I mean, sheesh, he can see perfectly when it’s pitch black outside… Why can’t he do it? He says it’s because he doesn’t want to keep the neighbors awake, but I think that’s just some sort of excuse.
I wanted him to be able to do stuff, like other dads: take me fishing or teach me to ice-skate. Well, he did try to teach me how to ride a bike, but I dont think it counts to just push me down a hill in the middle of the night, yelling “There aren’t any cars coming!” And don’t even get me started about when he tried to teach me to play baseball. I had a black eye for a week. I mean, who does things in the dark, besides a vampire?
Well, I guess he does try… He always volunteers to go camping with my Boy Scout troop, but the Scout leaders don’t like it when he flakes during the day. And, when he finally wakes up, he has to track us through the woods to our next campsite. He’s not a bad tracker, but he sometimes gets distracted and takes off after a wolf pack or something.
He did get me my first paper route, well it’s actually his paper route, but I go door to door to collect money. He’s the one who picks up the papers at 3 o’clock in the morning, though.
He says there are werewolves in the downtown area. He thinks maybe the Baileys or the Alvarez family. It’s hard to tell because they change so drastically. That’s one thing about my dad: he always looks like Dad. He’s a little pastier than the other dads, but he always looks like himself. A werewolf doesn’t look like his picture. Or her picture. Because Dad says that one of them is a girl from my class. That’s pretty weird, right?
I sure wish I knew…
My husband sucks. No, really.
Everyone thinks it’s glamorous being married to a vampire. You may have heard about my friend Isabella and her hubby Edward? That’s right: they’ve had FOUR movies made about them. Sure, Edward is a hot young guy. So was Jerry. Well, so IS Jerry. Because what you may not understand to start with, is that he will always be hot and young. You, meanwhile, will grow old and fat. You will become a grandmother. But first, you will become a Cougar.
A cougar is a middle-aged woman: Me, with a hot young stud: Jerry. We only ever go out at night, to smoky bars and seedy strip clubs, because that’s all that’s open at 1 or 2 in the morning. Jerry sleeps all day and is up all night. I, on the other hand, have to be at work at 7:00 am, so I’m a little bit of the typical ball-and-chain, especially during the week.
On the weekends, when we do go out, Jerry is always hitting on cocktail waitresses, bartenders, and strippers. Well, I know he’s just in it for the blood, and it doesnt mean anything, but you know it just doesnt feel right to be the one who has to watch this kind of stuff happening right in front of me. Everyone else in the bar is feeling sorry for the frumpy little housewife, and here’s Jerry, salivating all over some post-college co-ed. Being the typical guy, Jerry doesn’t see the problem and he wonders why I’m always in a bad mood.
Well, HERE’S WHY:
I’ve worked all week. I’m the oldest teacher at the Forest Grove Preschool and I’ve spent my day wiping runny noses, listening to mothers complain and dodging grubby, little four-year-old hands. Then I come home from work and have to cook TWO meals, because Mr. Loverboy, cannot eat just plain mac and cheese like the rest of us. Oh, no. He has to have extra-lean, uber-rare meat that I got from the butcher’s (because, God forbid, HE ever goes shopping!), but it can’t be raw — it has to be warm, ugh.
And then, after dinner, I’m trying to relax and unwind, maybe get a little romance going on, and he’s over there snoring his head off. Not sexy. Just, not.
So, I finally get him out of my bedroom, and try to get some sleep, and what does he do? Yes. He’s a guy, right? He sits out on the sofa, in the dark, in his boxers, watching a million episodes of Ghost Hunters and Paranormal Activities at top volume. (Let’s face it, he’s 125 years old. His hearing isn’t what it used to be.) And there he is snorting and laughing, loud and long, like a hyena. I once asked him what was so funny and he just rolled his eyes and said, “This stuff is so Unrealistic!”
Once upon a time, I was an upbeat, optimistic 24-year old and I fell for a dark, brooding vampire, with bedroom eyes and the soul of a poet. The relationship cost me an arm and a leg. No, really: left arm, right leg. (He doesn’t go after me like he does my friends; he leaves my neck alone because… well, he just couldn’t have me being young and beautiful and immortal, now could he?)
So now I’m 38 and he looks ten years my junior, making me the town cougar. We have two kids, whom I am pretty much raising by myself because, really, he’s never awake when they’re up.
Trust me, check with Isabella in about 6 years, and she’ll tell you the same thing: being married to a vampire really sucks.
myfamilysux 