Uncle Vampire by Cynthia D. Grant Page A

and ignite the air and the house will burst into flames. Instead, it smolders.
    I wondered about those bruises on Honey’s neck. There were two possibilities: Bradley Curtis or Uncle Vampire. If Uncle Toddy had attacked her, Honey’s scream would have awakened me. Unless I was too exhausted. I can’t stay awake every minute of my life.
    â€œAnd there’s cobbler for dessert,” my uncle announced.
    My mother looked at him as if he’d burst into song. It took a minute for her brain to decode the message. She lives in her head, not in this house.
    Then she perked up and described her day, in detail. We were with her as she curled and mascaraed each lash; as she toured the produce aisle at the supermarket and personally selected each banana.
    Papa tossed Uncle Toddy the brochure for the cruise. “You see this? It shows the ship and the island.”
    Uncle Toddy examined the colorful pamphlet. It was full of photographs of people swimming, fishing, waterskiing, smiling.
    â€œThey say the food on these cruises is unbelievable,” Uncle Toddy said. “You better figure on gaining five pounds.”
    â€œIt better be good, at these prices,” Papa said.
    Honey looked at the brochure too, but Richie didn’t take it.
    Papa was talking about the trip. I was having trouble listening. Something about the words frightened me away.
    â€œâ€”for a week, but I figured it would take her that long to relax.”
    â€œStay as long as you like,” Uncle Toddy said.
    â€œHow long are you going to be gone?” I asked.
    â€œTwo weeks,” Papa said. “Weren’t you listening?”
    â€œTwo weeks?”
    â€œDon’t worry,” Uncle Toddy said. “We’ll be fine.”
    I started to speak, but Honey cut me off and blabbed some more about the fabulous dinner. Uncle Toddy ate up every word.
    He will drink my blood, drink every drop. It is never enough, he is always thirsty. When they return from their trip, it will be too late to save me. I’ll be nothing but bones and hair.
    After dessert Honey went into the den and picked up the files lying on the floor. Uncle Toddy said he’d see about the TV set tomorrow.
    â€œIt might be cheaper to get a new one,” he said.
    â€œWhatever,” Papa said, reading the newspaper.
    I did the dishes. Then I went upstairs to the bathroom and locked the door. The white tile was so bright it burned my eyes. A shining clean mirror covered one wall. I turned on the radio Richie keeps in there. Wherever he is, he has to have noise. Silence can be scary; you can hear your heart beating, you can hear what your mind is thinking. You think about stuff that makes you sad, like hungry dogs lost on city streets, and kids who get abused and they’re crying and crying. There’s no use thinking about things you can’t fix, so it’s better not to have those pictures in your mind. I pray to God. I say, Dear God, why do you let this bad stuff happen? Grammy says it’s not His fault; that the devil is strong because lots of people give him their power. They choose evil over good, and wrong over right. But little children get hurt, and they never had a choice. They come into this world and get hit in the face, and it makes me sick. It makes me wish I wasn’t alive. Especially when I’m down. So if you put on the radio sometimes it helps drown out the sad thoughts in your mind.
    I opened the medicine cabinet and took out the scissors. My bangs needed trimming. I snipped and snipped. The next thing I knew, I had cut off half my hair. A golden flag was lying on the floor. The girl in the mirror smiled calmly at me. The hair on one side of her head was long; on the other side, it was stubble.
    Once that was done I had to keep cutting, because you can’t go around split down the middle. The hair slid from the scissors and fell to the floor. My white scalp gleamed through the bristles.
    The radio cheered me