Attack of the Vampire Weenies (15 page)

I took a step back. But Fritz Garlans, the second-meanest member of Barton's gang, moved behind me. There was no escape.

“So what is it?” Barton asked again.

“It's…” I was having a hard time getting the words out. My throat was clenching and trembling at the same time. “… an…” I gritted my teeth for a moment, then tried to expel the third word. “… ape…”

“Ape!” Fritz screamed.

They all started laughing and making monkey sounds. Barton hopped up and down and scratched his sides like a monkey. That was stupid. Monkeys aren't apes. They're simians. Gorillas are apes. And I obviously didn't have an ape in the box. Not even a small one. But there was no way I was going to get all that information out in one sentence.

Barton grabbed my collar. “Last chance. What is it?”

“My … science … project.” Somehow, I managed to squeeze out the words. My voice sounded so small, I'm surprised it didn't die before it reached his ears.

“Great,” Barton said. “I needed one. I'll bet a nerd like you gets perfect grades.” He snatched the box from my hands.

I was about to shout something angry—not that it would have done any good—when I heard him say, “Come on, let's go to the club.”

Okay—this could get interesting. My fear was replaced by curiosity and anticipation. The club was an old metal shed where Barton and his gang hung out. I think it had been a garage or something a long time ago. It was at the top of a steep hill. With the sun beating down on the roof, the air inside got nice and toasty long before the outside temperature warmed up. I waited while they walked off. As soon as they were a safe distance away, I followed, but moved slowly and carefully. The hill was pretty rocky, and I didn't want to fall and go sliding across the sharp stones.

When I reached the club, I knelt by one of the filthy windows and tried to see inside. I could barely hear them talking.

“Let's see what we have here.”

“Some kind of paper thing?”

“Yeah. Weird. Maybe it's a model. Science geeks love to make models.”

“Pull it out.”

“Looks kind of like a beehive.”

Which is exactly what it was. I'd tried to tell Barton it was an apiary, but he'd cut me off after the first syllable. I don't think it would have mattered if I'd gotten all four syllables out. He still wouldn't have known what that meant. Bees are in the Apidae family. A hive is an apiary.

I pressed my ear against the window, but I didn't hear any more talking. I mostly heard screams and crashes until the door flew open and Barton came running out, followed by the rest of his gang. They were swatting at their faces and slapping at their clothes. I winced as I watched them tumble down the hillside and roll across the sharp stones. It looked like beestings might be the least of their problems.

I'd have to wait until evening to get my hive back. The bees wouldn't settle down until it got cool inside the shed. But that was okay. The project wasn't due until tomorrow. And I was pretty sure I wouldn't have to worry about running into Barton or his gang for a while.

 

THE BLACKER CAT

“Here's your first present.”
Uncle Roderick held out a thin package wrapped in red tissue and tied with a black bow.

“My birthday isn't until tomorrow,” I said. I didn't miss the “first present” part, which meant there was more to come, but I felt I should make sure my uncle knew the right date.

“That's why I'm giving this to you tonight. It will prepare you for the real present.”

Prepare me?
This was getting interesting. I took the package. Uncle Roderick had a strange sense of humor, and no kids of his own. I was his only niece. So some of his presents were weird, but he was always generous. Once in a while, I got something really amazing, like the kid-size electric car he gave me when I was six, or the beautiful snow globe he gave me the year before last.

Of course, the fact that he didn't have kids meant that he also gave me a present now and then that was too old, too dangerous, or too explosive for a twelve-year-old girl. The object in my hands didn't look like it belonged in any of those categories.

“It feels like a book.”

“Perhaps it is,” he said.

It was.

I read the title out loud:
“The Black Cat.”
The words were printed in gold on the dark brown cover. I ran my fingers over the letters. I could feel the curve of the
C
in
Cat.
The letters weren't just printed—they were actually stamped. The smell of real leather tickled my nose. Beneath the title was the name Edgar Allan Poe. “I've heard of him. He wrote that poem about the raven.”

“And other things. As I mentioned, this is just to prepare you for your real present.” He gave me a mysterious smile.

“Then I'll be sure to read it tonight.” I definitely wanted to be prepared.

“Speaking of which, off to your room,” Mom said. “You're already up past your bedtime.”

“I'm almost a year older,” I said.

“You're almost a day older,” Mom said. “Good night.”

I didn't argue. I was actually eager to go to sleep, since it would be my birthday when I woke. I changed into my pajamas, crawled under the covers, and opened the book.

The story was pretty short. It didn't take much time to read. But I didn't fall asleep for a long while, because the story was also horrifying. It totally creeped me out. It was about this guy who does something terrible to his cat. And then the cat tries to get even. It was really not the perfect bedtime tale, and it was definitely an imperfect birthday gift.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw black cats with glowing yellow eyes. Slitted goat's eyes. Long fangs dripping saliva. Claws clotted with bits of slashed flesh. The cat in the story had only one eye. I didn't even want to think about how he'd lost the other one. I love cats. I love all animals—all living things, really—except for wasps and snakes. But this cat that slinked through my mind was scary.

“Happy birthday,” Mom said when I came down to the kitchen the next morning. “Sleep well?”

I shrugged. Birds had started chirping by the time I'd finally drifted off.

She poured a glass of orange juice for me, then got to work on her special blueberry pancake batter. “Uncle Roderick called. He's going to be here at noon with your present.”

I hope it's not another story.

While we ate breakfast, Mom gave me my presents, including the ones my other uncles and aunts had sent. I got all sorts of nice stuff—lots of clothes, some gift certificates, and a pretty coral necklace from one of my aunts. But I couldn't get that story out of my mind. As soon as he showed up, I planned to tell Uncle Roderick how inappropriate his gift was.

When the doorbell rang, I raced down the hall. But it wasn't Uncle Roderick. It was Leslie-Anne Heskith, standing on my porch with her mom right behind her.

Leslie-Anne had a badly wrapped present in her hands and a barely hidden frown on her lips.

“Go ahead,” her mom said, giving Leslie-Anne a little push.

“Happy birthday,” Leslie-Anne muttered with the same tone of voice a person would use to say, “Drink some poison.” She shoved the box at me.

I took it with the enthusiasm of someone who knows she's drinking poison. “Thanks.”

Leslie-Anne didn't like me. I didn't like her. She could be real mean to other kids when there weren't any adults around. And she was still angry that I'd gotten the lead role in the play last year. But our moms were friends, so I couldn't always avoid her.

I opened the box. It was a small mirror. That part was fine. But the frame was sort of creepy. It had a guy's face and shoulders carved at the top. The rest of the frame was made of his arms. Leslie-Anne's grandfather owns this shop full of antiques and old junk. I think she does all her birthday shopping there, taking stuff nobody would buy.

“You like mythology, right?” Leslie-Anne said.

“Yeah.” That was true. But I was interested in Egypt, Greece, and places like that. This looked—well, it just looked weird.

“It's an ancient snake god,” she said.

“I see.” I took another look at the arms. Yup—they were snakes. Their heads wrapped around each other at the bottom of the mirror. Great. Just what I'd always wanted. “Uh, thanks.”

“You're welcome.” Leslie-Anne squirmed free of her mom's grip and scooted away.

I went upstairs and put the mirror on the table next to my bed. I wanted to toss it in a drawer, but I figured Mrs. Heskith would ask to see it the next time she visited my mom.

The doorbell rang again. Uncle Roderick was on the porch, holding my present. I froze, stared, and forgot all my plans to tell him what I felt about that story.

“Happy birthday,” he said. “It would have been cruel to wrap him.”

I wanted to shout,
For me?
But I was afraid the answer would be no. This all seemed impossible.

He held the cat up. “Go ahead. Take him.”

Afraid it was some sort of trick, I reached out and put my hands on either side of the cat. His fur was soft, but I could feel muscle and bone beneath it.

I'd always wanted a cat. But not a black one with fur so dark, it seemed to swallow the sunlight. Not after last night.

“Did you ask Mom?” I said.

He nodded. “Of course. I'd never do something to annoy my sister. She can be quite fond of revenge.”

Mom came up behind me and put a hand on my shoulder. “We did have a bit of a discussion,” she said. “But your uncle convinced me that you're old enough to be responsible for a pet.”

Uncle Roderick let go and stepped back. I held the cat closer. He wasn't all grown up, but he wasn't quite a kitten, either. He purred and stared up at me with green eyes. Two of them. No slits. No fangs. No flesh on his claws. He didn't seem evil.

“What's wrong?” Uncle Roderick asked. “I thought you'd be floating in mid-air and making little high-pitched squealing sounds.”

“Nothing's wrong,” I said. “I love him.” I bent my head down and rubbed my cheek against the soft black fur. The cat purred even louder and sniffed my ear. “Uh, Uncle Roderick?”

“Yes?”

“Did you read the story before you gave it to me?”

“I think I read it many years ago,” he said. “I don't remember most of it. But I wanted to give you a nice hint about your present, and the man in the bookstore told me this was a classic. Why?”

“Nothing.” I went back to nuzzling my cat. I also silently forgave my uncle for not paying enough attention to the sort of books he picked for me.

“He needs a name,” Uncle Roderick said.

I didn't even have to think about it. “Loki.” That seemed perfect. Cats get into mischief, and Loki was the Norse trickster god.

“Good choice,” Uncle Roderick said. “But wait! There's more.” He went back to his car to get the food bowl, litter box, scratching post, and other cat-related items he'd stashed in his trunk. It took three trips for him to bring everything inside.

“Happy?” he asked when he was finished.

“Happy,” I said. I put Loki down on the couch next to me. He paced around for a moment, then crawled into my lap, kneaded my leg, and fell asleep.

Definitely happy.

“You're not like that cat in the story,” I whispered.

Loki's ears twitched, but he didn't wake up.

That night, Loki came upstairs and followed me down the hallway to my bedroom.

“This is where we sleep.” I patted the mattress. “Come on, Loki. Come in.”

He stared at me from just outside the doorway. Then he hissed. It wasn't a little hiss. His mouth was open so wide, I could see all his teeth. I let out a yelp and backed away. Loki hissed again. The hair on his back bristled and his tail curled under his body. I could almost imagine him leaping on my face and clawing my eyes.

I slammed my door.

The book,
The Black Cat,
was still on the table next to my bed. I picked it up and put it in my drawer. I didn't want to think about evil cats.

All night, I kept waking up. I heard sounds. Faint tapping and scratching. Maybe he was trying to get in. I pulled the covers up as far as they would go, and tried to ignore the sounds.

The next morning, Loki woke me up by purring in my ear. I sat up, startled. I guess Mom had opened the door when she went past.

I looked at him. “No more hissing?”

He licked his paw and groomed his face.

Okay. That's better. I scratched him behind the ear. He closed his eyes and pushed his head against my fingers.

Loki followed me around for most of the day. He also slept a lot, right in a sunny patch that came through the window. I knew cats did that. Even when they're asleep, they look so pretty.

I thought everything was fine. But Loki hissed at me again when I went to bed that night. I slammed the door and tried to calm myself as I got ready to go to sleep.

Loki scratched at the door.

I ignored the sound.

He scratched harder.

My stomach clenched.
I'm the human,
I told myself.
I'm in charge.
I opened the door and stared at him. There was no way I was hiding in my room.

He hissed and took a step toward me. I backed away a step.

He took another step.

“Loki!” I yelled. “Stop that right now!”

I thought about the black cat in the story. I thought about all the evil things that happened. Every scary story I'd ever read tumbled through my mind. Suddenly, I knew I'd made a mistake opening the door. Somehow, this black cat was going to hurt me. Badly. Maybe even kill me.

He was inside the room now. It was too late to try to close the door.

I looked around for something I could hold to protect myself. I couldn't let him get to my eyes. I reached for a pillow.