This Is Not About Vampires
I Hate Parking, Getting My Aglets Chewed by a Shurpa, and Meeting Moms Who Kill the Undead
I parked one third of the car on the driveway, one third on Ballah’s lawn, and one third on her mailbox. She didn’t seem to mind.
“Uh… I kind of renovated your front lawn…” I apologized.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, wiping a string of melty cheese from her lip, “I wasn’t paying attention, I was lost in this panini.”
She popped the last corner of the sandwich into her mouth and hopped out of the SUV. I followed her up her driveway to her two-story, paint-peely house. The house was a lot like Ballah, comfortable and not overdone.
She opened the door and a small furry creature bounced out and began humping my leg.
“Oh hey Hubert!” Ballah cooed, picking up the fluff ball. Well, it was less of a ‘picking up’ and more of a ‘prying off’.
“What is that?” I asked, brushing fur from my pants.
“It’s my pet shurpa.”
“Shurpa? That’s not even a real animal.”
“Think again!” Ballah yelled, shoving the furry animal in my face before running inside and slamming the door. Hubert immediately began doing a mating dance on my face. I shook it off and began pounding on the door.
“Ballah! Open up!” The shurpa began licking the plastic nubs at the end of my shoelaces that no one knows the name of.
“Help!” I cried, “I’m being mauled by a shurpa!”
“I need a password!” Ballah called from behind the door.
“Tenacious!”
“Say it with feeling!”
“TenAYcious!”
“Say it like a shurpa is gnawing at your aglets!”
Ah, so Ballah knew what they were called.
“A shurpa is gnawing my aglets!”
“Fine!” The door opened and Ballah, wearing her devil-sneer face, was revealed.
“You’re horrible,” I grumbled at her. But I wasn’t actually mad… which was strange. Usually I’m annoyed by playful things such as that.
“I’m sorry,” she said, raising her hands in a sign of surrender, “I just wanted to see how far I could push you.”
“Be careful…” I warned, “That’s how people get killed.”
She stuck out her tongue before gesturing for me to come inside.
“DAD!” She shrieked up the stairs.
“WHAT?!” a voice called from up the stairs.
“I’M HOME!”
“OKAY!”
“AREN’T YOU GOING TO ASK ME HOW MY DAY WAS?!”
“FINE, HOW WAS YOUR DAY?”
“FUCKING SUCKED! THANKS FOR INTRUDING IN MY LIFE!”
“OKAY!”
I supposed this parent interaction was normal. I hadn’t had parents for a while, so I guessed things had changed quite a bit. I was honored and intrigued to be able to observer how a normal adolescent interacted with their parental unit.
“Oh, hi Ballah!” A sweet looking woman popped her head out of a doorway, “Don’t you have detention?”
“Hi mom!” Ballah reciprocated, “I did, but it got canceled. The school went into lockdown because a breakfast banshee is on the loose.”
“Ballah…” her mother lectured, “I thought I prepared you to fight the undead!” Where’s the salt I gave you? It’s much more useful than that pepper spray your father gave you.”
“Yeah, the machete, shotgun, and grenades are more useful too,” Ballah said, rolling her eyes and pulling out the container of salt from her pocket.
“Now,” Ballah’s mom instructed, “Circle formation!”
“Mooom!” Ballah whined, “Do I have to? I have a friend over!”
Ballah’s mom just glared.
“Fine!”
Ballah spun the salt around in a single arcing motion, encircling herself with the tiny white crystals.
I watched, impressed. I liked how if we were ever attacked by undead creatures, she could handle herself. She’s strong, independent, and doesn’t rely on some sparkly douche bag of a man to help her every time she’s in danger.
“Good job Ballah,” Her mom said, inspecting the circle. Then she turned to me.
“Hello, I’m Mrs. Swank, nice to meet you.”
“I’m Tyler,” I said warily. I was nervous this housewife could detect my undead-ness with her apparent knowledge of the subject. She gave me a stern once over, then smiled. If I could breath, I would have been holding my breath.
“Well Tyler, lunch will be ready in a few minutes, you’re welcome to join us. Ballah, why don’t you two set the table?”
I followed Ballah into the kitchen where I saw our lunch. A giant animal was packed into the oven, cooking. A bloody machete with anti-demon runes etched into the blade was sitting on the counter among different ingredients. This lunch was going to be interesting. Mrs. Swank was a hunter, and we were eating her most recent kill: chupacabra.
“Uh… I kind of renovated your front lawn…” I apologized.
“Oh, sorry,” she said, wiping a string of melty cheese from her lip, “I wasn’t paying attention, I was lost in this panini.”
She popped the last corner of the sandwich into her mouth and hopped out of the SUV. I followed her up her driveway to her two-story, paint-peely house. The house was a lot like Ballah, comfortable and not overdone.
She opened the door and a small furry creature bounced out and began humping my leg.
“Oh hey Hubert!” Ballah cooed, picking up the fluff ball. Well, it was less of a ‘picking up’ and more of a ‘prying off’.
“What is that?” I asked, brushing fur from my pants.
“It’s my pet shurpa.”
“Shurpa? That’s not even a real animal.”
“Think again!” Ballah yelled, shoving the furry animal in my face before running inside and slamming the door. Hubert immediately began doing a mating dance on my face. I shook it off and began pounding on the door.
“Ballah! Open up!” The shurpa began licking the plastic nubs at the end of my shoelaces that no one knows the name of.
“Help!” I cried, “I’m being mauled by a shurpa!”
“I need a password!” Ballah called from behind the door.
“Tenacious!”
“Say it with feeling!”
“TenAYcious!”
“Say it like a shurpa is gnawing at your aglets!”
Ah, so Ballah knew what they were called.
“A shurpa is gnawing my aglets!”
“Fine!” The door opened and Ballah, wearing her devil-sneer face, was revealed.
“You’re horrible,” I grumbled at her. But I wasn’t actually mad… which was strange. Usually I’m annoyed by playful things such as that.
“I’m sorry,” she said, raising her hands in a sign of surrender, “I just wanted to see how far I could push you.”
“Be careful…” I warned, “That’s how people get killed.”
She stuck out her tongue before gesturing for me to come inside.
“DAD!” She shrieked up the stairs.
“WHAT?!” a voice called from up the stairs.
“I’M HOME!”
“OKAY!”
“AREN’T YOU GOING TO ASK ME HOW MY DAY WAS?!”
“FINE, HOW WAS YOUR DAY?”
“FUCKING SUCKED! THANKS FOR INTRUDING IN MY LIFE!”
“OKAY!”
I supposed this parent interaction was normal. I hadn’t had parents for a while, so I guessed things had changed quite a bit. I was honored and intrigued to be able to observer how a normal adolescent interacted with their parental unit.
“Oh, hi Ballah!” A sweet looking woman popped her head out of a doorway, “Don’t you have detention?”
“Hi mom!” Ballah reciprocated, “I did, but it got canceled. The school went into lockdown because a breakfast banshee is on the loose.”
“Ballah…” her mother lectured, “I thought I prepared you to fight the undead!” Where’s the salt I gave you? It’s much more useful than that pepper spray your father gave you.”
“Yeah, the machete, shotgun, and grenades are more useful too,” Ballah said, rolling her eyes and pulling out the container of salt from her pocket.
“Now,” Ballah’s mom instructed, “Circle formation!”
“Mooom!” Ballah whined, “Do I have to? I have a friend over!”
Ballah’s mom just glared.
“Fine!”
Ballah spun the salt around in a single arcing motion, encircling herself with the tiny white crystals.
I watched, impressed. I liked how if we were ever attacked by undead creatures, she could handle herself. She’s strong, independent, and doesn’t rely on some sparkly douche bag of a man to help her every time she’s in danger.
“Good job Ballah,” Her mom said, inspecting the circle. Then she turned to me.
“Hello, I’m Mrs. Swank, nice to meet you.”
“I’m Tyler,” I said warily. I was nervous this housewife could detect my undead-ness with her apparent knowledge of the subject. She gave me a stern once over, then smiled. If I could breath, I would have been holding my breath.
“Well Tyler, lunch will be ready in a few minutes, you’re welcome to join us. Ballah, why don’t you two set the table?”
I followed Ballah into the kitchen where I saw our lunch. A giant animal was packed into the oven, cooking. A bloody machete with anti-demon runes etched into the blade was sitting on the counter among different ingredients. This lunch was going to be interesting. Mrs. Swank was a hunter, and we were eating her most recent kill: chupacabra.
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I'm sorry this is a week late! My computer crashed! It seems every time I have a break from school, my computer thinks it's a wonderful time to kill itself... I got it back only a few days ago. It sucks, I was planning on writing so much over break, but I got nothing done. Anyway, to make it up to ya'll for missing a week, I'm going to update with TWO chapters next week. That's right, two whole juicy angst-filled chapters! Be excited. Or else. Also, it saddens me to say, but this is one of the last chapters of This is Not About Vampires. It's coming to close soon, but don't despair! I will be writing a new story that will hopefully tickle your fancy. It's more serious, but it'll be out there, don't you worry.