The Dorkiest Vampire

The town of Merridick, Louisiana was utterly destroyed by the Interstate system. Before then, when people traveled on steamboats up the river or along the old highways, the town had boomed with revenue from passers-through, but when the Interstate came along and swerved to avoid Merridick, the town began to fade with the loss of passersby, no longer stopping by in the small town. While its population had numbers in the thousands at the turn of the century, there were now around five-hundred people currently residing in the small town. I knew all about the history of Merridick because my father was the town historian and my grandfather had been the mayor.

The history of my family, the Marrioneaux’s, in Louisiana went way back. One of our first ancestors was a French fur-trader who worked in Natchitoches in the early 1700s. Our family was basically a perfect mix of Cajun and Creole coming down through the years, having settled in Merridick when Louisiana was still a French colony. Our family had once run an indigo plantation and had been very wealthy, but most of the money had disappeared after the Civil War. The family had sold of parcels of land, allowing the city of Merridick to expand, until all that was left was a few acres and the family house, a seven bedroom plantation house called Weeping Waters. The original French name of the house was La Maison des Pleurant Eaux, but it was changed when the United States gained possession of the Louisiana territory.

Like everything in our small town, our house had a legend behind it. A small creek, a tributary of the St. Françoise than runs through town, flows a few feet behind our house, called Weeping Creek. Philippe Marrioneaux, who built Weeping Waters, four children but his eldest son, Jacques had always shown signs of being troubled. He claimed to hear the sound of a woman weeping in the creek behind the house and would creep out silently in the night, walking up and down the creek looking for her. One morning, he didn’t come to breakfast and the family sent out a search party.

They found his body three days later, floating in the St. Françoise River. At first, they thought it was a suicide, but upon closer examination, he seemed as though he had been strangled then drowned.
At some point during his murder, his body also appeared to have been drained of blood. He was buried in the family graveyard, where you can still barely read his tombstone. They say, on cold summer nights, if you sit by the creek under the Spanish moss, you can still hear the voice of a woman crying alongside Weeping Creek.

As children, my brother Ritchie and I were always isolated from most of the other children in town. Most of the kids in town wouldn’t play with us because they believed we were stuck up. Our family was one of few in Merridick that wasn’t poor or didn’t live in a trailer park. The other children were afraid of us. Every in town grew up knowing the legend of the Weeping Waters, and most people in town were pretty superstitious, believing our house was haunted and our family was cursed. I never saw a ghost in the house and our family had done pretty well for ourselves, surviving through generations of war, financial crises, and several other family disasters. We’d just about as much drama as every other family in town, but since our family are sort of Merridick’s local celebrities, our business is pretty much everybody’s business.

Despite the fact that our family was either idolized or despised in Merridick, my brother Ritchie had managed to become quite popular. He was a senior at Merridick High School this year, played on the football and basketball teams, was student body vice-president, president of the Beta Club and the National Honors Society, vice-president of French Club, and even still had time to date. He joked that all his accomplishments were pretty good for a guy who began and ended every day in the principal’s office, but the principal of Merridick High School was our Uncle Joe Marrioneaux, dad’s younger brother. Ritchie popped in every morning and before leaving every afternoon just to talk with Uncle Joe.

It’s where he brought me my very first day of freshman year. Ritchie was generally a pretty decent big brother and had agreed with my parents to show me around school and make sure I got to my classes and wasn’t rolled in a trashcan or anything. Being Ritchie Marrioneaux’s little sister and the principal’s only niece, I doubted anyone would try to roll in me in a trashcan. I was pretty worried about my first day of school. Once we left elementary school, where everyone acts like best friends,

I didn’t really have friends. In middle school, I spent most of my time hiding out in the library. I was hoping to start fresh this new year and maybe actually make some friends among the other kids in my grade. Ritchie motioned for me to follow him through the front doors of the school and straight into Uncle Joe’s office.

“Hey kids!” Uncle Joe called out to the two of us when he heard the door slide open. “Ready for senior year, Ritchie?”

“You bet!” Ritchie grinned.

“How about you, Riley?” Uncle Joe asked me. “Ready for freshman year?”

“Uncle Joe,” I moaned. I hated being called by my old family nickname.

“Aurelie, then,” Uncle Joe laughed. “Are you ready?”

“I’m pretty nervous, actually,” I admitted.

“Did you guys hear about St. Françoise House?” Uncle Joe asked.

“What do you mean? They finally sold the old place?” Ritchie asked with raised eyebrows.

St. Françoise House was the only other plantation house in the immediate vicinity. No one had lived there since the turn of the century when the family that owned it went completely bankrupt and had to sell it. The house had fallen into terrible disrepair after that and no one had lived there in my lifetime nor my father’s, nor even my grandfather’s.

“Yeah. A couple bought it over the summer and fixed it up,” Uncle Joe said. “Looks nice, just like it did in all those old photos in your dad’s office.”

“Who’s living there now?” I asked curiously.

“That’s what I was hoping to talk to you guys about,” Uncle Joe said. “Their names are Jean-Pierre and Louise Vespasien. They moved here from New Orleans right before Katrina, and they have a son named Michael, who’s about your age Riley. Kid’s a bit of a loner, has a hard time making friends.”

“Just like you!” Ritchie teased me. I rolled my eyes at him.

“Anyway, he’s had a hard time at his past few schools,” Uncle Joe replied. “Gets bullied a lot. I was hoping you guys could show him around school and maybe hedge against him getting beat up around here.”

“Why does he get beat up a lot?” I asked curiously.

“He’s a pretty sick kid, allergic to a lot of stuff,” Uncle Joe shrugged. “Apparently, he has an iron deficiency too. Has to take a whole cocktail of pills every mealtime just to function.”

“No wonder people wail on him,” Ritchie nodded.

“Be nice,” Uncle Joe warned.

A knock came at the door and Uncle Joe beckoned the person on the other end of the door to come in. In stepped a boy with shaggy black hair and pale, nearly translucent skin. I couldn’t see his eyes from behind his hair, but he looked absolutely terrified. He had black shoes, black jeans, a plain black t-shirt, and even a black leather jacket though it was still nearly 100 degrees outside. He also had on tinted glasses, square lens with brown tinted lens that covered up the part of his eyes not covered by his shaggy hair.

“Ah, Michael! It’s nice to see you again! How are your parents?” Uncle Joe asked him chipperly.

“F-fine…” he replied nervously.

“Michael, this is my nephew Richard and my niece Aurelie,” Uncle Joe introduced us. “They’ll be showing you around. Riley’s a freshman this year too, so you guys might have a couple of classes together.”

“Hi!” I waved at him. He looked at me blankly, then resumed looking at his feet.

“Well, let’s go to the attendance office and get your schedules,” Ritchie grinned at the two of us. “Don’t want to be late, do we Uncle Joe?”

“In fifteen minutes, that’s Principal Marrioneaux to you,” Uncle Joe teased him.

Ritchie adjusted his backpack and then led the way out of the main office and down the hall to the attendance office. I followed behind him and Michael followed behind me, keeping his eyes completely focused on his Converses. Ritchie shot me an amused glance and then addressed Michael as we walked.

“So, how was life in the Big Easy?” Ritchie asked conversationally. Normally, Ritchie’s thousand watt grin could melt any heart or befriend any stranger, but this kid seemed to shrug it off. I was often considered the strangest kid in town and Michael Vespasien was proving to be a weirdo, even by my standards.

“I hear you’re leaving in St. Françoise House,” Ritchie continued. “That’s a nice place. We live just down the road. Weeping Waters, maybe you’ve heard of it?” At the mention of our house, Michael flinched, like he’d been stung by a bee or something. Ritchie laughed. “People already telling you all those old legends about the place? Don’t worry, it’s not haunted. Just old and creaky.”

Ritchie led us in to the attendance office, flirted with a few of the female student aids, and then handed us our schedules. Michael took his gingerly, without a word, and began reading it. I looked over mine as well, with Ritchie glancing over my shoulder.

“Let’s see…” Ritchie said. “You got Dexter for English… she’s tough but fair. You’ll learn a lot… O’Malley for history… he’s awesome. I’ve taken all his classes… Burns for biology… he’s kind of a nutcase… Coach Rose for P.E…. he’s a hardass… and Guillroy for algebra… she’s the worst… but don’t worry. You’ll get through it.”

“Thanks,” I frowned. I looked up to find Michael staring at the floor again.

“So, you think you guys can find your way around?” Ritchie asked.

“Yeah, I think we can manage,” I nodded. Ritchie nodded, waved, and headed off to meet some of his friends. I turned to Michael. “So… who do you have for homeroom…?” He didn’t answer, still nervously looking at the floor. I glanced over his shoulder.

“Mrs. Laurent… same is me…” I said. “Okay, I think her room is this way.” He nodded and followed behind me, like a shadow. Girls and guys would laugh and point at Michael as the two of us walked down the hallway together. They were also whispering about me; I could just feel it.

So much for a new start, I sighed. I looked over my shoulder to find Michael still staring down at the ground.

“Don’t let them bother you,” I told him. “This is the best it’ll ever get for most of them.” It was something my mother had always told me, though I didn’t really believe it.

However, it must have been what Michael wanted to hear. He looked up at me and smiled, but just for a flicker of an instant.

It could have been a trick of the light, but I could have sworn he had fangs.