The Dorkiest Vampire

I honestly knew there couldn’t be a good reason why Donny Boucher was strutting about in my family’s garden like he owned the place. It was even weirder that he was doing so out in the open, probably knowing that both my parents and grandparents were in the house. Everything Donny did was pretty much scary and his ability to somehow reach my house on foot, not to mention bound over the six-foot tall hedges that concealed the back gardens only intensified his creepiness. It seemed almost as though he was looking around for something and he seemed particularly interested in the old stone pathway that led from the garden to the creek.

The path was from back in the pre-sanitation days when all of the water used in the house came from the creek. Back when Weeping Waters was an indigo plantation, the slaves would go down with buckets to draw water from the creek to be used in cooking and the family’s weekly baths. A stone pathway had been laid sometime in the early 1800s to make the journey a bit easier and to get ride of the eyesore that was the original dirt path. Steps carved out of stones and handrails had been installed later on in the paths since my great-grandfather started renting out the backyard to people who wanted to get married in the shadows of an old plantation house. Just about all of the family weddings took place in the local church, but most of the receptions took place on the flat piece of ground between the house and the creek, like so many Marrioneaux family parties throughout the past four centuries.

It was against all common sense and my better judgment that I decided to leave the safety and security of my upstairs bedroom to confront Donny and inquire as to why he was trespassing on our family’s property. Even though exuded troublesome vibes, I had a feeling my father or grandfather would have been more than willing to give Donny an in-depth tour of the grounds if he had expressed an interest in them. By the time I managed to get outside, I found Donny standing by the large fountain in the backyard, designed after one in an old French castle. Before I could speak, though, Donny stood erect and started walking, counting his steps as he went.

From my limited knowledge of pirate lore and reading “The Hounds of the Baskervilles,” I recognized Donny’s gestures. It was as if he knew something was hidden a certain number of paces from the fountain and was trying to uncover it. With the fountain as his start point, Donny walked forward several paces and then stopped, looking rather confused. Without even asking, I knew what Donny was looking for. There had been an old oak tree in that exact same spot until a couple of years ago when the tree had fallen, the result of heavy winds from a coastal hurricane hitting our area. A few months afterward, the remaining stump developed a disease and had to be removed. What bothered me was how Donny knew there had once been a tree in that exact same spot since he was supposedly new to the area.

I concealed myself and held my breath, wondering what it was Donny was looking for. He poked around in the ground and seemed satisfied to find the ground in the area formed a small hill, a sign that tree roots had once been in place to pull up the ground and soil. Now confident that he was in the right location, Donny stood in the center of the little mound and began counting his paces anew. I walked behind him slowly, making sure to hide behind hedges, bushes, trees, and other large plants as we watched. Thankfully, generates of Marrioneaux’s had extraordinary green thumbs and were able to cultivate plenty of robust flora for me to hide behind.

Donny now paced to where an old sundial had always stood. According to family lore, the sundial was one of the few items still remaining that the original Marrioneaux family brought over with them from France, a sort of spot from their old home to incorporate into their new one. The stand was marble and had withstood many hurricanes, floods, and storms. The original gold sundial had been removed to family safekeeping and had been replaced with a cheaper steel version from a local gardening store. Donny frowned as he looked at the current model, which was plain. The original sundial – which was stored in the town history museum – was an elaborate plate with a sun design vaguely reminiscent of symbol for Louis XIV, the Sun King. Another family legend said a sun symbol incorporated into the Marrioneaux estate in France was an inspiration for the king himself.

For some reason, the fact that the sun plate was no longer on the sundial froze Donny’ search for whatever it was he was looking for. It was then I saw he had a piece of paper in hand that he was using to make notations. I had a feeling he was using the piece of paper as instructions, or as a map of how to locate whatever he was looking for. The sun face probably had something to do with the directions provided and, without the original plate, Donny couldn’t follow through. Frustrated, he turned to make a furious exit from the garden.

Though it probably shouldn’t have surprised me, I gaped in horror as Donny leapt our seven-foot-tall hedges in a single bound before speeding off into the woods in a way that can only be characterized as inhuman. He disappeared off into the dark wooded area of old trees and Spanish moss that concealed the bayou. I knew there were some rather vicious crocodiles lurking in the swampy waters between our house and Mick’s, buts somehow, I determined Donny didn’t have much of a reason to be afraid of the snappy animals. Not sure what to do, I ran into the house and dialed Mick’s number, wondering if he would have some sort of input into this.

“Hello, Vespasien residence,” Donny’s smooth voice said from the other end. My breath hitched and I felt sick to my stomach, wondering how Donny had gotten back to their house so quickly.

“It’s Riley… Riley Marrionneaux? I’m calling for Mick?” I asked nervously.

“He’s a bit busy right now,” Donny said. I could practically see him smirking and shivered.

“It’s sort of important…” I began.

“Who’s on the phone, Donny?” I heard Galiene call from somewhere in the background.

“It’s…” Donny began.

“Galiene’s there? Oh, maybe she could help me out,” I said hurried. Anyone was better than talking to Donny.

“Here,” Donny said begrudgingly. I heard Galiene scramble for the phone, giving me the impression Donny had thrown it at her rather than handed it to her.

“What’s going on?” Galiene asked me curiously as she took the phone.

“Is he still there? “I whispered, afraid Donny might here me. Galiene was quiet for a moment.

“Yes…” she said, desperately trying to not sound suspicious.

“Do something to make him go away,” I begged her.

“Well, when I’m on my period, I usually take just a couple of Tylenol, but if your cramps are really bad I’d look into something stronger,” Galiene said into the phone. She was quite for a moment and I could hear furious shuffling in the room. “He’s gone.”

“Thank heaven,” I sighed.

“What’s he creeping you about now?” Galiene sighed.

“He was poking around my backyard, completely uninvited and unannounced, like he was looking for buried treasure or something,” I grimaced. “Do you have any idea why he’d be creeping around my house?”

“Stalking you?” Galiene shrugged.

“Please, this is really scary, okay?” I begged her.

“I know,” Galiene admitted. “I’d have to ask Mr. Vespasien or something, but you can’t do anything in this house with Donny’s here. He suffocates all of us… “

“Isn’t he leaving anytime soon?” I begged.

“No,” Galiene sighed. “We can’t get him to go, no matter what. And we have to be nice to him because… well, he knows people, you know?”

“Yeah,” I said, wondering how much Galiene knew about what I knew. We both sighed. “You know, he’s going to be curious as to why I was calling Mick to talk about my period. I mean, that’s who I asked for originally.”

“Maybe,” Galiene shrugged. “He’ll probably just tease Mick mercilessly about it.”

“I hope not,” I frowned.

Galiene and I said our goodbyes and then I went to bed. The rest of the week progressed like normal until Saturday afternoon when a familiar but unwanted black sports car came up the drive. Inside, I was terrified to find both Donny and my father. I had learned through Mick that not all vampires were pure evil but if pure evil existed, I was starting to get the idea that Donny Boucher might be where it formed. Donny was laughing and chatting with my father, though there was an unmistakable cold and calculating fire within his eyes. I shivered as Donny passed through our house and kept myself hidden while my father took him into his office. It wasn’t until supper that night I had some answers as to why Donny was making himself familiar with our property.

“You’ll never guess who came into the history museum today,” Dad said as he passed Ritchie the potato salad.

“Donny Boucher,” I replied grimly. My father looked at me oddly as all activity at the dinner table ceased, focused on me curiously.

“Yes…” Dad said. “Do you know why…?”

“I guess he was interested in the history of the house?” I asked. “Possibly areas that have been remodeled since the early 1700s?”

“Exactly… has he spoken to you about this before?” Dad asked me curiously.

“No. He hasn’t said anything,” I frowned, stabbing my chicken. “Donny’s more action oriented, I believe.” My parents exchanged worried glances with each other and then my father progressed with his story.

“Anyway, he said his graduate work is focusing on Creole and Cajun culture and he was particularly interested in the architecture of our home… something to do with his research on plantation life in colonial Louisiana,” Dad shrugged. “Anyway, I gave him a tour of the museum and, since the boy’s as sharp as a whip, I gave him a special tour of our collections in the backroom. He’s probably the most knowledge person about plantation history I’ve ever met…”

“Probably because he was alive during that time,” I muttered under my breath. Thankfully, my mumbled aside was unheard.

“Well, Louise said he’s been working on various degrees for several years now,” my mother nodded. “He’s apparently a very bright student.”

“I believe it,” Dad nodded. “I took him back here to look at some of our family pieces and he was really intrigued by them. He said he didn’t know many families who kept antiques in such good shape and for so many generations.”

“It’s our legacy,” my grandfather piped in. “Generations of Marrioneaux’s didn’t put their blood, sweat, and tears into this land so we could go off and sell it.”

“Was there anything he was particularly interested in?” I asked, worried Donny might have found what he had been looking for several nights before.

“Just a bit of this and that,” Dad said. “I was surprised he took interest in some of the least valuable stuff.”

“Like what?” I begged to know.

“An old writing desk from the 1700s,” Dad said. “And he seemed to be really bemused from some of the old paintings… particularly the one of old Jacques Marrioneaux…”

“The schizo guy?” Ritchie nodded. “Good thing that branch of the family got nipped in the bud. Otherwise, we’d be all kinds of crazy now…”

“That’s an awful thing to say,” mom shook her head at Ritchie.

“Besides, it’s romantic,” Grandma nodded. “Looking for his lost love…”

“Getting grained of all his blood,” Ritchie snorted.

“That’s an urban legend,” Dad replied.

“I don’t get why you ladies are going on about romance and stuff,” Grandpa snorted. “You’re not related to him by blood, And I agree with Ritchie. The less schizoids in this family, the better. And that’s not an urban legend, Albert, it’s a fact. The damned coroner’s report cited he was drained of all his blood and floating face down in the river.”

“How would they drain him of blood?” Dad countered. “He probably just self-mutilated and fell in the river drunk or something…”

“This is not appropriate dinner time conversation,” Granny hissed at the both of them.

“Was Donny interested in the old sundial?” I asked Dad.

“What? He… he did ask about some of the old garden pieces, but I don’t know where they ended up,” Dad said. “It’s with some of the old statues and such…”

“Do you know where it is?” I asked.

“I could find it… why so curious?” Dad asked me.

“It’s just.. the things made out of solid gold, right?” I shrugged. “Times are tough. We might want to look that thing up somewhere safe before someone steals it and melts it down for a profit.”

“Good idea,” Grandpa nodded.

“We probably should go through the attic and catalog some of that stuff for insurance purposes,” Dad admitted. “Maybe Donny could come over and help since he seems to have a good knowledge of antiques…”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I interjected.

“Why not?” Mom asked.

“Donny… gives me the willies?” I suggested.

“What sort of excuse is that?” Ritchie snorted.

“It’s just…” I sighed, hoping to think of a lie quick. “I’ve been talking with Mick and he said Donny has… sort of a history of kleptomania… I mean, he had a hard childhood and… Mick said after he leaves they always have to check their place to make sure nothing’s missing. I wouldn’t want him to walk out with something of importance…”

“Riley, that’s an awful big accusation…” Dad began.

“Now that you mention it… Louise did make some sort of joke about counting the silverware after dinner the last time Donny came over,” Mom said. I balked, wondering if my lie was actually a truth. “Louise and Jean-Pierre never really seem excited about him coming to visit either…”

“Mr. Vespasien is just an old friend of Donny’s dad and since Donny was…err… troubled, he promised to help mentor and look after him,” I said.

“It’s that damn New Orleans culture,” Grandpa nodded. “That sin city has been corrupting youth for generators.”

“Dad, weren’t you stationed in New Orleans during the war? And didn’t you and Mom honeymoon there?” Dad pointed out.

“Yep. And believe me, I know every vice in that city from personal experience,” Grandpa nodded.

“Hubert,” Grandma rolled her eyes.

The rest of the family fell into easy conversation and jokes after that, but I remained tense throughout the meal. I couldn’t help but wonder if Donny, like the Vespasiens, wasn’t new to this area. What worried me even more was his subtle connection to my legendary ancestor. I couldn’t help but shake the coincidence that Donny was a vampire with a violent aura and he had an interest in a great-uncle of mine who was drained of blood during his murder. Mick didn’t know what much about his parents’ past and I doubted Donny was going to let me in on any secrets he might be holding. In fact, I was certain it might be dangerous to event drop hints around Donny I even had suspicions about him. Something was wrong and I needed answers, but there was nowhere safe for me to turn.