Hybrid Moments

Vivian sighed, a dreamy smile gracing her blood red lips, and blew a light kiss to the monumental Pete Steele canvas that hung above her bed. The last real man… she thought, practically swooning over the gothic superman. With a last glance, she then turned to the mirror, and grinned wolfishly.

Her hair, black as night, was piled on top of her head in fat curls and her bangs were curled under as usual in a style that revisited the fifties, if everyone in the fifties had been monsters. The naughty nurse costume she’d chosen buttoned all the way down the center and hugged her curves deliciously. The white fabric was splattered with fake blood, and a stethoscope hung around her neck, adding to the effect. She slipped on a pair of white thigh high stockings with lace around the tops and buckled them to her garter. Atop her head, she pinned a small white cap that had a simple red cross to finish the look.
With a satisfied half-smile, she sat at the edge of her bed and buckled her tattooed feet into a pair of patent leather pumps. When she stood, she gently smoothed her hands down her dress, gave one last close look at her make-up to ensure its perfection, and winked at herself on the way out of the room.

Leaving her apartment, she took only a small, stylish black clutch that held the essentials: her favorite red lipstick, her identification, a full money clip, a pack of cigarettes, and the bright orange invitation to the biggest party of All Hallows Eve. The only other thing on her persons was a bundle of joints, neatly tucked in between her breasts.

Stepping out into the streets of Anaheim, Vivian Hunter raised one tattoo-adorned arm and seconds later, a bright yellow cab screeched up to the curb. The driver jumped out of his seat and raced around, causing Vivian to roll her ivy green eyes when he opened her door.

“Thank-you,” she said, to be polite, and waited for the cabby to return to his seat diagonal from her. When he finally had, she spoke up before he had a chance to.

“Fifty-second, and East Cemetery,” she told him the address of the party, and leaned back in the seat, staring out the window. The driver tried several times to make conversation, but

Vivian was both uninterested and uncooperative. She wondered who would all be at the party, knowing for a fact her best friend Nettie got an invitation, but not sure at all if she would actually go.

It wasn’t until the car slowed that Vivian actually looked at her surroundings, and soon after the cab driver spoke up.

“Are you sure this is it, ma’am?” he asked, his voice colored with nerves.

With wide, excited eyes, Vivian popped the door handle and stepped out, smiling. Anyone else would have been scared, angry even that they ended up here. But as she scanned the rows of headstones, all of them broken and weathered and probably forgotten, dead trees looming over head, and even the thin sheet of fog rolling low to the ground, Vivian couldn’t help but giggle.

Without much thought, she tossed two twenties into the cab through the front window that he had rolled down while trying to catch her attention. She gripped her clutch a little tighter, adjusted her cleavage and smoothed her skirt, before heading toward the sound of quick, thumping bass.

After about thirty paces, she could hear voices and more music, growing louder as she drew closer. The only thing that appeared to be separating them was a thicket of trees. After looking for a few moments, Vivian found a beaten path through the small woods, and followed it carefully until she came out onto someone’s yard.
The house, sitting not fifty feet away from her, was gorgeous. With dark burgundy siding, charcoal accents, and heavy gothic architecture, she almost felt she was in love. The house was very old, and very beautiful in its age. A giddy feeling came over Vivian as she ascended the worn out stairs and approached the massive front door. The music could be heard clearly now, fast and energetic psychobilly. Probably from a live band, she thought hopefully.

Vivian had been so distracted by the house, and the rager inside, that she hadn’t noticed the man on the porch with her.

A low whistle sounded just as she reached for the door handle, causing her to jump and let out a slight squeak. Her head snapped in the direction of the sound, and she had to hold in her gasp.

The person standing before her had to have been the most handsome man she’d ever seen, and she’d seen many. He wore classic low-top Chuck Taylors in black, snug fitting black jeans that were rolled up at the ankle to expose white socks, and a plain white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled as well. Every surface of his skin was covered in vivid, beautiful tattoos with the exception of his face, left stark and handsome. His hair was trimmed and slicked back in a subtle pompadour, and for the first time, she noticed the small silver ring looped around the left side of his lip.

Releasing a quiet, shuddering breath, she put on her best smile and batted her eyelashes at him. The smirk that tugged at the side of his mouth was devastating, and Vivian felt her stomach, and lower things, squeeze with giddy anticipation.

“Got your invite, petal?” he asked, and Vivian could have dropped dead right there. His voice, smooth and low, was colored with a thick English accent. It took her a moment to remember what he had actually said, but once she did, she popped open her clutch and flashed him the orange paper.

“Right, well enjoy yourself. Drinks are against the back wall. And miss,” he paused, giving her a once over and a smirk, “watch out for yourself. There’re some real monsters in there.”