“Evie get down from there!” The woman I live with shouts at me through heavily injected pink lips as her stylist curls her bleached blond hair in preparation for tonight’s award show. I narrow my feline eyes at her and use my outstretched paw to casually knock her overpriced bottle of hairspray off the counter, hoping it explodes on the tile floor and sets her spoiled, undead bag of bones on fire. Living with a vampire that’s also a famous and popular actress has its perks, but I wouldn’t say it’s the most comfortable existence.
She hisses at me and I hiss back as we both expose our fangs, mine being much smaller than hers, but dangerous nonetheless. I’m aware she could kill me in a second if she really wanted to, and sometimes I wish she’d try, because I wouldn’t make it easy. I leap down from the marble vanity and walk across the plush white carpet and over to her enormous California king bed, where her fancy dress is laid out. Part of me wants to leave a little gift on the satin gown, but I decide against it, suppressing my evil urges for the moment. Instead, I curl up on the faux fur comforter and lick my paws loudly, making sure to leave as much sticky white hair on the bed as I can.
The woman I live with is screaming at her assistant for accidentally burning the delicate skin on her neck with the curling iron. I do a big stretch, then jump down from the bed and leave the room in pursuit of something more interesting.
A trail of bright red drips extends down the hallway; remnants from last night’s little accident. The woman I live with let herself go a little too long between feedings in an attempt to lose weight and got so hungry she ended up draining one of her human friends. She said he was trying to mansplain something, whatever that means, and just couldn’t control her vampiric impulses. It was quite classless of her if I do say so myself, but she seems pretty upset about it today, which I can certainly understand. I really liked Kevin, and she deserves to carry a few ounces of guilt for being a reckless, bloodsucking fiend. The maid should be here soon to clean up her mess; just one of the many paid-off humans willing to keep her dark, dirty secret.
As I quietly slink down the stairs, I catch a glimpse of the woman I live with’s brother heading down to the basement to chain himself to the wall. He does this for several nights each month to stop his lycanthropic self from escaping. Normally, vampires and werewolves can’t stand each other, and that’s true in this case as well, but you can’t pick who your family is. Unfortunately.
Our butler stands in the kitchen and smiles when he sees me. “Hi Evie.”
I leap off the bottom stair and prance across the rich brown hardwood floors to let him know that I have, in fact, arrived and require sustenance. I rub myself against his leg and flutter my long lashes, trying to use my icy blue stare to manipulate him into preparing my meal.
He pats my head a few times, then stands back up and opens the refrigerator, pulling out a tall, chilled carafe of dark red blood. He sets it on the counter and grabs my pink dish before heading into the pantry to acquire a can of my food. I lick my lips, watching closely as he opens the small can and plops my meal into the bowl.
“Here you go, beautiful,” he says as he sets it down in front of me, rubbing his rough fingers down my back. I let out a small hiss and he puts his hands up apologetically. Why humans think they have consent to touch me is perplexing. He reaches into one of the kitchen cabinets and pulls out my owner’s beloved Stanley cup, a pink monstrosity that’s been covered in crystals so everyone knows just how special she is. He pours some blood into the cup and snaps the lid in place before sliding it to the end of the island’s counter for my owner to grab on her way out of the house.
I consume just enough to satisfy my hunger, then jump up onto one of the pink velvet barstools to reach the top of the oversized kitchen island. The salt and pepper shakers sit dangerously close to the edge and a strong urge comes over me to swat them onto the floor. I slither my bushy tail around, amused at the mere thought of it. For a moment, I’m tempted to ‘accidentally’ knock my owner’s cup off the counter so her night is ruined, but I refrain, impressed with my self control.
My owner comes flying down the stairs in a rush; her assistant trailing just behind with a lint roller. I purr, taking great pride in the fact that my long, alabaster hair is seeming rather difficult to remove from her emerald green dress. She angrily grabs her Stanley cup from the island and slurps a few sips before stomping away in her stilettos. The front door slams and I breathe a sigh of relief, luxuriating in her absence already.
I jump down from the counter, catching a glimpse of my blurred reflection in the stainless steel refrigerator. A hiss escapes me as I’m bitterly reminded of the sparkly collar with a bell that I’ve been forced to wear. I hate it, and someday I’ll find a way to remove it.
A loud thrashing noise comes from downstairs and my ears perk up, eager to investigate. I tiptoe down to the basement just in time to catch a glimpse of my owner’s brother mid-transformation. His high pitched screams echo off the painted concrete walls as his bones break and reform. I have to say it’s a tiny bit thrilling to be in such close proximity to something so dangerously powerful. There’s always a chance he could break the chains, but I move rather quickly and it would be someone else’s problem to deal with. Part of me wishes I could free him myself, just to watch him wreak havoc. He was bitten six months ago and only made it through one night of terrorizing the residents of Calabasas before he was shot with a tranquilizer gun. He woke up nude in the front yard and we’ve been dealing with the issue ever since.
The wolf-beast tries several times to break free before giving up and falling asleep. This bores me, so I turn and trot back up the stairs as the maid arrives. She sets her purse on the counter, shaking, because she’s human and well aware of the dangers in this house. I observe her with curiosity as she fills a bucket with soapy water and carries it upstairs to clean up the blood in the hallway. The woman I live with killed the last housekeeper for selling an unflattering story about her to the paparazzi, so this one knows better.
The door leading to the garage door is ajar so I dash through it, thirsty for more adventure. The man I refer to as the ‘disposer’ is here to pick up the bodies from the garage freezer. He removes corpses from the mansion for a hefty fee, which the woman I live with is more than happy to pay. I’ve learned that money solves all problems, and even wealthy immortals have problems that need solving.
I head back into the house and take a comfortable spot on the windowsill, lazing for a few hours before I’m roused by the dreadful sound of my owner’s return as her car pulls back into the driveway. She’s joined by two men I’ve never seen before and clearly under the influence of something. A massacre is about to take place, and I’m pleased that I’m here to see it. One of the men is clearly wasted and tries to pet me as he saunters by, but he’s met with a vicious hiss and a swat of my open claw.
“Don’t touch her. She hates everyone,” my owner tells the man. He scowls at me.
She’s right, I do hate everyone.
Loud dance music begins to fill the room as my owner drunkly sways side to side, making a fool of herself. I wonder if the men have any idea she’s a vampire. If they’re aware of the danger they’re currently in. She does this a lot; plays with her food before eating. I rather enjoy it, as I tend to do it myself.
A loud shriek rings out as one of the men pulls a bottle of clear liquid from his jacket pocket and throws it at my owner. Blistering burns begin to cover her pale skin as she screams and jumps onto the man, attempting to bury her fangs in his neck. I’m frozen in place with morbid fascination because she’s never been the prey before. The other man pulls a wooden stake from his back pocket and stabs it into my owner’s chest, immobilizing her for good.
She meets my eyes before exploding in a puff of golden dust that hangs in the air for a moment before falling to the ground in a glittering pile of glowing ashes. I feel a tiny sting of grief, but then it disappears, because dwelling on the past isn’t productive. The men rush out of the house in a hurry, having accomplished what they apparently came to do. I’ve heard about vampire hunters, but have never met one, for obvious reasons.
The sun begins to rise as our butler enters the house, clutching his chest when he notices the pile of ashes on the floor next to the dress and high heels.
“Good morning Evie,” he says with a polite nod. “Looks like I’ll be the one unlocking the wolf today.”
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E.J. Schaefer writes horror stories and is currently at work on her debut novel. She’s had pieces published by Flash Phantoms , Dark Descent , The Creepy Podcast , Trembling With Fear , Sci-Fi Shorts , and most recently Strangest Fiction . When she’s not writing you can find her reading, cooking, watching horror films, or exploring the trails with her dog.
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