Sanctuary Shadows

Megan didn't know she was being watched as she lingered in the entranceway tugging on the skirt of her orange mini club dress. She wove through the raucous crowd, unaware of the eyes following her, observing her slide onto the spindle-back stool. They watched as she thrummed her fingers on the lacquered surface of the bar, mindful of the bartender preparing the drink that she had just ordered.

After taking a sip from the swizzle stick, she gave the bartender a thumbs up and rotated on her seat to survey the energy in the room. Her lips curled into a smile, and she sat up a little straighter when she noticed a young woman fast approaching. When the woman glanced passed her, raising her hand to get the bartenders attention, Megan quickly averted her eyes and spun back around.

“A pitcher of kamikazes,” the woman shouted over the boisterous patrons as she squeezed between Megan and the man sitting next to her. She glanced down at Megan’s drink then back at the bartender, “I said a pitcher.” She emphasized the word pitcher. The bartender grabbed an empty pitcher and shook it toward the woman. Leaning down, the woman whispered into Megan’s ear, “Some people don't have a sense of humor.” When she stood back up, she said, “I’m Dana.”

“Megan.”

“Nice to meet you, Megan. It looks like you're drinking the same as my friends and I, if your date doesn't show, why don't you join us, we're right over there.”

“Oh, I'm on my own tonight.”

Dana grabbed the full pitcher off the bar and with a flick of her head, motioned for Megan to follow.

#

[Ping]

Megan sighed when she heard the text notification. If it’s urgent, they'll call, she thought. She slumped in the folding lawn chair and glanced passed the balustrade on the far side of the deck. The glowing moon over the silhouetted mountains was magnificent, a hazy aura surrounded the brilliant, white orb. Closing her eyes, she gave herself a little push with the balls of her feet and took a deep, satisfying breath. The smell of the air at night was clean; unlike the daytime when odors were enhanced by the baking sun.

Moments later, the song Witchy Woman by The Eagles streamed through the open window. Her eyelids flitted open, and she groaned as she rose to her feet. She lumbered to the screen door and flung it open. Marching into the kitchen and snatching her cell phone off the counter. “Hello?”

“Hey Megan.” It was Will, one of the cuties she was introduced to at Kunkle’s Tavern the other night. He was inviting her to a naked swim. His suggestion put a damper on her initial impression of the guy, and a sudden feeling of trepidation flooded her body, her cheeks flushed.

“Skinny dipping?”

“Yeah,” Will said, “me, Dana and Chuck are meeting at The Quest in thirty minutes.”

“Umm,” Megan was speechless. She had only met the friends a few days ago.

Will broke the awkward silence, “Come on,” he urged. “It's Friday night, — you can wear a swimsuit if you want.” Then, in a sing-song way, he chanted, “Girls just wanna have fun.”

“I — I don't think the buses are running at this time of night.”

“No problem, I can pick you up in ten minutes.”

Another awkward silence. Megan was rarely impulsive, but one of the reasons she moved to Sanctuary was to leave her boring, guarded, antisocial life behind. She stared through the window over the kitchen sink at the full moon hovering in the sky. The mist that encompassed it suggested that she should take advantage of this opportunity for self-improvement. Going to the nightclub alone was only the beginning. Besides, Dana and Chuck would also be there. “Make it fifteen,” she replied.

“Awesome, see you soon,” and the call disconnected.

She set her phone back down on the kitchen counter, then sauntered to the laundry room and wiggled into her bathing suit. A pair of sweatpants lay on top of a small pile of worn jeans. She tugged them on and grabbed a folded towel from the shelf above the utility sink, then yanked the elastic band from her ponytail and raked her fingers through her raven locks. A horn blared outside. On her way to the door, she grabbed her cell phone and shoved it into the back pocket of her sweats, sliding into her flip flops before wrenching the door open.

“Hey girl,” yelled Will from his beat-up VW idling next to the curb. “Do you have an extra towel I can borrow?”

Megan let go of the doorknob and threw up her hand in an I’ll-be-right-back gesture. On her way through the kitchen, she paused, let her own towel unfurl, and looped it around her neck. From one of the cupboards, she withdrew an unopened bag of garlic chips, intending to take them with her. When she tossed the bag onto the counter, it burst open with a loud pop, spewing several chips across the countertop. She grunted and rolled her eyes.

After turning the corner into the bathroom, she reached for a towel from the top of the linen shelves. Spinning around, she startled and hugged the towel to her chest, gasping at the sight of a ghostly figure in the mirror. She switched on the light, exhaling when she realized it was her own reflection. She combed her fingers through her hair one last time, switched off the light, and headed out.

When Will noticed Megan approaching, he lunged toward the passenger side and unlatched the door, then rocked back and kicked it open with his foot. “Ready?”

Megan scooched onto the vinyl seat, “Set.” She heaved the door shut.

Will held out a roll of Mintos to Megan but she shook her head. He shrugged, then turned on the radio. “Go.”

#

As soon as they trundled onto the off-street parking area beyond the lake, Megan could detect the fragrance of damp, decaying organic matter in the air. The glow of the full moon illuminated the scene, and they could see Chuck and Dana sitting on the side of the pier; their legs dangling off the edge. Will honked the horn, and the two forms grappled onto their feet before waving. After parking his car next to Dana’s, Will and Megan stumbled out onto the gravel.

Within seconds, Chuck and Dana were racing naked along the jetty, bare behinds jiggling. “Wait up,” Will yelled. He sprinted after them, stripping as he navigated over the uneven landscape. He hesitated at the shoreline and signaled for Megan to join them, then waded into the undulating ripples and disappeared under the dubious waters. Megan staggered down to the waterfront and let the towel she was holding drop to the ground before slithering the one from around her neck. She shimmied out of her flip flops and removed her phone from her back pocket, wedging it beneath one of the rubber thongs. After loosening her sweatpants, she let them fall to her ankles, hopping out of one leg and sending them sailing through the air with the other.

The foursome splashed together under the navy-blue sky, and when they were through with their nighttime pleasure, they assisted one another onto the dock. A cool breeze whooshed, and Megan shivered. Chuck trotted to where his clothes lay, and after putting on his shorts, strolled over to Megan, offering her his hoody. “My Lady?”

She acquiesced to his chivalry, threading her arms through the sleeves before slipping it over her head. “Why, thank you, sir.”

Chuck extracted a pack of Mintos from the pocket and offered one to Megan. Holding out her palm, he flicked a mint from the roll with his thumb. Megan smiled playfully and placed the mint on her tongue.

Will slipped on his own shorts and tussled his hair with the towel while Dana swaddled herself in hers. They settled, contented and exhausted, in the rope hammocks slung between the trees.

#

Will, Dana, and Chuck, ogled Megan as she lay unconscious.

“Are you sure she’s not going to wake up,” Chuck asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,”

Chuck glared at Will. “No thanks to you.”

“I'm not…” Dana startled and her ears perked when the song Witchy Woman suddenly erupted. It came from Megan’s cell phone.

Once the music stopped, the guys each grabbed an arm and sunk their fangs into Megan’s cephalic veins. Dana cringed at the vile slurping sounds they made, then she heard the answering machine notification; the caller left a message. She toddled over to where the phone lay, recalling a comment Megan made the night they were at the club; Will was retrieving a voice message from his phone, and the girl mentioned that she used the last four digits of her phone number to unlock her own voice mail.

“Hey Will, what's Megan’s number?”

“Uh, she’s indisposed at the moment,” he shouted after an exaggerated swallow.

Dana tried to ignore the tasteless joke, “I want to find out who left her this message, the last four digits of her number is the password to her voicemail.”

“How do you know that?”

“She mentioned it at the club the other night.”

"5—9—7—3”

[Beep—beep—beep—beep]

“Megan, this is Kimberly from Dr. Eisenburg’s office. I called Garrette’s pharmacy and ordered the statin the doctor prescribed for you. He asks that you discontinue the garlic pills you’ve been taking to lower your cholesterol.”

Dana lowered the phone to her chin, shocked at the sight of Chuck and Will crumpling onto their hands and knees. Blood dribbled from their mouths in crimson strings, snapping like elastic bands. She couldn't move and couldn't look away. The phone slid from her hand. Blackened veins marred the bodies of Will and Chuck like full body spider web tattoos. Eventually, the devilish duo fell unconscious.

After several seconds of stunned disbelief, Dana forced herself into action, covering Megan head-to-toe with her towel. She got dressed and staggered over to Chuck, rolling him from the protection of the leafy trees, leaving him sprawled beneath the open sky. Maneuvering Will was not going to be as easy; he was at least three times her size. Her back pressed against his torso, she pushed with her legs, grunting with every flip of Will’s body until he lay beside his comrade.

She strolled to the end of the pier and collapsed, then floundered onto her bottom, legs hanging centimeters above the black water. When she felt the burst of heat on her back, she kept her eyes focused on the orange and yellow horizon and the glowing rising sun, a long-awaited feeling of relief and liberty flowing through her. After about thirty minutes, she stood and turned. The only thing remaining of the fried fiends were Will's car keys.

Dana gathered the few garments strewn about, bundling them in Will’s double-X button-up shirt, then snatched his keys from the small pile of ashes. Careful to keep Megan in the shadows, Dana clothed her in her sweatpants and crammed her cell phone into the pocket of Chuck’s shirt, shrouding her head with the hood. She guided a drowsy Megan onto the passenger’s seat of Will's car and belted her in before climbing onto the driver’s seat.

#

Megan flinched when she heard someone barking her name. “Megan, wake up, you’re here.”

“I’m here? — Where is everyone else? — Will?”

“Megan, is this your house?”

“What?” — “Oh, yes, thank you.” She stepped onto the sidewalk and the car sped away.

Waddling barefoot along the driveway, she flopped, still groggy, on the concrete step to her home, resting her face in the oversized sweatshirt that covered her hands. Suddenly, Megan felt a painful stab on the bridge of her foot. She strived to stand and retrieved the house key from the ledge above the window frame, unlocked the door, and scrambled inside, nudging the door shut with her elbow. It slowly swung on its hinges until the protruding metal bolt rested against the frame.

After hobbling to the kitchen, she climbed onto a stool by the counter. Her mind was conjuring up some pretty wild ideas about the situation she was in. Unconsciously, she grabbed a garlic chip off the counter, then began chomping one crisp after another.

Her chest felt heavy; it was a familiar sensation. She wondered if a bee stung her and she was now just having the reaction. Soon her throat would swell, and she’d have a hard time swallowing. Taking a breath would become difficult. She had plenty of allergic reactions before.

Megan glanced down at her foot; a blister had formed as if she had been burned. Her stomach cramped and she hugged her belly with one arm while swiping the rest of the chips off the counter with the other. Slithering off the stool, she staggered to the bathroom, unaware of the crunching beneath her steps. She needed her EpiPen.

In the bathroom, she leaned on her outstretched arms, palms pressed against the wall on either side of the mirror, and she lifted her lolling head. “Oh, hell no,” she exclaimed. She turned on the water and splashed her face, then removed the towel from the hook and looked into the mirror again. The towel she was holding seemed to be hovering in the air because she couldn’t see her own reflection. Another cramp caused her to double over. She was second guessing the bee sting.

After managing to open the medicine cabinet, she knocked pill bottles and bandages from the shelves into the sink and snatched up the EpiPen. Megan never heard of a vampire having an allergic reaction to garlic, let alone using an EpiPen, but she also didn't think vampires were real.

“Here goes everything.”