Twilight On Main St.

just a little Twilight story. Fight the Fan Girl Epidemic!

 

“I use to be happy. Content in my suburbia paradise, residing at the foot of Main St. in a two story Victorian beauty, acquired centuries ago by my family. My neighborhood was a quaint, friendly place. White picketed fences around modest, pastel houses that sat in the shadow of my palace. Every morning I could hear the car doors shutting in unison, husbands leaving for work as I huddled comfortably in my slumber, embraced by red silk and Poplar, with a cherry finish, of course.

It is true that, once upon a time, I was not as at ease with my neighbors, nor they with me. When I first moved to 1666 main St., many years ago, my appearance and unusual habits made them...uncomfortable. They stared and spoke in hushed tones when I passed on my nightly walks, huddled on their porches. Maybe it was my chalky complexion, or perhaps my outdated clothing. I soon found a way to fit in, though, with the purchase of an exquisite sun-tanning machine and a shopping spree.

After just a few short decades, I was attending book clubs with the neighborhood housewives, who were most helpful and considerate of my sleeping habits. Their husbands would invite me out for a game of pool and a drink, though, goodness me, I doubt they fully understood the severity of their offer. I think the block parties were my favorite, which I happily hosted. They were all the rave. You should have been there. Twinkling lights that hung in the air like frozen fireflies, the delectable smell of barbeque swirling around me as I handled the grill, my chef's hat tilted jauntily.

Then there came a day...a horrendous day that still sends shivers down my spine. I went to my friend Sandra's house, she held the weekly book club. Oh, that woman was a doll, such a homemaker. Her husband ran the local pharmacy, I had a few, ahem, drinks with him every now and then. It was nightly gossip among the other housewives and I about what a sweet man Darwin was, and how could Sandra cheat on him with that scroungy (yet admittedly good looking) pool boy-

Oh, forgive me, I tend to trail off-topic on occasion...I was at Sandra's house, discussing my opinion on the ending of The Poisonwood Bible, when Sandra's thirteen year old daughter bolted into the living room.

“Kelly, what have I told you about giving mommy her alone time? Now I will only tell you this once; it is ten minutes past your bedtime, so get on your nightclothes, and then go to bed after you fetch mommy another martini.”

“Mom, gawd,” the preteen rolled her eyes. Children are always so impertinent at that age, “I just finished Twilight, and I really, really, really wanna read the next one-”

“Honey, sweety, you know I can't pay attention to you without one grande, overflowing alcoholic beverage in my hand,” Sandra turned back to the circle, smiling that perfect smile apologetically, “Speaking of grande, guess who 'cleaned my pool' this morning-”

“Mom, I need a ride to the library tomorrow-”

“Honey, honey, what do you not see in my hand?” With a huff the girl tossed a thick book down on the sofa beside me, the glossy black cover smeared with oily fingerprints. I looked at it with mild interest, only slightly intrigued by the admittedly artful picture adorning the front. It seemed mildly ironic that the cover sported such a picture as to bring to mind biblical references, especially since it is the SPAWN OF THE DEVIL. I picked up the seemingly harmless book carelessly, skimming the synopsis as I waited for Sandra to finish retelling her morning encounter with Carlos.

“-and then he had me cover his manhood with the whipped cream, like it was a, mm, banana split, with extra banana, if you know what I mean-”

“I do hope he washed himself off after...couldn't that cause an infection?”

“Oh, shut up, Leslie, worse has happened down there-”

I had never heard of something so absurd. I skimmed through the book quickly, using all my will to suppress the giggles that threatened to overflow. Sparkles? Mind-reading powers? Human's have always amazed me with their unique imaginations. If only they knew! Werewolves and Vampires fighting over the love of a simple, clumsy teenage girl? Trust me, my friend, I have met a werewolf once or twice, and they are anything but the jealous, handsome type. They are far too concerned with chasing cats, and the rising price of shaving cream.

If only I had known! If only I could have foreseen the horrors that very book would bring me. I should have burned the damned thing! Instead, I sat the accursed tomb down and continued my discussion with my girlfriends, forgetting the book was even there, sitting beside me, evil on between its pages, lurking. Waiting.

I paid little attention as the Twilight Series grew in popularity. I rarely venture into stores, choosing to purchase all my needs on Amazon instead. It was during one of my shopping sprees when I noticed that the one silly book had spawned three more. I remember gaping at the reviews, in awe that an idea so completely ridiculous could become such a hit among the population. But, oh well. Most of its readers had to be teenage girls, lured in by the romantic idea of such a powerful love. And the whole stunning vampire man falling for such a distasteful girl, well. It didn't bother me much, honestly.

And then came the movie. Oh, the horror!

Imagine; me sitting in my living room, relaxing after Bloody Mary's with the book club members, wearing my beloved Count Chocula pajamas with a warm mug of 0 positive, when it comes on, right after Mean Girls (which I adore. Oh, how I would like to sink my fangs into Tina Fay). I sat on my plush, red velvet loveseat in confusion at first. It always disappoints me a little when people turn books into movies, especially bad books. For instance, Harry Potter. Let me take a moment to say, oh my gawd. I fairly enjoyed the idea, and Rowling seems to be well educated in the way of Witches and such, but my Lord, Harry! What a ditz! And his friends, my Gawd. You would think that after the fifth time the boy told them something was going to happen, and it did, they would start believing him.

So, my hopes were not high as I decided to watch the Twilight movie, though I was open to the possibility that it might be good. Anything's possible.

By the end, I was exhausted from laughing, and yelling, and crying. It was just so wrong. So horribly bad. And what ever happened to that Edward fellow being good looking?

However horrid I thought the movie was, I soon forgot all about it. I was far too busy helping Nancy plan her daughters bachelorette party (I picked out a Chip and Dale's boy that was just delicious) and not to mention redecorating my house. The place was so 19^th century. I only noted with mild interest that the movie was followed by others that I assumed were equally as bad, along with an infatuation for all things Twilight. My neighborhood had an abundance of children of all ages. There was a group of about five teenaged girls, whom I noted with amusement were all gaga over the “dreamy” Jacob and the “intense” Edward”. Yes, intensely dull, I say.

Really though, the Twilight fad had little to do with me. I felt the same way about The Lost Boys, though that craze wasn't as large-scale, nor as absurd.

And then I started to notice the teenaged girls looking at me strangely. The daughter of my book club host insistently offered me garlic. Little Michelle, who use to be such a doll of a child, stalked me constantly, asking me questions, “Why are you so pale, Mr. Drac? Is your name, Drac, short for anything? How come you only ever come out at night? How old are you?” I remember that night. I was hosting one of my block parties, manning the grill in my favorite, crisp white chef's hat and an adorable little apron decorated with a dancing, headless chicken.

“Little girl-”

“I'm not little, I'm fourteen.”

“Hmm. Well, to answer your many, rude, questions; my tanning bed recently broke, sorry to offend, Drac was my father's name, I work most of the night designing clothing for cats, and as for how old I am,” I sniffed haughtily, “that is none of your business.”

I played it off like it was nothing. Gave the girl a smile as I flipped the burgers and speared a hotdog. But I could see the gears turning. The glint in her eyes made me nervous.

It was October of last year when they attacked, adorned in their cheer-leading skirts and Team Edward t-shirts. I was sleeping off my post-Halloween candy stupor in my silk-lined coffin, dreaming sweet, crimson washed dreams....and then my eyes were jolted open by a loud crash, a yelp torn from my lips as the coffin lid was thrown off. I squealed at the many hands that latched on to me, begging and pleading.

“Oh my gawd, I can't believe he actually sleeps in a coffin-”

“The Collins don't sleep in coffins, that's gross!”

“O-M-G look at his fangs-”

“Duct tape his hands!”

“Unhand me you fiends! No, no, no, not duct tape, that stuff is so not good for the skin!”

The demons taped me up, and I let them, unable to bring myself to harm the children of my beloved neighbors.

“Alright, vampire,” Michelle leaned in close, hands on her narrow hips, “Here's the deal. We want to be young and beautiful forever-”

“Young and pimple-faced forever?”

“-and you're going to help us. Bite me.”

“That is no kind of language for a young lady!”

“I said bite me!” Michelle squealed, grabbing my face and pressing my lips against her neck. I gagged, the scent of her bubble gum perfume assaulting me.

“Me too! I wanna be a vampire!” I was brutally attacked by seven girls, all of them clawing at me, demanding I turn them immortal. Screaming at me!

“Do you drink blood!”

“Are the Cullen's real, I'm in love with Edward!”

“What about Werewolves! O-M-G tell me they are!”

“Do you sparkle?!”

“I bet he does! Lets find out-”

“God, no!”

I could take no more. I lunged for little Danielle, flinging her away from the window just as she was about to pull back the heavy velvet curtain, and thus ending my precious life. She screamed shrilly as she hit the wall. The rest of the girl's looked on in amazement. I expected screams.

Michelle shrugged, “She was a s****y cheerleader anyways. Get him!”

I barely got away. I managed to hide in my house as the girl's rampaged through my belongings. I had never been so terrified in my entire life. I could hear them...

“Oh my gawd, Becky, look at these clothes. This guy has like, zero sense of style.”

“Not at all like in Twilight. Real vampire's are so lame. If we find him I'm so going to, like, stake him for crushing my dreams or whatever.”

“Gawd, Lauren! You're so evil!”

“I know right?”

When darkness fell, I made my escape.

I was forced away from my home, from my friends. I have been on the run for almost an entire year now, and everywhere I go, the Twilight fan girls are there. Waiting. Watching. Trying to see if I sparkle.

And I am here to tell the world, to tell all of those girls, I am not a Twilight Vampire. I am just your average Vampire American, trying to live my afterlife in peace. I'm just like you. I'm sick of running.”

“Thank you for sharing that with us.”

“No, thank you, Dr. Phil.”

I watched with tear-filled eyes as Dr. Phil turned to face the camera.

“Mr. Drac is just one of many vampire's being tormented by Twilight fans. It's happening all across the country, all across the world even. I have taken it on myself to bring attention to this issue, and to bring to light how bad, how dangerous things can get. I ask you, when will it stop? Do you have anything else to add?”

I smiled graciously.

“I would, first of all, like to thank you, Dr. Phil, for everything you've done for me and for agreeing to film this show so late at night. And as for all those watching, I would just like to ask-”

“It's the vampire! Get him!”

“How'd they get in here-Oh my god how did they find me!”

“Security, get those girls! The ones in the Twilight t-shirts!”

“No-no!!!!”

“BITE MEEEEEEEEEEE! I WANT TO BE IMMORTALLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!”

“This has to stop, this has to stop!”

Dr. Phil sat before a sombre audience as the previous weeks show staticed out, the vampire's terrified face fading to black. The television host cradled his left arm in a sling, his eyes black and purple, white gauze wrapped around his bruised and cut forehead.

“That was a segment from last weeks show. The terror me and the audience felt that day was...just unbelievable. Since then, Mr. Drac has been in hiding, aided by the Witness Protection Program, and our security has been enhanced. Next week, we will be talking to Jack Paw, a Werewolf who has also been dealing with the Twilight Fan epidemic. I urge you to tune in, and listen to his heartbreaking story.”