Pineville

by Eric A. Jackson

I saw a vampire fishing from the old pier near Cannery Row last night.  Between casts, he nibbled the neck of a recently deceased shrimp boat captain and subsequently spat the lifeless blood into the sea, chumming the murky waters. After nibbling, he wrapped a stringer around the former human's neck and lowered his corpse into the waters for safe keeping, for more chumming.

I remained in my humble abode watching all this and realizing just how good some of us have it. The undead walk among us--everyone knows that.  Hell, they don't even make for good fiction anymore. Vampires are no scarier than puppies these days and they haven't bothered me at all since the move. I feel safe here and the world moves on, lickety-split.

The move itself was an easy one that came about sooner than I expected.  My old apartment was nice but not something to cause resentment among my peers.  I had my own icebox and a cheap plastic chandelier that was more improbably funny than useful to any sort of collector. Everything was perfect until the flies came.

It happened near noon when the alarm clock jerked me into premature consciousness.  It was Saturday and the alarm was nothing more than an attempt to wake my intoxicated brain in time to save my normal sleeping schedule. The space above my bed was unusually bright and I couldn't seem to shut down the blaring alarm. The batteries only lasted thirty minutes, so I survived the annoying little situation without much trouble.

I felt no urge to move and simply laid there contemplating the meaning or lack thereof that may or may not have once existed in my life. Nothing jumped from the closet and advertised a particularly good reason to rise, so I continued about my task of blissful nothingness.

The flies started buzzing about an hour later and planted themselves on my forehead shortly thereafter. They were pleasant enough; the buzzing sounds weren't entirely musical, but I sensed no outward hostilities.

I remembered very little from the night before, which was nothing unusual for me.  My drinks were mixed early and I was far enough to the wind to quit caring before the sun went down.  I remembered role-playing games, D&D or some shit, with some trench coat wearing strangers somewhere after the eleven o'clock hour, but that too became meaningless as the evening stretched on.

The news that I would be moving came to me rather suddenly as a group of uniformed strangers stuffed me into a sack and zipped its cover sharply.  Their mood was somber, but my mind was carefree enough to welcome the extra workers.  I realized that I felt no need to continue my inhabitation of the apartment.  In fact, nothing seemed to matter anymore.

I came awake to my interesting new predicament about five minutes after they stuffed me into the bag. I can't say that I particularly cared, but it was intriguing nonetheless.  My first thought was that I couldn't breathe in there. Quickly following that one was the realization that I didn't need to breathe. How nice, I thought. This makes life ever the more easy.

Some time later, someone uttered a few kind words and they stuffed me into my new home.  It was made of pine and smelled of newly bleached carpets.  I was aware of wounds to the left side of my throat, but they pained me little or none at all.  They draped a crucifix around my neck and closed the door.

They placed my new home into a solid concrete structure, which luckily has a small hole to one end from which I continue to watch the world.  I know now that I was bitten by the so-called role-players, one of which likes to fish from the old pier near Cannery Row.  I guess they got the crucifix around my neck just in time to protect me from the growing vampirical side of myself.

So I lie in limbo, somewhere between life and death--but not undeath.  I feel safe here and thank the gods that I have a happy home from which to watch the world.  My window is small and my mark is non-existent to others, but at least the flies are gone and I’m pleased that the movers didn't pack my fucking alarm clock.


###THE END###