The Big Huge Fat Vampire Bat

Early the next evening, Nevin and Trug were huddled in the bushes beneath Erin’s bedroom window.

  “This makes me uncomfortable,” Trug said, anxious eyes on the light streaming from the window. “It feels sort of Peeping Tomish.”

  Nevin nodded sagely. “Yeah, I don’t need to peep. Girls don’t mind showing themselves to me.”

  Trug snorted.

  “Besides, Erin knows we’re doing this.”

  “Maybe, but it still feels weird.”

  Then there was movement at the window overhead.

  “It’s him,” Nevin whispered.

  “Shhhh,” Trug hissed.

  They both watched intently as the bat clawed his way under the window crack, leathery wings slithering over the wood frame. Jack finally shoved himself free, the effort causing a tiny bat fart. “Stupid window,” he muttered. “I don’t know why they can’t install a proper bat door.”

  He pulled himself to his feet, looking a lot like the famous Alfred Hitchcock profile, and collected himself. Then he launched into what might be more accurately described as a freefall and flapped frantically trying to climb the air to keep himself aloft. Just before plummeting into Nevin and Trug’s hiding place, he won the closely contested battle with gravity, straightened and swooped awkwardly through the air towards the street.

  Once they saw that the bat was more preoccupied with trying to maintain flight than looking around, Nevin and Trug took off after him.

  “He’s heading to town,” Nevin whispered.

  “Quiet, bats have excellent hearing,” Trug whispered back.

  Proving the point, Jack swung in midair, his sonar picking up potential food. With an awkward lunge, he bit at a moth flapping under a light pole. The moth easily evaded the heavy bat.

  “I’ll get you next time,” they heard Jack mutter.

  He kept fluttering towards town, the two boys hot on his heels.

  By mutual assent, Trug and Nevin kept quiet as the bat erratically meandered like a balloon in a windstorm towards a nearby plaza.

  Located between the municipal graveyard and a small lake, the five small businesses in Dreader’s Plaza, nicknamed Deader’s Plaza, all fed on the notoriety of close proximity to a graveyard. There was Gravestone Pizza, Dead as Nails Hardware, Last Life Flowers, Trick or Treat Candies and Live Life Travels.

  The bat was heading to the pizza parlor.

  A popular hangout for school kids and social gatherings, Gravestone Pizza was a two story eatery, with big plate windows overlooking a well kept graveyard. Yeah, gross, but the kids loved it. In back, a large, railed outdoor deck on the second floor jutted out over the lake which spooned around most of the shopping plaza. There were several tables on the deck, with big blue and green umbrellas, which could come down and be replaced by a large green enclosure with walls whose roomy interior could be heated if necessary for parties and other celebrations. Being a comfortable night, the umbrellas were out.

  As they got closer, they saw that a gathering was going on now. A sign was posted reading that the local state legislator was hosting a fund raiser on the first floor.

  The bat swooped low to gain speed and then launched himself towards the second floor.

  Below him the boys skidded to a halt.

  “I lost him,” Trug said.

  Nevin pointed up toward the rafters. “He went up there.”

  They clattered up the front steps.

  “What’s he doing here?” Trug gasped, slightly out of breath from their run. The run hadn’t been too difficult due to the bat’s slow pace, but still, it was a run. Trug resolved to spend more time outside and less at the computer in the future.

  Nevin didn’t seem to be suffering, most likely a result of his food and sugar intake offset by the metabolism of a hummingbird.

  As they entered the pizzeria, the garlicky smell of Italian goodness assaulted them and they welcomed the attack by sucking as much as they could into their lungs. Ahead was the cashier, a pretty high school girl who wouldn't have been able to make change without the help of the cash register. To the left was a huge menu, covering the entire left side of the waiting room. The procedure was to choose your meal, pay the pretty girl, and then go to another waiting area where your food would appear in just moments, courtesy of flat bread mixed with a highly efficient, kick butt pizza oven.

  To the right were two entry ways. One led to the downstairs dining room. Signs showed it was where the politician's fund raising was going on. The second doorway went to stairs leading to the second floor and balcony. Trug headed for the second doorway, but Nevin paused at the menu. “Ah, I shoulda been Italian."

  Trug looked back, one foot on the top step. "You're not? I thought you had an uncle Guido."

  "So? That doesn't make me Italian."

  "Guido? Italian?"

  "Nah, my family just liked the name. Doesn't mean a thing. But I'll tell you, I'd have loved to be Italian. They have the best foods ever."

  “You said the same thing about German that time you had wiener schnitzel."

  “Loves me some schnitzel."

  “And Mexican when you had Chile Rellenos.”

  “Muy gusto."

  “And…”

  “Yeah, yeah, I get the point,” Nevin interrupted. “I like food, what can I say?”

  Trug just looked at his scrawny friend. “Yeah, you're living proof of gluttony. Let’s find the bat.”

  Nevin's eyes rounded, "What, no snack first?"

  Trug just shook his head and headed upstairs.

  Nevin lingered at the wall, looking with longing at the melted cheeses dotted with oregano, warm spicy red sauces, cheesy breadsticks and fat robust noodles covering the wall.

  "Please?"

  Trug looked back again. Nevin's eyes were huge, pleading, obviously a trait retained from his day as a Border collie. If he'd had a tail, it would have been wagging hopefully.

  Trug sighed. "Okay, fine, we'll get something."

  Minutes later, loaded down with trays overflowing with Nevin's idea of a snack, they climbed the steep stairs to the second floor.

  "Over there," Nevin said, pointing an elbow at a middle booth next to the plate glass window overlooking the graveyard. It was the only available table. The rest were filled with kids from school, all chattering and alert to everyone else in the room.

  Ignoring them, they plopped onto the cushioned seat with the bonelessness of teenagers, and immediately tore into the mound of food like termites on a tasty pine.

  "Where is he?" Nevin asked around a mouth full of noodles.

  Trug looked around the room. Though dominated by the large window, there was a flat screen television in one corner and posters of scary movies on all of the walls. Up near the ceiling was a small vent leading outdoors, its screen twisted and bent enough to allow a rotund bat access.

  He pointed. “He came in there, but I don’t see him.”

  “Wouldn’t you have thought some of these kids would have freaked if a bat was flying around? Nevin asked, chasing his sentence with an enormous bite of pizza.

  “Maybe he just sort of ninja’d in here,” Trug suggested.

  “I dunno.. hey, what’s that?” Nevin’s eyes had wandered and he was looking down at the graveyard where something green seemed to be flapping on one of the fresher graves, lit up from the light streaming from the restaurant.

  Trug squinted. “Looks like a bald bird flapping around.”

  “It’s like trapped or something,” Nevin said. Then a pretty girl walked by the table catching his eye. “Whoa, now Kelly is some babe,” he said loud enough for her to turn and flash a quick smile, before continuing to her table.

  Trug watched her from the corner of his eyes. “I don’t know how you can do that.”

  “What?”

  Trug shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Talk about a girl like that and get her attention, and… I don’t know, just be normal.”

  “Girls aren’t any different from us,” Nevin said. “Everyone
wants to be appreciated. I just appreciate them to their faces.”

  Trug crumpled a wrapper and put it on the tray. “I could never do that.” He picked up the tray, amazed that all of Nevin’s food was entirely devoured. How Nevin could simply make food disappear never failed to amaze him. In the front of the room, near the doorway to the stairs was a disposal station with a trash bin for food and a place to leave silverware and trays.

  Trug tipped the tray, letting the food wrappers slide into the trash.

  As he turned away, he heard a small burp from the dark mouth of the trash receptacle.

  He paused, listening intently. Then a rustling sound came from the trash, like something small, round and completely batty.

  “Jack?” he whispered.

  The rustling stopped.

  “Jack, are you in there?”

  A little pigtailed girl at a nearby table gave him a strange look.

  He flushed, and pretended to wipe a tray. “Jack,” he said, barely audibly. “If you’re down there, I know you can hear me.”

  “Of course I can hear you. Bats have excellent hearing,” a voice said from inside the bin.

  “Then get out of there,” Trug hissed.

  There was a theatrical sigh from the trashcan. “If I don’t, you’re going to make some kind of scene, aren’t you?”

  In answer, Trug slammed his foot against the bin.

  The trashcan yelped. “Holy crap, you scared the guano out of me.”

  Trug looked up and the girl was staring at the trash can, eyes wide. He shrugged. “Ventriloquist. I’m practicing.”

  Her face brightened, and she started talking excitedly to her parents who gave her minimal attention.

  Trug quickly glanced around, and then reached inside, feeling around until he hit something furry.

  “Hey!” Jack squeaked. “Watch where you put your fingers.”

  Trug grabbed the bat and quickly stuffed him in his pocket.

  The little girl’s eyes goggled.

  “He’s a stage bat. I’m also a magician,” Trug whispered to her. Pigtails flying, she whipped around and started grabbing at her mother’s arm.

  He turned and went back to the table. He fell onto the seat and pulled Jack out of his pocket, putting him on the seat next to the window and out of sight of the other diners.

  Nevin was watching something out of the window. “Check it out. If I didn’t know better, I’d say it looks like a foot and part of a leg. It’s like, emerging from the grave. ”

  Trug ignored him. “Look what I found in the trash.”

  Nevin sighed and turned. “What?”

  Trug gestured to the seat, and Nevin leaned over and peered under the table. “Oh, hi Jack.”

  “Dude,” Jack said. He stuffed a bit of breadstick into his mouth, then reached up and grabbed a glass container of grated cheese, tipped it over his face and slugged it down, little fat rolls jiggling under his wing.

  “So is this what’s been going on with you?” Trug asked.

  “Maybe.”

  “You’ve been sneaking in here and gorging yourself in a trashcan?”

  Jack shook himself like a wet dog, a piece of cheese falling off his tiny shoulders. He snatched it and tossed it into his mouth. “You people are so wasteful. Do you know how much good stuff you just throw away?” He looked outraged.

  Trug frowned. “That doesn’t mean it’s your job to eat it.”

  “It’s a tough job, I admit it,” Jack said. “But someone has to do it. Otherwise, it gets wasted on flying rats.”

  “You’re a flying rat,” Nevin pointed out.

  Jack glared at him. “No, dummy, I’m a bat. With a ‘B. I’m talking about feathered rats, those white and gray ones.”

  “Do you mean seagulls?” Trug asked.

  Jack pointed a wing at him. “Exactly, a jabbering, stinky waste of feathers hanging around dumpsters. You ever try to pass a seagull when it’s swinging drunkenly through the air? They fly like idiots. Probably because of their faulty sonar.”

  “Birds don’t have sonar,” Trug said.

  “Ah, maybe that explains it,” Jack said. “But that doesn’t explain their lousy voices. They sound like a bunch of noisy humans.”

  “But look what it’s doing to you,” Trug pointed out. “You can barely fly anymore.”

  “Flying’s overrated,” Jack retorted.

  “And Erin’s really worried about you,” Trug said, leaning close to the bat.

  For the first time, a sheepish look crept over the bat’s face. “Well, yeah, there is that.”

  “She’s afraid you’re going to get hurt, and,” Trug looked around,” seriously, pizza?”

  It looked like if Jack could have blushed, he would have. “Yeah, I do feel like a traitor. I mean, wow, garlic. I just never knew how good that stuff was. I can’t believe vampires are allergic to it. What a waste.”

  “Allergic?” Nevin asked.

  Jack waved it off with a wing. “Allergy, death, whatever. Anyway, garlic is like manna from the skies.”

  “I never understood what manna was,” Nevin said, absently, his attention on the grave outside. Then he pointed. “I think that guy came out of that grave.”

  Trug leaned over and Jack looked, too.

  “That’s no guy,” Jack said, reaching for Trug’s root beer.

  Trug swatted his wing away. “It’s sure not a girl.”

  “Well, I think after they die, it doesn’t make a difference what they were when they were alive,” Jack said, leaning on the table, and sliding a wing toward Nevin’s drink.

  Nevin and Trug whipped their heads around, staring with disbelief at the bat, who quickly snatched back his wing. “What?” Jack asked.

  “He’s dead?” Trug breathed.

  “Dead, undead, whatever. He’s what you call a zommie.”

  “You mean a zombie?” Nevin cried.

  “That’s it.”

  “There’s no such thing as zombies,” Trug declared.

  The bat gave him a look. “Hello? Vampires, werewolves?”

  “Talking bats?” Nevin added.

  Jack nodded, “Saved the most important for last. Thanks. Anyway, of course there are zombies. I mean, sheesh, you turned into were-dogs yourself. So why is this so hard to believe?”

  “But it came out feet first,” Nevin said. “Don’t they just claw their way out head first?”

  Jack grimaced. “Ah, a breech zombie. Those are bad. They’re pretty messed up.”

  “What zombie isn’t messed up?” Trug cried. He turned red when he noticed other diners looking at him. The girl with the pigtails had been staring at him ever since he sat down. Trug pointed at a zombie poster, and looked away when her eyes left him.

  “I know what you mean,” Jack said. “They are pretty screwed.”

  Jack licked a bit of hot peppers on the table, grimaced and flicked his tongue to air it out. “Yes, that’s for sure.”

  “What is it with them and brains?” Nevin asked.

  “They need them,” Jack said.

  Nevin’s brows shot into his hairline. “What?”

  Jack successfully stole Trug’s root beer and quickly licked it before Trug could stop him. Trug’s hand froze and Jack gave a little gloating grin, drained it in one gulp and burped. Then he continued, “Their brain functions are almost dead. They need the electric what do you call it in humans.”

  Trug frowned. “Neurons? Synapses?”

  “Yeah, that stuff. Of course, if they had any taste, they’d chow bat brains. But not everyone can be a gourmet. Anyway, the more they get, the better they think. If they eat enough brains, they actually can get back to almost human.”

  “Sounds like Ms. Cleaver,” Nevin grinned.

  “Who’s that?” Jack asked, sneaking a wing over the table towards Nevin’s Coke.

  Nevin snatched the Coke. “Our Chem teacher. Yeah, I could see her as a zombie easy.”

  “I always thought it was a result of chemicals messing u
p her mind,” Trug said.

  Nevin bonked his head on the window, trying to see where the zombie had gone. “Zombie. That would explain a lot.”

  “Why couldn’t they just stick a finger in an electric outlet?” Trug asked.

  Nevin grinned, “I did that once.”

  “That’s a shocker,” Trug said, grinning at his own joke.

  Jack ignored the exchange. “No, it's got to be human. The more they have, the more human they get. Anyway, that's why they don't swim.”

  Nevin’s head whipped around. “Huh?”

  Jack chewed something he’d gotten from somewhere. “You ever seen a zombie swim?

  “I’ve never seen a zombie period,” Nevin said.

  Jack belched. “Oh, yeah, forgot. Anyway, they don’t swim because it shorts them out. Something about the electrical thing-a-ma-zappers in the brain.”

  “So what’s the zombie going to do next?” Trug asked.

  That’s when the screaming started downstairs.