"Is she bitchy?"
I want to laugh - because my mom said “bitchy” - but content myself with a smile. "Yeah. Big time. But she's not so bad. There were worse in L.A."
Neither of us speak for a minute.
"So can we stay?" I ask finally, taking a careful sip of my juice.
I was worried she'd say no.
She looks at me, her lips pressed together. "You're to stay close to home. And I don't want you going bike riding anymore."
I throw my arms around her.
"Oh, mom! Thank you!"
"- and stay in town. Every girl that ever went missing - at least the ones I knew about - it always happened outside Templeton. On the edge of the town. Never inside. Stay in the town limits. Be extremely careful on rainy days."
"Oh, mom."
"And you're to wear garlic. Around your neck. That's what all us girls did back then and I see that's what the girls are still doing today. Nola at work - her daughter came in yesterday and she had a garlic necklace on. I couldn't believe it. I thought after all this time...things might have changed."
I nod. "I will...I promise...”
Something suddenly occurred to me.
“Hey, your friend. She was swimming that night, right?"
My mom looks at me. "Theresa would have been swimming, yes."
The way she says "Theresa" makes it seem as though she’s protecting her. Protecting her good name. And it’s obvious I have to be mindful of how I speak about her.
"Theresa," I repeat, "would have been swimming. I'll bet she'd taken her garlic necklace off."
My mom shrugs and rises to her feet. "Who knows. Oh, shoot. The pancakes."
She hurries to the stove and flips a blackened disc out of the pan.
"Why garlic?” I ask. “Is that because, like, vampires are hurt by garlic?"
She nods. "Yeah. I guess, fifty years ago or a hundred years ago or whatever, whenever this whole thing started, someone got the bright idea to wear garlic...and it's been that way ever since. Girls from other towns around - Bangor and places like that - would always make fun of us girls from Templeton because of it. They'd call us garlic girls."
I giggle, grateful for the comic relief. "Garlic girls?"
"Yeah. Garlic girls. Not too flattering, is it?"
"No, it's not," I admit, staring at my pancakes, now completely soggy from the syrup I'd put on them five minutes earlier.
My mom scrapes the rest of the blackened pancake out of the pan and starts afresh, greasing the Teflon with a new coat of oil.
"I think I'm gonna go and see Mindy," I say, pushing myself away from the table.
"Oh?"
"Yeah," I sigh, suddenly regretting the way I'd treated her yesterday. "I want to ask her some more about this vampire stuff. She seemed to know a lot."
My mom presses her lips together again. She does that whenever she isn't happy about something.
"I promise I won't be too long."
"Oh, it's not that. It's just...I don't want you getting overly worked up. It's not every day a girl goes missing...and as long as you do what I tell you, stay inside the town limits, wear your garlic necklace, et cetera...you'll be safe."
I nod. "I know. And I promise to do all of that."
My mom lets out a sigh of her own. "I'm still a little on edge."
"I know. I am too, mom. But...I mean...if I'm safe about it and if I do what you said...everything will be alright. You'll see."
She looks at me, her expression conveying her trust in me. This causes my eyes to well up and I turn away quickly.
"So, I'm gonna go over there now. Maybe she can show me how to make a garlic necklace that won't be too uncomfortable. I can't see it being very comfortable having that under your shirt all day."
"No," my mom says, a small smile playing at her lips, "it's not. I almost always had a rash on my chest from the one I used to wear."
"Why don't you wear it anymore?"
"I will. I'll make one this weekend. You and I both."
"Good."
"Alright."
I push myself away from the table.
"I'm sorry about these pancakes mom..."
"It's alright," she says, coming over and scooping up my plate. "I'll eat them."
"Really?"
I feel bad. They look thoroughly unappetizing.
"Yeah. You go and have some fun with your friend."
I nod, grateful for her understanding. "Thanks, mom. And...I love you."
"I love you too, sweetheart."
"And so the vampires only drink girls' blood because guys' blood makes them ill?"
"That's what my grandpa told me," said Mindy, her eyes fixed on the page of the tattered old book lying open on the kitchen table.
"That's odd."
Mindy nods. "Yeah."
"And they figure vampires have been in Templeton for a hundred years?"
"Yeah."
I watch as she flips to another section of the book.
"These are newspaper clippings from the first attacks. December nineteen ten. February nineteen eleven. April nineteen eleven."
"Wow...this girl was only thirteen..."
"Yeah, she's been the youngest so far."
"How many...have there been," I ask slowly, not really wanting to hear the answer.
"Well, if you calculate one a month for one hundred years that's..."
She rattles off a bunch of numbers.
"Twelve hundred."
"Twelve hundred!? That's insane!?"
Mindy shrugs as her mom enters the dining room with a tray holding cookies and lemonade.
"How's the research coming, girls?"
"Really well. Thanks, Mrs. Larson."
I take a cookie from the tray and pop it into my mouth.
"You know, I went to high school with your mother," she says, setting the tray on the table. "I'm a few years younger than her though, so we didn't go with the same crowd."
I nod as I nibble the oatmeal raisin treat. "Makes sense."
"But you two...I'm so happy Mindy's made a friend in her grade."
Mrs. Larson's expression is excited.
I smile, ignoring the pit of guilt in my stomach. I'd been pretty harsh with Mindy up until now.
I glance at her.
"Hey, Tina. Read this," she says, sliding the book towards me. "This explains the garlic."
"Alright, I'll leave you girls to it," says Mrs. Larson, taking a step back from the table.
She disappears into the kitchen as my eyes move to the spot on the page where Mindy's finger is pointing.
"Garlic is a girl's best friend"
Mary Kraft
Templeton Spectator
May 27, 1962
As many of you know, Templeton has a problem. We all know what that problem is, and national media has ridiculed us enough for believing in you-know-what, so there's no sense in going over it again. Suffice it to say, you know what I'm referring to.
Last week I had the tremendous opportunity to speak to Mrs. Eleanor Sturgess of 21 Waterbury Street. Mrs. Sturgess has lived in Templeton since the day she was born. It being improper to ask in what year Mrs. Sturgess was born, she assured me that it was before this century.
Mrs. Sturgess reported that Templeton only began having a problem with you-know-what in the first decade of this century. She explained that in the early years there was very little knowledge about "the problem" and people in town didn't know how to deal with it. "Experts" and "specialists" were summoned to Templeton from across America. Witch doctors, naturalists, monks, priests - anyone and everyone by the sounds of it. According to Mrs. Sturgess, not a single one knew what to do.
But then a curious thing happened. A woman by the name of Mrs. Popescu (Mrs. Sturgess was unfortunately unable to recall Mrs. Popescu's first name) moved to Templeton from the country then known as Austria-Hungary. She came from the region of Transylvania where lore surrounding you-know-what has persisted for several centuries. Indeed, it’s where
Count Dracula himself - antagonist of Bram Stoker's 1897 classic and perhaps the most famous you-know-what - hailed from. Mrs. Popescu was therefore well-versed on the subject matter - as much as any individual can be anyway - and far more than us Americans who had yet to see the Hollywood Hit movie, Dracula, which only debuted in 1931.
One afternoon, Mrs. Sturgess had Mrs. Popescu over for tea. Somehow the topic of you-know-what came up. Mrs. Popescu, a native of a part of the world know to harbour the same sorts of creatures afflicting Templeton, suggested garlic.
Together, the women fashioned necklaces of garlic and long after Mrs. Popescu's death just a year later, Mrs. Sturgess continued to wear her special necklace.
Other women in town took notice and soon made necklaces of their own. The tradition has continued ever since and no woman wearing a necklace of garlic has ever been known to become a victim of the you-know-what.
Below is a simple design for your own necklace. May it keep you safe!
"Wanna make one?"
I study the step-by-step instructions below as Mindy's voice returns me slowly to the present.
"Sure," I answers, genuinely excited.
This was an important step. With a garlic necklace, not only would I be safe from the you-know-what, but I'd officially be a Templeton girl. A garlic girl.
Mindy smiles and takes the book from me.
"Alright, first things first, if you want to make one like mine," she pulls her necklace out from under her collar, "we'll have to find some wire because hemp and thread are both too scratchy..."
The necklace making took us all afternoon and by the time I trotted home - at a quarter after five - my stomach was growling for supper. Mrs. Larson's oatmeal raisin cookies and lemonade had been good - correction, amazing - but I needed something more filling.
"Mom?"
I push the door open and step inside. It’s beautiful and sunny. Birds chirping. Not a cloud in sight.
I shut the door and wipe the wet dew from my feet.
"Mom?"
She’s probably in the backyard. Gardening.
I give Rufus a quick scratch behind the ears and cross through the house.
My dear mother, bless her heart, is knee deep in a flower bed, reaming on a pitchfork.
She pauses to wipe the sweat from her brow just as I open the back door.
"Hey, mom. Whatcha doin'?"
"Oh, just a bit of gardening. Trying to get this bed ready for next year. How was Mindy's?"
"Good," I say, smiling as I step out onto the small, half-rotten balcony, allowing the door to shut behind me. "I got something for ya."
"Aww, what is it?"
"A necklace," I say proudly, holding up the necklace I'd made for her.
"Oh, sweetheart. What a nice surprise."
My mom lets the pitchfork drop and makes her way toward me.
"It's lovely. Thank you. I like the baby blue beads."
"Yeah, I figured it would go nice with your scrubs."
My mom laughs. "Yes! Good call, honey. Geez, you're smart."
She gives me an admiring look and I feel myself blush.
"Ah, mom."
"You're growing up," she says, putting a hand on my shoulder and planting a kiss on my forehead. "My little baby's growing up. And soon she'll be moving out and living on her own and going off to college..."
I feel myself blush more fiercely and push her gently away.
"I'm not growing up. Not yet anyway. You're stuck with me for a few more years. Until I finish high school."
She wraps her arms around me and pulls me in for a hug.
"I'll never be stuck with you. You're stuck with people you don't care about. But you," she says, releasing me from her embrace and clasping me by the shoulders, "I love too much to ever be stuck with. You're a part of me. You're my baby. You'll always be my baby. Even when you're all grown and have babies of your own."
"Ah, mom," I say, ready to tear up at the look she’s giving me.
"I'll wear this every day," she says, opening the necklace and pulling up her ponytail so that she can slip it over her head. "And you wear yours. And then we'll both be safe."
I nod, pulling my necklace out from under my shirt so that she can see it.
"I'll wear it every day."
"Good."
Monday. Homeroom. 9:12 a.m.
"Okay class, settle down," Mr. Bergen whines in his nasally, high-pitched voice. "Gillian, would you hand out this week's reading assignment, please."
"Sure, Mr. Bergen."
I turn to Tom.
"Did you do the reading assignment for last week?"
He looks at me, a goofy grin plastered to his face. "What do you think?"
I shrug. "I don't know. Yes?"
"Of course I did it," he says, pulling a packet of papers from his binder. "Here, you can copy. Just try and change the wording a bit."
"Excuse me! But who says I want to copy yours?"
"Tina."
"Tom."
He grins. "Give it back then if you don't want it."
"No," I pout, turning in my seat and sliding the packet of papers under my binder.
"Ah, so you do want to copy," he says, lowering his voice as Gillian passes by.
She drops a sheet on each of our desks.
"Maybe..." I say, throwing him a sidelong glance.
"Well, like I said," he passes a hand through his hair, "just make sure you change the wording a bit."
"Don't worry," I say impatiently, "I may not be able to finish my homework on time, but I'm not stupid."
Gym that afternoon was a rather boring and pointless affair. We played dodgeball. Yippee...
A black eye and two bruised knees later, I hobble to the ladies' locker room with the rest of the girls, happy to be finished.
"And like, why would she leave California and come to Maine?"
"I heard it was because no one liked her there."
I ignore Stacey Nidermeyer and her clique as they pass like a flock of clucking hens, counting the hours in my head until the day would be over.
After school. 3:09 p.m.
"Wait up! Tina! Hey!"
I stop and turn to see Tom racing up the sidewalk. He’s visibly out of breath, but like so often, grinning from ear to ear.
"Hey! Where you off to in such a hurry?"
I work my arms in a bowling motion toward my house.
"Home."
"Oh."
He looks a little put out.
"Well, don't you want to come over? I thought you were going to come to our place for supper tonight."
"Tonight..."
Tom looks at me, his brown eyes soft and warm.
"Yeah...tonight. Why? You don’t want to?"
In truth, no. In my mind, yes. I was still annoyed he'd blown me off on Friday. Though, I suppose it wasn't so bad. It had given me a chance to get to know Mindy.
"No, nothing's the matter," I say, putting on a smile. "I can come over."
Tom’s trademark grin appears on his face once more. "Awesome."
The Holloway's live in a comfortable, three-storey farm house on the outskirts of town. Wood-paneled, with dark brown trim and a large wrap-around balcony, it isn't anything glamorous. Certainly not what I'd been expecting. Some kids at school had remarked that Tom was rich because his parents owned the tree nursery. But if the Holloway's had money, they sure didn't flaunt it.
"And how long did you live in California, Tina?" asks Tom's mother, Nancy, as we sat around the island in the kitchen waiting for Paul, Tom's dad, to return home from some errands.
"Ten years. We moved out there when I was six and we moved here in August of this year."
"Ohhh wow. That must be a big change, hey? Where were you guys living before? You're not from Templeton, are you?"
"Yes and no. My mom is. I was born in Portland. That's where we were living before we moved to California for my dad's job. My mom and I came here when she and my dad separated."
Nancy inhales
sharply. "Oh, that's really sad. I'm sorry to hear that."
She looks at Tom as though I'd just confirmed what he'd told her about me.
I shrug. "It's alright..."
"What sort of work does your father do?"
"He works in film."
"Ohhhh, wow. That's neat. Hey, Tom? Did you know that? Her father works in film."
Tom groans. "I'm standing right here, mom. I can hear what she's saying."
Nancy smiles. She has perfect teeth. Perfect lips. Perfect features.
"You're standing right there when I say things all the time and you don't hear me."
She looks at me and winks. Girl power.
I muster a smile as Tom takes me by the arm and drags me from the bar stool.
"Come on, let's go. I'll give you a tour."
"Don't be too long, Tom. Your dad will be home in half an hour."
"Alright, got it," he calls lazily as we exit the kitchen.
Tom steers me toward the back door. “Come on. I'll show you the greenhouses. It's pretty cool. A lot of people don't know how much time and effort go into raising trees."
"You mean, you can't just stick them in the ground and watch them grow?" I ask cheekily, pulling on my shoes as he throws on his jacket.
He gives me a mean, friendly stare. "No. And that is exactly why I like to show people the greenhouses."
I nod, trying to maintain a stoic expression as this is obviously very important to him.
We head outside. It’s begun to spit rain - nothing too intense - a light mist. Enough to make my hair frizzy though.
"Damn it."
Tom looks at me. "What's the matter?"
"My hair," I answer, smiling. "It gets all frizzy in the rain."
"Let me grab an umbrella," he says quickly, darting back toward the door.
"No, it's alright. That won't really - "
But he’s already inside and a second later he reappeares, a pink and green umbrella advertising some insurance company in hand.
"Thanks," I say sheepishly as he passes it to me.
"No problem. It's only a five minute walk," he says, pointing to some transparent, low-rise buildings in the distance.
"Sure."
"Watch your step," he adds, pointing at the muddy ground, "there's some pretty deep holes in this field. Sink holes like."
"Sink holes?" I ask.
"Yeah, like, quick sand. But mud. Little pockets. I've fallen through them quite a bit this past week. It's because of all the rain."