How to Be a Vampire (2 page)

Still half asleep, Andrew reached a hand out from
under his blanket. He waved it in the direction of his clock. At last he made contact. He hit the alarm button. The beeping stopped.

“We are going to catch the first bus this morning, Andrew,” Emily announced. “If you aren't downstairs in fifteen minutes, I'm leaving without you. I don't care what Mom says.”

Andrew heard his sister stomp down the stairs. If Emily left by herself, their mom would have a fit. Shadyside Middle School was pretty far away from their development—but very close to Fear Street. Close to the Fear Street Cemetery. Scary things happened there. All the time. If you believed the stories . . .

Andrew believed them. He knew that on Halloween, ghost kids rose from their graves. They tried to get real live kids to play a game with them. The game was called Hide and Shriek. The object of the game was to take the live kids back to the grave!

And then there was Miss Gaunt. She used to be a substitute teacher at Shadyside Middle School. Before she died, that is. Now she haunted the cemetery. She was always out searching for new students to teach—forever!

Andrew's mother always told him that they were only stories—that she didn't believe there was any truth in them. But still, she liked Andrew and Emily to travel to and from school together.

With a groan, Andrew made himself open his eyes.
He needed more sleep. Much more sleep. He wished he hadn't stayed up so late the night before, reading. He wished he could sink back onto his soft pillow again. And close his eyes . . .

He jerked his head up. Any minute now, Emily would be back, screaming at him. He pushed himself up on one arm. Ow! His elbow hit the corner of his book. The one he'd been up reading half the night.
Running with Werewolves.
Boy, what a great story!

Now Andrew felt wide awake. He remembered where he left off in the story. Jason, the hero of
Running with Werewolves,
was about to join a werewolf pack.

Andrew had read all but the last few pages. He'd die if he didn't find out what happened. He glanced at his clock. He could skip brushing his teeth for once. And washing his face.

Andrew sat on his bed. His eyes skimmed the words. Jason was in big trouble. He was a werewolf now. But the head werewolf didn't want him in the pack. Jason and the head werewolf were about to engage in mortal combat! Only a werewolf can kill another werewolf. So one of them had to kill the other. Jason didn't stand much of a chance.

Andrew's heart pounded as the snarling head werewolf reached out his huge, hairy paws. Reached out and grabbed Jason's neck. He squeezed, tighter and tighter. Choking Jason.

Andrew lifted his eyes from the book to catch his breath—and a hand from behind clutched his neck!

Andrew tried to scream. But no sound came out.

A voice came from behind Andrew. “Be ready in ten minutes!”

It was Emily's voice.

Emily let go of Andrew's neck. Then she reached around and snatched his book.

“Hey!” Andrew cried. He leapt up. But he was too late.

Emily was running out of his room with the book.

Andrew chased her. “Give it back!” he cried.

Emily whizzed down the stairs. She stood at the bottom, shaking her head. “Be down here in ten minutes, Andrew,” she said. “Or this book is history!”

Andrew sighed. He knew when he was beaten. He plodded back to his room. There, he pulled on a polo shirt and a pair of jeans. Maybe Ms. Parma had a copy of
Running with Werewolves
in the school library. But probably not. Andrew would have to wait to find out what happened to Jason. He'd have to ask Emily for his book back. She might make him get down on his knees and beg!

Andrew got dressed. All but his sneakers. He felt around under his bed. He thought his sneakers were under there.

His fingers hit something. Something cold as ice. Not a sneaker. Definitely not. Andrew grasped the
cold thing. He dragged it out from under his bed—and found himself gazing at a book.

An old black book. It looked important somehow. Boy, did it ever feel cold. So cold, it stung his fingers.

The book had no title. Andrew ran his hand over the smooth black leather.
Why does this book feel like a frozen TV dinner?
he wondered.
And how did it get under my bed?

He opened the book. A blank page stared back at him. Andrew flipped page after page. Blank, blank, blank.

“Andrew?” Mrs. Griffin called from the bottom of the stairs. “What's keeping you, honey? Emily's waiting!”

“Coming!” Andrew called back.

He tossed the book down on his bed. He rummaged around, found his sneakers, and stuffed his feet into them. Maybe he'd take the black book to school with him. Show it to T.J.

But—wait. That's who must have put the book under his bed—T.J.! It had to be T.J. It was definitely a T.J. kind of joke.

Andrew slipped his homework papers into his binder. He shoved his binder into his backpack. He reached for the black book. Then he stopped.

He squinted down at the cover.

It had been blank before. Totally blank. He was sure of it. But now spidery letters were beginning to
appear. Old-fashioned letters—writing themselves onto the book!

Andrew could only stare and wait as the writing continued.

And then it stopped.

The title was complete.

Andrew felt his blood run cold as he whispered the words on the front of the book:

H
OW TO
B
E A
V
AMPIRE

W
hoa! What a cool effect!
Andrew opened the book. Maybe T.J. had stuck a computer chip inside the cover. Or maybe the writing was some kind of hightech invisible ink. He couldn't tell. But . . . hey! Now writing began to appear on the first page! The words shimmered into view:

C
HAPTER
1

V
AMPIRES-IN
-T
RAINING

How did T.J. do these amazing effects? Brrr. And how did he make it so cold? Had T.J. surrounded it with cold packs from his freezer? How else could it stay so icy?

Andrew turned another page. More writing began to appear.

How would you like to sleep all day? Then, at sunset, turn into a wolf. Or a rat. Or a red mist. Or maybe a bat.

How would you like to fly? To pass through a closed door? Or a thick stone wall? Does all this sound too good to be true? It isn't. All you have to do is become a vampire.

How can you do this? One way is to be bitten by a vampire. The most popular place for this bite is on your neck. Once you are bitten, you are a vampire-in-training.

“Oh, wow,” Andrew whispered. This was even better than
Running with Werewolves!
How did T.J. manage this stuff?

If it was T.J.

And . . . if it wasn't? Andrew swallowed. He didn't want to think about that. Because if T.J. didn't hide the book in his room, then . . . who did? Not Emily. She'd never think of anything like this. Not his mom. It had to be T.J.

“Andrew?” His mother's voice came from down the hallway.

Quickly, Andrew shoved the black book under his pillow. He fell to his knees. He pretended to be
looking for something under his bed. He didn't want his mom to see what he'd been reading. He didn't want to answer any questions about the black book.

“Honey?” His mom stood in the doorway.

“Oh, Mom! Hi!” Andrew said. He kept searching. He realized something. There weren't any cold packs under his bed.

“Emily is having a fit because you're taking so long,” Mrs. Griffin said. “Is anything wrong?”

“No!” Andrew's voice hit a high note. “Nothing's wrong! I can't find my sneakers. That's all.”

Mrs. Griffin glanced at Andrew's feet. “You're wearing them, dear,” she pointed out.

“Oh, right,” Andrew said. He pulled his head out from under his bed. “I mean, I couldn't find them. And then I found them. Under my bed. There they were. So . . . I better tie them.”

Andrew always babbled when he didn't know what else to do. Now he bent down and began tying his laces. Then he stood up.

“Are you sure you're okay?” His mother brushed his hair off his face. She put a hand to his forehead. “Hmmm. No temperature. But you are a bit clammy.” She stepped back. “And so pale,” she added. “I think you may be coming down with something.”

“I feel fine,” Andrew said. “Really.”

No way could Andrew stay home. Not today. He
had to go to school. He had to find out what the story was with this book.

“Tell Emily we'll make the late bus,” he said. He brushed by his mother on his way down the hall to the bathroom. “Tell her I'll be down in three minutes,” he called.

“I'll butter a bagel for you,” Mrs. Griffin called back to him. “You can eat it on the bus.”

Andrew locked the bathroom door behind him. It was a habit. A lifelong habit of keeping out Emily. Of protecting his privacy. As he reached for his toothbrush, he heard footsteps in the hallway outside the bathroom. He smiled.

“Speed it up!” Emily called from outside the door.

Andrew heard her try the knob.
Too bad, Em!
he thought.
You can't get in!

“Andrew?” she called. “I swear, if we miss the late bus, I'll kill you!”

Still smiling, Andrew squeezed a strip of toothpaste onto his toothbrush. He glanced in the mirror.

He froze.

The toothbrush fell out of his hand.

His face! It
was
pale! As pale as milk! No wonder his mother had been worried.

“Andrew!” Emily pounded on the bathroom door with both fists. “Come out of there!”

Andrew didn't bother answering. He kept staring at his face. His skin was the same color as the white tile
on the bathroom walls! He peered closer—at his lips. His red lips. His
really
red lips. He saw a smudge of red under his chin. He pulled back the collar of his shirt. Blood! He was bleeding!

Quickly, Andrew tore off a few sheets of toilet paper. He wet them and dabbed at the cut on his neck.

He peered closer. The spot on his neck didn't look like a cut, really. It looked more like a pair of mosquito bites. As if he'd been stuck with a barbecue fork. Or a snake had sunk its teeth into his neck. Or . . . something else had.

A vampire!

Andrew's hand trembled as he felt the two little bumps.

He whisked his hand away.

He stared at the puncture marks.

What did they mean?

Oh, no!
Andrew gasped.
Am I a vampire-in-training?

A
ndrew stared at the mirror—at the holes in his neck—when the bathroom door swung open.

“I did it!” Emily crowed. She held up a twisted bobby pin.

“You . . . you did?” Andrew stammered. He put a hand to his neck. “With
that?”

“Yes!” Emily cried. “I picked the lock!”

“Oh.” Andrew let out a deep breath. “Um, Em? Could you come over here for a second?”

“Sure,” Emily said sweetly. She walked over to where Andrew was standing. But before he could ask her to check out his neck, she grabbed his shirt collar.

“Hey! Stop!” Andrew cried. “What are you doing?”

What Emily was doing, he realized, was pulling
him out of the bathroom. She dragged him down the hall.

“I am sick of waiting for you every morning,” Emily ranted. “I am sick of having to walk all the way around the pond to catch the late bus!”

“Hey . . . Em?” Andrew began.

“I
hate
being almost late for school every single day!” Emily went on. “I hate going to middle school because
you
go there!”

Andrew tried again. “Emily, stop!”

“I can't wait to go to high school
all by myself,”
she said.