Melabeth the Vampire by E.B. Hood Read Free Book Online

and bacon, and here I am puking my guts out in the sink for 15 minutes.
    Damn, where is someone to hold my head?  It would've been one thing if the food was nasty or smelled bad, but no it smelled delicious, and it tasted fantastic. Where's the justice? This means I'll have to go through my existence, smelling food that I once loved and be unable to eat it.
    *                  *                   *
    It was around 7:00 PM when I got out the door and headed down the street. I was heading for uptown, with a simple plan to catch a bus back to LA and then eat bikers.
    As I walked I couldn’t help thinking of those poor people's house that I just left. First they were robbed of a gun, clothes, and cash. Then the perpetrator destroyed their bathroom with mud, leaving a ring around the tub that will never come out. Then someone threw up in their kitchen sink, vandalizing the entire kitchen and living room.
    It was like a giant tornado, or a 15-year-old vampire throwing the biggest fit you've ever seen. Apparently I was strong enough to toss the refrigerator into the next room landing on the TV. The walls shattered like paper when I punched and kicked them; even the two by fours, shattered like toothpicks. I couldn't help but laugh, as I imagined how the insurance agent looked as he wrote the claim.
    I was now walking down High St at 8:30 at night. Apparently this town was in the middle of nowhere. When I reached the uptown area, they didn’t even have a bus station. After walking up the main drag, there were only four little shops, and an old country hardware store.
    In front of the hardware store is where I ran into a nice helpful middle aged woman. She directed me to Grand Junction City. She told me that’s where the big city was and the nearest bus station. The confrontation was strange, and she was glad to see me walk away. Apparently I did not put out a good vibe.
    So now I am hitchhiking down highway 330 to I-70 to Grand Junction. At least that is the plan. Now it is awful strange that no one has stopped for me. When I was a child, me and my parents hitched around the country, and it was never more than a few minutes before someone stopped.  My dad used to say it helped to travel with girls, because, if it was just him, it could take almost fifteen minutes before someone would pick him up.
    I think, but I am not sure, that I have been walking for a half an hour. A dozen cars went by, and I hardly got a brake light. Now I guess I could just run there, but that seemed like a bad idea because I was already hungry again. And it is not rocket science that motion takes energy. Finally a big, old looking Chevy Impala pulled over in front of me, so I ran up to the passenger side and jumped in the backseat; there were two men sitting in the front.
    “Thanks for stopping,” I said to the men in the front of the car. I threw my bag in the empty seat next to me, and had barely got the door shut when the man took off.
    Both of these men looked to be about forty; it was hard to tell. The men were both sporting beards of gray and brown hair. One had long messed up hair that he kept in a ball cap. The driver just looked like he missed his haircut by a week or so with a much neater and shorter beard to match. They were both heavily dressed for the cold with flannel jackets and jeans. The Old Spice one of them was wearing didn’t even start to cover up the smoke smell or the scent of their blood for that matter.
    The passenger turned to face me and had a friendly face. “Where you going on this God forsaken night?”
    “It’s not the only thing God has forsaken.” I replied with a little laugh; then I went on to say. “Need to get to Grand Junction bus station.”
    The passenger gave a little chuckle at my remark. The driver turned around and gave me a quick go over. He then went back to driving before saying in a nice soft voice. “What a strange thing to say.” And, after a short pause, he