“Oh, you’re Elizabeth’s boy.”

When you grow up in a small town, that’s how people relate to you. You’re always someone else’s something. Richie’s cousin. Dana’s sister. Mike’s brother. Everyone just expects that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. “Of course Billy is good at football, his beefy dad is the town sheriff after all. He’ll probably join the force as soon as he’s old enough.” That was the way the people in my small town understood the world. Unfortunately for me, I was Elizabeth’s boy.

Everyone in town knew my mother. Not because she was a politician, or on the PTA, or anything like that. No, my mother was known for her eccentricities. Most people grew out of their goth stage sometime in high school. Not mom. Her clothes looked like museum pieces. She favored Victorian dresses, the more lace and frills the better. Her favorite color was black, so of course her clothes had to be black. Even her jewelry was black. Black pendants, black beads, black bracelets. To go along with her strange aesthetic, she wore sunglasses with thick lenses. They looked like something a cosplayer would wear for their steampunk outfit, not something an actual person would wear out in public. When she did go out, I guess to complete the look, she carried a parasol with her, black of course and with more than enough lace to match her dress.

People were shocked when I turned out to be normal. I think sometimes that creeped them out a little bit more than if I would have been a straight-up weirdo. “Elizabeth’s boy? Oh yeah, I saw him back behind the Pizza Hut kicking a puppy.” For some reason, that sounded a lot more reassuring than David, the nerdy boy who plays saxophone and wants to be head of the debate team.

When I was younger, I resented living in my mother’s shadow. I hated the people of our town for the way they judged us. As I grew older, I started to understand it, and that resentment started to shift. I could never understand why my mom wanted to stick out. I just wanted to fit in, to be normal, to somehow survive high school, which isn’t easy when your mom is the town weirdo. I was picked on, a lot.

“Mom, can’t you just… Wear a t-shirt or something?” I asked one day, as we were getting ready to go out. She was putting on her makeup, thick red lipstick and white powder. She always managed to put it on without looking in a mirror, even eyeliner. It was never smudged either.

“What would be the fun in that?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t it just be nice to be normal?” She looked at me with a grin.

“Normal? Do you know what another word for normal is? Ordinary. I don’t want to be ordinary. I want to be extraordinary. Wouldn’t you rather be extraordinary too?” If it meant that I was the town pariah, no. No I wouldn’t. I’d much, much rather be boring, common, or just plain ordinary. I never said it out loud, though. Instead I’d just smile.

“Sure, mom.” She’d smile back and run her fingers through my hair.

“You’re a good boy, David.”

I didn’t understand why she couldn’t be more like dad. My dad was, based on what little information my mom would give me, a pretty normal guy. He died when I was just a baby. A drunk driver crashed into us head on. Somehow mom and I escaped unscathed. Dad died before the paramedics even got there. Mom didn’t like to talk about him, she said it hurt too much.

When she did talk about him, she’d call him “my big goofball.” The pictures she kept all around the house seemed to reflect this. He’d been a history teacher, a nice, normal career, downright boring even! That earned him points in my book. He’d also loved photography, which I guess accounted for all the photos. In every picture, he was doing some dumb pose, flashing a peace sign, sticking his tongue out, or pretending to lean on something that wasn’t there. “A big goofball” just like mom said. I always thought we would’ve gotten along.

Dad’s pictures were in stark contrast to the other decor mom chose for our house. Our furniture could best be described as pieces that looked like they’d come from a medieval garage sale. Thick, black curtains blotted out any sunlight from our windows. Where dad’s pictures weren’t covering the walls, tapestries hung like invitations to some great lord’s dining room. I figured dad’s love of history must have been what convinced him to go along with mom interior decorating. To me, it was incredibly embarrassing. At least, it would have been embarrassing if I had friends and if those hypothetical friends’ parents had ever let them come over to play with “Elizabeth’s boy.”

My mom’s past was even more of a mystery than my dad’s. She spoke with a strange, English-sounding accent. When I was younger, I thought for sure she was putting it on.

“Mom, where are you from?” I asked one day, working on a school project.

“Oh, England. I’m from England.”

“Where in England?”

“The countryside. North of London.”

“Could we go visit someday?”

“Maybe.”

“What about my grandma and grandpa? Do they live in England?”

“They did. They died a long time ago.” I doubted whether or not what she told me was true.

Yet another mystery was mom’s job. Growing up, I never knew exactly what she did for work. Other kids’ parents went to the office, factory, or store after they dropped them off at school, but not mom. From time to time she’d leave around dusk, dressed up in some elaborate outfit, makeup done flawlessly. She’d kiss me on the head and tell me she’d see me tomorrow, to be a good boy and make sure I caught the school bus on time. Looking back, I can see how naive I was.

In high school, I started staying up later. She’d come home around one or two in the morning with some guy, usually drunk. They’d try to be quiet, but it’s hard to be quiet when you’re drunk. They’d bump into things in the hallway or whisper just a little too loudly. I wondered how I’d managed to sleep through it all when I was a little. Maybe I hadn’t. Maybe I’d woken up before, but my innocent mind had explained it away somehow. Or, I’d buried it. Buried it deep in my memories, never to be revisited, never wanting to think of my mother that way.

Eventually, it became undeniable, and I started to understand that there were other reasons the people around town stared at us. Sometimes I would hear groans or loud bangs coming from down the hall as mom absconded to her room with whoever she’d brought home that night. Whoever she brought home, they were always gone by morning. I appreciated that I never had to find some sleazy guy from a dive bar eating cereal in our kitchen in the morning. At first it bothered me. But over time, it just became routine. That’s how mom paid the bills. It’s how she kept us comfortable. Everything else about her was already odd enough, what was one more oddity?

It’s funny though, how one night can re-contextualize everything.

I was up late studying for a chemistry test. Science was never my forte, and I was worried. The small town I’d grown up in had come to dislike me about as much as I disliked it. I couldn’t wait to go off somewhere to college. I wanted, no I needed, a scholarship. I’d take one at any school, any chance to get out. Mom came home around 3AM with some guy.

“Nice place you got here,” he said in a gravelly voice said, not even trying to whisper. He sounded older. I’d been able to smell the alcohol and cigarettes the moment he stepped in the front door.

“Right this way,” mom said, her voice hushed and soft. Dammit, why tonight?

I put my headphones on and cranked the volume up to max. I didn’t want to hear whatever was about to happen. I was looking over the definition of covalent bonds when I heard the shout. I was like a deer in headlights, I took my headphones off and froze.

“You bitch!” There was a scuffle. They were fighting. Heavy footsteps fell down the hallway. I raced to the door and tore it open.

Mom stood in the hallway panting and covered in blood.

“What the fuck?” I couldn’t stop myself. I was too shocked. My mom’s head snapped toward me, like someone waking up after a bad dream.

“David! Go back to your room. I’ll- I’ll take care of this.”

“Take care of it? What’s going on mom?” I was scared now, ready to go in my room and call the cops.

“No, no. It’s okay. This- It’s not my blood. It’s his. We just- We had a disagreement. But I’m going to go find him, and everything is going to be okay!” With that, mom darted out the door and into the night.

Sleep would have been a relief, but it didn’t come. How could I sleep after what I’d seen. I still thought about calling the police. But she said it wasn’t her blood. What had she been trying to do? If I called the police, would they lock mom up? Did mom need to be locked up. Needless to say, the next morning, chemistry was the last thing on my mind. I did terrible on the test. When I got home, mom was waiting for me on the couch in the living room. She didn’t look like she was hurt, or even particularly bothered by what had happened. Something felt off. It felt wrong to be back in my own home. A tiny little voice in the back of my head, maybe that reptilian part that senses danger, was telling me to get out.

“Mom, what happened last night?”

“I can explain, David. I can explain everything. Sit down, I want to tell you a story.” I was definitely not in the mood for stories. But, coming from my mom, that had some weight to it. So, I took a seat next to her on the couch.

“A long time ago, in England, there lived a girl. This girl had a big heart and a free spirit. She longed to experience the world and all it had to offer. She just knew she would travel and see exotic places. But, above all, she knew that she would fall in love.

“One night, at a party in London, she thought she’d fallen in love. She met a stranger. He was courteous and proper, but just under the surface, there was something mysterious waiting to be discovered. This stranger avoided questions about his past. Because he was so handsome, and so clever, the young girl was enamored with him. She wanted to know more. Eventually, they found themselves alone in a garden. Suddenly, before the girl even realized what was happening, she was sharing a kiss with the handsome stranger.

“But, that’s not all they shared that evening. The young girl swooned, and didn’t notice when the man made a move for her neck. She realized all too late that the stranger’s past wasn’t just mysterious, but malevolent. The girl wasn’t content to just be his prey, though. No, she fought back. She kicked, and clawed, and in the end, she even bit. She bit him back, bit him so hard that she broke skin. And then, the world went black.

“She woke up back in her father’s manor. Her father was a noble, a viscount. Even though she was dying, he brought her back home. Authorities were still searching for the mysterious stranger. When she awoke, the young girl was so hungry. The old doctor who’d been summoned by her father was looking down at her so stupidly, completely unable to stop what was happening to her, the poison that had entered her body, and the changes that were taking place. It was so easy to crack him open like an egg. Her father’s servants found her lapping his blood off the floor.

“The viscount wasn’t a superstitious man. Instead, he sought ways to treat his daughters ‘illness’ and helped her stave off the cravings. He tried blood from cows, sheep, and pigs. While they might work to fight off the hunger for a bit, nothing did the trick quite like the blood of men. From time to time, the viscount had condemned prisoners brought in. They managed to placate the girl’s appetite.

“In the end, the viscount wasn’t able to save his daughter, and neither was she able to save him. He died of disease a few years later. On his death bed, the young girl begged him to just take a drop of her blood, but he refused. Noble until the end.

“And so, the girl was left alone. She still had dreams to travel, and so she did. She hitched rides in ships. She not only survived. She thrived. She saw the world, and she fed. Even though sh was lonely, she wasn’t hungry anymore.

“She had learned from the handsome stranger. Men could be arrogant, that was their mortal weakness. It was also in their nature to look at a young girl as defenseless. As prey. Yet, it was them being preyed upon. The young girl would charm men, bring them back to her room. Then, when the time was right, she would feed. So it was, so it was for nearly a hundred years. Until, one day, the girl met someone, a tourist. A history teacher with a love of photography. He was from some small, no-name town in America. But, he was funny. He loved history, and she had seen so much of it. She was happy to finally have someone to share her stories with.

“Then, one day, he took a picture of her. To his shock, the picture turned up empty. The young girl, so tired of being alone, shared everything with him. She told him the whole story. To her surprise, he wasn’t afraid, but intrigued. He had so many questions for her. He took her ‘condition’ in stride. He thought it was hilarious to take pictures of the two of them together, knowing she’d never show up once they were developed. Their bond grew deeper. The not so young anymore girl fell in love, for real this time. The American invited her to come home with him, to marry him, and come live with him in the tiny town where he taught history. She agreed.

“A few years later, the girl discovered something she thought was impossible. She was pregnant. Worry consumed her. What would happen to this baby? Would it be like her? Or would it be human? Gray hairs were beginning to sprout on her husband’s head. One day, just like the viscount, he would die, and she would be alone again. But maybe, just maybe, this child would be like her.

“The baby was born. A healthy baby boy. A human baby boy. When the girl held that baby in her arms, she knew she had to protect him. The world was a cruel place, she’d seen it. She suggested to her husband that they leave. They embrace their lives as creatures of the night. She could do it, she could turn them. All it would take was a drop of blood. But, her husband refused. He told her that he wanted his son to have a choice. He wanted him to have the chance at a normal life.

“Normal. Your father was normal to a fault. So terminally human that even as he was laying there, bleeding out, he refused to take her blood. He refused to accept her gift. I loved him. I could have forced him, but I loved him. The last thing I wanted was for him to hate me. So, when he begged me, with his dying breath, to let you have a choice, I agreed. He begged me to wait until you were old enough. I’ve always hated him for that, but I loved him more. I loved him, and I promised. But after last night, you deserve to know. That’s my story. And now, the choice is yours.”

I sat on the couch for a long time. I honestly didn’t know what to say. “My mom is a prostitute” is a hell of a lot easier to cope with than “my mom is a vampire.” And my dad, whoever I’d built him up to be, he had been okay with all of it. But even then, he hadn’t wanted to join her. He hadn’t wanted me to join her.

“I can’t-” I finally said, “I’m sorry mom, but I can’t.”

“David, just think about-”

“Honestly, I can barely do that. Vampire? You’re a vampire? I thought some guy was trying to murder you last night. I had to take a chemistry test this morning with absolutely no sleep. Now, you expect me to just, what? Become a vampire?”

“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” I thought of her standing in the hallway, covered in blood. I thought of all the men she’d brought home over the years. All those dead men. The little voice in the back of my mind had grown to a shout, and it was shouting at me, “Leave! Leave now!” But, she was still my mom.

“It’s exactly as bad as it sounds. From what I saw last night, it definitely is. Did you kill him? That guy last night?” She got quiet at this. We sat for awhile, the only sound between us the ticking of an old grandfather clock.

“I did-”

“Mom! You killed him!?”

“David, that man was a monster. So many men are monsters. I have never killed someone who didn’t deserve to die. They always come willingly, more than happy to take advantage of a helpless girl, or a lonely woman, or a single mother! They’re all monsters, every single one. I did what I had to do to survive.”

“You’re the monster,” I said quietly.

“David, how could you-”

“You’re the monster!” I shouted. I stormed into my room, grabbing all the money I had saved and a few changes of clothes. I shoved them into a backpack and marched toward the front door.

“David, David please,” Mom continued to plead. She begged, but she never tried to stop me. She’d still promised my dad. It was still my choice. I stomped out the front door, down the stairs from the porch, and I didn’t look back.

The only motel in town was a little dive just off the highway. It was run by an old lady named Myrna. When I walked in, she was smoking and watching Matlock. Her bloodshot eyes gave me a look that said, “Of course, Elizabeth’s boy.”

“How long will you be stayin’, hon?”

“I- I don’t know. I just need a room.”

“You in any trouble?” She said, knowingly.

“No. No, I just need a quiet place to study.”

“Alright then,” She slid a key across the counter. A few minutes later I was laying in a dingy room that smelled like weed and body odor. I could only imagine the things that had taken place in this room. But at least, as far as I knew, multiple people hadn’t died there. I laid in bed the rest of the day, crying. I half expected the door to burst open, my mother standing there, come to take me home. I imagined her covered in blood. It’s hard for me, even now, to imagine her any other way. Finally, I fell asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, a note had been slid under my door.

“David, you may think I’m a monster, but I believe one day you’ll understand. Everything I did, I did to survive. All I’ve ever wanted is for you to survive. I can’t lose you. Someday, I know you’ll make the right decision. Until that day comes, I’ll be waiting. I’ve told Myrna that I’ll pay for your room. You can stay at the motel as long as you want. Please sweetie, please make the right choice.

I love you,

Mom.”

I finished high school in that motel. At graduation, mom was there. She didn’t say anything to me, and I didn’t invite her, but I saw her in the bleachers when I got my diploma. She was easy to spot. I got my scholarship and went to college to study Literature. I’ve moved on and am getting my master’s now. Sometimes, I still get letters. They just give me little updates. She tells me she’s still waiting.

All my life, I just wanted to be normal. I will never choose to become a monster. I wonder how long she’ll wait. What if she decides I’m making the wrong choice?