Fat Vampire Read Online Free PDF

his mouth. He wondered briefly if anyone in the history of the world had ever been asked that question before. There didn’t seem to be a right answer. He hissed again, but his heart wasn’t in it.
    â€œI aks you a question. You better put that blood down and stop your hissin’. And take those Dracula teeth out your mouth.”
    Jay began inching toward the door. The other woman leaned into Kendra.
    â€œHe’s trying to steal the blood.”
    â€œI know he is,” said Kendra.
    â€œHe thinks he’s a vampire maybe.”
    â€œI’ve taken blood from a stormtrooper and a Superman and at least three cartoon characters today,” said Kendra. “He can think he’s whatever he want, long as he TURNS HIS ASSFERATU AROUND AND PUTS BACK THAT BLOOD. ”
    Jay made a run for it. He threw himself down the steps atthe school bus door, and Doug thought, School bus .
    â€œOkay,” he said, returning to the counter. “I’m just putting it back.”
    Kendra nodded. Doug hesitated. The boy on the bed gaped at him.
    Then Doug ran for the back of the bus, and his heart lifted when he saw it—the emergency exit. He didn’t know a student who hadn’t thought of using it at least once on the way to school, at a stoplight…maybe the stoplight right by the miniature golf place on Route 30.
    â€œOh no you don’t,” said Kendra, behind him.
    Doug fumbled with the latch on the door, trying not to lose his armpit grip on the fat red tubers that were getting slick with sweat. He could feel heavy footsteps through the floor behind him, but then the door swung free—and he fell, like a turd out of the ass of the bus, to freedom.

5
AMERICAN INDIAN
    F OR THE THIRD TIME since the plane landed Sejal fished the curling photograph out of her backpack and studied it. She walked as she looked at her host family, posed and smiling before a softly blotchy blue backdrop. Everyone wore a different kind of sweater. The father was tall with large-framed glasses and a tawny sweater vest the color of chinaberries. The mother’s wide frame was seated below him, pink skinned and in a pink-on-pink cardigan and sweater ensemble—so round and bright that Sejal’s father had taken to calling her “gum ball woman” when Sejal’s mother needed cheering. The photo family’s oldest daughter, who was now away at college, wore a lavender sweater. Sejal panicked briefly as she realized she could not remember the girl’s name. She went to a college outof state, and wasn’t expected to be around much during Sejal’s stay, so her name hadn’t been important enough to stick. At least she remembered Catherine’s—the other daughter, the daughter who was Sejal’s own age, wore a black-and-white striped sweater two sizes too large for her. The tips of her fingers looked like tiny pink tongues, barely emerging from the gaping mouth of her sleeve to taste the cotton candy fuzz of her mother’s shoulder. Her face was pale, no makeup. Her dark blond hair was long in front and shaved on the sides in a style Sejal had never seen before.
    â€œShe does not want to be there,” Sejal’s father had said, with what would prove to be his characteristic insight. “Look at her hand. I don’t think she even touches her mother’s shoulder.”
    â€œFelu, stop,” her mother said then. “You want to turn Sejal against them before they even have a chance.”
    â€œDid I arrange this photo?” he protested. “The evidence is all there. I’m not the one who killed this poor girl and stuffed her and posed her in this clearly unrepresentative manner. Look at her.”
    Mother laughed. Sejal looked. Catherine’s tight smile seemed suddenly like rigor mortis compared to her family’s sunny grins.
    Now, in the airport, Sejal walked out past security and looked up from the same photo, expecting at least three of