vampires don't sparkle

A purple and white polka dotted single bed rested in the corner of a miniature room, frills and lace lining its perimeter. White turned beige bunnies, one eyed bears and rainbow horses shielded her from the looming white wall corner. Bookcases made for giants cradled the vast collection of The Saddle Club books and Young Rider magazine issues. A pink Lion King hat, blue, yellow, pink headbands, fake pearl necklaces hung from purple knobs on the wall, matching the purple knobs screwed into the white dresser. The rectangular tank on the desk projected eerie, undulating blue shadows that pushed the walls in and out, in and out, in and out. The thought that these same walls were peacefully still during the day was so far away from her, as was the memory that at around 3 o’clock every afternoon, right when she would be getting home from school, the sun would line the window and spill onto these same walls, catching the gleam of her tin money box, the crystal of her prized kitten figurine collection and the mirrored home made jewellery box as it went. The only thing that flashed and glimmered now was the eye in the crack of her closet that she was sure kept blinking at her.

Her body lay squeezed by her teddies, begging for protection, and two little hands gripped pink striped sheets, knuckles get paler by the second. There was just so much space between her size 2 feet and the white bed posts, so much space to hide the fanged, colorless, bloodless body of a killer. Short, weak gasps came from her mouth every so often as she remembered to breathe. The goldfish eyed her, forgetting their promised duties of guarding and watching the room for movement or threats of attack. Her heart unclenched for a moment when she remembered the bowl of garlic her mother had finally placed in her room after days of begging. Would it work? Suddenly, a blob-bloop-BLAP- darts up, eyes so wide, swooping in their sockets, double foot landing out of the four posters, hand snatches up a clove, a bear, a blanket, leap to the moss-like purple carpet, hoping to avoid all cracks and noise, arms wrapped tights around body, no extremities risk being grabbed, surrounded, silence. Don’t move, don’t move, don’t move.

A goldfish tank air pump was never so much of a terrifying trigger.

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