Young Writers Society

1

Vampire History. Also known as the most boring class at the Kísértet Academy, raising Vampire Hunters since 1547. My friend Pippa nudges me wit her elbow, with an eye roll.

I adjust my uniform skirt, army green and black plaid, and stare at our teacher, Master Blake. He’s droning on about something, probably the Great Vampire battle of 1777 and wildly gesturing with his hands.

“Larissa, come up here.” I snap my head up and step out of my desk. I push my hair out of my eyes and awkwardly stand at the front.

“Megan, Ami and Christopher, up here, too please.” He instructs. The three join me, the twins, Ami and Chris, locking eyes. Chris stands next to me, arms folded, rebel-without-a-cause attitude.

“We are going to act something out.” Master Blake says. His brown eyes are gleaming with excitement or mischief. He positions us so we are representing the two clans, Dark Mist and Scarlet Moon.

“Now, The Scarlet Moon clan were very pissed at the Dark Mist. Who know why?” Master Blake asks. Pippa bites her tongue. Everything surrounding me is slowly turning black. I know I fall back and enter the state of when I have a vision.

Everything is shadowy and black. A damp fog surrounds me as I walk. Outfitted in black leather, my coiled whip at my hip, my hair in a tight braid, I look every bit as badass as Catwoman.

I hear the luring hiss of a rattlesnake. Immeadtly, I feel calm. Snakes and Vampire Hunters go together like horses and oats.

I keep walking. Usually these visions have a point. The smoke clears and I’m standing on a bridge. It’s midday, and nothing seems out of place. Something bad would happen.

I watch as a harried young lady passes me, not seeing me. Then a glimmering white hand reaches out and grabs her, She screams.

I’m bought out of my dream-like state to have the whole class staring at me.

“Holy Shit.” I stutter out. Chris rests a hand on my forehead.

“No fever.” He said. He moves on to check my vital signs. He proclaims me fine.

“Ami, go get Janelle.” Chris told his sister. Ami dashes off. Janelle is the school headmistress.

Ami returns with Janelle. Janelle is clutching a small blue satin bag. She pulls a small glass vial of a deep violet liquid. I drink it, feeling it hot and cold at the same time.

“What did you see?” Janelle asks me. I recount my vision with deep gasping breaths. Janelle stands up. Today, she is wearing a white pantsuit and amber teardrop earrings. Her hand at her hips, her chestnut hair in a carefully twisted bun, she looks imposing, powerful. There is nothing that could stop her.

“Take her back to her room.” Janelle told Ami. Pippa jumps up to help.

Together, they gently lift and support me to the girls dorms. I’m shivering. My legs feel like jelly.

“That must have been disturbing.” Pippa says. Ami flashes her a ‘No shit’ look. Ami lays me on my bed.

“Sleep.” She says and leaves to join Pippa back in class.

The problem is, of course, is that I can’t sleep. It’s the middle of the day; lunch would be soon, with another couple hours of classes.

I lay on my back. I shut my eyes, open them and shut my eyes again. My hands were shaking, but I grabbed my whip and slipped in thought my belt. Then I tightened the laces on my converse high-tops and exited, fully intending on retuning to class.

“You’re gonna have to learn how to control them.” Janelle’s sweet voice fills the silent air around me. I sigh.

“I know.” I say, rolling my eyes.

“My office, nine o’clock.” Janelle said. I nod and walk away, feeling sick.