1-800-NEW-BLUD

(Content warning: mentions of substance abuse and murder, mild language)

“Hello, you’ve reached the Midnight Covenant. If you have this number, you know why. This is Sveta speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hi! Sorry about the noise! Uh . . . actually, I don’t know what this is. I thought it might be a customer trying to get me into a pyramid scheme or something, like those life insurance scams, but I figured ‘hey, why not call? Maybe it's important’! I mean, you invested in matte black paper—love the blood red text, too. Goth aesthetic, nice. Wow, you’re up late! Sorry, I forgot it was 3 A.M. You get used to the graveyard shift and forget that other people sleep—”

“(What in Dracula’s name) . . . We are a 24/7 service. Please state your reason for calling. (Is this a prank!?)”

“I just found this number in my pants? Wait, I mean like, written on a piece of paper. In my pocket. It’s a business card. I don’t know how I got it, though.”

“What is your name?”

“Oh! I go by Mel, they/them. I’m kinda undecided on it—I was Kas last year, but I know three Kasses already, so I have to be original, you know? Crap, don’t mind that clanking sound. I’m finally doing the dishes around here. And you said you were ‘Sveta’?”

“(Which incompetent jobbernowl let this number fall into mortal hands) . . . Yes, this is Sveta from the Midnight Covenant, Cleveland branch. Sveta L., to be exact. It’s nothing compared to the amount of Vlads—”

“Sucks for them. Weird concentration of Vlads, though. Are you in Eastern Europe or something?”

“No, we are headquartered in Ohio. You were given a business card for our organization?”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly given it . . . no one handed it to me. It was just there when I woke up.”

“Someone gave you our business card, but you don’t remember who?”

“No, I don’t. And I know I didn’t have it before I passed out, because I lost the key to the garbage. I kept checking my pockets, but nothing was there—luckily, it turns out I never had them at all. My co-worker never gave them to me, so I had to get them—"

“You passed out? Where did this happen?”

“I work at a gas station. So, in the middle of the shift, I decide to take out the trash, because it’s just me and my creepy co-worker. He’s always weirded me out, like, there’s just something about his face . . . I can’t really put my finger on it. He could be a perfectly upstanding guy, but I don’t know, he just stares at you for too long? And then he’s always joking like ‘wouldn’t it be funny if that customer got murdered’? but it never feels like he’s joking—”

“What is your co-worker’s name?”

“I don’t want to make any false accusations or anything! I guess me avoiding him was all pointless, though, because he ended up having the keys. I got them and . . . well, next thing I knew, I woke up in the parking lot. I guess I made it to the dumpsters after all, and it smelled more pungent than usual. Don’t know how I didn’t wake up earlier. I think someone chloroformed me or something? There’s just these two puncture wounds on my neck, so somebody could’ve done that—”

“(Puncture wounds)—please, can I have your co-workers’ name?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think he did anything that bad. He’s just a little off. He wears a black hoodie no matter what—always with the hood up—and he’ll call me over for the most random things. One time he just started showing me pictures of bats on his phone and said ‘wouldn’t you like to be one?’ And I had no idea what to say to that, so I was just like ‘yeah, bats don’t have to pay rent’ and he just nodded. That was it. I get the vibe that he does hard drugs, too, because he always has bloodshot eyes and looks super sickly—ugh, I bet he put something in me, creepy Kevin—”

“(This BETTER not be who I think it is)—Kevin? Do you have a last name?”

“Uh, you sound like you know him? It’s Kevin Bailey—”

“(THAT BLUNDERBUSS! We should’ve staked him AGES ago!) . . . listen. There’s been a serious mistake. You’re not supposed to be . . . unless . . . what happened when you woke up?”

“That’s really when it all started. I went home and slept some more. I was just . . . my body felt heavy and . . . pulsating. Everything was off. The sun was starting to come up, and it was almost baking my skin and it’s only been like, sixty degrees? It was also kinda blinding, so I just drew the curtains and collapsed on my bed. When I woke up again, my mouth was super dry—basically everything went downhill. I’ve been super sick ever since I passed out, going in and out of sleep. So that meant I no-call-no-showed three shifts in a row and got fired. Wow, I haven’t even had the chance to process that until now! And it’s not like I know how to explain myself, so I just . . . didn’t. Even though it really screws me over. I’m just not a confrontational person. Like, I always make my boyfriend deal with our landlord because he reminds me of my stepdad, who sucks—

“What symptoms are—"

“I haven’t had good experiences with the police, either. So, I don’t want to go to them, because last time, they just accused me of making up false allegations against my stepdad. I can’t go to the doctor, either. I just don’t think they’d believe me, and even if they would, I don’t have health insurance. But I really should see a doctor, and my boyfriend is practically begging me to—”

“Wait. Is he . . . with you right now?”

“Sadly, no. He’s in Italy, attending the wedding for some distant relative, but the in-laws both hate each other, and his own family’s a mess and they don’t know we’re dating anyway, because they don’t approve. But they decided to spend an entire month there, which is just the worst because now there’s a time difference and he’s so hard to get a hold of, but he’s trying—"

“So, he has not seen you since before you ‘passed out’.”

“Yeah, it’s been like, a week? Two weeks? I can’t keep time anymore. Okay, it started like a week ago . . . I think. Like I said, my entire body ached, like everything was just heavy! And then I felt like I was starving, so I ate some chicken tenders from work, but they made it so much worse. From then on, it was just puke. TMI, but it wasn’t normal. It was void black. And I didn’t know my stomach had that much to puke, but lo and behold, I was dry heaving for twenty-four hours straight. Maybe thirty minutes. I can’t keep track of time these days. Wow, I really thought it'd take longer to clean, but it’s done—anyway, those were chicken strips from QuikServe. That’s just kind of the risk you take. They’re left under a heating lamp for God knows how long and we’re supposed to clean them every night, but I swore I saw a rat there once. But I was also high off my mind on 5-Hour Energy—did you know that was possible?”

“Was that the only—"

“So, I wrote it off as food poisoning. But then . . . it happens with every food I try. Chinese takeout? Nope. Burritos? Couldn’t make it past two bites. Even the saltines in our pantry were impossible. But the worst was when I ordered from our favorite Italian place. I was so excited, too—and when the delivery comes, I just started salivating like crazy, so I thought it was finally going to work. But the second the delivery person leaves and it’s just me and the best garlic knots known to man—I break out in hives! I can’t take this anymore! Or . . . I couldn’t. After another involuntary stomach cleanse, I just decided to try to sleep. It ended up being for another three days . . . I don’t know. A lot of time’s passed. To be honest, I was attacked and fired for it and I don’t even care. I just don’t have anything in me. At night I end up staying awake, like, hyper-alert. Everything looks sharp, and it’s like I’m wired, picking up every cricket and car horn in the distance. Like I’ve achieved some weird enlightenment, but I can’t make sense of it at all.

But I really can’t see a doctor. Like I said, I don’t have health insurance and I have to pay the rent, you know? Now that I don’t have a job . . . I haven’t told Gian yet! I can’t leave it all to him! He gives me so much and I don’t deserve it at all, but he’s worried about me. I’m worried about me, too, but he won’t be back for another four days. Oh my God, he’s coming back Tuesday . . . oh no, I really don’t know what to do, and this number is all I have—”

“Calm down, sir—”

“. . . this is awkward, but I’m not a ‘sir’ . . . (kinda said that earlier). Anyway, I think of myself as like, an alien’s idea of human beings, but their only point of reference is 70s Freddie Mercury, with the long hair and the jumpsuits? With a side of ‘evil mastermind who lives in a skull-shaped volcano with henchmen and a shark pool?’ Hey, do you think the henchmen get healthcare?” 

“I have it on good authority that the henchmen do not get healthcare.”

“That makes sense. Evil mastermind and all—”

“First, I need to know more about you.”

“Me? I was born on June 5^th, 1997—Gemini, year of the ox—”

“You passed out, woke up, walked home, and began to feel nauseated at the sight of food, particularly garlic, and have been experiencing insomnia. (Vlad I., Vlad M., get into position. Kevin Bailey royally screwed up.)”

“That’s not even the weirdest thing. I think my mirror broke.”

“As in—”

“I don’t show up in it anymore? Again, I’m super out of it. I actually just noticed this morning. But I’m sure it’s nothing. In fact, I’m noticing a lot more now that the hunger’s gone away.”

“. . . what do you mean by that?”

“Oh, yeah, weird. It just randomly stopped. So maybe I’m just being dramatic. Ugh, I have to face the living room now . . . the vibes are just totally off in there, out of nowhere. Maybe it’s the Feng Shui or something. But I feel like this giant cross Gian’s Italian grandmother gave him is staring into my soul, and I’m not a religious person—she never comes over, so I’m sure she won’t miss it—”

“Don’t touch that. Have you had any human contact since this incident? (The signal is coming from 39 Chestnut Street.)”

“Apart from the delivery people, no. That was never for more than a second. But yeah, now that you mention it, our landlord swung by. The one who reminds me of my stepdad? Don’t remember how that interaction went! I just got a sudden burst of energy, so I’ve been taking care of everything I put off—”

“So you saw your landlord today—”

“Maybe? I guess I did—oh.”

“. . . are you still there?”

“. . . I think he’s dead, Sveta.”

“Don’t worry. You're in good hands. Where is he now?”

“I just opened the door to check the porch, but I seem to be stuffing his body into a trash bag! There’s no pulse . . . there’s no blood, either. I don’t smell any . . . oh my God.”

“(Extraction team, head out.) Remain calm. Does he, by any chance, have the same puncture wounds in his neck?”

“. . .”

“Hello?”

“. . . am I a vampire, Sveta?”

“Do not fear. Unfortunately, what happened to you was not standard practice. Our agents are not usually so incompetent. (Well, it used to be true, until the place went to shit a century ago. ‘No budget for onboarding’, my ass!) Stay where you are, Mel. Our agents will be there soon to retrieve you.”  

“Retrieve . . . are you a vampire, Sveta?”

“(Jesus fu)—You’ve reached the Midnight Covenant, North America’s supreme vampire order. With over forty branches throughout the continental U.S. and Canada, we have provided vampires with the communities they need and the cover of secrecy, for over two hundred years. We apologize for your substandard transformation experience. Rest assured; I will file a formal complaint on your behalf—”

“Why didn’t you lead with that?”

“We had to verify that you were one of us. If you provided us with better information sooner, this could have concluded more quickly. Still, the symptoms you reported are most unusual. A new convert should not have been able to resist human blood for as long as you have. Most kill within seconds of waking up. Your resistance is rather . . . troubling.”

“But isn’t that a good thing? The man is dead, Sveta! Because I—”

“Death is inevitable.”

“NOT DEATH AT THE HANDS OF A MINIMUM WAGE WORKER!"

“Our professional clean-up services will have it all taken care of. Please sit tight. The Midnight Covenant is a non-profit organization assisting new converts like you. We make it easier than ever to disappear, even in today’s surveillance state.”

“Disappear!? Oh God, am I immortal now? Am I cursed to be twenty-one forever, outliving my lover and forever comparing every mortal I meet to him, while he lives in heartbreak, never knowing why his partner abandoned him!? I just wanted to take out the trash!”

“Remain calm. You are not alone. Every day, the Midnight Covenant welcomes new members into our fold. With our guiding hand, the troubles of your human life will be nothing but a distant nightmare.”

“Sveta, I don’t like this! Is there an antidote? Like, an anti-venom? Oh my God, I’m pacing at the speed of light! Maybe I should call the police—”

“The police cannot catch you. You are too fast.”

“But the alternative is your sketchy vampire cult?”

“We would prefer if you could refrain from such false judgment. We offer stable, communal living in a variety of areas. Whether you prefer rural or city living, the Midnight Covenant will find the ward for you—”

“NO! Listen here, Sveta—I don’t hate my life! Yeah, I haven’t had the easiest time of it, and I work at a gas station, but I have a man I love, and my crappy job isn’t even that bad, rats that may or may not exist and all—oh God, Sveta, what’s gonna happen to Gian? Will I want to . . . you never answered my antidote question!”

“There is no cure. There are also no substitutes. By our very nature, we must consume human blood. It is the only nourishing substance for us. But we make it easy—”

“What happens if I just refuse? What if I lock myself away?”

“You will not die. You will only suffer until thirst drives you crazy. You will become a husk of your former self, capable only of destruction. Is that what you want, Mel? You will not die. You will only lose yourself. With us, we can give you what you need. Not just blood, but companionship, resources . . . not healthcare, but does that really matter for us? Now, dental’s what we really need, but Vlad S. from 14^th century Bulgaria’s barely heard of toothpaste . . . Mel, are you there?”

“. . .”

“There is no path but forward, Mel. Now that you have been transformed, your journey with us begins. There is no longer a place for you in the mortal world. Everyone and everything you love is endangered by you. But don’t fear. You’ll find new things to love. Soon, it will all be a distant memory—”

“No—no! You can’t—I’ll sue! I’ll—I’ll report you to the police!”

“(Why do they always say this) . . . No, I really don’t believe you will. After all, you told me yourself you’re incapable of doing so.”

“Well, a week ago, I was incapable of murder! Look at me now! You’re just a voice at the end of a line, Sveta. You’ve got to find me first!"

“We have known your location since you began this call. A team has been dispatched to retrieve you.”

“NO! You can’t take me—I can leave! I’ll get out—"

“We’re trying to help you. There’s nowhere else to go, Mel. You’ll endanger recklessly . . . and it is not wise to make an enemy of the Midnight Covenant.”

“Well, maybe it’s not wise to make an enemy of me! Sure, I’ve never been tough or brave or even competent in my life—but my new life starts now, doesn’t it? And it was stolen from me—mark my words! I won’t have the simple but decent life I’ve built for myself taken away because creepy Kevin wanted a drink! No, it’s you who will regret trying to come for—”

“. . .”

“. . .”

“Mel?”

“Call ended.”

“Extraction complete.”