Welcome To Shady Oaks

     Need a quiet place to call home? Then Shady Oaks is the perfect little plot of suburbia for you. I moved there to try something different. City living provided anonymity, but it’s so noisy and dirty. After 300 years, I’d grown tired of the noise, the rudeness. Some who lived in the city adopted those attitudes for protection. I empathized. As a woman I certainly wasn’t the friendliest when I lived in NYC. It was the only way to keep men from thinking they could harass me. Well, short of killing them. You didn’t survive as long as I had by killing every jerk who yelled “Hey baby!” and gestured lewdly. After so long, however, the urge to do just that was reaching a tipping point.

               Shady Oaks was a subdivision near Yonkers with plenty of its namesake trees lining the streets, all named after other trees. I’d seen plenty of suburbia on television over the years. It didn’t look half bad. I figured I’d give it a shot and see what the sitcoms got right. On the day I arrived, even though it was almost ten at night, my neighbor, Karen—yes, Karen—came over with a casserole.

               “I hope you like tuna,” she said with a smile that seemed a little too big to be real. “It’s my mom’s recipe, French onions on top.”

               She had one foot in the doorway, as if she expected me to invite her in. As someone who knows the value of an invitation, I wasn’t about to do that. I gave her a polite closed mouth smile, holding the warm dish close to my side. She must have kept it in the oven on low all day to make sure it was warm when I arrived. Do suburban women really have time for that kind of nonsense?

               “Thank you. I’ll transfer this once I unpack my kitchen and return the dish tomorrow,” I said, doing my best to be polite. It was going to take some work to shed that ingrained city dweller attitude.

               “No problem,” she said, glancing past me, trying to get a look into the living room that was just out of her sight line. “You moved here from the city?”

               “Yes, thought I could use some quiet,” I replied. I shifted the casserole into my right hand and grabbed the edge of the door with my left. “Well, I have a lot of unpacking to do. I’m sure I’ll have a housewarming when the place is presentable.”

               “Of course, you’ve had a long day. Moving’s so stressful.”

               Her foot was still in the door. I took one step back and started closing it. I didn’t think she was going to move. It was a suburban stand-off. Would it be rude if I closed the door on her foot? Probably.

               “Well, g’night,” I said as I closed the door further. Surely she wasn’t going to try to continue a conversation through a six-inch gap. She finally pulled her foot back and gave me another big, toothy smile.

               “Good night! Welcome to the neighborhood!”

               “Thanks,” I said through the remaining gap just before the door clicked. Out of habit I turned the deadbolt and the lock on the doorknob, even though I didn’t really fear anything in this neighborhood.

               Now what the hell was I supposed to do with a tuna casserole?

              I scraped the French onions off the casserole and set it on my back deck, hoping to attract some wildlife for a meal. As I finished unpacking the kitchen, I heard meowing, peeked out the window, and sure enough four cats were chowing down. I was disappointed. I really disliked cat. I checked just before sunrise, the cats were gone, and the dish was empty. I washed it out and walked it over to Karen’s porch with a note of thanks. Then I went to my bedroom, installed the black-out curtains, and collapsed on my unmade bed.

               Five hours later the doorbell pulled me out of a compelling dream that took me back to my days as a prostitute in 18^th century Harlem. Sometimes I missed surviving solely on the blood of men who chose to use women in such a manner.

I groaned, grabbed my cell phone, and praised human ingenuity for doorbell cameras. Of course, it was Karen. How lonely was this woman? I dropped my phone back onto the bed and ignored the doorbell. Finally, she gave up and left. Was this my life now? Would I continue ignoring her or give her a chance? One thing was sure. I’d have to find a way to curb these daytime visits. I hadn’t really thought of my cover story yet. For the moment, I put Karen out of my head and resumed my sleep. I still had hours until sundown.

               After sunset, I peeked out my front door and noticed a potted plant. It was from Karen. I brought it inside and set it on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. I looked out the window at the stars. It had been over a century since I’d seen so many stars in the sky. Living in the city really had deprived me of things I never knew I missed. I glanced at the calendar on my phone and saw the full moon was in three days. I wondered if there were any werewolves in Shady Oaks.

In the city I’d known a werewolf named Harland who spent his full moons in Central Park. He was one of the few werewolves I’d ever become friends with, and he taught me a lot about what was and wasn’t correct about the folklore. Full moon—correct. Silver bullet—correct but not really applicable for quite some time because nobody believed in werewolves anymore. However, Harland told me he remembered everything he did and learned to have control over himself as a wolf. The first time he turned, he killed two humans, as the bloodlust was new and nearly unstoppable. His depression after that was such that he almost ended his life. He said he wanted to walk into the Hudson with rocks in his pockets, like Virginia Woolf. He had a flair for the dramatic. Yet he managed to overcome his depression and vowed to not be the kind of werewolf mythology expected him to be. Instead he was one of the most popular drag performers in Greenwich Village all but three nights of the month. He did horror drag, inspired by his alter ego, myself, and other not-so-mythical creatures he’d encountered. It was his niche, and it sustained him financially. During wolf nights, he sated his bloodlust on various animals in Central Park. He once told me raccoon was his favorite. I’d had raccoon blood. It’s not bad.

I unpacked my office, found my personal stationary with my name etched in gold at the top. I decided Karen was just being neighborly, and I’d try to give her a chance. I scribbled a quick thank you note for the plant and invited her for dinner on Friday, two nights away. I’d have the house in order by then. I strolled over to her house, saw the lights were all off, slipped the note through her mail slot, and headed back home. Was I really ready to make friends in the suburbs?

               On Thursday I awoke early, and it was overcast. I decided to go for a walk to get a feel for the neighborhood. Karen was the only neighbor I had met. I hadn’t left the house much, except to feed. Until I found a butcher shop that would meet my special dietary needs, I settled for raccoons. There was a wooded area not far from my home, and I hoped I would find larger mammals there.

               As I strolled down the sidewalk, I saw a few residents out and about. A woman in her 50s was weeding her garden. A teenager and her dog strolled by, the girl’s face in her cell phone. She didn’t even notice me. There wasn’t much traffic. This was a quiet neighborhood, quieter than I could have imagined. I turned the corner and encountered a young man looking for his missing cat named Chipper. I politely took a flyer. Much to my chagrin I encountered Karen as well. She politely declined my dinner invitation but suggested rescheduling for the following weekend. She gave me a lead on a butcher shop, and we parted ways.

               Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all.

               My hunt Friday night was disappointing. I’d caught two raccoons and an opossum. I was hoping for more, but so far, the wildlife in Shady Oaks wasn’t meeting expectations. I was really hoping for a deer. As night turned into morning, I was about to throw in the towel when I heard a cat yowl and loud rustling nearby. The rustling was definitely something larger than a raccoon. I moved silently toward the noise. When I felt I was close enough, I hid behind a large oak and poked my head around to see what manner of animal I’d be feasting on. What I saw was something I hadn’t really expected in Shady Oaks.

               It was unmistakably a werewolf. Too humanoid to be a wolf, too furry to be a human, and its physical features not like any other kind of ape in existence. It was crouched on its hind legs holding some animal—presumably the cat whose yowl I had heard—in its forepaws. Blood and drool dripped from its jowls and its auburn fur glowed in the light of the full moon.

               I shifted to get a better look, and in my excitement, snapped a branch. The wolf stopped its feasting and looked up toward the noise, a growl rumbling from its throat. It didn’t see me. I was wearing dark clothes and was well-hidden by the tree. However, it was spooked enough to drop its meal and retreat. I waited a moment and pursued. I reminded myself to return to see if that cat was the missing Chipper, but I wasn’t going to stop for fear of losing track of the wolf.

               It headed for the edge of the woods and moved into the open. I was conscious of the fact that dawn drew near. I looked to the horizon and saw a hint of the sun’s orange glow. I had to be careful. It had been a long time since I’d nearly let myself be caught by the sun. The wolf’s path was purposeful and direct. I followed it carefully as it passed my back yard and entered Karen’s. I took cover at the hedges between our properties as the wolf approached Karen’s house. It paused on the patio, sniffing the air. Did it sense it was being followed? I didn’t know what preternatural instincts werewolves had, if any. Finally, it was satisfied with its safety and moved toward the sliding doors in the back of Karen’s house. In the most human act I’d ever seen a werewolf perform, it slid the door open, walked inside, and slid it shut.

               I couldn’t believe it. Of all the homes I could have moved into, I moved next to a werewolf. You might think, “Maybe it went in there to eat Karen and her family.” In theory, I suppose, but it was an unlikely theory. Why would a werewolf bother going into the woods to eat a stray cat when it knew it could walk into Karen’s house for a feast?

               I was amazed. I had so many questions. Was Karen the wolf? Was it her husband? How long had she been a wolf? Did she know I was a vampire? Was that why she seemed overzealous the night I arrived? The whirlwind of questions distracted me so much, I almost forgot about sunrise. I glanced to my right and saw the orange at the horizon was growing. I wanted to confront Karen, but I didn’t have time. I hurried back to my own home, slipped into bed, and stared at the ceiling as I thought about my neighbor, the werewolf.

               I nodded off hours after sunrise but didn’t sleep long. I used my phone to check the weather and was glad to see another cloudy day because that meant I could go over to Karen’s house sooner rather than later. I’d decided I would confront her. Creatures like us didn’t make many friends because of the risk, and in my case, the pain of outliving everybody I cared about.

               I showered, changed, and nearly ran down the stairs in anticipation of the encounter. I was surprised by my attitude change toward a possible friendship with Karen. I practically bounced up her porch steps and smiled as I pressed the button on her doorbell. It took a moment, but she responded through the doorbell camera.

               “Reina, hi,” she said. She sounded tired, which didn’t surprise me. Harland was usually pretty low energy during full moon days. “What brings you by?”

               “I was hoping we could chat for a bit. I have some questions about the neighborhood.”

               “Um, sure,” she said. It seemed ingrained in her soul to not be rude. She certainly could have told me no. I probably would have. “Be there in a minute.”

               The woman who greeted me was less bright and cheery than the one I’d met previously. She was wearing black yoga pants, an oversized NYU sweatshirt, and rectangular black framed glasses. I wasn’t aware she wore glasses.

               “Can I come in?” I asked, knowing from experience many people won’t speak an invitation unless prompted. Many awkward encounters resulted from someone just stepping aside, expecting me to enter their home.

               “Yes, please,” she said. I walked into a tidy ranch style home with modest décor. She led me into the living room, which was decorated in earth tones. The abstract art above the mantel was the only hint of color in the room. We sat on the sofa.

               “So, I saw you outside last night, or I guess I should say this morning,” I said, trying to use just the right amount of subtlety. Her eyes widened. I could sense some alarm from her.

               “I don’t think so,” she said with a smile. “I haven’t gone out this morning.”

               “You were in the woods. I followed you home,” I said, smiling slightly. “I know what you are.”

               “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said defensively.

               “It’s okay. You don’t have to hide it,” I said. “I’m a creature of the night, too. Didn’t expect to find a werewolf in the ‘burbs.”

               She looked ready to run, as if she perceived me as a threat. I laughed and raised my hands in a gesture of surrender.

               “I won’t harm you. For a second, I thought maybe you knew. I’m a vampire.”

               Her jaw dropped in disbelief. She looked out the window.

               “But it’s daytime. How are you…? Should you be on fire or something?”

               “That part of the myth is tricky. Pure sunlight must touch my skin. If it’s diffused or blocked in some way, I’m fine,” I explained. I chuckled a little. “You’d be surprised how many female vampires live in the Middle East. Burqas aren’t my thing, but I won’t fault others for it.”

               She walked over to the fireplace, trying to wrap her head around it. She turned back to me and laughed.

               “I’ve never met a vampire. From what I’d heard you all prefer big cities. When I heard you were moving here from the city, I was hoping you’d be a vampire. What luck!”

               “Why wouldn’t you think I was human?” I asked.

               “Humans don’t move to Shady Oaks, usually,” she said. I looked puzzled and she explained. “I mean, there’s nothing actually stopping them as far as I know, but everybody here is some form of supernatural being. Mostly witches, powerful witches, not just pagans. My husband’s a witch.”

               I was stunned. I didn’t think I’d chosen Shady Oaks for any special reason. One suburb wasn’t much different than the other. However, I started to think I’d sensed the energy there.

               “Why didn’t you tell me when we met, if everybody here is non-human?” I asked, completely flabbergasted.

               “I wasn’t sure. It was possible you were the first human to move here. I couldn’t know,” she explained. She smiled sheepishly. “I’m sorry if I came on strong that first night, but I’m so glad to know I was right! I hope we can be friends.”

               “Wait, wait. I mean, yeah sure,” I said, trying not to hurt her feelings. I needed more information. “Does anybody have a theory about why everybody here is supernatural?”

               “Miriam Hubbard is our oldest resident. She’s a druid and claims her ancestors did some kind of magic to keep humans away, to make a sanctuary for otherworldly folks,” Karen explained. She shrugged her shoulders. “She’s never really proven that to anyone.”

               “You said mostly witches. I assume if there were any other werewolves, I’d have seen them last night,” I said. She nodded her head. “What else?”

               “There’s a family of fauns over on Evergreen. One of the witches casts a glamour on them so others can’t see their goat legs,” she said. “Oh and the merpeople in the lake. They’ve been here for 5 generations.”

               “Merpeople?” I said with a laugh. “That’s one myth I never believed.”

               “They’re really nice. Since you don’t need oxygen, I’m sure they’d be glad to have you over,” she said. “I went once, but it was hard to get comfortable in the scuba gear.”

               I couldn’t believe my luck, and I couldn’t wait to call Harland and tell him all about it. I had a feeling he’d want to come for a visit sooner than he expected. Karen started a fresh pot of coffee, and we continued talking about the neighborhood’s extraordinary residents. I decided I was going to like Shady Oaks after all.