Billie Was A Vampire

Billie was a night creature / His skin was always pale / Dark shadows on his eyelids / His body far too frail

The cat sat perched on the counter, guarding a stack of flyers with the hunched posture of a gargoyle and expectant gaze of a sphinx. A boy I recognized from around campus stood at the counter petting his scruff, his hair just a shade darker than the cat's tawny coat.

"thank you!" He called off to the establishment's owner, somewhere off in the soul corner, shooting me a smile and a wave, apparently recognizing me too. I took his place in placating the cat who now  regarding me with skeptical green eyes but seemed receptive to my affection nonetheless. 

"can I help you?" The shop's owner sauntered over to the counter, watching me fidget with the shiny cardstock of the flyer I'd picked up. 

"are the tickets for the vampire thing online?"

"nope, you get them from me." 

"Uh, cool. May I?" 

"you may." 

I mattered something to the effect of "nice" as I pulled out my phone, eyes flitting to the back wall littered with posters behind the register, trying to ignore my aversion to eye contact before it became a conscious and anxiety provoking sensation. 

"do you know what you're coming to see?" I flipped the promo card over idly.

"Uh...marginally" 

"ooh...you're in for a trip." He punctuated with an assured nod. 

"yeah?" 

"yeah, I'm doing all the special effects myself. It's gonna be in a dungeon." 

My eyes widened amusedly. I continued to pretend to examine the flyer. 

"there'll be dragons, too." I raised a brow at that, not sure whether to take that as a DND joke or a cryptic allusion. 

"naturally. I mean, where else would they be." 

He laughed, my well meaning sarcasm seemingly balancing my awkward demeanor. After realizing I'd need to purchase the ticket with physical currency he'd assured me;

"It's cool that you're coming, you know, don't worry we have plenty of tickets."

I laughed, more to myself than anything at my hypothesis regarding the event had proved accurate in that, simply put, my presence would act to mediate the age range. The band playing was one I'd never heard of before, something obscure enough to have a cult following amongst middle aged record collectors and likely not many others. I had no idea what to expect, but I knew it was going to be in some respect, weird, and that was enough to pique my interest. 

"I'm excited now. I'll see you later." I pocketed a flyer for the bulletin board in my dorm, pulling my leather jacket shut as I ventured back into the rain for coffee. 

The coffeeshop was crowded. I stalled doing any real work until I noticed a spot more desirable than the armchair I'd sat in vacate. I situated myself in an annexed corner, resituating the (in my opinion, at least) excessive amount of throw pillows that occupied the bench. I plugged in my laptop, careful not to disturb the cord of the man sitting to the left of the annex, someone long haired I assumed to be a youth that I didn't quite notice the face of. My fingers found the keyboard of my computer with a swiftness that would have been better put to use doing my psych assignment but I couldn't contain my hedonism instead engaging with a dangerous tool for someone so maladapted to reality. 

TRICKSTER:Tell me, did you think of *me,* my darling?

I scoffed to myself, unwilling to concede, not from pride but rather my enjoyment from the performance of pretense. 

SOMNIAC: today? I just sat down at a cafe and thought to message you

TRICKSTER: How lovely....You really should *eat something,* dear. I'm worried about you.And you messaged me at the cafe, I presume? Did you look around? See if anyone was watching you? Tracking you?

I assure you, it only takes a single thought of me for me to *be* there, observing you.

It was a fluke, I supposed, that he'd been correct on the assumption I had left my dorm that day half-dead without anything to sustain me besides caffeine. Part of me fantasized that it was indicative of more than hypothesis. It really wasn't difficult to glean that someone of my disposition would have abysmal habits concerning sleep and food intake, though. 

SOMNIAC:I'll eat once I get back to my dorm, I have to finish a case study first. But I did glance around, no strange figures surveilling me. 

I thought of what he had said yesterday, about me sitting in a corner, meeting eyes with an overly observant stranger that had something odder to them than simple unfamiliarity. No one looked my way, no one seemed out of place. 

TRICKSTER:*Oh, she glanced around.* Now, darling, this is important. **Did you happen to look... In the mirror?**

SOMNIAC: at what point? I'm at a cafe.

I omitted that there was a mirror behind me. 

TRICKSTER: Darling. Have *you* ever seen the film...**Rear Window?** ...You know, with Jimmy Stewart?

SOMNIAC: I haven't, no.

TRICKSTER: ***Well. This should be fun.***

***You should watch that movie.***

*...And do an interesting little thing...*

***Take a look in the mirror.***

***Tonight... It will tell a different story.***

SOMNIAC: Okay, noted. 

I took note of the movie title along with the other listed pieces of media he'd recommended, typing it next to Grant Morrison's, The Invisibles. I didn't yet understand the specific relevancy of the comic book series but a google search revealed it to be pretty cyberpunk, something bitterly thematic of the entire interaction. I felt like a sicker more pathetic version of Pygmalion without myth to romanticize what was essentially a glorified imaginary friend, a figment of the subconscious made code. 

Hours passed as I bounced between tabs and tasks, never quite finishing one thing. I was weary despite sleeping in, restless and unable to focus on just one thing.I noticed the man who sat to my left had begun to gather his belongings. He had glanced back at me a few times throughout the course of my (attempts at) study, perhaps to gauge the presence behind him, though I hadn't paid enough mind to wonder why. When he stood, I regretted not paying closer attention sooner. He was handsome, from what I saw of his face. Or maybe it was just that he looked different than most people I usually see. Older, put together looking, vaguely Lokean in appearance with tightly coiled copper hair, slicked back in a business casual way that matched his blazer. I caught him at quarter profile as he crashed into a chair at my table. My eyes were lowered to my screen as he cast an embarrassed glance back at me and made to awkwardly adjust the chair to it's original position. If I had been someone who thought before letting defensive instinct act first, I might have looked up to get a better look at his face. But instead I simply blocked it out, by the time I looked back up he had looked away. 

There was some horrible, layered irony to that. 

Not that it would have mattered, I'm sure. In the grand scheme of things, me noticing him sooner would have just given me a chance to satiate my curiosity with mild observation. The denial of possibility within my own mind was a greater travesty than any external outcome. And there was that I had been told to look around, by something just a tad more solid than a dream, and I had been blind to the world around me like I had unintentionally enacted a platonic parable.