Forever Sixteen

© 2013 MICHAEL W. MESSER. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 1/4/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9815-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9814-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-9816-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012923518

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty One

Chapter Twenty Two

Chapter Twenty Three

Chapter Twenty Four

Chapter Twenty Five

Chapter Twenty Six

Chapter Twenty Seven

Chapter Twenty Eight

Chapter Twenty Nine

An Angela Poe Novel . . .

Angela Poe has been sixteen for four hundred years and has lived all her life throughout Europe. To escape the Underworld, she settles in a small town in Tennessee, where she befriends two boys. . . .

Now, Evil threatens their lives, when the day, becomes the night.

This book is dedicated to:

To my nine-year-old daughter, Angela Messer a.k.a. Young Angela Poe, whose idea Angela the Cheerleader Vampire I stole, then changed to Forever Sixteen, and then Becomes the Night, Take My Hand, then back to Forever Sixteen. You are my heart, my life, my number one, and I love you more than all the jelly beans in the world. . . .

Special thanks to those in Tennessee:

Denise Messer, who sacrificed much so that I may live out my dream; your memories are always with me. Also to Devon, Lorin, and Jackie Wieland, and Grandmother Alice, I wish you all the best.

Special thanks to those in Delaware:

To my daughter, Tina M Di Salvo, I admire your sense of humor, gentle, and loving ways. I am proud of you for what you have become and have accomplished in such a short time . . . I love you dearly. My daughter Amanda and my son Michael, I love you. To my sister Angela Horton-Yun, whose generosity shined, in my time of need. To my brother Rick Messer whose heart consists of gold, and who stood by me . . . I owe you big-brother, as I do my younger brother, Steve Horton, thanks. A special thanks to my better half, Robin Avery, and to her friends, the caffeine-fueled soccer moms, Cynthia Womer and Diana Mora, who got her through some really tough times, and to that, it is heartfelt. I am grateful to the owners of The Young Bean Coffee Shop in Clayton, my good friends, Major Eric and Kimberly Young. Eric is a hometown hero. He has served seven tours: Four in Afghanistan and three in Iraq, with the Delaware Air National Guard . . . we are forever grateful for your military service and bravery. To Robin’s college buddies ( The Mean Girls), Ashton Williams, Celeste Williams, Kelly Fazenbaker, and Rochelle Byrd, thank you for making her laugh when she needed it the most. To Victoria Galloway, who finds great humor in the word ‘dump’, keep the humor alive. To Jonathan a.k.a. Porkchop, such a good-hearted little boy — don’t ever lose that quality

Chapter One

ANGELA POE:

I was born European under the Muscovite Dominion in the year 1612. At the age of sixteen, I tasted the blood of a vampire. I became immortal. That was four hundred years ago.

The thought of losing my parents was unbearable and I gave them the gift. Our lives had drastically changed, our love everlasting. In time I had come to know that I was special. The sunlight touched me and I did not die. It was then I realized that I was the only one of my kindred that can walk the day.

Humans have the wrong impression about vampires. They think we live in caves and in castles with dank smelly dungeons filled with rats and corpses, and drink the blood of unfortunate victims. Thinking that we love the smell of lingering death as if we are filthy creatures of the night. I myself love the sweet smell of flowers, perfumes, soaps, and spring gardens. Humans think that a stake through a vampire’s heart or sunlight will kill them. That a cross, holy water, or garlic will ward them away. You’ve got to the love the movies. God is the creator of all things, including vampires. The cross is a graven image therefore sinful in nature. Holy water is ridiculous. Water is water. Garlic, I hear is great on pastas.

Let me set all the myths to rest. To kill a vampire is not easy as one thinks. After all, vampires are already dead in the human sense. That is why you have to remove the head or the heart of a vampire to kill them. Driving a stake through their heart will make it want to kill you that much more. A silver bullet will not kill a vampire. Prolonged sunlight will kill a vampire. Vampires have an accelerated healing process. That’s why removing the head and heart is important. If you don’t, it will just heal itself. We do not sleep, especially in coffins. Vampires will find the darkest place to go to hide. Nonetheless, if a coffin is the best thing around then sobeit. We do cast a reflection, cannot turn into smoke, or shape-shift into a bat or a wolf or any other creature. We do not need your permission to enter your home. Every vampire has an evil appearance and can show it at anytime. It is a built-in defensive mechanism. So, you see there are no splintered coffins. No Transylvania castles. No one wearing capes, unless of course it’s fashionable. We have no natural predators. Vampires are their own worst nightmares. There’s only one way to become a vampire. You must taste their blood. It only takes a tainted drop for the transformation to begin.

An airplane flies past silhouetted against the evening sky as speckled twilight rapidly slips into nightfall — burn barrels heavily scent the air. What a lovely sight and smell the summer nights brings forth. Twilight is when the landscape comes alive. Ah, the beauty of it all. Breathtaking as families of deer come out and feed under the cover of darkness. The echoing sounds of crickets chirping, butterfly’s chasing each other, as a gentle summer breeze coerces.

Our newly acquired farmhouse sits upon open pasture. Surrounding trees and high underbrush seclude the farmhouse from neighboring houses two miles outside the town of Hohenwald, Tennessee. The relative isolation means that I can go about my daily and nightly routine without any nosey neighbors.

Creek Road is the wicked road that meanders through the rocky wooded hills. The road that intersects with the mile-long-dirt-lane we call our driveway. Engine sounds are either blown on the wind or absorbed by the hills and trees. The driveway opening is obscure by crass shrubs, flora, trees and brushwood on either side making it almost impossible to see.

School starts in two months. I decided to attend. Again I will be in the ninth grade. Here we go again. Again I will be the new kid in school for the zillionth time. That is not to say I cannot go to the tenth, eleventh or twelfth grade. Who would know? Come on, no one ages that much in two or three years. Unfortunately, I have never stayed in one place for more than a year since we came to America many years ago.

Like clockwork my pale parents step from the barn and into to the early night. My father, Joseph, always appears first, long strides moving with such ease and fluidity. He is very tall and angular. His brown puppy dog eyes are so rich in color. They appear black against his pale complexion. Black hair slicked straight back exposing his very distinctive widow’s peak.

My mother, Anna, moves gracefully with every regal step close behind as if both were floating on air. She stands two inches taller than I and ten inches shorter than Father. Her long straight black hair caresses the center of her back. Her eyes are a marble chocolate against her pale complexion, body upright and proper like a queen. She is very beautiful.

Because we have no basement, during the day my parents seek refuge from the daylight inside the barn. Inside the barn Father built a bunker made of concrete blocks. Four large Rottweiler dogs guard the barn. These dogs are special. Rottweiler dogs that have tasted vampire blood. They are stronger, faster, and smarter than any four legged creatures known to man. The leader of the four is Rapunzel, a no nonsense dog. Rasselas, is hardcore. Rosemary, dark and evil. Petey is my favorite. He spends most of his time aloof and up my butt for the better part of the day.

From my second floor bedroom window, facing the barn, I watch as the dogs’ approach, eyes glistening with joy. Happy to see Mother and Father. Joseph is wearing his usual black slacks, black dress shirt and shoes. Lose fitting slacks covers Mother’s lower torso and shapely legs, as a pink button-down blouse covers her upper half, barefoot and toes painted a pretty pink. They stroll arm-in-arm across the patchy lawn in the direction of the farmhouse.

I ready myself. Let me just say that I have an adventuress way of greeting them. First I open my bedroom window and lean out. Then twist my upper body so that my baby blue eyes are looking up at the rooftop, golden blond hair dangling toward the ground. Reaching up, I take hold of the window casing. Then propel myself up through the air onto the sloping rooftop’s ledge where I hunker. Showing off I do my famous back flip and soar down landing next to Mother. However, on this night I nearly knocked her down.

Oops!

Really. Angela. So unladylike, I have brought you up better than that, Mother declared.

I’m only sixteen therefore I am acting my age. I’m in the prime of my adolescence.

My mother is not amused one bit with my sense of humor, has never been. She doesn’t think I’m funny but I think I am. So, I laugh inside. If you were here, you would see my belly quickly move in and out beneath my sun-yellow dress. I’m more tomboyish than she would like for me to be.

Leaning down Father gave Mother a kiss on the lips. He wrapped his arm around her waist and they continued walking. The dogs followed, even Petey.

Rapunzel and Rasselas took up positions on the back porch. Rosemary guarded the front of the house. Petey stayed by my parents as they made their way to the porch.

See ya later Mother, I said, waving, and walking across the front lawn.

Where are you going?

To the fair, I said, with sandals in hand, then blurred, disappearing into the hilly woods.

Chapter Two

STEVE SHEPARD:

No, I am not a vampire. However, I will meet one in the future. I turned sixteen last week. My mom wanted to have a party for me. It was then she realized I had no friends. That I was considered an outcast in the very town my parents were born, Hohenwald, Tennessee.

In school I am considered a nerd. Perhaps it is the way my glasses sit on my face or the way I comb my hair. Perhaps it’s because I’m short, shy, timid, and studious-looking. Maybe it is my interest in bugs, mythology or my lack of self-esteem that turns people away. Just maybe it is my quiet passive ways that other teens find repulsive or a weakness. Daily, I take whatever Kyle Dobbs, Cody Nasser, Billy Johnson, Cory Stevenson, and their fearless leader Terry Moore dish out. Big shot bullies who have nothing better to do then to pick on someone half their size. Am I that different? Maybe. However, this night my life will change forever. I was the first to meet her.

Saturday night my family and I arrived at the Hohenwald park. It is opening night at the fair. Usually the fair sets up in August at the beginning of the school year. Oddly enough it came three weeks early this year. When we arrived, the park was alive and the fair in full swing. The ambiance was set in motion by the sounds, smells (cotton candy, fries, and funnel cakes scented the air), and lights of the fair that we all have come to know, come to love. My face made the perfect canvas for the flashing of lights as my eyes explored every ride, every food stand, and every game booth. They were all in motion. I could hear the screams of those as the thrills of the rides move the butterflies in their stomachs. Standing by his mother, a dark-haired little boy sucks on a cup of raspberry water ice, pointing with his reddish-purple stained fingers at the Merry-go-round.

Danielle, my sister’s girlfriend showed up minutes after we arrived. My parents briefly spoke with her parents. Dad handed Laura some money. I don’t know how much. However, I’m sure it was more than he had originally planned to give. Only because he wants to impress Danielle’s parents.

Richard, my older brother, who could throw a football before he could walk, met with his girlfriend Sue. Sue’s a cheerleader. What a sweet piece of cake she is. I’ll admit she is the best looking woman he has been with so far. Off they went hand in hand. True love for sure — Yeah right. Once Sue finds out that Richard’s a fruitcake, she’ll dump him. The problem with Richard is, he’s in love with himself. If he could, he would run across the beach into his own arms. Anyway, Dad’s impressed. His proud fatherly expression gives him away. What else could a loving father ask for, a son, who’s a football star, dating a gorgeous cheerleader.

My dad handed me twenty dollars a third of what he gave Richard, and says as he ruffles my hair, Keep up the good work sport. It felt more like he was rearranging my hairdo. Don’t spend it all in one place. He smiled at his lame attempt at humor. I smiled back to ease the awkwardness.

I hurried off to find a port-a-potty. Mom’s spaghetti was not sitting too well if you catch my drift. Well, you might if you wait around long enough. Through groups of families I made my way, until, I came across the row of dreaded green port-a-potties. People were moving in and out, and when I finally found one not occupied, Frank Stone pushes me aside.

You snooze you lose, he said, then opened the door.

Hey! I’m using the bathroom here. Do you mind? A voice shouted from inside the port-a-potty.

Frank quickly closed the door and took his embarrassment out on me. Do you think that’s funny? You think that’s my fault? Frank lowered his voice. That moron should have locked the door.

Mr. Edward came out of the port-a-potty zipping up his pants and adjusting his belt buckle. Frank took a step back acting all innocent. Knock next time . . . and get a job. Teenagers these days, he said, shaking his head.

I don’t know sir. Yes sir — Sorry sir Frank was looking at the ground as he kept apologizing. Once Mr. Edward was out of range he boldly turned to me. You are lucky, dork. If you’re still here after I finish I’m gonna kick the crap out of you.

After Frank stepped in and closed the door I gave him the finger, tightened my butt cheeks, and found a port-a-potty not occupied. Nasty. Smelly. I held my breath as I laced the rim with toilet paper then sat. Unfortunately, Terry Moore and his stooges along with their girlfriends saw what happened between me and Frank. They couldn’t pass up the chance to torment me.

I zipped up, and when I went to open the door it wouldn’t open. Using my shoulder, I tried to force the door open. No such luck. They had jammed it with something.

Freaking butt-wipes!

The port-a-potty began to slowly tip.

Ah-poop.

They managed to tip it to the decisive moment. I braced myself. Yes, I started yelling and kicking at the door like a bitch. The port-a-potty tittered on its pivoting point for a split second, then started to fall forward. Panicking, I began to punch and kick the door and that is when I saw a distorted yellow blur of air momentarily blocked the ventilation slits of the door. The port-a-potty slammed back into its upright position causing the door to swing open.

I stepped out just as Terry Moore and the stooges turned the corner between port-a-potties. Straightaway, I ran in the direction of the rear parking lot. It didn’t take long before the athletic ability of Billy Johnson caught me, tripping me with his foot from behind. The ground was unforgiving. Amazingly enough, my glasses stayed on my face. I rolled over. Billy Johnson was standing over me smirking. It didn’t take long for Terry Moore and the rest of the stooges to arrive.

A crowd of onlookers quickly formed.

Terry started in with the baby talk. Dork-boy, you gonna cry? You want your baba?

Everyone laughed.

Terry taunted as he kicked at the ground. Rocks and dust hit me about the shoulders and face. Instinctively, I put my arms up to shield my glasses. When he got tired of kicking at the dirt, he leaned down and jabbed my chest with a stiff finger. I thought he was going to smack me across the face, instead, he started kicking the bottom of my left shoe.

The moisture in my eyes was beginning to brim over. Renegade tears betraying me like the dork-boy I am. My mind drifted as one kick after another hit the soles of my shoes. Escaping the humiliation, I started to fantasize. That I, Steve Shepard, kung-fu master, would kick and chop my way to victory.

A flicker of yellow . . .

Suddenly, it felt like I was flying and the feeling of weightlessness tickled my stomach. I felt the cold steel forks of a forklift effortlessly carrying me and heard not the engine of a forklift but a voice soft and sweet. For the first time in a long time I felt safe like a baby being cradled in its mother’s arms. In a blurring haze I looked up and saw the pale face of the moon with the reddest of lips. It had black as night eyes fringed with orange. They were staring at me. It’s the oddest looking moon I have ever seen. Though my heart was racing, I felt sleepy and closed my eyes to the sound of a lullaby. Pleasantly peaceful it was as I drifted deeper and deeper. My eyes were slowly opening and closing as I felt the gentle touch of the ground beneath me. Through my eyelashes I saw a flicker of yellow just before everything went black.

ANGELA POE:

Terry Moore did not know what hit him. The stooges felt nothing more than a passing breeze. Saw nothing more than a flash of yellow so quick that their tiny minds couldn’t process what had just happened. Steve’s disappearance already had them baffled; all they saw was a swirl of dust where Terry was standing.

The impact knocked the wind completely out of Terry and was on the verge of blacking out. He managed to take a breath just before hitting the ground, knocking him senseless. I took hold of his shoulder and squeezed hard. When he tried to turn, my grip tightened.

If you or any of your buffoons mess with Steve Shepard again, you will have to deal with me. My grip tightened, pinching a nerve that made his eyes tear. I assure, in matters such as these I cannot take a life, but I can punish you. I loosened my grip. Remember what I said. Bullies get bullied, I said then lifted him high up in the air.

Blurring toward the port-a-potties, I knocked off Billy Johnson’s hat. When he bent down to pick it up his hat, I pulled down his shorts. The enormous outburst of laughter was very satisfying. Kyle, Cody, Cory, their girlfriends, and the lingering crowd turned after they heard a loud thump of a port-a-potty hitting the ground. Billy Johnson was busy pulling up his pants but still managed to look. They heard someone inside crying for help and began laughing.

Billy and Kyle managed to set the port-a-potty upright. Cory opened the door and Terry step out dripping wet and covered in crap, pee, pee soaked toilet paper with crap on it.

How many tickets did you give for that ride? An onlooker hollered from the crowd. The onlookers let out a heaving sigh followed by boisterous laughter.

The stooges quickly went to Terry’s aid.

Putting on my sandals, a breeze blew tendrils of my hair in my face. A smile played around the edges of my lips as I thought about Terry Moore covered with nasty toilet paper. Serves him right.

Stepping out between parked cars I came across Steve Shepard. He was unaware of my presence. I watched as he wrapped his arms around his legs and rest his forehead on his knees.

Did you fall down?

Steve looked up. A fragile smile crossed his lips. Are you talking to me? Steve asked trying to keep a steady voice. He took off his glasses and cleaned them on his shirt, put them back on, and gave me a long unbelieving look. As if I didn’t exist, he reached down between his legs and picked up a twig.

I walked over to him with my hand extended, hair flowing around my shoulders in the warm breeze. Hi, I’m Angela. Angela Poe.

Eventually, Steve reached up and took my hand. I helped him to his feet. Hi, I’m Steve. Steve Shepard. We shook hands.

Wow. Your hands are ice cold.

Poor circulation. I get it from my mother’s side of the family.

Are you from around here? Steve asked placing both hands in his pockets. I ask because, I have never seen you around here before.

That’s because I’m new around this neck of the woods. Just moved here about a month ago with my parents. We live on Creek Road. My father bought the old farmhouse.

The one that’s been up for sale before I was born?

Yep. That’s the house.

Steve smiled.

What’s the smile for?

Oh, it’s just — well — I can’t believe a pretty girl like yourself is talking to me without insulting me, that’s all. Steve flashed me an embarrassed smile. Tilting his head to the side he casually kicked the ground with his shoe. He hooked his thumbs inside his belt loops. I was waiting to hear him say: All shucks. Blushing, a smile hovered around the edges of his thin lips. His heart must have been beating heat up into his face to cause that much blushing.

That’s nonsense, I said, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Now let’s get you cleaned-up.

I can do it, he said, shyly warding off my girly hands.

Chapter Three

ERIC HODGES:

My father died in a car accident on the very day I was born. He never got to see me. That was sixteen years ago. I am not a vampire.

Last night I went to sleep with an aching heart. When I awoke, I laid quietly in bed looking at the patterns of morning light the ceiling had to offer, thinking of my girlfriend, Melissa Myers. Today is our six-month anniversary. Well, she was my girlfriend. Until yesterday afternoon when I got the famous it’s not you it’s me breakup call. My life has been nothing but one curve ball after another once my mom’s boyfriend Rick the Redneck moved in a year ago; however, this very night, after dinner, my life would change forever. I was the second one to meet her.

I must have sat in that smelly, port-a-potty sweating for half an hour before I heard the muffled voice of Frank Stone outside, near the port-a-potty next to mine.

You snooze. You lose.

My thoughts went back to Melissa. The pain was unbearable, the hate, and the anger. After ten minutes or so, I heard the unmistakable thump sound of a port-a-potty hitting the ground followed by oohs and aahs, excitable voices, and laughing.

Stepping through the port-a-potty door, I caught the tail end of a port-a-potty being set upright. Naturally, I wanted to see who the poor sucker was.

Terry Moore.

Serves that punk right. He thinks he’s