Puddle Jumper

[Nameless Author]

Chapter 1 -- Miles the Mishappy Maybe-Vampire

Hi, my name is Miles Burton. No relation to that clay animation guy. I’m a 5’6”, twelve year old, 145 pound vampire.

Yes. Vampire. As in I don’t have a reflection (not since three years ago anyway), I dislike sun (though I don’t burst into flames), and…well, actually my night vision is horrendous. Figures. I’m a mythical being I think and still manage to screw it up. That’s Miles for you. Gold medal in Failure.

My parents attribute this to ADHD, teachers, friends, and anything else besides me. I know the real reason though.

Thing is, I do have ADHD, and while normally I have about ten times the energy of a toddler strapped to a booster rocket, that’s not why I mess things up. It’s because I get distracted too easily. Butterfly flitting by the window, penny glinting from the ground, misty phantoms materializing randomly that only I see, that sort of thing.

About two weeks ago I realized something. My vampiric qualities, seeing things that aren’t there, inability to carry on a conversation without the other person looking at me like I had doused myself in peanut butter and started to sing “YMCA”, and it all added up to one thing.

I am a complete nutjob.

Which is partly the reason I am now standing in my shower and singing Castles in the Sky. The other part was that I really like the song. Note to self, paper gets soggy in water. Transcribe the surviving words later.

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Miles slammed on his air guitar, each riff followed by headbanging that made his chestnut hair splatter water droplets everywhere. Cobalt eyes were tightly closed at this moment, mouth open in silent singing that would make a mime proud. Water ran down his average form. Upon discovering that he was a vampire, minus the fangs, need for blood (if he wanted the taste he would eat pennies), and night vision, he had tested for other attributes. He now knew for certain that he lacked superhuman reflexes, strength, and that having someone throw a softball at your stomach was not the best way to experiment.

“There's a place in my mind. No one knows where it hides. And my fantasy is flying. It's a castle in the sky!”

A squeaky voice echoed in the pastel-painted bathroom, breaking the silence. It bounced off the blue tile floor, large mirror, and white walls, a testament to how low Miles could make his voice. Of course, it wasn’t exactly making this song sound good. To a normal person, it would be like a cross between two fighting cats and a prepubescent girl on helium. Only worse.

“It's a world of our past. Where the legend still lasts. And the king wears the crown. But the magic spell is law!”

One could only wonder if maybe the universe itself would intercede to stop this travesty. Doubtless, in the right hands, this song would be incredible. Nay, perfect! But it was being mercilessly butchered until only a husk of the original remained. However, when the universe has had enough, it subtly lets you know. Subtle for the universe anyway.

“Take your sword and your shield. There's a battle on the field. You're a knight and you're right. So with dragons now you'll—ARGH!”

Miles’s hands, currently engaged in washing the hair, froze for a second before they rinsed themselves off in the stream and started trying to get the burning sensation out of his eyes via rubbing.

“Soap! In! Eyes! Gah! How did I mistake body wash for shampoo? It burns!”

Miles bent down and scooped up some water from the bath/shower combo he was in. For some reason he didn’t like his feet getting pelted by the shower, so he had constructed a liquid barrier through an ingenious lever that stopped the water from draining. Unfortunately, in his pain and haste, he forgot that with liquid soap, the bubbles collected on the surface. It was like throwing gas on a fire.

“Gyaaaaaah!”

Miles ripped back the shower curtains and high-stepped out. Last time he had tried to jump it had ended with a wild slide, the bathroom sink, and a broken wrist. Short chestnut hair plastered to his head dripped onto the tile floor to provide maximum slippage. He baby-stepped (waddled) towards the left wall and snatched a beige towel from the rack to wipe away the suds. The task complete, he threw the towel in front of himself to absorb the water before performing the demented penguin waddle towards the sink.

Miles seized the handles and twisted them until cool, clear water ran freely. He plunged his hands underneath the stream and splashed the liquid in his burning eyes.

After a few more splashes Miles sighed and slowly opened his cobalt eyes. He placed one hand on the mirror and rubbed a clear spot through all the steam. And saw nothing. He turned back to the shower.

Miles reached into the still-going shower and extracted a watch from its dry perch above the showerhead. He looked at the time and sighed. “6:30 am, April 2, 2007. And in other news, Vampire Miles still hasn’t seen his reflection. This makes it nearly three years since the handsome young man’s face was seen in a reflective surface. Back to you, Thomas.”

After successfully betraying the fact that he watched entirely too much TV, Miles shut off the water and toweled himself dry. He wrapped the beige cloth around himself and walked out of the bathroom and into his room. He tugged on a light blue polo shirt and black slacks. Last but not least, he laced up a pair of tennis shoes to completely ruin the image.

Miles looked out his window and placed his hand on the glass. It was slightly wet from condensation. Dark storm clouds were on the horizon. Rain was a comin’, as his dad liked to say when imitating a cowboy. The whole of Garudo Drive was in darkness, and a slight wind whistled through the streets. Miles watched a white plastic bag feebly inch along the asphalt before taking flight.

“Well that was fun,” mumbled Miles as he hop-skipped his way across the blue carpet and pulled out his swivel chair. He jumped on and spun around before pulling up to the mahogany desk. He flicked on his computer and monitor then busied himself by grabbing a click pen. By the time Panels finished opening, he had converted the writing instrument to a makeshift bow and arrow using only a rubber band and tape.

“Why, yes, I do have ADHD why do you ask?” he said to no one in particular. Talking to himself was a favorite pastime. Twitchy hands flew across his keyboard as he brought up his favorite game. World of Warmake.

After a few harrowing hours of speedy clicks, increased heart rate, and dying numerous times, he pushed back from the chair and got up to stretch his limbs. The computer said it was now eight in the morning. He picked up the bow and pen and stuck them in his pocket before bounding out of his room and downstairs. He was thirsty.

As he slid down the banister, his eyes caught movement in the living room over by the TV. He turned to look and saw a misty figure holding a Scottish claymore, outfitted in silver medieval knight armor. He swung the sword once and dispersed. Miles made the “Eh, seen it,” gesture and continued to the kitchen. He had long since accepted that fact that since three years ago he no longer had a reflection, saw things that weren’t there, and dreamed he was other people. It all added up to one thing. He was completely insane.

“Rooty tooty fresh and fruity. I am so-o crazy and loopy!” sang Miles as he danced his way to the kitchen. He grabbed a plastic blue cup off the drainboard with a pirouette and hopped over to the fridge.

“Almost there. Steady now. Pull up! Steady. Pull up! Use the Force. HAH!”

He pressed the cup against the sensor and water poured into the vessel. After it was full he pirouetted and walked forward. Trouble was his other leg was in front of where the first wanted to go. Down he went!

“Agh!”

The cup bounced once into the air, flipped over, and dumped its contents onto the black and white ceramic tile. Miles was instantly up and grabbing for the teddy bear imprinted towels on the counter. He ripped several off and dove for the wet. And stopped. There before his eyes. Something impossible. It couldn’t be, but it was.

His reflection gaped open-mouthed at its counterpart. Miles completely forgot about wiping up the liquid and ran back upstairs, a rush of anticipation as he flicked on the bathroom and light and jumped in front of the clear mirror. And it stayed clear. Not even a flicker as he feverishly waved his arms around. He did smack his hand on the sink though. Ouch.

Less than minute later, travelling at speeds unsafe to human beings, Miles was once more gawking at his reflection. He tentatively placed a finger on the puddle. Strange, why wasn’t it wet? And where was the bottom? He pushed farther, and farther, and farther, until his entire forearm had sunk into the impossibly deep puddle.

He pulled his arm out and gazed some more. Just when he was about to stick his entire arm in again, he saw movement within the puddle.

Faceless grey-skinned beings had walked into sight. Miles wondered why they were completely grey before he realized that all three of them were naked. He recoiled instinctively. A child in the sixth grade had no business learning to become a peeping tom!

Something seemed off to him though, and he peeked again. Sure enough, none of them were anatomically correct. All he knew was that two were fairly tall and one was short. A family? And they were in a mirror image of his kitchen. Wait, maybe they were in the kitchen!

He looked around his kitchen, expecting to see these grey people walking around. Nothing.

The sound of the garage door opening broke his deep thoughts, and he resumed the previous task of removing the water from the floor before he even realized that he might not be able to see his reflection again. The fear of getting caught by his parents was greater than even his curiosity. The water allowed itself to be absorbed by the forces of Bounty. Those quilted teddies were vicious to liquids.