Things that go squish in the night.....

The house was dark. No one was home. Perhaps she shouldn't be bothered by this, but ever since 9 days ago, the 4th of July, she had been edgy. As soon as she'd walk in her house, her very essence would shrink, as if in response to an oppresive entity, taking hold of her home.

But that was nonsense, or so she told herself. Nothing was there, haunting her innermost habitat. Hiding around corners. Sneaking under the door cracks. She was completely alone, and had been since her roommate had left on vacation. Screw her Romanian instinct. It hadn't showed up so far in life, so it certainly wouldn't choose to make an appearance now.

Slowly she paced into the living room, her damp bag and closed umbrella clutched to her side. The ominous aura of the house worsened, punctuated by thunderous roars from the raging torrent outside. As she moved in deeper, nearly shaking, her wet head pounded from feelings of forebodence.

Weakly dropping her bag, she turned towards the kitchen, what seemed to be the center of the malign atmosphere. Inching closer, she thought she heard a low rumble, like a waking Rot Weiler noticing the breach on his territory. Now she was quaking, past any doubts. Thoughts flitted through her mind of what it might be and what she might have done to bring it on....and if she would even survive to find out.

The rumble stopped abruptly as her left hand touched the doorknob and turned, her right tightening around the umbrella. Delicately pushing the door open, she peered reluctantly at the widening gash, trying to make out the blurred edges of counters and tables in the dark. Not hearing or seeing anything dangerous, she pushed more confidently and flipped the light switch, wondering if it was just a product of her twisted mind.

A sharp snarl cut through her new-found confidence, stripping it down like teeth does the juicy flesh off bones. The stench of decay assailed her nose as a morbid lump rolled toward her, squelching awfully. It's snarl lengthened into a deep growl, it's bruised flesh livid with flushes of crimson, spiraling and branching off like flowing veins giving life to the ghoulish monster at her feet.

Suddenly it all made sense. Her mind traveled back to the seemingly innocent 4th of July picnic she'd had with her friends. The horror stories her mother told her when she was young, of inanimate substances retaining a vampiric essence if left out too long after a day of great emotion. The watermelon she had brought to the picnic, but had taken home uncut and uneaten. The mass of pure malignant decay below her.

The horror of her discovery reached her, the knowledge of her last seconds slipping away. Despair overcoming all, she screamed, overcoming the sound of the nearing excresence, crushing any hope left....




"That, however, is nowhere as bizarre as this fruit-based nugget of information pkyyr (aka The Sis) pointed out to me. Apparently, the Roma of the Balkans believed in VAMPIRE WATERMELONS. I kid you not. I don't know about the veracity of this legend, but I do know that in our food microbiology practical, the watermelon juice sample turned out the highest count of bacteria. In fact, the bacterial count of watermelon juice was so high our professor said that if he could replicate the results, he would very shortly be writing a nice little letter to the fruit juice stall people. I'm sure at least some of those bacteria we found were haemolytic (blood-cell-lysing), so perhaps there's a biochemical explanation for this particular folk legend. You think?Now you know why I have such a great and undying love for the Balkans region. Watermelons rolling around yards and growling threateningly at people. Here I thought I was crazy.

*wonders if Vladimir's book on Slavic vampirism has a chapter on watermelons*"

Hehe...just thought you'd enjoy my little story there. Interesting smidgeon of info there, eh? That site's a piece of work too. Now I'm going back to my returned madre and stick-skinny brother.

-T