Carmilla
Title Page
Copyright Page
ISBN 978-1-5253-0293-0 (EPUB)
KCP Loft is an imprint of Kids Can Press
Text © 2019 Shaftesbury Sales Company
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written permission of Kids Can Press Ltd. or, in case of photocopying or other reprographic copying, a license from The Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright license, visit www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.
Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their products are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and Kids Can Press Ltd. was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed in initial capital letters (e.g., Pop-Tarts).
Kids Can Press gratefully acknowledges the financial support of the Government of Ontario, through Ontario Creates.
Published in Canada and the U.S. by Kids Can Press Ltd.
25 Dockside Drive, Toronto, ON M5A 0B5
Kids Can Press is a Corus Entertainment Inc. company
www.kidscanpress.com
Edited by Kate Egan
Designed by Emma Dolan
Cover photography by Ashlea Wessel / Courtesy of Shaftesbury
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Turrisi, Kim, author
Carmilla / adapted by Kim Turrisi.
ISBN 978-1-5253-0130-8 (hardcover)
I. Title.
PZ7.1.T87Ca 2019 j813’.6 C2018-902018-0
• ONE •
The day I’ve been counting down to has finally arrived. I’m moving into my college dorm. Being an only child has its advantages, trust me, but the invisible shield that my overprotective father has had around me is getting old. I’ll be free of the chains once I land in my dorm. Silas University, I’m all yours.
The drive has been excruciating with my father’s nonstop chatter. I barely notice the fog roll in over campus as we arrive. Silas is an institution in Styria, Austria. Built in the 1800s, it has castle-like architecture that’s haunting yet regal. Ornate archways decorate all of the building entrances. Magical. Weathered stone buildings housing students and classrooms surround a green quad crisscrossed with cobblestone paths. It’s perfect.
The renowned journalism program and small class sizes originally attracted me to Silas, but now I’m all about the campus lore. I mean, for starters, there’s supposedly some weird glow from the Aquatic Center after dark. I’ve always loved inexplicable phenomena. Can’t wait to check that out.
“Laura, I know there’s a lot to do here but your number-one concern is school and keeping your grades up,” my dad says. Here we go again. My eyes fight hard not to roll, but they fail miserably. “If you don’t get the grades, we’ll pull you out.” He adjusts his voice to sound as tough as nails. “I want you to be able to support yourself, not need another person to survive. To do that, you need a college education with grades that help you rise to the top.”
Dig deep, Laura Hollis, I coach myself, willing the butterflies out of my stomach. He’s got me on edge. Like being an incoming freshman in a school where I don’t know one person isn’t enough. “Dad, I get it. Trust me, it’s all I’ve heard since I got accepted,” I say. I feel guilty for snapping at him, but it’s not the time to pound his lesson into my head.
“Laura, this is what fathers do,” he explains.
“Drive their daughters crazy?” I ask, half kidding. At least he laughs.
A slight mist starts to fall as we haul my stuff from the parking lot. The sidewalks are lined in a damp moss. I glance up and see ominous dark clouds hanging over the campus. When I open the double wooden doors of the dorm, a chill washes over me. I adjust the collar of my jacket to warm my neck and continue down the hall, scanning the room numbers. Dim lighting gives an amber glow to the walls, and I can hear the faint sounds of other students getting their rooms set up behind closed doors.
“They could use some heat in here,” Dad remarks. I’m shivering, but I’m not sure it’s from the cold.
We walk down the hall past rooms 305 … 306 … The doors are decorated with a variety of pictures, posters and streamers. “Room 307, that’s me!” I announce. A sign on the door says, WELCOME, LAURA! XO, BETTY. She’s my new roomie. I like her already!
The door’s ajar, so I kick it open with my foot. It’s a pretty typical dorm room, with two beds, two desks and a teeny kitchen. But we have a big window! Bonus. I peek out and see that we overlook the quad. Nice. The goth architecture combined with the gold sheer curtains hanging from iron rods is giving off a very cool vibe.
It’s pretty much the polar opposite of my room at home. My roommate has a flair for decorating. There are countless Zen touches all over. Lavender candles, even a Buddha statue. Back home, Dad is a stickler for less is more. He doesn’t like anything chipping the paint, so my room is as sterile as a hospital and just about as inviting. I take a deep breath. I’m so ready for all of this. The adventure, the freedom, all of the new experiences. It’s really happening!
Betty isn’t here, but her side of the room is cluttered with piles of clothes against the wall and a bed that’s semi-made — really more like a bunched-up comforter on top of a wadded-up sheet on a thin mattress. I throw my suitcases on my bed and look for the closet.
“Do you want to grab some dinner before you unpack?” Dad asks.
“I’m not really hungry. I just want to get settled, you know?” I say. If I’m being honest, I just want to be alone to absorb all of this goodness. I worked my ass off to get here, and I’m ready to start.
“All right, kiddo, I’m going to head home and leave you to it.” He’s intense but I know he means well. I give him a big hug, and Dad’s arms around me feel safe. Warm. A tiny pang of fear sneaks in. I’m really on my own. I step back hesitantly and steel myself for the actual moment he leaves.
“Studies first. Eye on the prize. The TV internship.” The coveted internship that I’ve had my sights set on for the last two years. Working in the research department behind the scenes of a morning show. Basically my dream job. Stick to the plan, I scream in my head. Slay my first two years at Silas and I have a shot. My dad believes it, just like I do, and that’s what I’m thinking as he walks away. I put some music on to help with the monotony of unpacking. Gwen Stefani is always good for a pick-me-up. I’d folded all my T-shirts and color coordinated them so I could just drop them into the drawers in my dresser. I find a plastic bin in a suitcase, open it and start to laugh. Dad loaded me up with all my favorites: endless cookies, Pop-Tarts, soda and chips. He thought of everything.
I rip open the Oreos and munch on a few while I put away my jeans and jackets. Sounds from outside interrupt me, but when I look out the window, all I see is darkness. Is anyone even here? It’s eerily silent, inside and out.
But when I whirl around, I see a girl in a pink skirt wearing neon Chuck Taylors and a smile for days. She’s got a pizza box in one hand and a six-pack of beer in the other. Where did she come from? “I didn’t even hear the door,” I say, a little weirded out. “Um … hey.”
“You must be Laura. I’m Betty. Gwen Stefani, I love her!” She sets her food down and rushes to hug me. Her energy is electric.
“Cookies! My kind of girl. I thought we should celebrate. Hope you like pizza. And beer.”
“Pizza is pretty much my favorite thing in the world. A close second to cookies,” I admit. I’m indifferent to the beer. She opens two bottles, expertly, and hands one to me. We clink.
“To a kille
r year,” Betty cheers. She flips open the pizza box in the middle of her bed where we both sit cross-legged. I’m elated when I see sausage and cheese on the pizza. No vegans here. Betty folds her slice and talks while she chews. “This week is frosh week. That means parties on top of parties. The best.”
“How do you know all of this already?” How long has she even been here? I wonder.
“Family friend who’s a senior is on the student council. She’s been on campus for almost two weeks. I drove up with her, so I know what’s going on.”
Impressive. Nonstop parties, though? I shudder at the thought. My course load is pretty intense. I can’t imagine a whole week of parties. I came here for the killer journalism program, not a hangover. But I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot on the first day.
“Wait till you meet the Zetas. So many cute guys to choose from,” Betty reports exuberantly.
Wonder if now is the right time to tell her that those Zetas do not matter to me regardless of their hot factor or any other attraction she might have? So not my type. I’m still not great at this, even though it’s who I am. I just don’t want any pushback or bullshit about it. Certainly not on day one. On the other hand … what the hell? May as well put it out there. “Actually, I’m gay, so the Zetas are all yours,” I say.
Betty doesn’t miss a beat. “Awesome. Wait till you meet Danny. She’s one of the teaching assistants. Third year. She’s gorgeous and so nice. She even makes me question things. I’ll be your wing girl.”
“You’re on,” I say, smiling. I’m already glad this girl’s my roomie.
I take my second piece of pizza and she opens another beer. “You ready?”
I pretend I’m considering it. “I still have half left. I’m good.”
“You better get in practice,” Betty jokes.
I go with the flow and half nod. No need to make waves or stand out, but beer is definitely not on my top-ten list. A final swig of the backwash at the bottom makes me gag. I make a mental note to find a different beverage.
The open door to our room slams shut. I get up to close the window but it isn’t open. Where’s that breeze coming from? Is there always a draft here? I zip up my sweatshirt, then sit on my bed next to Betty.
We yap until well past midnight, filling in the blanks of roommates 101. Betty is an only child like me. She’d pick a cat, whereas I’m more of a dog person. I’m allergic to cats — at least that’s what my dad told me when I asked for a kitten for Christmas when I was six. Betty swears she’d walk over cut glass for a brownie. I feel her. It’s like we’ve been friends forever! We exchanged a couple of emails before we got here, but I had no idea she would be the perfect match for me. Crawling into bed, I almost fall asleep before my head hits the pillow. The tapping that sounds like it’s coming from inside the walls creeps me out, but exhaustion takes over. It’s my first night at college and I won’t think about what could go wrong.
• TWO •
It’s been a whirlwind week — as promised — for the freshmen. My roommate rocks, but she’s just what Dad was afraid of — a total party machine. While I burn the midnight oil with my books, she hits any and every party on campus. Didn’t miss a single one this week, sometimes two in one night. Confession: she’s having way more fun than me. We’ve been sharing cooking duties and have dinner together before going our separate ways. She makes a killer mac and cheese, but I’m more of a throw-everything-in-one-bowl kinda cook.
Betty made sure to schedule late-morning classes so she can sleep in. My classes start at eight, before any thinking person is out of bed. My day is practically over when hers is just starting.
Clad in my go-to outfit, plaid pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, I start setting up my computer for my first journalism project, a vlog about this storied school. Yep, I’m delving into the mysteries of Silas University, because the folklore surrounding this place is truly legendary. It’s shrouded in mystery after mystery: there’s even a question about whether there are real eyeballs in the eyeball soup. Okay, the campus myth that unlucky scholars who linger too long in the library might find themselves digitized, trapped for eternity in the online catalog, has me on red-hot alert. No one knows how it happens, only that it does. But I’ll get to the bottom of these mysteries with my journalistic skill.
My epic project will land me the A my father expects. I mean, keeping a vlog isn’t hard-hitting journalism on its own, but I’ll use it to keep all my facts straight for the paper I’m going to write. That’s the road to the best grade in class.
“All right, let’s do this!” I yell at the computer screen, trying to fire myself up for the beginning of the weekend. The commotion at our door shuts me up when Betty swirls in like a hurricane. Did she really wear a sequined skirt and ripped tank top to class? I wouldn’t mind tapping into some of her confidence, but maybe Silas is my chance to do just that.
“How did you do on the government test?” I ask.
She shrugs. “A sixty-two. So, not bad?”
“If I got a sixty-two on anything, my father’s brain would explode, then he would order me to move home.” And, okay, I wouldn’t like it, either. The one time I got a C in high school geometry, I cried for a week.
“You’re better than that,” I tell Betty, but she’s already moved on. Tossing her backpack off to the side of the bed, she roots through the mini fridge and takes a beer from her shelf. She raises the bottle to me and changes her clothes between swigs of brew.
“Shouldn’t you be studying?” I ask sheepishly. Her laugh says not so much.
“It’s Friday night. There’s a raging party in the quad. Everyone will be there. You need to come,” she lectures while rifling through the closet for the perfect outfit. Articles of clothing fly through the air, landing everywhere.
“I don’t know …”
Betty grabs my hands and twirls me around. “I do. You’re eighteen years old. There’s plenty of time to study. You’ve been at it all week. Come on, we need to get you into something besides those pajamas and get you out of this cave. You’re withering away. Plus, Danny will be there,” she adds, all singsongy.
Not gonna lie. That gets my attention. I mean, she’s my teaching assistant in women’s studies and all, but not my teacher. Big difference. Turns out that’s just the push I need to join the Silas student body tonight.
When I met Danny last week I was so tongue-tied that she must think I’m an idiot. At the very best, she probably realizes my game is that I have none. Thank God Betty was there to run interference. (By that I mean speak in complete sentences without swooning.) Danny’s flaming red hair cascaded down her shoulders and her smile was as bright as the sun. Just remembering gives me goose bumps.
I take Betty’s fashion advice and lose the jammies in favor of a skirt and white tank top. I run my fingers through my hair and add some pinkish lip gloss.
Betty even compliments me. “You’re hot,” she says.
I check myself out in the mirror. I clean up pretty well. Now to get Danny to notice. I’m so rusty — I haven’t had a girlfriend since junior year, when Aisha Carson crushed me, leaving me to wallow with a broken heart for the rest of high school. Pretty crappy timing. I ended up going to prom with some rando setup. My dating skills need some work. Okay, a lot of work.
Betty and I walk arm in arm to the party. The lights lining the walkway flicker as we stroll through campus. Or are my eyes playing tricks on me? Betty doesn’t seem to notice. My eyes dart back and forth when the low howl of the wind stirs up the fall leaves. I hear crunchy footsteps behind us, but when I glance over my shoulder there’s no one there.
When we step into the party, multicolored strobe lights nearly blind me. My sandals stick to the floor, and I can’t get away because hundreds of students surround me, gyrating while they juggle drinks.
A guy hands a bottle of vodka to Betty. “Ten-second pull, let’s go!” I watc
h as she puts the bottle in her mouth and drinks for a full ten seconds. She doesn’t even choke.
“I love this game!” she screams over the music. “Your turn. Start small. Five seconds.” She hands me the bottle.
A few kids surround me. “Drink. Drink. Drink,” they chant. Reluctantly I take the vodka. I want to hold my nose before I sip it, but I also want to be one of them and fit in. Betty starts the stopwatch on her phone. “Go!”
I suck up my fear and bring the bottle to my lips. I’m pretty sure half of it is running down my chin but I manage to continue until Betty calls time. I thrust it back into Betty’s hands and almost cough up a lung. Man, this stuff burns.
“Fun, right?” Betty says.
“Yeah.” I just hope I don’t puke.
Betty points to a group in the far corner wearing green glow sticks around their necks and carrying neon drinks. “Steer clear of them. The Alchemy Club. They do weird experiments that you don’t want to be caught in the middle of. Trust me.”
Oh, I will, I think. I’ve never been anyplace else with such a mix of creepy and crazy. Now I’m caught in a sea of wasted people, and I need to find a corner to catch my breath. I turn to ask Betty a question, but she’s vanished. Panic starts to set in, when a tap on my shoulder startles me. I turn to see Danny, and a five-alarm fire blazes in me. Stay cool, I plead with myself. Do not babble. Please.
“Betty’s up on the bar — she’s doing Jäger Bombs. She’s owning them.” Danny points across the room. “She’s really something.”
“Yeah,” I manage.
“It’s nice to see you out,” she says, grinning.
I shift closer to her. “It’s nice to be seen” just falls out of my stupid mouth. “I mean, Betty talked me into getting out of my pajamas. You know, to come here. I guess pajamas are frowned on at parties.” I just babble. And. Babble.
Danny doesn’t seem to notice. “You’re cute.”
I feel the red spreading across my cheeks.