Sometimes the vampire waits in the trees. Sometimes he looks through my bedroom window. Sometimes he just stands there, cleaning his fingernails with one of those teeth. Sometimes his hair is a little bit messy, as if he just rode in on a ten-speed bike. Sometimes he tells himself stories about the way things used to be. Sometimes the vampire wears a brown cape and looks like a moth. Sometimes the sky is blacker than black. Sometimes the sky is red and violet. Sometimes the vampire loves me I think. Sometimes I break things in my room because I don’t know what else. Sometimes I dream things that sometimes come true. Sometimes I pull the covers up around my neck and make plans, like what if there’s a fire, or a hurricane, or the vampire gets tired of his side of the glass. Sometimes my mother is hiding behind a book. Sometimes she is asleep. Sometimes she is kneeling by the bed praying and then I don’t think I should bother her even though I want to hear what she is saying when her lips are moving but no sound comes out.