Home > Blue Moon (Vampire for Hire #7.6)(5)

Blue Moon (Vampire for Hire #7.6)(5)
Author: J.R. Rain

Or whatever the hell I am.

Anyway, I wasn’t always this strong—or this weird looking. I wasn’t always known as The Bull. No, there was a time that I was very much like you. I call those the simple times: back when I only had to worry about paying my rent or what TV show to watch, or, if I hadn’t paid my cable bill, what DVD to watch, or, if I hadn’t paid my electricity, what Starbucks to hang out in, or, well, you get the idea.

Yes, there was some stress. Having creditors on your ass sucks. Not knowing if you will have enough money to get through the month sucks. Working for a pittance sucks.

But nothing—and I mean nothing—compares to the shit I put up with now.

I went from wild panic attacks from not making rent, to nearly daily heart attacks fighting villains. And it all started with that damn bull.

Every superhero has an origin story. Here’s mine:

I used to be a rodeo clown.

And not a very good one, either. Hence my inability to find steady work. Still, I would occasionally get “the call” as we call it. That is, when a real rodeo clown gets sick or injured, they keep some of us in the Rolodex. Luckily, I live in Rustic City, Arizona, arguably the rodeo capital of the world. So, yes, on any given day or night there is a rodeo in town.

So, the moment I get the call, it’s a mad rush to get the makeup on. Once done, I’m out the door, hauling ass in my old Hyundai. Mad clown in a clunker. More than once I’d been pulled over. And don’t let anyone fool you. Clowns don’t make everyone happy, especially cops. And kids. More often than not, as I waited at a red light, drumming my fingers impatiently on the steering wheel, I would look over and see a kid crying hysterically in the car next to me. Crying and pointing at me. Mothers and fathers would give me bad looks. I would shrug and point to my sad clown face, and sigh.

It was on such a night when I had gotten not only a speeding ticket but had also made twin boys cry (and maybe even their mother), when I went from Carl Gray, part-time rodeo clown, to Carl Gray, full-time superhero.

It had been a typical night.

I had been gored nearly a half a dozen times—all to the delight of the crowd—when the freak storm hit. In a flash, rain and hail pelted the outdoor stands and arena. Patrons went dashing for shelter. I would have gone dashing for shelter, too, except for one thing: I was in the middle of the arena with one very angry bull. A big and aggressive SOB that we called El Diablo.

The Devil.

The bull rider had lasted all of 1.8 seconds on the great beast before he went flying ass over feet through the air. Shouldn’t feel too bad. He wasn’t the first, nor would he be the last. Riding El Diablo was like riding angry itself; that is, if angry had four legs, a tail, and two horns.

Anyway, I stepped out into the middle of the arena and did my best to distract the snorting, furious beast when the freak storm hit. I had just caught sight of fans running for cover when El Diablo ran at me.

Or, rather charged me.

Which reminds me of an old joke: How do you stop a bull from charging? Take away his credit card.

I wish. Instead, I found myself scrambling to get out of his way. Scrambling and, sadly, slipping. Remember the rain? Anyway, I swore and clawed at the dirt, trying like hell to find my feet when two things happened simultaneously: El Diablo lowered his head...and lightening struck.

Both at the exact same time.

And that’s all I remembered.

*  *  *

I awoke days later at the Rustic City Hospital.

I came to slowly, aware that, as usual, I was alone. Not even a friend sitting by my side to see if I would pull through. Well, I pulled through alright. Maybe too well.

As I lay there in the intensive care unit, blinking and trying to assess just how bad the damage was, I came to one conclusion:

I was doing very well indeed.

Nothing seemed to be broken. In fact, nothing about me seemed injured in any way. According to the nurse on duty who swung by to check on me, I had been in a three-day coma with a massive head wound. Apparently, the bull had done its best to trample me into oblivion...except...

Well, except the exact opposite happened.

The bull had literally disappeared off the face of the earth.

No shit.

Well, I have an opinion about that. In fact, so do a lot of people. I’m kind of a celebrity these days. Go figure.

Anyway, I’m fairly certain that the bull didn’t disappear off the face of the earth. No. Thanks to that freakish lightning strike, I’m fairly certain the bull and I became one.

At least, if these horns and my now famous tail had anything to do with it.

*  *  *

Yes, I now sport a longish tail that actually ends in a fluffy little ball.

Not as cute as it might seem. That fluffy little ball itches like hell and has a nasty habit of getting caught in stupid elevators and stupid sliding glass doors.

Stupid, stupid bull.

Anyway, it wasn’t long after my release from the hospital when the horns appeared. Within hours of being back at my apartment, the first bumps appeared above my temples. Another hour after that, two black, sharp horns tore through my skin to curve up and out, blossoming above my head like something out of the devil’s own garden.

Yeah, I was freaked, man. Freaked.

I studied myself in the mirror. Pale faced and sick to my stomach as I ran my hands up along the thick horns, tentatively touching their tips with my own fingertips.

“This isn’t happening,” I said over and over (and sometimes still to this day).

The horns were firmly attached to my skull, as if screwed in. As if they’d always been there. Worse, as if they would always be there.

Stupid, freakish horns.

And as I paced in my small apartment, as the freak rainstorm that had brought the even freakier lightning strike continued to pummel the good town of Rustic City, I felt something appear in my pants.

No, not that something. Hell, I wish it had been that.

No, this something appeared on other end. The rear end. Yes, I’m talking about the damn tail with the furry little ball. That damn furry ball that itches so damn much.

There it was, curled in my boxers like a sleeping snake. Except it wasn’t a snake. And it was attached to me. Right there at the base of my spine.

A tail.

A goddamn tail.

I had been so worried about the horns that I hadn’t noticed the appearance of the tail.

Go figure.

*  *  *

No, I didn’t have many friends in those days. Truth is, I don’t have many friends now. In fact, I might even have more enemies than friends.

It’s the way of superheroes.

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