This story was one I wrote for my prose class last year, and has stayed with me since then because I really loved it.
Many would consider Betty ordinary. Because she was. Seriously. There was absolutely nothing special or interesting about her. In fact she was so exceedingly ordinary that it often hurt to look at her. Many faces had shattered upon looking at her. Because of this she was forced to wear a paper bag over her head as she grew up. This was how she got the nickname Betty Baghead.
Betty Baghead looked out the window as the car sped along a plain dirt road. Beside her sat her father, who she never really knew because he'd lived so far away; and they only talked once a year on the day after her birthday. She had never liked her father much, especially because whenever he called her, he'd always apologize for not calling her on her birthday. One year, he had called her on her birthday, hung up, and called her the next day instead. He said it was to keep the tradition alive. Though she'd never say it, she always suspected her father of being a drunk.
“No honey,” he said squeezing her ample bosom with his free hand as he drove the tractor. “I only drink with friends. Uh oh! Giant moose! Here, hold my vodka.” He said as he turned the wheel instantly rolling the farm equipment and spilling hay and two sheep on the road. He died, but Betty was fine. The sheep were also fine. As such, she shrugged, and began to walk along the road towards what she assumed would be a city. She was wrong of course, but her bag didn't have eyeholes.
She walked along the street, and after five minutes she realized she was being followed. “Is someone following me?” She called out.
“Okay. Thanks for letting me know,” she said, as she casually continued her walk. After two minutes she wondered if she had been lied to and stopped again. “Wait, is there someone following me or not? I thought I heard footsteps.”
“No. You're just schizophrenic.”
“Well I know that, but I was just wondering if you were a voice in my head, or a vampire. My impressionable teenage fantasies are telling me you're a vampire.”
“No, that is definitely not me. I am not a vampire. Well... No. I'm a voice.”
“Well okay. Thank you for being honest. Now what do you want me to burn?”
“Well when you usually talk to me you tell me to burn something.” She said, her voice muffled by the paper bag. “Did you want me to burn anything this time?”
“No, just keep walking. I like to watch.”
“Okay.” She said as she continued to walk. She wasn't very bright. In fact some would say she was dumb. So what was said before about her not being special isn't quite the full truth. In fact she was exceedingly special. In a short bus kind of way. “Wait a minute... The voices in my head can't see me as I walk.” She said to herself. She tried to turn around but forgot how to, so she fell on the ground and rolled around until she was facing the right direction. “You lied to me! You're totally not a voice in my head. You're a thing!”
“I like the bag on your head,” the voice said. “Can I touch it?”
“Why?” Betty asked, her voice shaking from fear, and her knees shaking from a mild case of polio.
“Because... I like bag heads.”
“Because... It's just a thing I like.” His voice was low and gravelly. It sent chills up and down her spine. She shivered.
“Your voice is low and gravelly. It's sending chills up and down my spine. I just shivered.”
“I saw. Your bag rustled.”
“It does that.” For a long time no one said anything. It was a really long time. “We haven't said anything in a really long time.” She said a long time after the long time had passed.
“Want to make out?”
“Are you sure you're not a vampire?” Betty Bagface asked.
“No. I am definitely not a vampire. I have never been a vampire. I will never be a vampire. Okay, I may have been a vampire once. But no. I am all human. Okay, I'm a vampire. Want to make out?”
“Yes.” She said. But neither of them did anything. “How?”
“Well I must first remove this bag,” he said as he stepped towards her. She lifted her hands up in an attempt to block his hands and instead managed to slap both of them in the face.
“No. It'll shatter your face!”
“No. It wont. I'm a vampire. I'll be fine.” He said as he removed the bag. He looked at her. She looked at him. They looked at each other. It was a moment. Betty took a moment to wonder why she had never put air-holes or eye-holes in the bag. It would have made sight a lot easier. Or at least possible.
She looked at his face. He looked at hers. Then, his face shattered.
“You're beautiful.” He said. He was lying. Then added, “Ow.”
“You're beautiful.” She said reaching up and touching his smooth cheek, and using her free hand to pick pieces of his face off of hers.
“Thank you.” He said. “I never hit puberty.”
“Kiss me.” She said. They kissed. It was hot. In a gross kind of way. “I think we should get married, and not grow old together, and have a baby, and name it a stupid name, and have it marry a werewolf. What do you think?”
“No.” He said. Then he drank her blood. Because he is a vampire and that is what they do.