The Bullies Mocked Me for Looking Like a Vampire—Sorry, I Actually Am One

Not long after I transferred to this school, I became the bullies’ favorite target.

They didn’t like how quiet I was or how pale I looked, so they casually slapped me with a nickname: “vampire.”

It started with shoves in the hallway and jeers in the classroom, escalated to messing with my drink, then stuffing trash into my locker.

They treated my silence as permission and wrapped every provocation in the same excuse: “Just a joke.”

Until that night, when humiliation wasn’t enough. They lured me into a tiny storage room behind the auditorium—locked the door, killed the lights, set up a fixed camera—ready to strap me to a chair and film an “execution” video that would make sure I could never hold my head up at this school again.

What they didn’t know was that the nickname wasn’t a joke. It was the one time they got the truth right.

I really am a vampire.

————

The hallway in the morning always carried the sting of disinfectant and the metallic bite of old locker doors. First period had just ended. The locker bay was louder than usual—rubber soles rasping over tile, the dull thump of a basketball somewhere down the corridor, laughter rising and falling in waves.

When I walked over with my textbooks in my arms, I saw my locker from a distance—half closed, like someone had been inside.

I didn’t stop.

I’d seen this kind of petty stunt too many times.

Rotten sandwiches stuffed into the back. Glue smeared between the pages of my books. Toothpaste squeezed into the keyhole.

As soon as I set my hand on the locker door, my peripheral vision caught the four of them standing off to the side.

Noah leaned against the water fountain, arms folded, wearing the kind of smile that made your skin crawl. He was the type who thrived in any school—good-looking, played ball, loud voice, always with people orbiting him.

To his left was Keller—tall and lanky, deep-set eyes. He loved turning other people’s humiliation into content.

Next to him was Brian, the biggest of the group, not necessarily the sharpest, but always the most eager when it came to joining in.

The last one was a girl named Megan. She had her head down as if she were texting someone, but her eyes never really left me.

Three guys and a girl. Four people who, for months, had hardly missed a single day of making mine miserable.

I glanced at them, gave a polite nod like I always did.

Noah grinned and lifted his chin, gesturing for me to open the locker.

I knew there was something inside.

I opened it anyway.

Almost at the same instant, a taut string snapped free. A small plastic bottle taped to the inside of the door tipped hard, and a thick liquid dumped straight onto my head—splattering my forehead and the bridge of my nose before sliding down my face, soaking my shirt collar and the books pressed to my chest.

The sour reek of ketchup mixed with the harsh, chemical bite of red paint, bursting into the air.

For half a second, everything went quiet.

Then laughter detonated like someone had struck a match.

“Oh my God, look at him.”

“Doesn’t he look like he just crawled out of a horror movie?”

“Not a horror movie,” Keller said, already raising his phone and wobbling it at me. “A fridge. Hold on—don’t move. This angle is perfect.”

Megan doubled over, laughing sharp and bright. “No, no, you guys don’t get it. This is even better than last time. Red really suits him.”

Brian slapped the locker door, wheezing. “Vampire breakfast. Tomato flavor.”

Noah stepped closer, like he was admiring a piece of art. He stared at the red streaks on my face for two seconds, then arched a brow. “You should thank us, man. Now everyone finally knows why you’re always so pale. Turns out you’ve been missing this.”

More laughter rolled through the crowd.

Some kids were only there to watch. Some covered their mouths, giggling. Others pretended they hadn’t seen a thing and turned away.

High school never ran out of bystanders.

I lifted a hand and wiped at my eyes. Someone made a disgusted sound, and the laughing only got louder.

Keller waved his phone at me again. “Don’t be mad, Adrian. Halloween isn’t even here yet—we’re just helping you test your makeup early.”

I wiped the worst of the mess off my books, slid them into the locker, pushed the door shut, and threaded my way out through the crowd.

The laughter followed me.

Noah raised his voice, like he wanted everyone within earshot to hear. “Hey, don’t go, Dracula. You’re actually pretty photogenic like this.”

I didn’t look back.

The men’s bathroom on the east side of the first floor was usually empty. Most students were still out in the hallway watching the show. I pushed the door open, closed it behind me, walked to the far sink, and turned the faucet.

Cold water hit my fingertips and palms.

I bent over, splashed my face clean, tugged my collar open a little, and worked at the stains on my shirt.

The person in the mirror looked messy, but nowhere near out of control.

I’d always trusted my ability to recover. To conceal.

Still, every time something like this happened, I thought about my first day at this school.

The sun had been bright. The maples by the parking lot had only just started to yellow. I’d stepped out of the car with my suitcase, and a teacher in a red jacket had handed me a campus map at the gate, smiling, telling me to ask anyone if I couldn’t find my classroom.

Back then, I’d genuinely believed this could be a quiet life.

I hadn’t stayed in one place for more than a year in a long time. High school meant very little to me. I just wanted to finish it the way a normal person would, then leave.

It took less than a week for them to pick me.

The reason wasn’t anything special, even now. I simply looked like the kind of target that made people feel powerful.

I transferred in late. No friends. I didn’t join sports. I usually ate lunch alone. I didn’t talk much between classes.

At first it was the standard stuff.

Someone kicked my backpack over on purpose. My homework got tossed into the trash. I’d sit down at lunch and someone would “accidentally” spill milk across the table. People bumped into me in the hallway, never apologized, and acted like I was the idiot for not watching where I was going. In the locker room, my towel disappeared. My shoelaces were tied into impossible knots. My locker filled up with crushed chips and empty soda cans.

Noah led it. Keller filmed it and passed it around. Brian did the physical part. Megan was the best at setting the tone—turning it into a joke the whole school was expected to laugh at.

And I never hit back.

Not because I couldn’t. Not because I was actually weak.

I just couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong in a place like this.

For a normal high school kid, being tormented for months might already be unbearable. For me, the real problem wasn’t the bullying itself. The real problem was that if I lost control even once, things would turn ugly—fast.

I tossed the paper towels into the trash and looked up at my reflection again.

Pale. Quiet. Hair damp from the sink. Anyone would see nothing more than a mild-mannered transfer student—maybe even one who was easy to push around.

If they knew what I really was, none of this would have gotten this far.

I was a vampire.

Not the cape-and-moonlight version from movies. Not the cheap punchlines they kept throwing at me.

I needed blood. Silver made me feel sick. Crosses did, too. Harsh daylight put an edge under my skin. Certain smells hit harder than they did for humans—sharper, more unbearable.

My hearing and my healing were far beyond human. Most of the time, those gifts were useful. The only problem was that they didn’t belong in an ordinary high school.

And lately—just this past week—those four had started acting like they’d discovered a new continent.

Maybe it was because I’d pulled my curtains too tight when I took a nap. Maybe Megan had noticed I never touched the cafeteria’s onion rings. Or maybe they just needed a new joke with better teeth.

Either way, “freak” wasn’t enough for them anymore. Starting last week, they gave me a new name.

Vampire.

At first it was just noise.

Noah would clutch his throat dramatically when I passed, asking if anyone else felt a chill. Keller posted a photo of my back on an anonymous account with the caption: DON’T WAKE HIM UP AT LUNCH—HE MIGHT BITE. Megan dropped a whole bag of sliced onions next to my desk in chemistry, smiling as she asked if the smell made me want to scream.

Then it stopped being just a joke.

They started stuffing onions into the seams of my locker. The next morning, opening it meant swallowing a wave of stinging heat. Sometimes it was small silver forks.

Yesterday, Brian had even waved a silver-coated table knife in front of me, asking if I wanted to “test some monster-hunting gear.”

None of it was lethal to me.

But it was irritating.

Not emotionally. Physically.

Onions and garlic tightened my throat. Too much contact with silver made my skin prickle like it was being kissed by tiny sparks.

By accident, they’d stumbled right into the part of my life where I couldn’t make mistakes.

If this kept going, sooner or later, I’d lose control at the wrong time.

That was the real problem.

I lowered my head and scrubbed the last smear of pigment from my collar. Outside the door, footsteps approached.

Two boys walked in, saw me, froze for a beat, then recognized me. One of them couldn’t help a snort of laughter. “Hey—you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I tossed the used towels and kept my voice even.

The other boy shrugged. “They’ve got way too much time.”

“Yeah,” I said.

They didn’t say anything else and headed to the far side of the room.

I left, and the hallway noise slammed back into my ears.

The crowd had mostly dispersed. Only Keller still leaned against the wall, like he’d been waiting for me. When he saw me, he looked down, killed his phone screen, and smiled as he sized me up.

“Washed up fast,” he said. “You should’ve left a little. The effect was amazing.”

“Next time you can try it yourself,” I said.

It wasn’t even that sharp—more like a light tap back.

Keller still blinked, then narrowed his eyes, smiling wider. “Look at that. You finally learned how to joke.”

I didn’t answer. I stepped around him and headed for class.

Behind me, his voice followed. “Don’t rush off, Adrian. Halloween’s not here yet. We’ve got plenty more ideas.”

I didn’t slow down.

But I heard Megan’s laughter somewhere ahead. And I heard Noah say under his breath, “Today was good. Tomorrow we do something that really sells it.”

I knew they weren’t done.

I’d only wanted to stay quiet here until graduation.

Now it was clear—in the last few months, I was the only one who’d been holding on to that idea.