My 9th birthday party is the last one my father attends. My mother has fought with him each night for over two years now and though I am young, my respect for the man is less and less with each passing week. The bruises on my mother's porcelain-shaded skin and her crying in the kitchen each morning before school has made it an easy choice. Her deep and caring eyes are sad as she watches him leave, his suitcase hastily packed and his breath and clothes reeking of beer. He pats me on the head but doesn't look at me. I tug at his pants leg once and then twice, but he grunts and says the last words I'll ever hear from him.

"Sorry, kiddo. Take care of your mom, I can't anymore and even though you may need me in some ways, she doesn't. Maybe when things calm down, in time-"

The alcohol on his breath is stale and he forces an partially grimy smirk in my mother's direction. He hangs his head in shame and instead of finishing his sentence, slams the kitchen door behind him and slings his suitcase into the back seat of our weathered and rusted grey Chrysler station wagon. I open the door desperately and run out behind him and press my hands against the screened porch door. I watch as he pulls away, sad and relieved almost equally.

"Byron," my mother calls from behind me. "It's better this way. I know it doesn't seem like it, but it will."

I feel tears in my eyes but I stay strong. I stay strong for her, not because Dad would want that, but because she deserves that. I turn around and force a smile as she removes her apron and kneels down. She gives me a hug and I think about the nights my Dad has hit her and the weekends I have tried to intervene. The bruises and welts are still fresh and she touches my face. I touch hers. She winces as I place a finger there, the last punch just moments earlier. She starts to cry and I hug her as hard as I ever have.

"Enough of this. It's your birthday, after all and your grandfather is in the living room with a present. He says that if you're feeling up to it, he has something he'll think you'll love." She smiles and straightens my favorite Batman t-shirt before standing up. I smile back shyly.

Other than the marks on her arms and face, my mother is beautiful. Her eyes are a soft blue and her dark chestnut hair pulled high and tight in what she refers to as her "mommy bun". She always says that in a silly way and at odd times. Her own little recurring pun that she never tires of. She is short, just a shade over five feet and in a few years I am sure that I will be taller than she is. I glance at the pencil marks on the door frame that she forces me to stand still for every year, right before school begins. It will be easier to protect her then, if my father ever comes back.

Confident and excited, I rush into the living room to see what my grandfather has brought me. He always brings me the coolest stuff.

Grandpa Charlie is sitting there patiently and smiles as I run into the room and jump unto the couch beside him. He laughs and gives me a hug and kisses my forehead. He always reminds me a bit of horror host Dr. Paul Bearer from the Saturday Creature Feature I love watching every weekend. His hair is thin and silver, though and not quite as creepy. His eyebrows are like bushy caterpillars that move up and down and he always enjoys talking scary movies and books with me. His presents are the best and even though my Mom sometimes disapproves of him sharing spooky stories with me (especially right before bed) she smiles proudly at us both as I start to tell him about the newest horror film I have watched.

"So this guy, right? You see, he's gathered all these people to stay in this haunted house-" I begin talking as he nods his head.

"House on Haunted Hill? " he asks with a knowing smile.

"Yeah! So basically, this guy...um...Vincent Price his name is, he was also in The Fly... anyway, he-"

"Byron," my mother interrupts. "Honey, why don't you let Grandpa give you his present first then you two can talk all that monster stuff after the cake is served?" She disappears into the kitchen again but I can tell it's because she is starting to cry again. I start to get up and check on her, but my grandfather puts his hand on my shoulder.

"Hey, little man. Give your Mom some space, okay? It's been a rough morning."

I nod in silence as he reaches into his plaid jacket and unfolds a small piece of paper, similar to a magazine page. He hands it to me and smiles.

I unfold it hurriedly. It's a picture of my other favorite horror movie host. "Awesome! It's Elvira! Dang, Grandpa. She's a pretty and loves all the things I do! Mom doesn't like those posters on my wall, though. She's says they're not good on a young boy's eyes. Thank you!"

"Well, I disagree but maybe we won't tell your mom I gave you that. Did you know she's getting her own movie real soon?" He winks as I shake my head. "That's the first part of your birthday gift. The second part will come later tonight, because your favorite horror hound of a grandad is sneaking you out to see a movie. I'm gonna tell your mother it's ice cream we're getting but really..." He leans in close and starts to whisper in my ear. "We are going to go watch a movie called The Gate. Have you seen the commercials?"

I have and my eyes are wide with excitement. I nod my head and give him a heartfelt hug. "Yes! It'll be our secret."

Grandpa Charlie high fives me and reaches over the arm of the couch. He places a heavy-looking box on the coffee table. He blows dust off of the top of it and calls my mother back into the room. She brings the homemade vanilla and chocolate cake with her and sets it opposite the box. She sits in the wooden rocking chair my grandmother used to sit in before her brain "went bad" and sent her to stay with nurses and other people her age. She is smiling and leans forward to kiss my forehead. Embarrassed, I push her away and she laughs.

I peel back the top of the box and lift it up. Inside is a large blue typewriter with a handwritten note on top. I glance at my Mom and Grandpa in shock, unsure if I even deserve something so expensive and old. It looks like it must have cost my grandfather a lot of money.

"For Byron: The world is a scary place sometimes. Tell it a story twice as scary and it's yours for the taking." - Grandpa Charlie

"Well, kid? What do you think? Think you can write your Grandpa a scary story or two?"

I pull the rest of the box up and over, tossing it aside and run to my bedroom. The two of them exchange confused glances. I return a few minutes later with a few sheets of paper and hand it to him. He smiles and shows me how to insert it properly, explaining how to change the ink if needed and the proper way to remove a page without tearing it. I listen closely and my Mom's eyes have went from a bloodshot blue to the same color as my new present. She seems the happiest I've seen her in months, maybe even years.

I stare at the words boldly imprinted towards the back. "Olivetti... sounds French." I run my fingers along the keys and summon my best Bela Lugosi voice. "Mina. I will call you Mina. My beloved, Blue Mina." My mind starts daydreaming of spooky castles and vampire bats and beautiful damsels in distress.

My grandad laughs as my Mom rolls her eyes. "Silly boys." It's good to see her smile so much.

Standing up from the poorly-upholstered couch, I crack my knuckles and sit down at the typewriter with a determination I usually reserve for playing Legend of Zelda on my dusty Nintendo. I start typing my name and smile at the sounds it makes with each press of the pads.

"Mom. Grandpa. Even if Dad doesn't, I love you guys. I will write the scariest stories ever! They will be so good I'll even date Elvira some day!" I slide the folded picture of her underneath Blue Mina for inspiration and give Grandpa Charlie a wink. "She will be mine..."

He laughs and lights up a cigarette. "Damn right she will, buddy. After the cake, I'm taking the boy for ice cream, Cheryl. Just the boys. Anything you need from town when we go?"

She doesn't answer but she is mumbling to herself as she starts cutting the cake. Her hand is shaking slightly. She stares absently out the window for a moment then smiles. It reminds me of Grandma before she started having her "nervous" moments.

"Yeah, Charles. I need you to stop tempting Byron with dark and mysterious women," she says sarcastically.

He pats her lovingly on the back as she hands him his slice of cake. "Sweetheart, he has great taste in movies, books and women. Dark and mysterious women will find him with or without me. Let's talk in there and give Byron some privacy. The boy will never nab the girl of his dreams if we don't let him try." He stands and motions towards the dining area. They move the conversation to the kitchen.

I hear them talking about my father and a multitude of different things. I only listen to some of it. I keep writing until Grandpa Charlie is ready for the late night horror movie and the buttered popcorn.