This is my town.
I was born five miles away from this spot at Sunnydale Presbyterian. I grew up three blocks away in a little white split-level on Grover Street. I went to Sunnydale High... the old one, before it blew up. And after I graduated from there, you can bet I went to UC Sunnydale for college.
This is a weird little place, even by Cali standards. I mean, everyone here knows how this place is... different. Sometimes me and my friends would joke about it. We'd do cheezy Count Chocula voices and say, "Bevare the wampires, blah, blah!!!" But it was just joking.
Deep down, obviously, we all knew it wasn't a joke. We just didn't talk about it. No one in Sunnydale mentions curses, but they all know the sign against the evil eye. No one talks about vampires, but almost all of us wear crosses, or talismans of wild roses or mountain ash or... crap, what was the other one? Oh yeah, black thorn. No one ever says the word demon, but nobody walks alone at night.
The ones who don't know these secrets... well, they're the reasons that people in Sunnydale go to as many funerals as they do birthday parties. Black clothes are a big seller in this town.
On the day I graduated from high school, the mayor turned into a giant snake.
Yeah, weird. But after the shouting was over, I got into my car and drove home through the phalanx of EMTs and firefighters (but, of course, no media or curious gawkers... never in Sunnydale). I was bleeding from several defensive wounds on my forearms, covered in fluffy gray dust that smelled of pepper, and my hands shook. The school librarian, of all people, had said earlier in the day that it wasn't practical for an average girl to stake a moving vampire through the chest. The ribs are in the way and it takes too much strength. So he handed out long pointy sticks and told us to thrust upwards into the belly. The way to a vamp's heart is through his stomach. That librarian probably saved my life.
I went home, said hi to my folks, and got in the shower. I cleaned my cuts with holy water (another indispensable Sunnydale accessory that you won't find in the average American home). And then I went out and partied with my friends, and never, from that day to this, mentioned the events of Graduation Day again.
As far as I can tell, no one else ever mentioned them either. Try typing "Sunnydale, CA" into Yahoo! sometime. You'll see the Chamber of Commerce webpage, a lot of personal and commercial sites, but nary a mention of evil or of portals to hell or demons. Oh, there are places where the truth about Sunnydale is known. But you'll never find them. Well, you might, but I suggest that you pray you don't. You have to go into the darkness to be able to find them. And when you do, there's no coming out into the light again.
Everyone in Sunnydale knows the truth. And they all ignore it: all the old blood, the sharp fangs in the night, the screams of the dying and the damned. It's to their advantage to do so. People who live in Sunnydale are lucky, and that's a fact. They make money, they become successful, they find love and happiness and all that good stuff. The town is unbelievably cute, and clean, and a thriving vampire population performs the invaluable civic service of keeping homeless people and drug addicts off the streets. And all that you have to do to live here is to give up a little bit of your soul.
Because Sunnydale doesn't have to be like this. I used to think you people just weren't consciously aware of the evil that is threaded through the bone and the brain of this place. Graduation changed all of that. Several hundred people saw a giant snake demon and an armada of vampires rise up and attack humanity. And we just ignored it. This silent complicity... this willingness to ignore the obvious until it's actually you who gets bitten... that could be changed. People could admit aloud that there's evil here, and ask for help. And help would come, you know. We already have a slayer, and there's dozens of other mystical and military organizations that'd be happy to go, clad in armor of righteousness, against the darkness.
Imagine cracking open the tomb that is Sunnydale, letting the sun shine in. Obviously it would destroy the town... the amount of artillery (both magical and the other kind) you'd have to dedicate to cleaning this town up would turn it into a pillar of smoke and a heap of slowly cooling slag. It would be worth the loss... take out this town and the total evil in the world would drop precipitously. Sunnydale is a root and source, and as long as it exists, it'll birth darkness.
But you won't do that, will you? You need the darkness, to make yourself seem brighter by comparison. Better. More righteous. Don't feel bad. There was a time when I was like you. You just don't want to admit there's evil in your own heart. It's a natural human trait. And it suits us just fine.
Us? Well, by that I mean the "other" people in Sunnydale. The ones you don't talk about.
The night people. The ones who revel in blood and murder and the dark heartbeat of the city. The ones who smile with their mouths closed to hide the fangs. The ones who hunt through the shadows, waiting for you to slip away from your pack, waiting for you to slip into the shadow and out of man's knowledge. We've been waiting here since before you rose, and we'll wait here until after you've fallen, and it's our time to walk free over the earth.
You might like to try it. It wouldn't hurt much at all… no? Suit yourself. Far be it from me to take away your illusions. Just go on telling yourself that you live in a cute little LA bedroom community, where no one ever disappears mysteriously, where you can walk safely through the night, where there's no monsters under the bed.
Just know that all your good intentions and oblivious happiness doesn't make any difference to me and my kind. We'll still be here.
After all… this is our town.
((Author's Note: I have no idea where this came from. I've read a lot in Buffy fandom but never felt the call to write anything. Then out of the blue one day I got a mental picture of a vampire girl… new to the bloodsucking game but enjoying the hell out of it, with long brown hair and dark plum lipstick, chatting up a potential snack in an upscale bar somewhere in Sunnydale. She's probably destined to be staked, along with five or six other nameless vamps, in a throwaway scene, while the Scooby gang pursues the Big Bad who she's working for. This is… not her story, but as close a transcription of the story in my head as I could manage. And it isn't really about her, but about Sunnydale, surely the best example of the "Peculiar Little Town" that's a staple of horror.
C van A)