A Twilight Pilgrimage Through the Washington Coast

Blood-gushing, blushing skies and beachcombing under the lighthouse beams of our head torches, the lull of the sea swallowing all residue of thrashing, aching limbs that held us through the night. We wake from our tents like groggy, small-eyed animal babes to the sight of shared, merging waters, across to the body of Canada from our campsite in North America.

Stopping by a diner for breakfast, we talk about the bloody murder spells that have swept through this haunted state across the decades, to Bigfoot, Twin Peaks and of course, Twilight.

Before we return to the winding road and towards the rainforest, we pause for fuel. Placing our self-serve slush puppies over the cashier desk, an elegant, pallid host that could well have been a distant relative of Emmet Cullen’s (hand on my beating heart, this part is not an exaggeration) puts them through, looks up and asks us if we came for the vampires. We said of course we did, but as we do so he continues to tell us that a lot of people come to Forks because they’re mad into vampires but not so many know the true story of the first vampire ever, that is to say, the story of Vlad the Impaler. I’m somewhat dubious of this ‘fact’, for vampires are timeless, spaceless creatures, not so bound to linear thought and projections of orthodox history, but yolo.

After visiting the Twilight souvenir shop and ambling over what to get for the mems, if anything, I leave with empty hands only to then return bashfully, clutching a pair of jersey hot pants with 𝔟𝔦𝔱𝔢 𝔪𝔢 etched into the back in gothic text. An astral gift from present day me to my fourteen yr old hardcore fangirl self.

Unconditional, irrevocable love. 🤘

ᵋ* ूི-̭͡- ૂ ྀᵌ