Tansy Undercrypt

Dracula addressed his three new wives with great warmth and sincerity. “I have joined you each to me because of your intelligence, humor, talents, and singular, unique beauty – all of which are beyond question.” They smiled at him in the candlelight. “Therefore,” and here his voice took on a sharper edge, “I will tolerate discussion around shape and weight for only the first year of our vast eternity together so that you might overcome this unfortunate societal tendency.” He looked them in the eyes, moving across the table. “After that, if the obsession continues, I will stake you myself.” They gasped while he uncorked a bottle of 1729 Itinerant Poet. “Such conversation is tedious and utterly beneath us, my dears.”

The miles of deserted high rises, shops, and schools in a heavily forested ring were perfect for the influx when it began. (Amusing how the photographers had been so fixated on capturing the deserted rooms and street rubble over the years that no one had bothered to open the closets in those supposedly empty buildings.) The old ones hidden near the silos of the reactor when the problem occurred had mutated significantly, although it was a treat for the young ones to see those now 110-foot wingspans take to the sky. Vampirekind had their own city at last, renamed to their liking, although the rest of the world continued to call it Chernobyl.

They had always known, of course. Why else would there be an angry person or mob set against them in every town (which, for any other reason, wouldn’t make any sense)?   How could he disappear for hours at a time when they were packed into every car, bus, train, and rocket like sardines?  What could better explain why women found such a droll and whiny guy irresistible?  Discovering him in the middle of dispatching one of the old guys from the balcony was little more than visual confirmation. It was unanimously decided that they would protect their friend, go with the flow, and make millions … and The Muppets’ “Dracula” was born.

Leroy reviewed the woman’s paperwork; in the special needs section, the family had listed a number of items and the comment, “Energy vampire”. They had laughed about this in the Administration Office, but Leroy didn’t think it was the least bit funny. He’d met Henrietta Pallis, age 89, when they’d wheeled her in for the facility tour; she looked 70 (or even a bit younger) and the tour guide had called in sick the next day. Leroy completed her work order for room assignment: small private room in the oldest wing (where the siding was metal instead of vinyl), no visits by children or companion animals, staff to wear infection gear to administer all aid, dinner in the private dining nook with Mr Carlson and Miss Banby only. Their families had written the same thing.

They caught Stan before he took off and told him to give blood and plasma at Bathory House instead. “They pay tons more,” Craig said, telling him how much more, “and the nurses are totally hot.” Brenda nudged him hard in the ribs. “Hotness aside,” she shared, “they know their stuff; they have all of the latest tech, and there’s never so much as a bruise afterwards.” “I’ve never even heard of it,” Stan replied. “Private stockpile,” the two said in almost perfect sync. “Weird,” he whispered. “Don’t lie about being a virgin, though,” Craig said as a brief shadow of fright moved across his face. “It may be weird, man, but don’t lie about that.” Brenda nodded, looking quickly away.

Maureen went slowly and carefully, working against an endless ocean of white (and it was still coming down). She knew it wasn’t a good idea to do this herself at her age, but there was no one else at home. Through the blizzard, a form emerged – white on white; an impossibly beautiful young man. “Here, let me help you,” he whispered, taking the shovel from her hands; his eyes were blood red, his teeth sharp. “Do you have a name?” she asked softly, the increase in deaths with every major snowfall suddenly making perfect sense. “Do I need one?” he asked gently. “You may give me one if you like.” Maureen swallowed. It wasn’t the worst way to die, really – in the arms of a kind of angel. “Frosty?” she offered, then shook her head; that was just plain stupid. The snow vampire laughed loudly at that one, clearly amused, and nodded warmly. The end was tender and elegant.

Sharon quickly found the 800 number for customer service, relieved that the website promised the line was manned 24 hours a day. She hung up once out of shyness, then twice more out of frustration with the phone menu selections, but finally picked “life event” over “accident” and got a live representative. He was very kind; the accent was most definitely North Carolina. “Uh, yes,” Sharon said, settling in. “I’m not sure exactly how to report this, but I’ve become a vampire and I’d like to know if that changes my policy at all.” The rep stammered and she smiled; he was probably delicious.

Analise told the first story: that of  a vampire so horrible and so bold that he would show himself wherever he went, hiding in plain sight. Others added their own tales in turn, eyes wide with terror as they described the fiend stepping out from the crowd where he’d been all along, moving unnoticed through the county fair like one of them. “He may even be here, among us,” Sacha whispered, bringing the room to silence. “Oh, come on,” Ravel said irritably, “who are we dealing with here? Dracula? Is it Dracula?” Analise raised a finger to her lips to silence him. “Worse,” she said. “It is Waldo.”

After the opera, Joan’s date opened great leathery wings, gripped her in his talons, and flew her away. He peeked at her while flying and she was looking around, not squirming. He swooped into a deluxe crypt in an unknown city, where he lit a fire and pushed her onto a red velvet chaise, biting her in the neck. He peeked at her while biting and she was looking around, not screaming. “Look,” he said, straightening up, “I’m obviously a vampire and you’re obviously my victim. Doesn’t that concern you in the least?” Joan smiled at him pleasantly and replied, “You’re handsome, intelligent, an excellent conversationist, and clearly have a unique sense of interior design.” He raised both eyebrows. “At least I won’t die of boredom,” she continued. “I’ve had WAY worse dates than this.”

“The bite of the vampire does not convert the victim to vampirism,” Dr Garth told his stunned colleagues. “Mixed into the victim’s wounds at feeding, the venom creates a feeling of euphoria while it begins to wither the main arteries and veins; a massive coronary will be the exact cause of death. What you have beyond death is a dessicated revenant – lacking reason, driven by instinct alone. The vampire, it seems, can make zombies, but not other vampires. We have yet to define what kind of entity the vampire truly is.” “Did you not say yesterday,” Dr Young began, “that there has been a 112% spike in heart attacks in the Durbin Hospital service area this year?” “I did,” Garth confirmed, looking into the eyes of his friend. “I did indeed.”