Tonight I watched the film called Dracula. The cats sat on the chair with me and purred. They have no concept of movies or truth. They are cats.
It was without color and considered old. The year it was made was 1931. The actor was named Bela Lugosi. His accent was like mine, at least from the same regions of Europe.
The story was strange, but no stranger than some reality.
THIS is where they get their information from about Vampires. I have no words. None. THIS is why Vampires drink.
At dusk I walked from my house down the street to my mailbox. The two cats who live with me followed behind me singing the songs of their people.
At the mailbox I was greeted by one of my neighbors, a beautiful teenage girl called Paris. With her was a large old brown and white dog of unknown lineage. The dog is called Hamish. Paris tells people he is a Haggis Hound. Even I have to smile at her joke.
Hamish and my cats touch noses but do not chase or growl. They accept each other in mellow disinterest.
Trying to fit in and be what they call “nice” I asked Paris, “So what is up with you today?”
I adjusted my accent so that I would sound more American. I did not want her to hear “Zo Vat ieees up vith you toooooday?” I sounded like, “So what is up with you today?”
She said, “I’m feeling the Bern. My friend and I are working the phone bank for Bernie Sanders.”
“Phone bank? What is that?” I asked, because I do not know what that is.
“We’re going to call people and ask them who they are voting for. Just Democrats. If they say Bernie we say thanks and direct them to the web site, and ask them if they are interested in volunteering. If they say no, or Hillary we say thanks and don’t forget to vote. It is more of a survey.”
“I see,” I said but still not sure.
“If Bernie wins he’ll be the first Jewish president. If Hillary wins she’ll be the first woman. If Cruise wins he’ll be the first Canadian.” Then she laughed.
“A Jew would be president? That would happen?”
“Sure. His wife is Catholic. Nobody cares. He doesn’t bring religion into it. Nobody needs that in government. Freedom of religion and separation of church and state and all that.”
“That is amazing,” I said, remembering times when people were put to death for marrying out of their faith. I understand some still are. “There was a time when that would have not happened.”
“Did you grow up Communist?” She asked me that is a quiet voice as if she was asking me if I had a medical problem.
That question was unexpected. I had been sealed in a crypt for three hundred years and missed the Communist movement.
“No,” I told her. “I was not part of that. I lived in relative isolation at the time untouched by the rest of the world. Maybe that is why I ask so many questions.”
Beautiful Paris, the girl named after the city, tells me what she thinks of all of the people who wish to be the president. She is full of frightening facts and interesting opinions. This woman child will one day be powerful. Now she supports the old man, but one day she might be the one who is as they say putting her hat into the race.
She made a comment that someone looked like a Vampire. She said she saw a “meme.” I am still learning these meme things.
“There are worse things out there than Vampires,” I told her.
“And some of them are running for president too,” she said with a frown on her face.
Things were easier and less confusing when I was Vampire King. Nobody worried about who was in charge.
Tonight I went out among the population. At a club in the downtown section of town a band was playing. The music was loud. The women were beautiful and friendly. It was a perfect night to be a Vampire.
They told me I was cute. This cute is a thing I am still not used to.
I listened to the people talking about the politics just as Paris had, but also talking of different names. I heard talk of work. I heard talk of romance. They talked of all things, and I listened with concern and interest ready to make a move.
After several hours I had my fill of blood and good cheer. I was feeling cold and calm and headed towards my car.
As soon as I retrieved my keys from my pocket five men surrounded me. They carried crosses and garlic, and stakes of wood, and guns. Like Paris the teenager I almost rolled my eyes. They called me a “Prince of Darkness” and other unsavory names. In my head I quickly calculated a plan. There were five of them and only one of me, but I am not a “Prince of Darkness,” I am the Vampire King.
Then from out of the dark a growl like a wolf from Hell blasted into the night. A beast half man and half wolf attacked the Vampire Hunters. He tore clothing and flesh with his massive canine fangs and claws. I stood back and watched the fight.
Then the Vampire Hunters ran, carrying their injured comrades.
I looked into the face of the man, a middle-aged man, still with wolf ears and hair on the sides of his face, and on the tops of his almost claw like hands. White hair streaked through his brown hair at his temples. “Who are you?” I asked.
He looked at me with humor in his brown eyes and said, “My name is Hamish. You know me Vlad.” Then he laughed with a low deep growl to his voice.
Yes indeed. I did know him.