Today I walked to the end of the street to pick up my mail. My cats and Jane the coyote pup followed me.
A group of teenage girls sat on the front porch of the house nearest the mail box. They waved to me.
“Oh my God, Vlad you’re so cute with your cats and the pup,” said one of them.
I smiled minus my fangs. The girls giggled. They find me attractive but I do not know what is cute about a man with board shoulders and almost six feet of height. Cats are cute. Puppies are cute. I have yet to understand what this cute word means. They also call me sexy, but not to my face. They do not call cats or coyotes sexy. That makes more sense to me. My lover Gillian told me not to think about it and to stop being silly. I am not silly.
As I looked through my mail, mostly letters from other vampires, I could hear the girls talk. One said a friend of hers was a hot mess. Hot mess?
So I said, “I could not help but overhear your conversation. What do you mean by hot mess.”
They all laughed out loud. Some laughed with high pitched voices. One had a laugh that was low and rough, but not unpleasing. One laughed like a woman ready to seduce and rule the world.
I repeated myself. “Sweet ladies, you know I am not from here. Please, what is a hot mess? Is it something you eat?”
They laughed again. Then one girl, the one with the low and rough laugh answered. “A hot mess is when someone tries to look good and ends up looking like a disaster. They’re just a hot mess.”
“I see. That is amusing,” I said. “Am I hot mess?”
They giggled. Then one said, “You’re just hot.”
Then they giggled some more and didn’t stop.
They then talked among themselves and I heard one say no sheets Sherlock. I wondered what was meant by that. I did not ask. I told the girls goodbye and winked at them. They giggled some more, and as my pets and I walked away I could hear them talk about me, but not in an unflattering way.
That night I asked my lover Gillian about Sherlock. “Darling, who is Sherlock and why does he not have sheets? Does he sleep on the ground or in a hammock? Why would young girls be speaking of such a person?”
Gillian smiled and kissed me. “I love you Vlad but…”
“Gillian dear, I was sealed in a crypt for three hundred years. I am still learning the strange language and customs of modern life,” I said to her.
“Vlad, Sherlock Holmes is a fictional detective. The first story about him came out in 1887. You were still locked in the crypt. Sherlock’s adventures became extremely popular, and his character, and versions of the character are still popular. The term is No Shit Sherlock.”
“Does he not poop like most people?”
“Yes, he poops. I assume he poops. It isn’t covered in the stories. The term No Shit Sherlock is used when somebody says something incredibly obvious.”
“Like I say being locked in a crypt is a bad thing. Then you say No Shit Sherlock.”
“Do not say I am not learning anything.”
Then she kissed me again. And again. And again.
Tonight I went to a pub where I am known and liked. I do this so that I can get blood with ease. I am not one of those vampires who likes to crawl through windows. I would rather have a glass of wine and talk with my dinner companions a bit.
The bartender is a woman named Cassie. We talked for a while then she noticed my satchel.
“Oh my goodness. You brought your cat tonight. Bring her out,” said Cassie.
I took the purring cat out of the bag. Cassie said we were cute. Always cute. My world is nothing but cute. Yet, I am happy when Cassie and my cat are happy. After many women and men came over to pet the cat and call it cute, the cat crawled back into the bag and fell asleep. I visited with Cassie more. She told me about her graduate studies. She is brilliant.
Then a man sits down next to me. “Vlad. You are Vlad.”
I look at him. He is tall and thin, with dark wavy hair pulled back into a tail like the teenage girls who live on my street. His brown eyes are hidden behind large black framed glasses. The teenage girls might find him attractive. I find him to be what they call a hot mess.
“Yes,” I say. “My name is Vlad. What is your name, and how do you know mine?”
He grins, a wide grin with perfect straight white teeth. “I know you’re a vampire Vlad.”
“Cute maybe,” I say. “A vampire, I do not think so.”
“I was told on good authority that you know where the high counsel of the vampires meet. I hear you used to be their king.”
“You are mad,” I told him.
I walked out to the street. He followed me and called out after me. “Vlad, I’m not a vampire hunter. I’m a scientist. I’m a journalist. I want to know the truth.”
I turned around to face him. “You seek the truth do you Kyle Gunner? That is your name. Yes, you seek parlor tricks so I just gave you one. You are excited and thrilled that I have stopped. Let me answer your question. There is no high council of vampires. That is, what do they call it, a plot device, a fictional bit of grandness to try to explain things you do not understand.”
He looked disappointed and puzzled. I continued to speak.
“Be a scientist Kyle Gunner and get the facts, if that is facts that you seek. Not alternate facts, but real facts.” He stood transformed so I continued to speak. “The facts are that if you speak out people will believe you to be insane. I advise you not go that route. Do not make memes of me either. No memes. I know you are recording this on your tiny magic telephone.” I held up my hand. “Now you are not recording me and it has all been deleted. I will tell you another thing Kyle Gunner. The reason we do not always show up in photographs is because we do not want to. It is the same reason paint flakes off of canvas and ink drawn to the likeness of a vampire fades on paper. It is because we do not want to be seen. Good night Kyle Gunner. Be thankful I was generous and charitable to you tonight. I may not be next time. One more word of advice. You are a hot mess. You need to do something about that.”
Then my cat put her head out of the bag and said, “Maaaaoooo.”
“That’s a cat. You have a cat in your man-bag,” said Kyle Gunner.
Then I said, “No shit Sherlock. Of course she is a cat. And this is a satchel, not a man-bag.” Then I snarled at him with my fangs and almost stopped his heart from fear.
I left him standing alone in the dark as other vampires watched, and waited from the shadows.
Then I heard one of the vampire women whisper to her friend, “Oh my God, Vlad is sooooo cute.”
I stand outside under the full moon watching the bats play at night. A large owl flies by. I hear a mocking bird call in the night. The wind blows gently and dances through my hair. Gillian comes behind me and puts her arms around me, then rests her head on the back of my shoulder.
For all of the confusion there are constants. I am in love, and I am cute. Those are two things which I am not sure I will ever understand.
This is the 30th Vampire Diary Post. For more of Vlad’s Vampire Diary (from the beginning) CLICK HERE.