Listen, and never discount a Vampire who wants to share art with you.

Some people do things oh so frustratingly slow, or weird, or just make me feel like nobody is listening (and I know they aren’t.)

On Thanksgiving I showed my great great great great Grandmama Lola a book to look at. It was an art book. I wanted her to see the artwork. So what does she do? She opens the cover and looks at the first page. Then she slowly turns the next three pages of publisher information. The she gets to the preface – you know those long introductions to art books that NOBODY reads, especially when someone wants you to look at some PICTURES. After she was into the first 15 pages, slowly turning them and not really reading them, wondering why I’d given her this book with so much text, I took the book. Then I opened it up to the start of the 175 pages that were in FULL COLOR of magnificent artwork.

She then slowly turned the pages, looking at all of the art, then proclaimed there were too many religious paintings. Did I mention this book was about Italian Renaissance art? It was.

I said nothing and put the book back on the shelf. My moment sharing Raphael and Michelangelo fell flat.

The whole week seemed to go like that. I was all but invisible wherever I went. Even among friends I was just there. My husband was there, but I was just a shadow most of the time. A few times I managed to make myself known before I was unseen again. Until a few nights ago when I finally found myself around kindred spirits.

When I was a child I was the quiet one. I would sit in corners, or curled in a large chair, and watch, and listen, and remember, and think about what the adults said. I always knew what everyone had done. I knew things children were not supposed to understand.  I also spent a lot of time with books, looking at pictures. I never get tired of art, be it a painting in a museum, or an illustration in a book. It could be an angel, or a landscape, or a diagram the ocean currents. Every image has a story, or a feeling, or something that came out of the head, the hands, the eyes, and the heart of someone else.

Lola is ancient, born in the Middle Ages, but she isn’t feeble minded, or out of touch. She just does things in a different way than I do. It is still damned annoying.

I was out with her recently and she insisted on lingering over her prey, excuse me, a donor. I clenched my fists, then quietly told her that we needed to get in and then get out fast. Unless you’re in a safe situation where you can linger comfortably for hours, you need to get what you need and get out. But noooooo, not Lola. She never listens to me, or any of my concerns. I swear I’m surprised she has lasted as long as she has. And yes, this is a Vampire blog. Why else would I be talking about what Lola does.

Anyway, don’t get between me and my art. Don’t make me feel unsafe or unwanted. And if you don’t listen to me, that is fine. I hear everything, and remember everything. And I still love you, for the most part.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

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Answers About Vampires (No. 32)

victorian vampire girl

No. If you’re bitten by a Vampire you won’t automatically turn into a Vampire. It’s more complicated than that.

Yes, our body temperature is lower than yours.

No, we’re not all creepy.

No, going into a church will not kill us. It makes us uncomfortable so if we’re there we’re in the back row. But seriously don’t look for us there. Nobody likes Vampires in their church, and we just go for the music.

Yes, we celebrate the same holidays as you do.

Yes, Vampires drink coffee. No the caffine does not bother us.

No Vampires aren’t off the grid, at least most of us aren’t. We have passports, birth certificates, drivers licenses, and other required documents. We also vote.

Despite popular opinion Eric Trump is not a Vampire.

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Yes, Vampire fangs are retractable. Unfortunately, just like old car windows, fangs on certain individuals can drop down with no warning, stick up, stick down, or have other “mechanical” issues. Fortunately the car window fang thing is rare.

You need answers…

No, bats don’t make good pets. They’ll die. Don’t do it.

No, we don’t tear people’s throats out. Think of the mess. And seriously do you rip the door off of your refrigerator every time you get something to eat? Yeah, I didn’t think so.

No, I don’t sleep in a coffin. I really want one of the Sleep Number beds.

Yes, we are sensitive to light. Thank you for asking and pass the sunscreen.

Yes, sometimes we do eat real food (we need fiber just like you).

Yes, we do have paranormal powers. No I won’t tell you about them.

Ask a Werewolf if you want to know about Werewolves.

No, garlic will not kill us. Now your breath… that is another issue.

No, a cross will not burn us.

Yes, fire can kill us. Fire can kill you too.

Yes, if you destroy my heart or cut off my head I’ll die. So will you.

Yes, this is a real Rolex. I purchased it new in 1959.

Yes, cat blood is pretty nasty.

Yes, we do hunt vegans.

No, being a vegan will cause a Vampire to go into a coma for a very long time.

Because you’d kill us.

No, we usually just make them think they did. That’s why people love us and have so many fantasies about us.

No, we can’t have biological children with a regular human.

No, less than 10% of humans turned into vampires survive more than a few weeks. Of that only 5% will make it. 90% die within an hour. Did that answer your questions?

We wear other colors. Not just black.

Yes, we do prefer red wine over white.

No, I won’t answer questions about THAT.

Yes, Werewolf blood does taste sort of like Bourbon.

Yes, we do get married to other Vampires. No we don’t marry regular people (not anymore, it never works out)

No we don’t marry Werewolves. What is wrong with you?

No, I will not show you my teeth.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

readbyvampires

 

pepper2017

#nanopoblano

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design

 

 

 

 

 

 

Things that go bump…on Halloween Morning (or Life of a Modern Vampire Mom.)

In the wee hours of the morning, before the sun came up, before I’d finished my first cup of coffee my phone made that little annoying ping noise that indicates a text message.

It was my brother Aaron, the middle child, of my Vampire Family. I’m the youngest, but who’s counting. I just had my 158th birthday. Aaron is 164. Anyway, we’re young as far as Vampires go, but we’re established. We’re cool.

So I get this text.

Screenshot 2017-10-31 11.05.46

Aaron is an attorney with a twenty person law office housed in a 4,000 square foot downtown home he purchased in 1898.  He stood on the front porch in jeans and a flannel shirt. No suit yet. It is Halloween anyway so he could put on a beard and be a lumberjack for the rest of the day for all I knew.

He gave me a hug and a kiss on my cheek, then thanked me profusely for coming.

“Where is your Vampire Hunter?” I asked him. He has a guy named Austin he works with on occasion for removing unwanted soulless Vampires (who are not like us because as you know we have two souls and we’re not dead yet.)

“He has an early class this morning. I didn’t want to wake him. You know how they need their sleep,” said Aaron. Aside from hunting dried up Vampires, Austin teaches history at the local University. He isn’t a Vampire so I guess he needs his beauty sleep more than I do.

“You know you would have called me anyway,” I said.

“You’re so good with them Sis,” said my brother with a sparkle in his cold blue Vampire eyes.

I looked at my brother with squinty hazel eyes. “You’re afraid of them. Admit it.”

“You’re better with them than I am.”

“You’re an alpha male Vampire. I’ve seen what you can do.”

“You’re a mom.”

I give him the look. You know that look that all wives and mothers instinctively give the men in their lives. But he had a good point.

“Alright,” I said. “Show me where they are.”

As we walked inside I immediately heard the scratching and sounds of, I don’t know, snorting and just weird obnoxious noises, like when you have someone annoying in a cubicle next to you and they’re eating loudly, sucking snot, and tapping ALL DAY LONG (I have friends with that problem, not me thank goodness.”

“In my office,” said Aaron.

I walked up the stairs to his office. It was a beautiful space in a room with a round turret in the corner and original stained glass windows. Sitting at Aaron’s desk was a haggard looking Vampire with oatmeal colored skin stretched over a narrow skull, oily black hair, and red eyes. He wore a long black coat and a black baseball cap. A woman stood behind him. She was wearing some sort of weird red lace dress and a nasty looking old monkey fur coat. There was no beauty left in her sunken in face. Greenish blonde hair was piled in a sloppy bun on top of her head. Another man, with gray skin that looked like cracked leather leaned against the window sill. He wore red jeans and a tight black tee. His orange hair hung in dreadlocks down to his shoulders. Round black lensed glasses sat on his nose.

The all flashed their fangs at me and hissed. I could smell their breath. Rotted meat and cat pee. They were so nasty.

“Good morning to you too,” I said to them. “Looks like you’re all ready for Halloween.”

They hissed again.

“Get the Hell out of here or very bad things are going to happen to you.”

“Money first,” said the one sitting at Aaron’s desk.

“NOW,” I said in my strongest mom voice. “OUT.”

They all sat up with wide eyes.

Yes, they were terrifying, but hey, they are also disgusting and stupid and have no business asking for money or anything else. I knew who these three where.

“I know where you live. I know who you hang with. Come around here again and I’ll call the REAL Vampire Hunters. They’ll put stakes in your dead hearts and cut your heads off. So get the fuck out NOW.”

They stood up and slowly crept out hissing at me as they passed. I barred my own fangs, which were longer and whiter than theirs will ever be. They jumped aside. I could feel their fear.

I never understood the whole scary horror movie Vampire thing. Sure they can scare teenagers and children, but they can’t scare a mom. Nobody can scare a mom.

“And clean up,” I yelled at them. “You look like a bunch of meth heads. No self respecting Vampire would look like you. You’re a disgrace. All three of you. You should be ashamed of yourselves. It is Vampires like you that give us a bad name.”

Then I pulled the female aside. “Get yourself some nice clothes. See what I’m wearing. It was easy to put together and you’ll be more comfortable. I know today is Halloween, but just today. And get some moisturizer for that face. You don’t HAVE to look like crap. And you’ll eat better and feel better if you look better.”

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Vampires don’t have to dress like ghouls. It is ok to dress like girls. 

She looked at my clothes then reached out an touched my sweater. I pushed her bony hand away. “You need to go.”

I watched them file out past my brother, get on their bicycles and ride off.

“Wow. I tried for an hour to get them to leave,” said Aaron, obviously impressed. “They’re such assholes. I was afraid they’d trash the place. I don’t know how I’m going to get the stench out.”

“They’re so dead they don’t even think like adults anymore. It is like dealing with a bunch of middle school kids.”

“Wanna get coffee?”

“Sure,” I said. By then it was 5:30 a.m. and we both knew the little coffee shop around the corner would be open.

So now the only monsters I might see are the neighborhood children who are going to knock on my door tonight. I’ll pour a goblet of spiced blood, dress up the dog, and hand out candy. Oh, I have to carve my pumpkins too! I’ll post photos.

Happy Halloween.

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Werewolf Week: An Afternoon with an Ancient Vampire (and Werewolves)

Werewolf Week continues with both new posts, and more interesting Werewolf posts from the past. I’m rerunning one of my favorite posts that I shared in October of 2013. I know many of you have already seen this… so thanks for your patience. It is a sweet story (and true).

An Afternoon with an Ancient Vampire (and Werewolves)

Halloween is almost here and that means a party at the home of the ancient Vampires Eleora and Tellias. I’d promised Tellias I’d take him shopping for craft supplies. He could have gone on his own but lately he had a tendency to get lost, especially when going out during the daylight hours.

When I arrived at the grand Victorian farmhouse the couple share Tellias was waiting with a Panama hat on and round dark sunglasses. Today he was dressed fairly normal – a black velveteen vest over a white shirt, black jeans and yellow flip flops. His pale blonde hair was fanned out like liquid gold over his shoulders. He looked all of nineteen years old.

We had one other stop, to see my friend Adam, a photographer, who also happens to be a Werewolf. If I’d told Tellias about it he wouldn’t have agreed to go. Werewolves are always a touchy subject with him.

Adam was there with his photographs and two other Werewolves, a man and a woman. He introduced them as Troy and Brandy. Troy was large and deeply tanned with that sort of manly lumberjack look women seem to love. Brandy was delicate pretty woman with one blue eye and one brown eye. She wore her hair in long reddish curls and looked like anything but a Werewolf.

Most people don’t know that Werewolves, despite popular myths, are the researchers, geeks and scientists of the alternate world (that world of Werewolves, Vampires and other not so regular type humans.)

I noticed Brandy’s right hand, mangled and curled under with horrible scars. She held her hand up close to her side as if she was protecting it.

They knew who Tellias was. Everyone knew about the ancient Vampire, born in Rome around the time when BC merged into AD. He’d gone to Britain with the Roman army as sort of an adviser. The Roman generals knew he was brilliant and special but nobody knew he was a Vampire. And eventually, he ended up here and now, shopping for Halloween craft supplies on a beautiful fall day in Northern California.

After introductions the Werewolves asked Tellias if there were wolves in Britain back almost 2,000 years ago when he was there. He thought for a second.

“They were large wolves and they were eating the dead. Even Vampires couldn’t compete with that kind of horror. I couldn’t blame them for an easy meal. I’ve gone for easy too. We all have.

The wolves were magnificent creatures unlike any I’d seen anywhere. The blood baths against any living creature bothered me from the start.”

“Did you hunt the wolves?” asked Brandy.

“No, no, not at all. We’re Vampires not ghouls.”

“Did you know King Arthur?” That was Adam asking out of the blue. I almost told him to shut up.

Tellias gave a serious slightly peeved look. “King Arthur? Friends knew him. Said he was sort of a dick. It was a harsh world back then, not the romantic ideal you see in the movies. There was no social justice or human rights or much of anything. No animal rights. That said, it was a good time for Vampires before Regular Humans figured out what we were up to. It was that damn group of self important rogue Vampires who set themselves up as wizards and all sorts of other nonsense. We annihilated most of them but the damage was done. Done, done, done, forever. Our reputations were ruined and our cover blown clear out of the sky. Clear out.

I knew a priest back then, a man of God who was good. His name was Virgil. Like the poet or like the guy in the Sanford novels, Virgil Flowers. Have you read those books? I think my Virgil was from Southern Europe but I never knew and he never told me. He could talk with wolves and hawks. I’ve always liked Hawks. Sometimes I’ll sit for hours and watch them.

There were wild spirits and wilder men who tried to keep Virgil from his work. He was a healer, not just of broken bones but a healer of the soul. He was like an early psychiatrist. He was a werewolf too. We became close friends. Close close friends. I miss him to this day. So does my wife. You know, I don’t even remember when I started calling her my wife, it just seemed like we were married the first night we ever spent together, which was also the first night we met. He said we were too nice to be damned but I once caught him weeping because he didn’t believe Vampires had souls and he thought we were demons. Do you think we’re demons? Undead lifeless shadows with no souls? Parasites of human blood? We have two souls and we can’t sell them or give them away. Our souls are our burden to keep alone. Nobody looks after us. Just like Werewolves, nobody looks after you or your souls either.” Tellias looked around the room oh so quietly in his Vampire way, looking straight into the very soul of each and every Werewolf.

“So we’re all damned according to your lore?” Brandy asked again, still holding her hand close to her side.

Tellias looked her straight in the eyes. “Not damned, just alone. All alone. As alone as can be. So we must keep organized and quiet and stay together despite our differences.”

Tellias looked at me in mild confusion and annoyance. “Why are we here again?”

“They need our help,” I said

“So they call on the old Vampire.”

“Yes, they need your help. They’re doing a study about healing powers and pain. They’d like to find out how we manage it so well when others are unable to. They want to know if it is physical or mental. It is a problem with Werewolves.”

“Can we go now?” He looked clearly uncomfortable and annoyed. He whispered in my hear so only I could hear, “everything is mental with Werewolves. They’re nuts.”

“We have to go,” I said to the Werewolves.

“Someone is hunting us, do you know who it is?” That was Troy, speaking up for the first time. He sounded pretty desperate and emotional.

Tellias took a deep breath. “October is always a bad month for this kind of insanity. I’m sorry I don’t know right off hand but…” He approached Brandy and took her hand. “What happened to you dear girl?” Tellias tenderly asked her, taking her hand in his. I thought she would pull away, but she allowed him to look.

“I was caught in a trap about a year ago. I had to chew off enough to slip out.”

Covering Brandy’s injured hand with both of his hands he closed his eyes for a few seconds and then opened them up again. Then he kissed her mangled fingers gently.

“The pain is gone.” She said in amazement. Her eyes teared up.

The beautiful old Vampire kissed her cheek. “Be careful on Halloween and keep your pets inside.”

Then he smiled. “Did you know Werewolf blood tastes like Bourbon?”

Adam laughed as the others looked shocked. It was time to go.

As we walked to my car, headed off to finally get those craft and party supplies Tellias put his arm around my waist and gave me a thoughtful concerned adult look. “Juliette, my dear girl, I might be ancient but I am not a curiosity to be put on display.”

I started to speak and he tightened his grip on me. “I love you as if you were my own child. I feel for the Werewolves, but my dear, we can’t live our lives as if every single day is Halloween. That said, I am so proud of you.”

Then he started to sing quietly, as he always does. I listened for a moment. Nine in the Afternoon. It was unexpected but then again, isn’t everything?

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

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Nine in the Afternoon

(Panic! at the Disco)

Back to the street where we began
Feeling as good as lovers can, you know
Yeah, we’re feeling so good

Picking up things we shouldn’t read
It looks like the end of history as we know
It’s just the end of the world

Back to the street where we began
Feeling as good as love
You could, you can

Into a place, where thoughts can bloom
Into a room where it’s nine in the afternoon
And we know that it could be
And we know that it should
And you know that you feel it too
‘Cause it’s nine in the afternoon

Your eyes are the size of the moon
You could ’cause you can, so you do
We’re feeling so good
Just the way that we do
When it’s nine in the afternoon

Your eyes are the size of the moon
You could ’cause you can, so you do
We’re feeling so good

Back to the street
Down to our feet
Losing the feeling of feeling unique
Do you know what I mean?

Back to the place
Where we used to say
Man, it feels good to feel this way
Now I know what I mean

Back to the street, back to the place
Back to the room where it all began
Back to the room where it all began
‘Cause it’s nine in the afternoon

Your eyes are the size of the moon
You could ’cause you can, so you do
We’re feeling so good
Just the way that we do
When it’s nine in the afternoon (x3)

Watch the official video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yCto3PCn8wo

Songwriters
Urie, Brendon Boyd / Walker, Jonathan Jacob / Smith, Spencer James / Ross, George Ryan

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And if you need more on those Scottish Wolves…

On Ederachillis’ shore

The grey wolf lies in wait-

Woe to the broken door,

Woe to the loosened gate,

And the groping wretch whom sleety fogs

On the trackless moor belate.

The lean and hungry wolf,

With his fangs so sharp and white,

His starveling body pinched

By the frost of a northern night,

And his pitiless eyes that scare the dark

With their green and threatening light.

He climeth the guarding dyke,

He leapeth the hurdle bars,

He steals the sheep from the pen,

And the fish from the boat-house spars,

And the digs the dead from out of the sod,

And gnaws them under the stars.

Thus every grave we dug

The hungry wolf uptore,

And every morn the sod

Was strewn with bones and gore:

Our mother-earth had denied us rest

On Ederchaillis’ shore

—The Book of Highland Minstrelsy, 1846

Werewolf Week

In honor of October, Werewolves, and Halloween the first week of October is now officially WEREWOLF WEEK here at vampiremaman.com

But proceed with caution…

Like my brother Max always says, “I have a dog. Why the Hell would I want to date one?” OK that isn’t his exact words. He says “Why the Hell would I want to fuck one?” I like to at least give the pretense of being polite.

When it comes to the subject of WEREWOLVES  we’re all over the place. We meaning Vampires. By all over the place I mean that we accept them, we live with them and from time to time we’re even friends with them but NEVER are we romantically involved (not that we know of). And of course we don’t have big battles in dark woods or dark caverns with cosplay type costumes. We talk out our problems. Otherwise we’d be like Regular Humans, and heaven forbid we be like them. Of course there might be a little occasional growling or biting but we get over it fast.

What do my readers love? Or maybe the question should be about random readers. The three posts on this blog that get the most traffic are:

1. How to Respond to a Love Letter

2. Taking your teen to a metal concert

3. Halloween Hotties: Werewolves

Yes, Werewolves, right here on the Vampire blog. I’d like to say it is because a few Halloweens ago I mentioned Robert McCammon’s smoking hot Werewolf in the book “Wolf’s Hour”. And yes, that is in my top ten favorite books of all times. And I had the HONOR of being picked up by the authors social media. Wow.

Anyway, several years have passed and people still want to hear about Werewolves.

My friend Adam, who is a Werewolf, often complains that people always ask him about Vampires. Go figure. For the longest time Adam didn’t know I was a Vampire and I didn’t know he was a Werewolf. We hid the fact rather well, too well. We could have ended up killing each other, or worse. Anyway…

One evening we talked extensively about his ability to do true shape shifting. He said it was uncomfortable at times and took a toll on the body. He spoke of being part wolf in sort of a far off way.

“You see, Juliette,” he said to me one night over a bottle of wine on a chilly roof top, “I don’t get chilled when I see a wolf. I get chilled when I see a chimpanzee. I’m not so far off in my DNA from them but they look at me with uncomfortable and defiant eyes of something alien that wants to point an accusatory finger at me. When I look at a wolf I see my brother with a shared soul.”

I could see his point and we were drinking. As a Vampire I don’t shape shift. I just make others believe I do. Part of my hunt is in creating an illusions. With Werewolves things can get a bit more real.

Oh and by the way, Werewolf blood tastes like good well aged Bourbon. But you won’t be able to tell unless you’re a Vampire.

I’ll have more later on Werewolves during the month of October. In the meantime I’ll leave you with a little story I’ve posted here before. The night is still young and I have places to go and people to… well you know how it is.

 

~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman

 

Lon Chaney looking hot in a suit! Sweetheart stay out from under that full moon!

 

Short Story Sunday:

Grandpa’s Dog

A short story from Marla Todd (featured in the WPaD short story anthology Creepies)

 

“I’m taking him to the vet and having him put down.” Jeff said into the phone.

“No you aren’t.” I said, ready to scream.

“It is cruel to make him suffer like this.”

“He isn’t our dog to put down.” I almost growled at my husband.

“I don’t care. Grandpa will understand. He’s always complaining about how he hates Bruce anyway.”

“The kids will be heartbroken.” I said trying to stall him.

“They’ll understand.”

“What about my mom? She’ll never forgive you.”

“Gretchen, I’m taking Bruce to the vet. I’m sorry.”

“I want to say good-bye.”

“Bruce will understand.” He hung up. Damn him.

Bruce was Grandpa’s dog. He was old. The oldest dog I knew. Jeff thought he was 16. I knew better. Jeff thought Bruce was half wolf and half Alaskan Malamute. I knew he was half Irish. Jeff liked to bake him organic dog treats. I knew Bruce preferred bourbon and prime rib. Jeff thought grandpa was crazy to have such a large dog. I knew Grandpa was half crazy and Jeff was right, it was about the dog, but it didn’t have anything to do with its size.

Once a month I kept the dog for Grandpa, while he “Went to the cabin with his old college buddies.” I hauled the dog to weddings, to funerals, to camping trips and hanging around the house. He’d been there for my college graduation, my wedding, for my kids. My mom had watched the old dog before me. My grandma before her.

Of course Jeff didn’t believe anything my family said about the damn dog. He’d spent years hearing us tell bad jokes and tall tales. It was how we spoke, in stories. I blame it on my Southern parents. Jeff just thinks I’m funny. He tells me I should have my own show on cable. HA HA HA. He thinks my family is quirky and quaint. Right now nothing was funny or quaint.

I raced home from the studio. I’m a photographer, mostly editorial, corporate portraits, product photos. Good thing I’m the owner of the business, otherwise I’d never deal with my husband, my children and Grandpa’s damn dog. I would have had the dog with me today but he was too stiff to climb into the car by himself and at 125 pounds I didn’t feel like lifting him today.

Jeff was still at home. I parked blocking the driveway. Thank God the kids were still in school. I have never been so angry with anyone in my entire life. I barged through the door yelling at my husband. “All I asked you to do was check in on him for me at lunch time and you decided to kill him. Well for once in your life listen to me…”

I yelling stopped when I saw Jeff. He had a towel around his hand. He was bleeding.

“The old guy bit me when I was trying to get him out of the house.” he said with a shrug of his shoulder.

I saw Bruce poke his old white muzzle around the corner.

“Why the hell did you have to bite him?” I yelled at the dog. Bruce tucked his tail and cowered. His ribs stuck out from his sides. He looked ancient and pathetic.

Jeff reached out to scratch the dog behind his ear. “Don’t yell at him. It’s like he sensed what I was going to do. Poor old guy was scared.”

“Don’t touch him.” I yelled. I looked at the wound on Jeff’s hand. It was clean. I went back to the dog. “Damn you, after all I’ve done for you.” Bruce looked at me with glassy brown eyes and shook, tail still between his legs.

Jeff put his arms around me “Gretch, don’t get mad at the dog. “

“You don’t understand,” I gasped.

“He’s old and scared.” Jeff said stroking my hair with his good hand. “You know dear, all that dog hears is “Bruce, blah blah blah. Blah blah blah”. He laughed and gave me a quick hug.

I pulled away. “He’s a werewolf.”

“Oh Honey, don’t call him that. He’s just an old arthritic dog. Poor old guy.” He leaned down to touch noses with the dog. Bruce licked Jeff’s face and thumped his tail on the floor. “You aren’t a werewolf are you old guy? You’re just a prince in disguise. You think she’ll give you a kiss?” Jeff started to make kissy noises.

I thought I was going to throw up.

“There’s a reason why we never see Grandpa and Bruce together.” I growled. They’re the same animal. Bruce isn’t 16, he’s 85. ”

Jeff took a deep breath. “I’m not going to put him down. We’ll wait till Grandpa gets home and discuss it with him. Werewolves. That’s a good one. So when you work at night does that mean you’re a vampire?” he laughed again. “You can bite my neck anytime.” He kissed my neck.

I backed away feeling the panic rushing up inside my body. “Jeff, it’s true and now….”

I couldn’t say the words. Now my husband was going to become a werewolf and I’d have one more old dog to take care of.

 

old dog

 

Vampire Diary: Pumpkin Spice

coffee

Dear Diary,

I do not understand these large vegetables called pumpkins.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

Tonight I went out for a bite to eat. It was night. Late night. I had gone to the usual night spots and had, what do people call it these days, oh yes, I had a snack or two. Small bites. Wanting more, and wanting something good I went to a tavern owned by a woman called Cassie.

I walked her home, nearly crazy with her warmth and the sweet smell of her blood. The night was cool with the change of the seasons. It was the autumn solstice. I was hungry.

Once inside of her house she grabbed my shirt and kissed me. I shared her embrace, hardly able to contain myself. Then she smiled and said she had to go to the bathroom. I waited, and decided to remove my shirt thus showing of my well chiseled muscular male form that few women can resist. I believe I have what people call a six pack. I do not understand it but I will accept it is a good thing.

Cassie appeared, still with a smile, completely naked, and completely beautiful. She approached me and put her hand on my chest.

“You’re cold Vlad,” she said.  Then she pressed her body next to mine. I kissed her. She sighed and pressed closer. Then just as I was ready to sink my fangs into her neck she stepped back away from me. I did not understand. Why did she step back from me?

The woman smiled and said, “Do you know what I want Vlad?”

“I assume it is me,” I said.

“I do want you Vlad, but first I want a Pumpkin Spice Latte.”

I did not know what to say. I, Vlad, King of Vampires, was speechless.

“Vlad,” said the beautiful naked Cassie, with a laugh, “you look so cute when you’re surprised. Damn, you always look cute.”

Cute. I do not understand this cute anymore than I understand this pumpkin spice. Kittens are cute. Babies are cute. I am not a baby or a kitten.

And now I find myself resistible. That is not a good thing. No woman should be able to resist me. I am after all Vlad the Vampire King. I ran my hand through my golden hair, and glared at her with my hypnotic blue Vampire eyes.

“What is this Pumpkin Spice Latte you desire?” I asked.

“Coffee flavored like Pumpkin Spice,” said Cassie.

“Vegetable flavored coffee? Why would you rather have that when you can have me? Would you rather I be a vegetable?”

She laughed again and called me cute again. I walked a few blocks to an all night coffee shop and obtained two Pumpkin Spice Lattes. All the while I was thinking that I should have stayed locked in the crypt in which I was imprisoned for three hundred years. On the walk to Cassie’s house I tasted one of the lattes. Stepping into an alley I vomited blood and Pumpkin Spice for ten minutes. Vampires should not drink Pumpkin Spice.

When I returned Cassie was wearing a robe over her naked body. She thanked me for the concoction from Hell. I debated whether to stay or go. She said the drink was good. Then she said I would be good too. I decided to stay.

I was exceptionally good.

I still feel ill

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

I could not sleep today. Dreams of my home being overtaken by vines heavy with pumpkins, pounding on the windows, with tendrils clawing at my doors, filled my head.

Looking out my window I saw no pumpkins yet my thoughts were still troubled. Knowing my friend Randolpho would be awake I drove to his house to find solace.

My dear friend greeted me at the door and welcomed me in. His home was cool and dark. The experience made me feel relaxed. Then suddenly I was overcome with nausea.

I looked towards Randolpho who was lighting candles.

“What madness is this?” I cried.

“Pumpkin Spice candles. Bath and Body Works is having a sale. I love their fall scents. There is nothing like blood and a little Pumpkin Spice to make one feel positively warm with Vampire comforts,” said Randolpho.

“Are you out of your mind my friend?” I said. I glared at the candles and made the flames go dead.

“What crawled up your ass?” said Randolpho.

“You do not need to be crude Randolpho. That smell makes me sick,” I told him. Then I related the story of the night before.

“Vlad, my friend,” said Randolpho, “it was not the flavor that made you sick, it was the milk in the latte. You know Vampires can’t drink lattes. Now if the coffee had been black…”

“Stop. I want no more talk of this,” I said.

“Fine,” said Randolpho, giving me that look he gives me when he thinks I am being unreasonable. “I am going to the plant nursery on the hill to buy bulbs.”

“Bulbs. Pray tell why would a plant nursery sell bulbs unless you are growing marijuana…” I said.

“No, TULIP bulbs,” said Randolpho. “Fall bulbs, like tulips, daffodils and crocus. Those small fall wonders that when put in the ground explode into a riot of color and true beauty.”

Tulips. Oh how this modern world amazes me. I remember  when tulips were rare and as valuable as the rarest jewels.

Once as a ransom for his idiot son, who wanted to become a Vampire, a Dutch merchant gave me four rare tulip bulbs. It was the year 1635. I remember it well.

I planted the bulbs in pots and nurtured them. In the spring the small brown eggs of earth (as I liked to call them) produced magnificent blooms of purple and white stripes, red, and yellow. I invited all in my castle to come see the flowers. Then out of nowhere came Baskall Kirflint, a Vampire with great wealth, good looks and an ugly temper. He demanded that I give him the hand of my sister, or he would steal her away and have his way with her.

I told him, “Baskall Kirflint, my sister does not love you, nor will she ever love you. Your unpleasant ways and foul temperament reminds her of a spoiled child. She will not have you, and I will not force her to be with you.”

Baskall Kirflint snarled at me showing his fangs. Then he knocked the tulip pot to the floor and ground the bulbs and blooms with the heel of his boot into my Persian carpet.

“Be gone from my sight,” I said. Then I told my guards to send him on his way knowing there was a full moon that night. The Werewolves ate him, all except his head which was still alive. I put his head on a pole on my castle wall so he could watch the world without being able to be in it. That was a mistake for Baskall Kirflint yelled insults from his bodiless lead to all who passed. I threw his head into the fire pit in the castle court yard that night and ended Baskall Kirflint.

“Remember Baskall Kirflint?” I said to Randolpho.

“What an asshole,” said Randolpho. “In the five hundred years I’ve known you I don’t think I’ve ever seen you go angry.”

“Seven hundred,” I said, “but who is counting.”

Then we both laughed.

After putting on sunscreen and donning our dark glasses we went to the plant nursery on the hill to obtain tulip bulbs.

I have no words, or almost no words for my joy when I walked into the plant nursery building. Bin upon bin was filled with tulip bulbs in every color imaginable. Along with tulips were daffodils, narcissus, crocus, and freesia bulbs. I imagined the fortune I would spend in this place, then saw that the bulbs were inexpensive. Six bulbs were the price of a pair of socks.

I filled my cart with bulbs of all colors, but mostly red. Then Randolpho said we must look at more things. As we walked along rows of trees, blooming shrubs and flowers, two women looked at us. One whispered to her friend, “they make a cute couple.”

Randolpho just laughed. I was not amused, but wondered at the ignorance of these women. If two men look at flowers why do modern people assume they are a couple. I am still trying to figure out the modern world but make an attempt to not fall into branding people with stereotypes (my new word for this month.) Randolpho told me to get over it. That is another expression I refuse to use. I told him so.

As we continued to walk through the beautiful rows of flowers, herbs, and shrubs we came upon a sign that said, “Pumpkins Are Here.” What madness was this?

In front of us were piles and rows and mounds of pumpkins in every shape, size and color. There were gourds that looked like small monsters. There were pots shaped like pumpkins with grinning faces.

Randolpho picked out a few of the unusual pumpkins to bring to his house.

“What are you going to do with those Randolpho? You are not going to eat them, I know that to be true,” I said to my friend.

“I am going to decorate with these pumpkins. Then when the fall is over and Yule Time comes I will cut up the pumpkins and feed them to the squirrels and deer,” said Randolpho.

Now I am at home with two large bags containing over one hundred flower bulbs. It cost me less than one hundred dollars for all of them. I did not, would not, bring home any pumpkins.

I went back to sleep and had dreams of red flowers and Cassie’s hot red blood.

~ Vlad

 

Dear Diary,

It is now snowing in the mountains which I can see from my home. I think of the winters long ago when I lived in a castle. I think of standing on the high tower lookout with the cold wind in my hair, and soft flakes of cold snow falling on my face.

People in my neighborhood are starting to celebrate the cool air by putting scarecrows, wreaths of gold and orange leaves, and pumpkins on their porches.

Everything is different now. Different than it was centuries ago when I was King of the Vampires.

I sent my sister a text on my phone. I have learned to do that. It is a valuable tool. I send her a photo of the tulip bulbs. She sent back a message with three red hearts. Do I dare say that was cute? I told her that I would save some for her. I told her how excited I was about the bulbs.

Then she texted, “Do not lose your head over it.”

And I texted back, “LOL.”

I am feeling as if I belong to the modern world, even if I do not appreciate the cult of Pumpkin Spice.

~ Vlad

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This is #33 of the Vlad’s Vampire Diary series. For the entire series, from the beginning, CLICK HERE. ~ Juliette aka Vampire Maman