My Favorite Fangs: The Story of the Von Trapp Family Vampires

by Alan Goldsher

  “I recall…”

  “… and this bat changed my life! The bite! The blood! The fever! The … the … the transformation! The magic! The boys! The men! The release! The multiple releases!”

  Mother Zombie yawned, then slapped her own face. “Apologies, Maria, I almost nodded off. Are you still talking?”

  Maria again dreamily moved her fingers down to her lady-parts, but she caught a glimpse of Mother Zombie’s snake ruler, then abruptly stopped her hand and changed the subject. “Which brings me to another transgression, Reverend Mother. I discharged my teeth today without permission.”

  Shrugging, Mother Zombie said, “Honestly, Vampire, I could care less.”

  “But there are rules, Mother. Everybody knows that in Zombie Law, there are edicts against unauthorized bloodletting.”

  “I’ve told you dozens of times, that only applies to the bloodletting of postulants. You can let out your own blood as often as you wish.”

  Maria ignored Mother Zombie and bulled ahead. “And what’s even worse, I’ve developed a tendency to burst into song.”

  With that, Mother Zombie perked up. “Songs? What sort of songs? I like songs. Especially ones with tight three-part vocal harmonies.”

  “Songs with nice melodies and interesting chord changes, but corny lyrics.”

  “Would you care to sing one right now?”

  “I’d love to, but there might be issues with royalties.”

  “Royalties as in King von Habsburg of Austria?”

  “Er, no. Royalties as in usage-based payments made by a licensor to a licensee for use of an ongoing asset—the asset, in this instance, being a song lyric—sometimes, for instance, an intellectual property that…”

  Under her breath, Mother Zombie said, “Know-it-all bitch.”

  Maria cupped her ear. “Excuse me?”

  “Nothing. Go on about this singing.”

  “There isn’t anything more to go on about. I sing corny songs that have very little to do with what’s going on around me. Also, they do very little to advance the plot.”

  “What’s this plot business that everybody’s talking about?”

  Maria disregarded her, and again changed the subject. “And I’ve been having many a disagreement with Zombie Sister Brandi, who has taken to calling me a whore.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “But I’ve taken to yanking off her arm before our disagreement has even started, because I know I’ll eventually get to that anyhow.”

  Mother Zombie turned around and banged her head against the wall. And then she did it again. And again. Then, with her back still turned to the Vampire, she said, “Maria, when you saw us over the Abbey wall and longed to be one of us, did you not realize we were zombies?”

  “Of course I realized it. But you’re undead, and I’m undead, and I believed the undead can live together in harmony, regardless of how they were killed then reanimated. I was mistaken, of course—Zombies are scum and Vampires are beautiful, and the two genera can’t cohabitate without the disdain boiling over into outright hatred—but I believe that after six centuries, I’m finally learning how to co-exist with you vile creatures.”

  “We find you equally vile, Maria.” She spun around. “And while vileness is an essential part of our lives here at the Abbey, and while we have come to tolerate your presence, enough is enough. It is time for you to be gone.”

  “Oh, no, Mother Zombie! I beg you, don’t do that! Don’t cast me away! I belong here in my feces-smelling home. You’re my ghastly family. It’s my entire life, er, my entire undeath.”

  “Life is unfair, Maria, and undeath, even more so. Perhaps if you go out into the mortal world for a time, you’ll have a chance to find out if you’re worthy of being in the eternal company of Zombiekind, to see if you have the capacity to truly live your life under Zombie Law. There’s a brood near Salzburg in need of a Governess. You’ll be taking care of seven mortal children. How do you feel about kids, Maria?”

  “They have stringy necks, but they generally taste sweeter than adults. The combination of innocence and premature death makes for a well-nigh irresistible dessert.”

  “For us, for Zombies, children’s brains, while tasty, are useless. The sourness of their taste mitigates any worth they might have. But that’s neither here nor there. I’ll alert Captain Georg von Trapp that you’ll be at his doorstep posthaste. The Captain is a widower, and his children are, well, let’s just say that the von Trapps have had trouble keeping their Governesses. It’s a problem.”

  “That’s good to hear, Mother Zombie, because nobody fixes problems like Maria.”

  Mother Zombie shoved her out of the office. “That isn’t what I heard.” As Maria skittered away, Mother Zombie yelled, “One piece of advice, Vampire Sister: When you enter mortal society, don’t go Edelweissing anybody!”

  Maria called back, “Never, Mother Zombie! Never. I must get dressed. I made myself some new cat suits! Red ones, and blue ones, and yellow ones, and purple ones!”

  “Fantastic,” Mother Zombie mumbled, rubbing her temples as if this scene would never end.

  After returning to her chambers, Maria tried on cat suit after cat suit after cat suit, each more ill-fitting, badly-sewn and horribly-colored than the last. Finally—believing that an ill-fitting, badly sewn, and horribly colored cat suit would make a bad first impression on Captain von Trapp and his brood—she tore the new outfits to shreds and donned one of her reliable black numbers, as well as a floppy hat that she had sewn in 1832, but had not seen the light of day since. The chapeau was musty, dusty, and odiferous, and thusly, Maria believed, a piece of clothing that would make the von Trapps realize she was a force to be reckoned with. (Most Vampires have a wonderful feel for style, and would realize that a musty, dusty, odiferous hat would repel any human being within smelling distance, but after decades of living with Zombies, Maria’s fashion sense had evaporated.)

  The Vampire then packed up her suitcase and her tenor saxophone—that’s correct, dear reader, our Maria was the only sax-toting Vampire in all of Europe—then trudged toward the Abbey’s exit, irked that nary a soul was waiting to bid her adieu. Maria snarled, “Those petty Zombies don’t even have the courtesy to say goodbye. They shall feel my wrath when I return home. And I’ll return. After I prove myself to be the best Governess I can be, Mother Zombie will have no choice but to invite me back.” She then touched the wrought iron gate and whispered, “When the Devil closes a door, somewhere he opens a window, and shoves somebody right on out of it, and into the fires of Hölle. Am I worthy of being shoved? Shall I be burnt to a crisp in said righteous fire? What does a burning Vampire smell like? Ah, questions, questions, questions. But the main question is, how the fick am I supposed to get to this guy’s house?”

  She stepped through the Abbey’s gate, and into the real world, homeless for the first time in centuries … and, much to her surprise and chagrin, the tiniest bit frightened. So Maria did what she did when she needed comforting and there were no human necks around to suck on: She unsheathed her sax.

  After Maria attached the mouthpiece, she cleared her throat and blew a loud F-sharp that broke every window within a three-block radius. She mumbled an inaudible apology to the neighbors—which, had it been audible, would be called insincere at best, and a pile of Zombie excrement at worst—after which she blew a series of arpeggios that would have knocked saxophone inventor Adolphe Sax onto his Belgian backside. She held another F-sharp that grew louder, and louder, and louder, then, right as she ran out of breath, several tendrils of smoke escaped from the instrument’s bell. The tendrils then weaved themselves into a braid, and the braid began to take shape. As it grew taller and wider, its shape became that of a human being, a male, to be precise, a black male, a stocky black male with close-cropped hair, wide eyes, and thick, sensual lips.

  Maria dropped her saxophone and gave the man a through once-over, taking in his regal chest, his large fingers, and his impeccably pressed tan suit. H
er stomach fluttered, and it took all of her restraint to keep from fondling her lady-parts. She reverentially whispered, “Come to mama, Chocolate Thunder.”

  As the man floated to the Earth, he said, “Excuse me, young Vampiress?”

  Clearing her throat, Maria said, “Nothing. Dare I ask, what are you?”

  The man favored Maria with a warm smile. “Not what, young Vampiress—who.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “John Coltrane, at your service.”

  She gave this John Coltrane character a closer examination, then leered, “I hope you can be at my service, my thick ebony saxophone spirit. No, let me rephrase that: I hope you can service me. If you get what I’m saying.”

  “I know exactly what you are saying, young Vampiress; I’m a spirit, not a eunuch. But as a spirit, I don’t have the means to, um, service humans.”

  Maria sighed. “That’s unfortunate.” She picked up her saxophone from the ground and licked her mouthpiece. “Since you can’t be of service, I must ask you to take your leave. I have no time to dilly-dally. I’m off to see the wizard.”

  “The wizard?”

  “Oh, apologies, wrong musical. I’m off to begin my new job … no, my new life … no, my new undeath.”

  John Coltrane frowned. “That’s truly unfortunate, because we need to talk. I believe you have some questions, and I might be able to offer you some answers.” He ran his index finger up and down Maria’s saxophone—causing her to again shiver—and said, “How about you pack that thing up and we’ll go on a walk. Or even a skip.”

  “A skip?”

  “Yes, Maria. A skip.”

  Saxophone safe in its case, John Coltrane took Maria’s hand and the two skipped down the street, nary a word spoken between them. They skipped for miles and miles, Maria’s foul hat flopping in the breeze, its otherworldly stench leaving dozens of birds dead in its wake.

  Maria said, “This skipping business is ridiculous, John Coltrane. I look like a fool. I can transform into a bat and fly, you know.”

  “Be quiet, little girl. I want to skip, so we’re going to skip, and you’re going to like it.” His voice took on a menacing tone. “Now clam up unless you want me to stick that saxophone where the sun never shines.”

  She licked her lips and said, “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep.”

  Finally, after thirty-plus kilometers of silence, Maria spoke up: “What will my future be, oh dashing spectre? I’m about to enter a new and exciting phase of my undeath. I should be excited to go out into the world, to be free, to have my choice of beings to feed upon. My fangs should be gushing with excitement, yet they remain dry. What’s wrong with me?”

  “You’re an Austrian Vampire, Maria. The list of things wrong with you is long.”

  Ignoring John Coltrane, Maria said, “From the moment I became what I’ve become, I’ve dreamed of having adventures—adventures such as killing the Pope during a Sunday mass, or having intimate relations with a large-breasted sixteen-going-on-seventeen-year-old girl—but I’ve never brought these dreams to reality.”

  “That’s probably for the best, Vampiress.”

  “That’s your opinion. But the point is, if I consider these dreams, then my soul—my inner-self—has the courage to consider anything, and if I have the courage to consider anything, I could…”

  John Coltrane interrupted, “Apparently what you lack, Maria, is confidence.”

  “Confidence?”

  “You have plenty of courage—you couldn’t have survived in that hellacious Abbey for as long as you did without it—but here you’re in the outside world, all alone, all by yourself, and you’re scared. You have doubts…”

  “Do not.”

  “… and worries…”

  “Nuh unh.”

  “… and you must seek for what you lack.”

  “I lack nothing!” She paused thoughtfully, then said, “No, John Coltrane, you’re correct. I lack the fortitude to serve them with assurance.”

  “Vampiress, the truth is that servitude is a two-way street. The responsibility isn’t entirely yours.”

  “It’s my responsibility to own up to my mistakes without argument.”

  John Coltrane frowned. “Your only responsibilities are to keep those von Trapp brats out of prison, and to learn to play your tenor sax in tune. And to maybe take up soprano sax, while you’re at it.”

  Maria ignored him. “It’s my responsibility to show them I’m worthy.”

  “Worthy of what?” John Coltrane asked.

  “Worthy of their respect.”

  “Maria, you have murdered 19,216,145 people…”

  “19,216,146,” she corrected.

  “Right, 19,216,146. No mortal will respect you, and justifiably so. You don’t deserve respect. Just fear. And, some would say, a stake in the heart…”

  “That stake in the heart business is a laughable myth.”

  “Fine. Then a stake in your lady-parts.”

  Maria said, “Leave my lady-parts out of this, Chocolate Thunder…” She flicked her left nipple. “… unless you intend to, um, peruse them.”

  “No perusal,” John Coltrane said. “We must continue examining the confidence issue.”

  Full of false bravado, Maria puffed up her chest and bared her fangs. “I ooze confidence, John Coltrane…”

  He gestured to the reddish liquid dribbling from her teeth. “You sure are oozing something.”

  Clapping her hands, Maria said, “Oh, hoorah, my fangs gush anew.” She gave John Coltrane yet another lascivious look. “Looks like you got me wet, spectre.”

  John Coltrane shook his head sadly. “Can we get back to this confidence business? My time here grows short.”

  “Okay, fine, so like I was saying, let them bring on all their problems,” she said. “I’ll do better than my best…”

  He gestured at her bloodstains on her chin. “Looks like you’re already doing better than your best.”

  “… and I have confidence they’ll put me to the test!”

  “If you have confidence, if you really have confidence, then I’ve done my job here. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to reinhabit my mortal, living body. I’m late for a recording session with…”

  “But I’ll make them see I have confidence in me.”

  “Wonderful, Maria, just wonderful. Now that it’s well established that you have confidence…”

  “Somehow I’ll astonish them. Somehow.”

  Resigned, John Coltrane sighed, “Okay, Maria. I’ll bite. How will you astonish them?”

  “Well, um, I’ll be … I’ll be … I’ll be…” She grinned and nodded. “… firm but kind!”

  “From what I’ve heard, you have never been kind in your entire life. Never.”

  “Have so.”

  “When?”

  “Well, um, okay, there was the time when I ripped off the head of a peasant farmer, then stitched it back on with a string made from hay.”

  After a pause, John Coltrane asked, “And that’s your definition of kindness?”

  “Well, it was kinder than the alternative.”

  “Which was?…”

  “Throwing his head into the pig pen. Which is what I usually do when I’m at a farm.”

  John Coltrane shook his head. “So what you’re saying to me is that because one time—one single time—you managed to restrain yourself from feeding one of your victims to a gaggle of swine, you have the temperament to be a proper Governess?”

  “You know what, Chocolate Thunder…”

  “I wish you would stop calling me that.”

  “… this isn’t about me, but rather the children. Ah, those kids, Hölle bless them, they will adore me!”

  “They’ll run from you, Maria.”

  “They’ll follow my instructions!”

  “They’ll attempt to drive a stake into your heart. And your lady-parts.”

  “Everything will turn out fine, John Coltrane. I have confidence.”

  John Coltrane shook hi
s head and mumbled to himself, “Man, this confidence thing was a bad idea. If she says confidence one more time, I swear…”

  “I have confidence!” Maria cried. “Confidence the world can all be mine! Confidence in clouds! Confidence in tornados! Confidence in eternal winter! Confidence in Hölle!” She gave John Coltrane a penetrating look in his eyes. “And it’s clear, Chocolate Thunder, that you’re now able to see I have confidence in me.”

  “You mean confidence in myself.”

  “What?”

  “Grammatically speaking, you should say I have confidence in myself rather than I have confidence in me.”

  “Tell that to that jerk Hammerstein,” Maria mumbled.

  “Why bother?” Coltrane said. “There’s no talking to that guy.”

  “Tell me about it. In any event, the point I’m making here is that I have confidence in confidence alone.”

  “Then, to repeat, I’ve done my job.” Under his breath, he added, “Thank Gott. I can’t wait to get away from this neurotic whore.” Then, in full voice, said, “Well, Vampiress, it looks like we have arrived.”

  What with all of her incessant babbling about confidence, Maria didn’t notice how far she and the spectre had skipped. “Already?”

  “Already,” John Coltrane agreed, gesturing at the beautiful white mansion in front of which they stood.

  Maria peered through the wrought-iron gate, then, after taking in the perfectly manicured front lawn, the pristine brick, and the flawless architecture of the von Trapp residence, she whispered, “Goodness, this sure as scheisse is an improvement over the Abbey.”

  John Coltrane’s body began to evaporate. “Goodbye, Maria. You may see me again in a couple of chapters. Or maybe not. I may be too obscure of a reference to be invited back into the story. I understand I will make it into the epilogue, but beyond that, one never knows.”

  “Wait, John Coltrane, wait! Before you go back into my saxophone, answer me this: Why is it you who have come to me in the night, and skipped with me in the day, and given me confidence, and set my loins on fire. Why you?”

  John Coltrane smiled an inscrutable smile. “Atlantic Records, catalog number 1361.”