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

by Alan Goldsher

  She buried her face in the Governess’s chest, took a deep inhale, then released a shuddery breath. “Mein Gott, Maria,” she moaned, “that was … that was … that was…”

  Maria nodded. “I know, darling. I know exactly what that was.” Again, she took the child by the chin and kissed her on the mouth. Liesl’s new fangs clacked against Maria’s ancient ones, their tongues intertwined, and their saliva mixed into a tasty stew. Maria then grabbed Liesl’s hands and pinned her wrists over her head. After she ended the kiss, she asked, “Did you like that, Miss von Trapp?”

  Liesl nodded eagerly.

  “Do you want more?”

  Another eager nod.

  “Then more you shall have.”

  For the next forty-nine minutes, more she did get.

  When the two Vampires returned to the dining room, Maria unfroze the children. If anybody noticed Liesl’s newly acquired pale complexion, they kept their mouth shut about it.

  Which Maria believed was best for everybody. At least for the time being.

  INTERLUDE #1

  DRACULA PEERED AROUND his living room, a disappointed look plastered on his pale mug. “I see three. There should be four. Where’s Big B.?”

  The short, felt-faced man with the black cape gazed at his friends, and counted, “One, two, three! I count three people!” He paused, then added, “I love to count things.”

  A handsome young man who bore a striking resemblance to the English thespian Robert Pattinson said, “We know, mate. You’ve mentioned that at every book club meeting we’ve had since 2002.” He then turned to Dracula and asked, “You didn’t hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “The Blademeister’s being investigated for tax evasion.”

  “If he didn’t buy so many damn pairs of sunglasses, he’d have enough money for Uncle Sam,” said a cartoony man with a brown cape.

  “Look who’s talking,” Dracula said. “If you didn’t buy so many damn boxes of cereal, you’d be able to get your car fixed, and I wouldn’t have to cart you all over the damn city. This is the kind of crap that makes book club a chore. I have to buy all the munchies, then pick you up, then lead the discussion, then drive you home, then come back here and clean up everybody’s mess. And you guys don’t even read the damn books.”

  Handsome Boy said, “Hey, I’ve read every single book, bloke.”

  “I’ve read two,” said Felt Face. “One, two. Two books.”

  Dracula asked, “Did any of you chumps read this one?”

  Brown Cape picked up the paperback, scanned the title, and said, “Who are the von Trapp Family Vampires?”

  “I guess that’s a no,” Dracula sighed.

  “I read it,” Handsome Boy said.

  “One,” Felt Face said. “I count one brown-noser.”

  Holding up his hands, Dracula said, “Okay, for those of you who didn’t read the damn thing, here’s the deal.” Dracula gave his fellow Vampires a synopsis of the first two chapters of My Favorite Fangs, then said, “At that point, I was on the fence. This melding of Vampire mythos, Broadway musical cheese, and gross-out humor is … I don’t know, it’s clever I guess, but I feel like the author could have come up with his own story.”

  “Drac, those first two chapters are insanely original,” Handsome Boy said. “It’s not like he took some public domain novel then slapped in a bunch of paranormal entities and called it a day. He clearly thought it through. Zombie nuns? Cat suits and Coltrane? That stuff is bloody genius, if you ask me. In my mind, he’s giving that Bram Stoker a run for his money.”

  Dracula bared his fangs and growled, “No dissing Stoker, haircut.”

  Handsome Boy held up his hands and said, “No diss, no diss. Just saying that based on two chapters, this is a solid book.”

  “It sounds like it has potential,” Brown Cape said, pulling a handful of brown cereal from his brown pocket. “Maybe I’ll actually give it a peek.”

  Sighing, Dracula said, “Dude, you say that every week, and every week, nothing. Okay, screw it, I’ll just give you idiots the Cliff’s Notes version. So it’s the next evening, and Liesl’s a Vampire, and the Captain’s hungover…”

  CHAPTER 3

  THE SHARP KNOCK at the front door roused the Captain from on the sofa. “Alfred,” he called, pulling himself up to standing, “door! Now!”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Snottily, Friedrich called from the back of the living room, “That’s right, Alfred! Get the door. Immediately!”

  The butler said, “That’s enough from you, Master Friedrich. I can make one phone call and have the Joker, the Penguin, and King Tut on you like brown on schnitzel.”

  Captain von Trapp grinned, said, “Ah, banter. Good one, Alfred,” and then plopped down onto his hindquarters.

  “Quite,” Alfred said, then opened the door and sneered at the teenage boy on the stoop. “Ah. Rolfe. Good evening. Wonderful to see you. As always.” His voice dripped with disdain.

  With his perfectly coiffed blond hair, his piercing blue eyes, and his strapping body, Rolfe was the Aryan ideal, a perfect candidate to join the Master Race. Alfred despised him. The Captain tolerated him. All the children found him to be a nuisance … except for Liesl, who wanted to do things to him.

  “Good evening, Alfred. Wonderful to see you, too. As always.” When Rolfe spoke, he tended to jut out his chin and clench his teeth together, which made him sound like a German version of Jay Gatsby, so much so that one expected him to end every other sentence with “old boy.” He continued, “Everything is copacetic, yes?”

  Alfred screwed up his face. “Copacetic?”

  “Yes, copacetic, old boy.” (There it is! He said it! Told you so!)

  “What’s supposed to be copacetic?”

  Rolfe looked nervously over his right shoulder, and then his left. “The thing,” he said.

  Alfred knew full well what the thing was, but what with having to deal with yesterday’s vomitous mess in the ballroom, he felt like messing with Rolfe’s head. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, young man.”

  Rolfe sighed. “The thing, Alfred, the thing.” He pointed at his pocket. “This thing.”

  Affecting a disgusted expression, Alfred said, “Young man, I’ll respectfully ask you to stop pointing at … your thing.”

  Rolfe’s pale cheeks reddened. “I’m not pointing at my thing. I’m pointing at the thing. Is the Captain available?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Is he, er, lucid?”

  “Doubtfully.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Absolutely…”

  “Thank you.”

  “… not.”

  Somewhat of a thin-skinned nancy-boy, Rolfe appeared as if he were about to cry. He reached into his pocket and said, “Can you at least give him the thing?”

  “I’m not touching your thing, Rolfe.”

  Rolfe stomped his foot like a little girl—as thin-skinned nancy-boys are wont to do—and said, “Not my thing.” He showed Alfred a telegram. “This thing. Tell him it’s about the thing.”

  Alfred took the paper and said, “Very good, young man. Good night.” Then he slammed the door in Rolfe’s face, squashing both his Aryan nose and his tender feelings.

  As any self-respecting nancy-boy would do, Rolfe screamed like a little girl.

  Alfred walked over to the sofa and showed Captain von Trapp the paper. “This came for you, sir.”

  “What is it?”

  “Look for yourself, sir.” He dropped it on the Captain’s lap. As the Captain peered at the communiqué, Alfred caught Maria’s eye, then mimed he was drinking, then squinched up his face in an approximation of drunken buffoonery.

  Maria winked at the butler, then ran her tongue over her lips, then blew him a kiss. Alfred hustled out of the room as if he had seen a ghost.

  Liesl ran after the old man; when she caught up with him, she tapped him rudely on the shoulder and asked, “Alfred, who delivered the telegram?”


  “The blond nancy-boy.”

  “You mean Rolfe?”

  “Do you know any other blond nancy-boys who deliver telegrams, Mistress Liesl?”

  Liesl said, “Do shut up, Alfred,” then stomped back to the living room.

  By the time she returned, the Captain was just finished up reading the note. He called, “Brats, fall in!” After the brood converged in a straight line, the Captain said, “Tomorrow morning, I will be leaving for Vienna. On a, um, business trip.”

  All at once, the children broke into heartfelt applause.

  Gretl said, “How long will you be gone, Father? I ask because at this time of year, the weather in Vienna can change at the drop of a hat. You see, the fluctuating temperature leads to an unstable barometric environment, which makes the atmosphere ripe for a weather event of some sort…”

  Louisa butted in: “Do shut up, Gretl.” She then asked her father, “Be honest with us for a change. These are not business trips, are they? You’re going to see the Baroness.”

  “Okay, fine, yes, Louisa, I’m going to see the Baroness, you’ve found me out, you’re so smart, blah blah blah, whatever.” He mopped his brow, then mumbled, “Brat.”

  “I heard that,” Louisa said.

  Farta asked, “Why doesn’t the Baroness come visit us? It’d be nice to meet the woman who’ll be replacing our dead, dead mother.”

  “She won’t be replacing…”

  Kurt said, “Father won’t bring her here because your ugly face would make her puke all over the ballroom.”

  Maria put a hand to her stomach and said, “Please, can we not talk about puking in the ballroom?”

  Ignoring the Governess, von Trapp said, “Shut it, Kurt. Okay, fine, I’m so confident that Farta’s ugly face will not cause the Baroness gastrointestinal distress that I’ll bring her home tomorrow.” He paused. “And speaking of gastrointestinal distress, I think Uncle Max will be joining us.”

  Friedrich roared, “Scheisse,” then ran into the kitchen, grabbed a plate, and threw it at his father’s head. Kurt followed suit … and then Louisa … and then Farta … and then whichever of those bratty von Trapp kids were left. Shards of plate were everywhere, and all the Captain could do was keep ducking and wait it out.

  In the ensuing commotion, Liesl slipped out the back door and headed to her favorite place in all of the world, the gazebo.

  Those who knew the von Trapp family always wondered why Georg’s children were so ill-behaved. Sure, one could point a finger at the drunk Father and the dead Mother. And sure, one could point a finger at the sense of entitlement that seemed so inborn to the offspring of the wealthy. But if one got a look at the entirety of the von Trapp’s property, one might tell the kids to get over it, because millions of children all over the world had it far, far worse.

  The garden, for instance, was a marvel: Trees that reached the sky; a contemporary-looking, glass-walled, well-lit gazebo; and the most lustrous flowers in all of Austria. (The secret to the flowers’ beauty? The garden was Kurt’s favorite place to urinate.)

  Before reaching the gazebo, Liesl decided to practice her human-to-bat transformation. She came to a stop under a big tree, then, after making certain she was unobserved, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, held her nose, and puffed up her cheeks as if she were trying to pop her ears.

  Nothing.

  She then bent forward and did a headstand, and recited the “Hail Mary” backwards.

  Nothing.

  She then did twenty push-ups … and they were “boy” push-ups, mind you.

  Nothing.

  She then rolled over on her back and let loose with a wordless scream.

  And there it was.

  As her female form morphed into that of an androgynous bat’s, Liesl’s human roar morphed into a rodent squeak, and next thing she knew, she was a hundred meters above the ground, flying as if she had been doing so her entire life. She spread her wings as far as she could, and executed a perfect barrel roll, and then another, and then another. The speed of her twirls doubled, trebled, and quadrupled until she was all but invisible against the black nighttime tableau.

  As she floated down toward the gazebo, she heard a rustle in the bushes, so, wanting to avoid detection, she touched down near a tree, and turned herself human again, a simple and speedy, yet disgusting process that’s far too vile to be described here. Suffice it to say it involves guano.

  Once rehumanized, Liesl peeked out from behind the tree, hoping to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that had the temerity to trespass upon the von Trapp property this late at night. Maybe this could be my first kill, she thought.

  She heard another rustle, then a crash, then a vaguely effeminate voice whisper, “Watch where you’re going, old boy. You’re going to kill yourself.”

  Liesl called, “Rolfe?”

  “Liesl? Is that you?”

  She revealed herself. “It’s me, Rolfe. I was hoping you would be here.”

  “And I just knew you would be here. I just knew it. I’ve been dreaming about your touch for days.”

  Liesl threw her arms around Rolfe’s neck and breathed, “Then touch me, you hot piece of Aryan beef. Touch me where you have always wanted to touch me. Touch me where you have never touched me before.”

  They kissed, but after a few seconds, Rolfe pulled away. “You feel different,” he said. “You … you … you taste different.”

  “Do I taste good?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And you like tasting me?”

  “I suppose.”

  “And you came here to taste me.”

  “I suppose.”

  “If you were to send me a telegram saying how much you want to taste me, what would it say?”

  Rolfe pulled himself from Liesl’s embrace. “Hmm. That’s putting me on the spot. Wow. Um. I have no idea where to even begin.”

  “You can begin by telling me how beautiful I am, dunderhead.”

  “Right. Okay. Dear Liesl. Stop. You’re beautiful. Stop.” And then he stopped.

  She stared at the nervous young man. “And that’s the best you can do?”

  “Um, I guess not.”

  “Good. Tell me what you think my most attractive feature is.”

  “Okay. Starting again from the top. Dear Liesl. Stop. You’re beautiful. Stop. Especially your eyes. Stop. They’re especially beautiful. Stop.”

  “That’s a little bit better. What do you think about my mouth?”

  “It’s the most kissable mouth in all of Austria. Stop.”

  “And my ears?”

  “They’re the prettiest little ears I’ve ever seen. Stop.”

  “And my breasts?”

  Rolfe gulped. “I have not seen your breasts, Liesl. You know that.”

  “Do you want to?” she purred.

  Again, he gulped. “Of course.”

  Liesl took Rolfe’s hand and pulled him toward the gazebo. “I want you to see me in the light,” she said.

  All Rolfe could do was gurgle.

  After they stepped into the glass enclosure, Liesl gave Rolfe a strong shove—Rolfe seemed surprised at just how strong it was—and he tumbled onto the bench. She said, “Don’t take your eyes off of me.”

  All Rolfe could do was gurgle.

  She undid one button of her sailor suit, then the next, then the next, and so on, until it slid off of her body and she was only covered by her bra and panties. She stepped toward Rolfe and said, “Go ahead. Touch me. Wherever you want.”

  He said, “Anywhere?”

  Liesl removed her bra. “Anywhere.” (It must be noted here that in Austria, in the last revolting days of the thirties, it was legal for sixteen-year-olds who were going on seventeen to engage in sexual congress. Not only was it legal—it was encouraged.) Rolfe stood up, put his arms around her waist, then buried his face in her neck. She said, “I’m surprised you didn’t go for my breasts, but this is still a good start.”

  Rolfe said something that she couldn’t unde
rstand, then he began licking her neck. His tongue was thick and strong, and she couldn’t help but grab his throbbing man-part. After she gave it a less-than-gentle tug, he pulled away from her and asked, “What’s that?”

  Exasperated, Liesl said, “That’s me squeezing you where I thought you might want to be squeezed, dunderhead.”

  “No. What’s that on your neck?”

  She touched the spot where Maria had given her the transformative Vampire kiss. “What, this? It’s nothing. Probably some acne.”

  Rolfe nodded, then grabbed her by the waist, jerked her body into his, and sniffed the tiny red mark. “That isn’t some acne, Liesl.” He pushed her away. “Do me a favor. Smile.”

  Liesl blinked. “Smile? Okay, if you insist.” She turned up the corners of her mouth in the approximation of a grin, careful not to reveal her fangs.

  With a never-before-heard sense of manliness in his voice, Rolfe said, “Show me your teeth, Liesl.” His eyes thinned, his erection softened, and his voice dropped to a menacing whisper. “Show me your teeth now.”

  In an attempt to distract him she said, “Did you know that in Austria, it’s legal for a sixteen-year-old to fornicate? Being that I’m sixteen going on seventeen, I’m legal. If we get caught making love, we wouldn’t be in serious trouble; for that matter, we would be celebrated, so we don’t have to wait. I want you to … to … to write on my page with your pearl ink, because I’m on the brink, Rolfe, the brink, and I know that you know what I mean by on the brink. Despite what you or others may think, I’m not unprepared to face a world of men. Some would have you believe that I’m as innocent as a rose, but that’s far from the truth. I know things about bachelor dandies and drinkers of brandies that you wouldn’t believe. Some might say that I need somebody older and wiser, but trust me, Rolfe, I’m as wise as any of you. So I say bring on the eager young cads! Bring on the roués and the cads! I’m canny, and I’m wise … and I know how to make you feel good. Really, really good.” She peeked at his crotch to see if she had gotten through to him.