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

by Alan Goldsher

  “Oh, for the love of Gott, enough with the crappy break-up clichés, just say it: You want to fick the nanny.” She shook her head. “Typical middle-aged Austrian male behavior. You turn fifty, and you want the fast cars—cars that go thirty kilometers per hour, perhaps even forty—and the young women…”

  “Maria is many centuries old.”

  “You know what, Georg,” the Baroness said, donning her negligee, “you can have her. And you know what else? I was going to leave you anyhow, but you beat me to the punch. I don’t need you, or your money, or your brats, or your schvantz. And you know why? Because I get all the schvantz I need from Max Detweiler.”

  The Captain nodded. “So I’ve heard.”

  Elsa blinked. “He told you?”

  “Of course he did. Bros before hoes.”

  “What before what?”

  “Forget it. You were saying?…”

  “What I was saying was, good-bye.”

  As Baroness Elsa Schrader sashayed out the door, von Trapp took one more appreciative look at her backside, then forgot what she looked like immediately after he turned his attention back to the Vampire by the lake.

  CHAPTER 9

  THE NIGHT WAS CHILLY, but Maria was toasty, so toasty that she slipped out of her cat suit and tiptoed into the lake to cool off. What with the water being so freezing, she only went up to her ankles. (One might wonder how or why freezing water would bother a being whose body pumped ice-cold blood. Well, one best not ask too many questions, lest one wants to suffer the wrath of the Vampire community.)

  A quiet voice from behind whispered, “Hello.”

  Startled, Maria spun around, bared her fangs, hissed, and lunged toward whoever or whatever had crept up upon her. Fortunately for our story, the Captain stumbled on a pebble and fell down on his rump, so Maria missed biting his neck by a mere sixteen centimeters.

  Once she got a gander at who she had almost killed, she was despondent. “Oh Captain, my Captain,” she said, “I apologize ever so much.”

  Von Trapp stood up, brushed himself off, and said, “I’ve been watching you from my balcony, Maria.”

  Maria liked that. She asked, “Was there something you were watching for in particular?”

  He rubbed his temples and then, with his eyes seemingly adjusted to the dark, noticed her naked body. “I, um, I, um, I, um…” He pointed to the ground. “Might I sit down?”

  “Well, being that you own this land, sir, you may do as you please.” Maria noted that the Captain wasn’t eyeing her body, which at once pleased her (What a gentleman!) and upset her (Does he not like my rack?).

  Once the Captain got himself into a comfortable position in the sand, he said, “You have not told me the true reason you left us and returned to the Abbey.”

  “Well,” Maria fudged, “you see, there’s only so long one can go without being in the presence of Zombies. They’re such lovely, loving creatures, and as welcoming as you all have been, there’s little more gratifying in this world than a Zombie hug.”

  “Is that the truth?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Alright. Then why did you leave the Abbey and return to us?”

  “Easy: I missed the children.”

  “My children?” he asked, incredulous. “Those brats? Nobody misses my children.” After she didn’t respond, he added, “Is there anything else you missed?”

  Maria looked at his neck, and wondered how he would taste. Probably like yearning, heartbreak, old money, and booze, she thought. “What I missed doesn’t matter.” She stood and walked back toward the water. “All I want is the best for you and your family. But I’m sure you’ll be fine, what with your future wife, Mrs. Baroness von Succu-Trapp taking care of you.”

  Hoisting himself up off the ground, the Captain said, “There isn’t going to be a Mrs. Baroness von Succu-Trapp.”

  “Wait, what?” she asked, unconsciously wading into the water.

  The Captain pulled off his shoes, socks, and trousers, then joined her in the lake. “The Baroness and I have called off our engagement.”

  Maria blinked. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

  “Are you?” the Captain asked, his teeth chattering.

  “Of course I am. As I said, all I want is what’s best for the von Trapps, and if the best means that you marry that … that … that…” She trailed off, then, after a deep breath, roared, “Baroness Schrader is a scum-sucking wench, and the sight of her fills my stomach with bile, and my undead soul with disgust, and I want to send her to the Tenth Ring of Hölle, a Ring reserved for gold-digging sex addicts, a Ring where she would live all eternity with a red-hot poker buried in her backside, which is exactly, exactly, exactly what the scum-sucking wench deserves!” She paused, then added, “That said, I’m sure you two would have been very happy together.”

  “No, we wouldn’t have been happy, as I have eyes for another.”

  “You do?”

  He took a step toward her. “I do.”

  “And that person would be?…”

  He took another step, gently touched her cheek, leaned in, and parted his lips ever-so-slightly. Before their mouths met, he said, “Could we get the fick out of this lake? The shrinkage situation could prove to be problematic.”

  Once they were back on dry land, they kissed, and it was as magical as Maria could have hoped: Lips mashing lips, tongues wrestling tongues, teeth colliding with fangs. When they came up for air some five minutes later, the Captain asked, “Is that why you came back?”

  “No,” she said, “this is why I came back,” then she cupped his man-parts through his undershorts. After a moment, she said, “Goodness, you weren’t kidding about the shrinkage.”

  “Give me a second here, Maria. I’m not as young as I used to be.” When his man-parts finally became properly engorged some forty minutes later, he said, “Oh, can this be happening to me?”

  She squeezed him tightly, and asked, “Why would it not be happening to you?”

  Breathing heavier by the second, he said, “Well, Maria, I had a wicked childhood. I had a miserable youth.”

  “Is this really the time to discuss your childhood?” Maria asked, her lady-parts singing an aria of their own.

  “Of course it isn’t.” He gently touched her breast, then added, “Here you are, standing there, loving me, whether or not you should. At some point in the past, I must have done something good.”

  She squeezed his ever-growing man-parts. “I know that in the present, you’re doing something good, alright.”

  Legs wobbling, he asked Maria, “Do you know when I first started loving you?” Maria shook her head. “That time in the ballroom, when we were projectile vomiting.”

  “Ah, good times, good times. Do you know when I first started loving you?”

  “I don’t.”

  “When you first berated me for breaking your whistle.” After another squeeze, she whispered into his ear, “I like being berated. That’s something I’d like to explore with you further.” The Captain shuddered as his man-parts exploded in glee, after which Maria rinsed her hand in the lake and said, “I guess the shrinkage problem is a problem no more.”

  The Captain jumped into the lake and dived underwater, oblivious to the cold. When he came up for air, he said, “Obviously it will be difficult to track down your parents, so is there anybody who I should ask for your hand in marriage?”

  Maria said, “Mother Zombie would be the logical choice, but she isn’t exactly what you would call a fanatic of the human race, so I don’t want to go down that particular road just yet. But you know who we should ask? The brats.”

  Nodding, the Captain said, “You’re probably right. But what if they say no?”

  “Than I shall turn their undeath into death.”

  “You can do that?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  The Captain grinned. “Works for me.”

  In order to keep the story from stalling, the brats immediately gave the union their blessing,
so, just like that, Vampire Sister Maria of the Salzburg Zombie Abbey and Captain Georg von Trapp of the Salzburg von Trapps were officially engaged, after which the Captain set a wedding date for the following evening, again to keep the story from stalling. Being that it was impossible to find a proper venue for such an event on such short notice, Maria suggested they get married at the one place in Salzburg she knew wouldn’t be booked: The Abbey.

  “There?” Liesl asked during an impromptu meeting of the von Trapp women. “Really?”

  “It’s ideal,” Maria explained, “full of history, and statues, and dust, and Zombie discharge.”

  “That sounds awful, Governess,” Farta said.

  Maria patted Farta’s hair. “Never you fear, my dear. I shall make sure the discharge is cleaned from their floor in time for the wedding.”

  Liesl asked, “More importantly, will you make sure that the Zombies don’t make a meal of our brains? Our yummy, yummy Vampire brains?”

  “I shall do my best,” Maria said, “but I offer no guarantees.”

  Louisa said, “I suppose I can live with that…” Cocking a thumb at Gretl, she continued, “… so long as she enters the building first.”

  Before the annoying little insect could launch into a treatise about how simple it is to survive a Zombie attack, Maria said, “The only person who might eat somebody’s brain on my wedding night would be Kurt, because, as we all know, the little porker will eat anything. But I shall make sure that he has been properly fed.” She clapped once, then said, “Now let’s begin the beginning of the wedding montage!”

  And what a beginning of a wedding montage it was! All 173 Zombies from the Abbey—as well as several from the Abbey’s Vienna franchise—were in attendance, as was a small contingency of Vampires from Romania, none of whom Maria had ever met in her life (Vampires are always game for a good party, even if they know neither the bride nor the groom.), as was John Coltrane, there strictly for symmetry’s sake. (Like all comedians know, comedy comes in threes, and to this point, he has appeared in only two chapters. Plus, as most are aware, jazz musicians never turn down free food.)

  Maria’s dress was a sight to behold: The top was identical to her favorite cat suit in color (black) and cut (tight), but the bottom was unlike anything Maria had ever worn in either her life or her undeath. The shiny black crinoline—which matched the cat suit-like portion of the dress to a “T”—billowed into an ornate dome that covered the bride’s shapely legs. The gown’s heavy train was seven meters long, and required the help of five zombies to carry down the aisle. (Mother Zombie picked her five speediest minions to handle the task, which she hoped would mean that the march to the altar would end before sunrise.) The processional—maid of honor Liesl, followed by flower girls Farta and Gretl, followed by best man Max, followed by the semi-sober bridegroom, followed by the nervous bride—staggered down the aisle, sickened by the sight of the wedding guests. (Haters of most everything human, the Zombies felt the exact same way.)

  Once the wedding party was arranged in proper order beneath the statue of The Being Whose Name Shall Not Be Uttered, Mother Zombie stepped to the pulpit, gave the bridal party a loving look, then said, “We’re gathered here today to answer one question: How do you solve a problem like Maria?”

  Maria said, “Excuse me?”

  Ignoring her, Mother Zombie continued. “When I first laid eyes upon this Vampire all those centuries ago, I asked myself, how do you find a cloud and pin it down? The answer to that is, of course, you can’t. Does anybody know why?”

  Gretl raised her tiny hand and said, “A cloud is a visible mass, but not a tangible mass. In other words, you can see it, but you can’t touch it. Well, that isn’t exactly the truth: You can touch it, but you can’t feel it, because—since it’s composed entirely of water droplets and/or frozen ice crystals—there isn’t anything to feel. And if there isn’t anything to feel, there isn’t anything to pin down.”

  Mother Zombie beamed. “That’s exactly how I’d have put it, little girl, exactly. Well answered.”

  Gretl whispered to Farta, “I like her.”

  Farta whispered back, “Do shut up, Gretl.”

  “When I got to know her a bit better,” Mother Zombie continued, “I asked myself, How do you find a word that means Maria? Well, we at the Abbey came up with three: Flibbertijibbet—which means whore, will-o’-the wisp—which is another kind of whore, and clown—which, of course, means clown.”

  “Wait a minute,” Maria said.

  “As I look out into this chapel, I ask you, is there something you would like to say to her?”

  In unison, the Zombies yelled, “Whore!”

  Maria said, “Hold on a second.”

  “As I look out into this chapel, I ask you, do you feel there’s something she ought to understand.”

  Again: “Whore!”

  “Come on, guys,” Maria said, “this is my wedding.”

  “But now, as I look at the human faces we have with us—faces that look quite dinner-worthy—I know the answer. I know how to solve a problem like Maria.” Mother Zombie paused, fixed the audience with a steely gaze, then said, “You marry her off to a rich mortal. Problem solved.”

  Maria said, “Thank you, Mother Zombie. That was nice. Sort of.”

  “The pleasure is mine, dear. Now, by the power invested in me by me, I pronounce you mortal husband and Vampire wife.” Maria closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss her new husband—who, for some reason, was slumping over, or at least seemed to be noticeably shorter—but before her lips made contact with her betrothed, Mother Zombie roared, “Stop! Don’t engage in such foulness in our Abbey! Kissing horrifies us, so if you want to see a roomful of Zombies emit foul discharge from every orifice in their body, I’d keep your mouths to yourselves.”

  So Maria, eyes still shut, reached out her arm and squeezed the hand of her betrothed … a hand that seemed small … and soft … and cold, cold, so very, very cold, as cold as that of a Vampire’s. She opened her eyes and stared at the face of her new husband: Friedrich von Trapp.

  Maria gasped, “Friedrich?… Where is Georg?… How did you?… I don’t understand…”

  Friedrich touched his finger to her lips and said, “Best not to ask too many questions. Best to just accept and embrace the fact that we’re now married. Best to cut to the remainder of the wedding montage.”

  And thus began the conclusion of the oddest, least romantic, most multi-orgasmic wedding montage in the history of wedding montages.

  INTERLUDE #4

  DRACULA HIT A BUTTON on his universal remote and turned the lights back on. “Okay, now that you’ve seen most of The Sound of Music, does this book make more sense?”

  “You know what makes sense to me, Drac?” Handsome Boy asked. “That this Goldsher character is doing the same thing that the Twilight lot is doing: Trying to entertain people while making a buck.”

  “You told us at the last meeting that Twilight wasn’t about money,” Brown Cape noted. “I thought you said it was pure and uncynical.”

  “Yeah, well you can watch the bottom line while you’re being pure and uncynical,” Handsome Boy said.

  “One,” Felt Face said. “I count one line of bullshit.”

  Brown Cape said to Felt Face, “You’re surprised? This limey bastard flip-flops like he’s Bill Clinton…”

  “Hey, lay off of Clinton,” Dracula said. “Best U.S. president since Kennedy.”

  “… and he’ll contradict himself to make some point that he disagreed with twenty minutes before.”

  “One,” Felt Face said. “I count one flip-flopper.”

  Handsome Boy grabbed his crotch and said, “Two. I count two bollocks you can suck.”

  “You know what?!” Dracula roared, “I give up! This is the worst book club I’ve ever been to in my entire existence, and I’ve had a long-ass existence, so I’ve been to a whole heap of book clubs. Screw it, I’m pulling the plug and joining Dave Frankenstein’s discussion group! Sure,
he’s a pretentious fop who sounds like an elitist jerk whenever he’s on NPR, but at least he reads the frickin’ books!” Dracula gestured at Felt Face and said, “Let’s go. I’ll drive you home,” then he nodded at Handsome Boy and Brown Cape and said, “Watch the rest of the movie or not. Read the rest of the book or not. I don’t give a crap. Just make sure you lock up on your way out.”

  After Dracula and Felt Face made their exit, the two remaining book clubbers stared at the door for a bit. Eventually Handsome Boy picked up Dracula’s copy of My Favorite Fangs and said, “You know what? This thing’s growing on me. Want to see how it ends?”

  “Why not? My cereal will keep for a while.”

  Handsome Boy put his arm over Brown Cape’s cartoony shoulders and said, “I’m sure it will, mate. I’m sure it will.”

  PART THREE

  CHAPTER 10

  IT WAS TWO WEEKS after Friedrich and Maria got hitched, and Max Detweiler was gawking at some drab buildings, some bright streetlights, and some empty kiosks, then said aloud, “Mein Gott. What the fick happened here?”

  “Here” was the town square where the Graz Gala of Gaiety had been held for the last five years, and “What the fick happened?” might better have been phrased as “Who the fick happened,” and that “Who” would refer to the Nazis. In Galas past, the square had been decorated with balloons, streamers, flowers, and a few incongruous piñatas. This year, however, it was all red flags with swastikas and crudely illustrated tributes to Adolf Hitler. Again aloud, Max said, “Call me crazy, call me nutty, call me kooky, but I don’t equate Hitler with the Gala of Gaiety.”

  Waiting to begin a run through of their performance—which Max had dubbed “Vampirecrobatics”—the von Trapp children were huddled up by the stage, looking ill at ease. Max wandered over and said, “What’s going on, brats? Why the glum faces?”

  Louisa said, “We’re not prepared for tonight, Herr Detweiler. My human-to-bat transformation is wonderful, but my bat-to-human won’t win us any prizes.”