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

by Alan Goldsher

  Friedrich said, “You have got that right, sister dear. Mine is perfect in both directions, but the rest of you are going to mess it up for all of us. How can we synchronize our transformation if you have no control? It’s all about control.”

  Kurt said, “You may be ready to go with transformation, Friedrich, but your centrifugal force is down significantly. You don’t move as fast as even Farta. Talk about blowing the synchronicity.”

  Liesl said, “Can we just eat the judges and go home?” Pointing at the biggest of the Nazi flags, she said, “Because I don’t like the looks of this one bit.”

  “Apologies, kids,” Max said, “but we’re committed. If we pull out, we’ll…”

  He was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. “What’s this about pulling out, Herr Detweiler?”

  Max turned around and found himself face-to-chest with Colonel Wilde von Beckbaw, who was decked out in his best Nazi finery. “Oh. You. Good morning.”

  Von Beckbaw’s arm popped up in a Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler.”

  Max’s arm popped up and he scratched his cheek, mumbling, “Heil my schvantz.”

  “Apologies, Herr Detweiler,” von Beckbaw glowered, “but my hearing seems to be going. Probably all that time I spend on the radio. Did you know I have a radio show?”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Quite. In any event, could you repeat what you just said, please?”

  At the top of his lungs, Max roared, “HEIL MY SCHVANTZ!”

  Von Beckbaw stared at Max. Max stared at von Beckbaw. After a tense minute, von Beckbaw burst out laughing. “Oh, Herr Detweiler, always the jokester, just like my good friend, Herr Stern. And your timing couldn’t be better. I need a chuckle, because this Gala of Gaiety is lacking gaiety. I hear there are Vampires on the premises, and you know how we feel about Vampires.”

  Gesturing to the kids, Max said, “You knew we were going to be here, Colonel von Beckbaw, so don’t act surprised. You should be thrilled the brats came. Best act of the night. I guarantee victory.” He paused. “Or would you like us to leave? We’ll gladly be on our way, but that will leave the show about fifteen minutes short, and we all know how much Herr Hitler likes his punctuality. I can hear him now: ‘The trains run on time, but a gala doesn’t?! Kill von Beckbaw!’”

  Von Beckbaw sniffed. “He wouldn’t kill me. Der Fuhrer is a benevolent dictator who would never, never murder one of his men, especially one who does such a good job recruiting for the party. Castration, maybe, but not murder.” Glaring at the children, he said, “Fine, they can perform. But I can’t be held responsible for the audience reaction.”

  Max said, “We’ll take our chances. Now if you’ll excuse us…”

  “One more thing before I leave you to your duties, Herr Detweiler,” the Colonel said. “Have you been to Captain von Trapp’s house lately?”

  “Why?”

  “I was curious if he’d done up those Nazi arts and crafts I’d suggested. Maybe a macaroni Hitler head, or a swastika made from sticks and feathers. Why, even a crayon drawing of me would suffice. All he has on display in there is that hideous Austrian flag. It makes me shudder.” And then, as if to prove his point, he shuddered.

  “The Captain is away celebrating Friedrich’s honeymoon, Colonel von Beckbaw.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “Friedrich pulled a switcheroo at the altar, but the bride chose to spend her post-wedding week with Captain von Trapp.” Max cocked his thumb at Friedrich, who was playing a game of pocket pool, a dreamy look plastered on his face. “Can you blame her?”

  Ignoring Friedrich, von Beckbaw leered, “Georg is one lucky duck, bagging the Baroness. That girl oozes Aryanism, if you know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  “Conservatively speaking, I’d make her scream liberally, if you know what I mean.”

  “Again, I know what you mean.”

  “I’d love to park my blue state in her red state, if you know…”

  “Okay, okay, okay, Wilde. I get it.” Figuring it would be pointless to not mention that von Trapp had broken ties with the Succubus, Max said, “You’re correct, though. The Captain is a lucky duck, indeed. Now please go. We must prepare.”

  Ignoring Max, von Beckbaw asked, “When will the Captain return?”

  “No idea. He’s M.I.A. Radio silence.”

  “I can’t fault him there. If I were with that luscious piece of arsch, I too would remain out of contact with the rest of the world. When he returns, tell him I expect to see him wearing that nice von Beckbaw t-shirt. If not, there will be consequences.”

  “Is that so? What kind of consequences?”

  “My American counterparts tell me that there’s a trend in the States in which one takes a scoop of dog scheisse, places it in a paper bag, leaves it on the victim’s front stoop, and sets it on fire. The beauty of this is when the victim stamps out the fire, his foot will be covered with…”

  “I get it, Colonel von Beckbaw,” Max said. “Nazi ingenuity never fails to impress.”

  “Yes, quite,” von Beckbaw said. “So we shall see you tonight. All there’s to say now is farewell, and…” Another Nazi salute. “… Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!” Von Beckbaw then goosestepped across the square, knocking over a mere three pedestrians.

  Max shook his head, then turned to the kids and said, “Alright, brats, we must go home.”

  “No run-through?” Kurt asked.

  “No, chunky butt. We shall be spontaneous! We shall improvise! Our talent will win out! Singers, instrumentalists, and magicians, beware: The von Trapp family Vampires are coming to get you! Now, in the car, brats.”

  All the kids, save for Liesl, piled into Max’s brown jalopy. Right as Liesl was about to step through the door, a tall blond man in a brown S.S. uniform tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Good afternoon, Miss Liesl von Trapp, Vampire.”

  Liesl turned around. “Good afternoon, Rolfe Mueller, Private in the Nazi Undeath Squad.”

  Louisa poked her head out the window. “What’s the Nazi Undeath Squad?”

  “Never mind,” Liesl said. “If you’ll excuse us, me and Rolfie have to have a chat.” She walked ten meters from the car; Rolfe followed.

  Rolfe said, “I haven’t forgotten our night at the gazebo.”

  “Nor have I,” Liesl said.

  “It was a revelatory moment for me.”

  “As it was for me.”

  “I look forward to a repeat performance.”

  “As do I.”

  “The ending, however, shall not be the same.”

  “No, it shall not,” Liesl hissed. “It shall be worse for you. Much, much worse.”

  Rolfe made a fist and snarled, “If we weren’t preparing for the Gala of Gaiety, I’d perform right here.”

  She pointed at his crotch. “Somehow I doubt that.”

  Still snarling, Rolfe pulled an envelope from his pocket and threw it at Liesl; it bounced harmlessly off of her chest and fell to the ground. “Give this to your traitor of a father when he returns from his vacation. And tell him we left a little gift for him at your house.”

  Liesl asked, “How do you know he’s on vacation?”

  “The Nazi party is all-knowing and all-seeing! We know what you’re going to do before you’re going to do it!” He paused. “Plus I ran into him at that dive bar by my house, and he told me.”

  Heading back to the car, Liesl said, “Get out of my sight, Rolfe. Next time I see you, I’ll end you, whether we’re at a Gala, a gazebo, or an Abbey filled with Zombies. And that’s a promise.”

  He gave Liesl a Nazi salute, said, “Heil Hitler, and death to the undead!” then goosestepped off into the afternoon.

  When she stepped into the car, she asked Max, “When are Father and Maria returning?”

  “I have no idea,” Max lied. In actuality, Max knew the Captain’s plans to a “T,” for that morning, von Trapp had called Max to give him the details of his trip, because—you guessed
it, dear reader—the plot needed advancement.

  For the entire two weeks after the wedding, Maria and Georg drove around Austria in the Captain’s Austro-Tata, stopping to eat at every intriguing-looking restaurant, to drink at every intriguing-looking watering hole, and to sleep (and consummate, and re-consummate, and re-re-consummate their relationship) at every intriguing-looking hotel. The Captain, Max learned, found making love to a Vampire—especially one he was desperately in love with—far more fulfilling than sleeping with a Succubus. At times, his carnal relations with the Baroness felt more like a contest than an expression of their feelings, a test of who could go faster, farther, and weirder. With Maria, the bedtime games were playful, comfortable, and warm, the only difficult issue being that Maria had to be extremely careful with how she used her mouth; one too-hard nibble, and the Captain would join the ranks of the undead (or the castrated), and, as everybody knows, in every Vampire story, all undead heroes (or antiheroes) have to have a mortal guide, and said mortal guides have to have a full helping of franks and beans. If Maria Vampire’d the Captain, Max Detweiler would be called into mortal guide duty, something Max undoubtedly wanted no part of.

  The happy couple returned from their vacation the day of the brats’ aborted rehearsal. When the Captain pulled his car into the driveway, he was greeted by the sight of two items that had not been at the house when he and Maria had departed: A charred paper bag filled with dog scheisse on the porch, and a bust of Adolf Hitler’s head made from bottle caps. He told Friedrich’s wife and his snuggle bunny, “My, my, my, those Nazis are experts with psychological warfare. Good thing I’m of sound mind, or the statue and the scheisse would have brought me to my knees.” Yes, dear reader, he was being sarcastic.

  Maria said, “You shouldn’t joke about this, Georg.” (Now that they were married, she called him by his given name … unless they were in bed, where she continued to call him “Sir.”) “Today it’s arts and crafts and feces, but tomorrow it could be bullets and bombs.”

  “They wouldn’t dare, Maria,” the Captain said. (Now that they were sleeping together, he called her by her proper name … unless he was really, really schnockered, then he continued to call her random three-syllable names that started with the letter “M.”)

  “And why do you say that?” Maria asked.

  “Because I’m a Captain?”

  “A Captain of what? You have never quite made it clear.”

  “Well I can’t make it quite clear, because Hammerstein never quite made it clear.”

  “Oh, that rapscallion Hammerstein, always there to take the blame.” At that, the couple doubled over with laughter.

  Max and the brats then pulled into the driveway. After they trooped out of the car, Max pointed at the house and said, “My, my, my, those Nazis are experts with psychological warfare. Good thing I’m of sound mind, or the statue and the scheisse would have brought me to my knees.” Yes, dear reader, he too was being sarcastic. “I can’t bear to be in the presence of this sordidness a moment longer,” he said, then hopped back in his car and toodled off.

  The kids then heaped upon Maria a bunch of hugs and Oh-we-missed-you-ever-so-much platitudes that were so inane and treacly they shan’t be repeated here, after which they marched into the house … save for Liesl, who fished an envelope from her cleavage and handed it to her father. “From Rolfe,” she said, her voice oozing with contempt.

  As the Captain nervously played with the envelope, Maria said, “From the tone of your voice, my dear, methinks thou art missing young Rolfe.”

  Liesl said, “Gross.”

  “It’s acceptable to have feelings for him, Liesl.”

  “But I don’t…”

  “You’re sixteen going on seventeen, and when children reach that age, their bodies go through all sorts of changes.”

  “Maria, you don’t understand…”

  “Shush, let me explain: When a girl and a boy love each other very, very much, there are certain ways they can express their love on a physical level. Soon enough, physiological changes occur that can lead to what’s known as arousal.”

  Pointing to her father, Liesl hissed, “First of all, we’re not having this conversation in front of him. And second of all, I’m well aware of what arousal is, and have been since I was twelve going on thirteen, and you of all people should know that. And third of all, I’m a Vampire, and Vampires are aroused all the time, regardless of their age, so none of this applies…”

  “Oh. Right. Good point.”

  “… and fourth of all, I am not missing Rolfe.” She looked at the Captain to make certain he wasn’t paying attention to them—which he wasn’t; he was apologizing to Friedrich for banging the boy’s wife for the previous two weeks—then whispered, “Rolfe is a member of the Nazi Undeath Squads.”

  Maria nodded. “No surprise there. I always had the feeling he was a weasel.”

  “He’s a weasel, but he’s a strong weasel, and I believe he’s getting stronger by the day. And he wants to kill me.” She paused. “And I want to kill him.”

  Still nodding, Maria said, “When a girl Vampire and a mortal boy hate each other very, very much, certain physiological changes occur, and that can lead to what’s known as murder.” She draped her arm over Liesl’s shoulders. “You do what you have to do. If you’re compelled to kill him, then kill him.”

  “Good.”

  “If you’re compelled to wrestle with his schvantz, then wrestle with his schvantz.”

  “Gross.”

  “Whatever choice you make,” Maria said, “you have my full support.”

  The Captain turned from Friedrich and asked, “Full support for what?”

  Maria said, “Never you mind, my love. Now what does that note say?”

  He tore open the envelope, removed and unfolded the letter, cleared his throat, then read, “Captain von Trapp, stop. At the request of Herr Adolf Hitler, you are hereby ordered to report to your Naval base at Berngdenschnockenvanderplatz to begin active duty, stop. Refusal will result in punishment by Herr Adolf Hitler, stop. Punishment will include, but not be confined to, imprisonment for you and your family, seizure of your property and assets, and more dog scheisse on your porch, stop. Sincerely, Admiral von Schreiber of the Navy of the Third-and-a-Half Reich.” He threw the letter on the ground, and said, “I don’t understand. I’m almost fifty-one years old, I’m a Captain in name only, and von Beckbaw is well aware that I’m not a Nazi sympathizer. Why me?”

  “That’s an excellent question,” Maria said, “and it makes me realize that there are certain aspects of this plot that make absolutely no sense. Holes galore.”

  “What plot?” Liesl asked.

  Ignoring her, Maria continued, “Sometimes I think that our storyline is there as an excuse for the musical numbers.”

  “What musical numbers?” the Captain asked.

  Ignoring him, Maria said to herself, “Hammerstein. You rapscallion.” Then she turned to Liesl and said, “Tell your brothers and sisters that we’re taking a ride.”

  “Where?” Liesl asked.

  “Make something up.”

  “What about the Gala? We go on in a few hours!”

  “Fick the Gala!”

  “Okay … Mother.”

  Maria beamed. “Oh, sweetheart, you called me Mother. This is one of my happiest moments of the last three-hundred years. I love you most of all! Now go.” After Liesl was out of earshot, Maria said to her husband, “So. Darling. Three questions: First, are you familiar with the acronym A.W.O.L.?”

  Cocking an eyebrow, the Captain said, “Go on.”

  “Second, how would you feel about a trip to the United States?”

  Cocking his other eyebrow, the Captain said, “Continue.”

  “Third, can any of the brats drive a car?”

  Smiling, he said, “Well, Maria, it appears that your new husband might be of some use to us after all.”

  The day he turned fourteen, Friedrich von Trapp was bitten by the car b
ug. He took to sitting in the garage for hours at a time, basking in the presence of his Father’s fleet of autos, perched behind the wheel of the blue Austro-Tata, wishing he could put the key in the ignition, fire up the engine, and drive … somewhere. Salzburg is a town full of losers, he would think, and I want to pull out of here so I can win!

  Loathe to let any of his brats touch any of his cars, the Captain was having none of it. “You’re far too young to drive, Friedrich. And you’re also far too … well … how can I put this gently … what’s the right word, das richtige wort … oh, yes, I’ve got it … insane.”

  “Please, Father!”

  “No!”

  “Pleeeeeease!”

  “Nooooooo!”

  And so on.

  Eventually, Friedrich took matters into his own hands, and began stealing the Captain’s keys when he was passed out after an evening of drinking—practically a nightly occurrence. It turned out that, like many thugs-in-training, Friedrich had a natural aptitude for cars, so when the Captain caught him executing a perfect three-point turn on his way out of the garage—and in the tank-like Steyr, yet—he couldn’t help but be impressed.

  All of which was why Friedrich was tabbed to drive the getaway car.

  That evening, after the sun was fully set, the Captain and Maria went through each and every room in the house, turning on each and every light, so if one wandered by and saw the brightness, one would assume that somebody was home. Once the house was deemed acceptably bright—and once Detweiler finally dragged his slimy ass back to the mansion—the Captain, Maria, the brats, and Max all tiptoed to the garage. Max said, “It breaks my heart that there will be no Vampirecrobatics at the Gala. Nobody was going to beat us, nobody! The Ernst von Schwingenbottom Players performing the works of Baron Eligius Alfred Joseph von Münch-Bellinghausen? Please. Harpsichord master Werner Belschpradt von Schinglehoffer? No, no, no. The Kirkis Müll? Garbage. We had it in the bag.” He sighed. “Maybe Glockenspiel the Clown will give the performance of his lifetime. Or maybe I’ll have to wait until next year.”