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

by Alan Goldsher

The Captain looked at his watch. “Are you done, Max?” he asked. “I appreciate that you’re upset your Gala dreams are being put on hold, but let’s keep our priorities straight. You’re losing a medal, and we could lose our lives. Got it?”

  “Got it.”

  “Good. Now get to that Gala and win one for grand old Austria!”

  “How about I win one for my grand old bank account?”

  “Fine. Just win. Good night.” After Max drove off, von Trapp turned to Friedrich, who was nestled in the driver’s seat, and said, “Alright, son, just like we talked about. Put it in drive.”

  Friedrich said, “Already done,” after which all the brats got behind the car and pushed.

  “Not too hard, kids,” the Captain said. “We can’t make any noise, nor can we lose control of the car.”

  Louisa said, “Father, what if somebody comes by to question Frau Alice and Alfred?”

  “They won’t say a word, darling,” the Captain said. “Your Governess put them both in a state of suspended animation.”

  Liesl turned to Maria. “We can do that?”

  Nodding, Maria said, “It takes some practice, but yes.”

  Farta asked, “What’s suspended animation?”

  Maria said, “Would you care to field this one, Gretl? I suspect a pompous little snotburger such as yourself would know everything there is to know about suspended animation.”

  Even though she had super Vampire strength, Gretl was a tiny girl, and pushing the car had exhausted her to the point that she could barely speak … but that didn’t stop her from trying. “Suspended animation … (huff) … is … the … slowing … (puff) … of … life … processes … (gasp) … by … external … means … without … (whew) … termination … and … (snarf) … I … can’t … go … on…”

  Smiling, Liesl—who was pushing the car with her pinky—said, “Oh no, shrimp, don’t stop now.”

  “Yes,” Kurt said, “continue. This is fascinating!”

  Gretl coughed.

  “No more?” Brigitta said. “Quite a pity that you can’t continue, because…”

  “Alright, brats,” the Captain said, “enough.” As they approached the bottom of the driveway, he said, “Now shut your fang-holes and listen: We need to push this past the gate, then another half-a-kilometer to the North. After that, Friedrich will spark the ignition, and we’ll…”

  The von Trapps suddenly found themselves on the bright end of ten flashlights. One of the flashlight holders asked, “Is there something wrong with your car, Captain von Trapp?”

  The Captain squinted, then frowned. “Ah. Wonderful. Colonel von Beckbaw. Thank you for the welcome home gifts.”

  “Quite,” the portly Nazi said, stepping toward the car. “It’s a pity, however, that you were not home when we dropped the dog schiesse, thus you were not able to enjoy the full experience.”

  “Full experience?” the Captain asked.

  “In general, when we place the schiesse upon the victim’s doorstep, it’s lighted with a match, which means…”

  Friedrich leaned out the window and said, “I get it! It means that you have to stamp out the fire with your foot, and you get dog schiesse all over your shoe. Mein Gott, that’s brilliant.” He turned to Maria and said, “Oh lovely wife of mine, can we get a dog?”

  “Maybe for Christmas, darling.”

  Brigitta said, “I want to name him Hammerstein!”

  Von Beckbaw clicked his heels together and said, “Silence! Mein Gott, Captain, do your brats ever shut up?”

  “Never,” von Trapp said. “It’s like living with seven conservative radio show hosts.”

  “Touché,” von Beckbaw said, then he strolled over to the car, pulled a gun from his waist holster—a Luger P-08, to be precise—held the barrel to Friedrich’s temple, and said, “Start it, brat.”

  “The … the … the … the car is broken. And I … I … I don’t know how to drive.”

  Von Beckbaw cocked the trigger. “I said, start it.”

  Friedrich sighed, then turned the key and fired up the engine.

  Smiling, von Beckbaw said, “Wunderbar. Now. Care to tell us where we are headed?”

  “We?” the Captain asked.

  Von Beckbaw’s smile became wider. “What with all your car trouble—not to mention an inexperienced driver behind the wheel—you might need an escort. After all, Admiral von Schreiber will be quite disappointed if you don’t report for duty tomorrow.”

  “The disappointment would be mutual, Colonel von Beckbaw. But this evening’s mission is of vital importance to the cause.”

  “Hmm, intriguing,” von Beckbaw said. “What’s the mission?”

  “Vampirecrobatics!”

  At that, von Beckbaw’s minions all gagged. Von Beckbaw shook his head. “Apologies, Captain. My men become upset when they hear talk of the undead. This is why they march with me, rather than with the Undeath Squads.” Absently picking his nose, von Beckbaw continued: “Ah, the Undeath Squads. Such a fine collection of soldiers. Brave. Cunning. Strong. Why, they could kill any stinking Vampire in the country without even batting an eyelash. Any Vampire.” He gestured at the brats. “I’m certain that the family of a Naval officer would be spared such a fate. Understand?”

  “Yes, Colonel von Beckbaw. I understand.”

  “Good, good. Now what are these Vampirecrobatics you speak of?”

  “The children’s act for the Gala of Gaiety. That’s what it’s called. Vampirecrobatics.”

  “Ah, yes, I almost forgot: The family von Trapp is slated to close the Gala. What with all the excitement of you trying to shirk your military duties—and the fantastic opportunity of my being allowed to shoot you on sight should you disregard our orders—it nearly slipped my mind.” He checked his watch. “We’ll have no problem arriving in time for your performance. And you know how much we Nazis love our punctuality!”

  “Everybody knows how much you Nazis love your punctuality,” Liesl said.

  “Quite.” Von Beckbaw turned to his troop and said, “Alright, men, one car in front of Captain von Trapp, and one behind.” Looking at Maria, he said, “And I shall ride with the family.”

  Maria smiled, then a stream of blood jetted from her front fangs, splattering von Beckbaw’s men’s oh-so-perfect Nazi uniforms. “It would be our pleasure to have you in the car, Colonel von Beckbaw,” Maria growled. “An absolute delight.”

  Von Beckbaw blanched. “Um … er … um … maybe I shall ride with my men. They sometimes need extra supervision. So I shall see you at the Gala.”

  Spitting a mouthful of hemoglobin at von Beckbaw, Maria said, “Not if we see you first. Gala of Gaiety, I love you most of all!”

  Despite Maria’s proclamation of love, experts would later say that year’s Gala of Gaiety was the worst in the event’s history. The Ernst von Schwingenbottom Players butchered Baron Eligius Alfred Joseph von Münch-Bellinghausen’s “Ingomar the Barbarian: Der Fechter von Ravenna” to the point that they were hooted off the stage. Werner Belschpradt von Schinglehoffer’s rendition of Thomas Arne’s “Six Favourite Concertos for Harpsichord” was a cacophonous mess. The Kirkis Müll lived up to their name—translated, Kirkis Müll means Garbage Circus—by delivering a performance that included a collapsed human pyramid, a fire eater who left the stage smoldering, and a lion tamer who began the show intact, and finished it sans her left ear and right foot. With one more act to go, it appeared that Max’s very own Glockenspiel the Clown—who came off looking quite good, if only because he didn’t harm himself or anybody else during his performance—was in the best position to take home the top prize.

  After the Gala volunteers swept the performance area clean of blood, charred skin, and broken dreams, the Master of Ceremonies stepped to stage center and called, “Ladies and gentlemen, from here in Salzburg, may I present the von Trapp Family Vampires, and their exhibition, Vampirecrobatics!”

  As the brats trooped to stage center, the Vampire-hating audience’s chorus of
disapproval—boos, hisses, curse words—could be heard in the Alps.

  Liesl, who looked as if she was ready to massacre the entire front row, said, “We’re as glad to see you as you’re glad to see us. Now let’s start the show! First up, performing a move he has dubbed The Reverse Edelweiss, Kurt von Trapp!” As she wandered stage left, there were more boos, more hisses, and more curse words.

  After the audience settled down, Kurt did a neat front flip, landing lightly on his hands and launching into an impressive hand-walk. When he finished circling the stage for the third time, he did a quadruple backward flip, landing lightly on his feet. He raised his hands to the sky and said, “You look happy to meet me!”

  More boos. More hisses. More curse words.

  “Er, I mean, bless my homeland forever!”

  Less boos. Less hisses. But the same number of curse words.

  “Alright, forget it. Now I’d like to present a girl who’s small, and bright, and clean, and—most importantly to this audience—white. Please welcome Gretl von Trapp!” He then took his place by Liesl off to the side.

  Gretl cartwheeled her way around the stage, ultimately jumping three meters into the air, spinning in a perfect tight spiral. The next jump: Four meters. The jump after that: Five. With every jump she spiraled faster and faster, until she was a small, bright, clean, white blur. Her final jump concluded with a perfect toe-landing that visibly impressed the audience.

  After Brigitta and Farta executed twenty-eight consecutive synchronized back walkovers that left even the most undead-hating Gala attendee breathless, a consistent refrain began to float through the crowd: Hate Vampires, love these von Trapps.

  With six of the seven von Trapps on the side of the stage, Liesl said, “To close the show, we would like to present my little brother Friedrich with a demonstration that will at once amaze and terrify you.”

  Quietly, and with a sense of dignity and poise rarely seen in a fourteen-year-old hellion, Friedrich said, “If you’re faint of heart, I suggest you close your eyes. But if you’re brave, watch this.” And then, in half-a-blink of an eye, Friedrich transformed into a bat.

  And then back into a human.

  And then back into a bat.

  Then human.

  Then bat.

  Then human.

  Then bat.

  With each transformation, the seated audience gasped with appreciation.

  With each transformation, the soldiers standing on the perimeter of the crowd—the majority of whom were part of Hitler’s most elite Undeath Squad—became angrier and angrier.

  Especially Private Rolfe Mueller.

  After his twentieth transformation, Friedrich said, “On behalf of my family, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, and good night, Cleveland!”

  At once, the crowd yelled, “Who’s this Cleveland you’re saying goodnight to?!”

  Friedrich said, “It isn’t a who, it’s a where, and it’s located … ah, forget it. Judges, vote von Trapp!” He ran into the awaiting arms of his siblings, after which they all trotted offstage, where they were met by their Father, their Mother/creator/wife, and Max.

  The all huddled up, and Max said to Maria, “Everything is ready?”

  She nodded.

  He said to the Captain, “You know where you’re going?”

  “No,” he said, then put his arm around Maria. “But she does.”

  “Yes, that she does.” Turning to the children, he said, “Brats, you know what needs to be done?”

  At once, they said, “Yes, Uncle Max.”

  “And you have your good walking shoes?”

  “Yes, Uncle Max.”

  “Alright, then.” He offered a sad smile, then said, “The Gala results will be in any second now. Good luck.”

  The von Trapps and Max fell into a tight group hug that was cut short by a shout from center stage. The noticeably pale Master of Ceremonies said, “Goodness. My, my. What a way to end this year’s Gala of Gaiety, eh? Good thing acts aren’t eligible to perform two years in a row, I say.” At that, the crowd delivered a hearty round of applause. “Alright, the judges have tallied the votes, and I’ll announce a winner momentarily. But first, let me get a big Heil Hitler!”

  “Heil Hitler!”

  “I can’t hear yoooooou!”

  “Heil Hitler!”

  “Let them hear you back in Berlin!”

  “HEIL HITLER!”

  “Fantastic! And now, the third prize goes to…” He opened the envelope and made a somewhat disgusted face. “… the Ernst von Schwingenbottom Players.” A shell-shocked troupe of actors trooped onto the stage and accepted a tiny trophy from an Amazonian Aryan woman, after which Ernst von Schwingenbottom himself said, “This is quite unexpected…”

  A loudmouth in the front row yelled, “No scheisse, you hack!”

  Von Schwingenbottom’s thin face fell. He mumbled, “Thanks,” and led his dejected players to the wings.

  “That was wonderful, Ernst,” the Master of Ceremonies said. “The second prize goes to…” He opened the envelope and made a slightly less disgusted face. “… Glockenspiel the Clown!”

  Glockenspiel, accompanied by Max Detweiler, bound across the stage to accept their trophy to lukewarm applause. Glockenspiel said, “Thank you, Aryan Nation! I’d like to give special thanks to…”

  Max jumped in front of the clown and said, “… me! He’d like to give special thanks to me! Because I found him! And I molded him into what you see now! No more of this ohren aus zinn business! See you next year, suckers!”

  Smiling despite himself, the Master of Ceremonies hustled the twosome offstage, then said, “And now, the moment you have all been waiting for: The winner of this year’s Gala of Gaiety is…” He opened the envelope and winced. “… the von Trapp Family Vampires.” He ripped the paper into a million pieces, pointed offstage, and grumbled, “Come on out and accept your award, von Trapps.”

  Nothing.

  “Hello? Von Trapps? Come on out here and take what’s rightfully yours!”

  Still nothing.

  In the third row, a certain balding, barrel-chested Nazi talk show host who we all know and hate pushed down the aisle and hoisted himself onto the stage, then stumbled into the backstage area. After a couple of minutes, he sprinted back out and roared, “They’re gone! The von Trapps are gone! An officer has deserted his Navy! There are Vampires on the loose! S.S. Unit 415, congregate at the West entrance, and Elite Undeath Squad, congregate at the East!”

  As the Nazi military scrambled to their respective positions, Colonel von Beckbaw said, “I want all nine of those arschlochs dead by sunrise.”

  CHAPTER 11

  HOUSED ON WHAT the majority of Austrians agreed was the most rancid corner in Salzburg, the nameless Abbey was an eyesore, so painful to look at that nobody looked at it … including Nazis, which was why Maria decided it would be the perfect place for her family to hide out until the heat was off, and then they could head to the United States.

  When Mother Zombie met Maria et al at the front gate, she was exceedingly polite, more polite than the Vampire had ever seen. Mother Zombie herded the von Trapps into the Abbey and told Maria, “I hear the sirens. I estimate they’re about three minutes away.”

  “How in the Devil’s name did they track us so quickly?”

  Liesl said, “Those Undeath Squads know what they’re doing. I don’t know how well they handle themselves on the battlefield, but they can track our kind down like they’re bloodhounds. Frankly, I’m surprised we managed to get away at all.”

  “You did get away,” Mother Zombie said, “but it will all be for naught if the Squad storms the Abbey and captures you.” She paused. “You realize if you’re caught, they’ll do things to you. Things like imprisoning you in a Vampire concentration…”

  Captain von Trapp said, “Mother Zombie, I’d prefer we don’t discuss that in front of the brats. Please lead us to the hiding place.”

  From
the other end of the room, Zombie Sister Brandi called, “Follow me! This way.”

  Maria et al trotted over to Brandi, who shuffled toward the hiding place as quickly as she could. But if you’ll recall, dear reader, Brandi is a slow, slow zombie.

  “Can we pick up the pace?” Friedrich whispered to Maria.

  “You have to have patience with these creatures, husband dear.”

  “But if we don’t hurry, we’ll…”

  “All the way back in 1377, my old friend William Langland said to me, ‘Patience is a virtue,’ and that was one of the most profound moments in my life. Patience equals strength of character. Patience demonstrates maturity. Patience means … oh, for fick sake, Brandi, can you not move faster?!”

  “For your information, missy,” Brandi said, clearly offended, “we’re here.” She pointed to a fence at the far end of the courtyard. “Climb over that and duck down. They’ll never find you.”

  Maria said, “I apologize for yelling at you.”

  “Apology accepted … whore.” And then she shuffled away, and that was the last Zombie Maria von Trapp ever saw.

  Once the family was situated, Gretl said to Maria, “Mother, I don’t like any of this, and I could use a distraction. Can we talk about our favorite things? Right about now, brown packages with string don’t seem so bad.”

  “No. We must be quiet.”

  “How about the Vampire alphabet? Maybe we can discuss how to doedoemee the rayrayso so it will be able to fafalala the lalafafa.”

  “Please, not now, Gretl.”

  “What about…” She was interrupted by a scream coming from the direction of the front gate: “Major Erich Hassler, Nazi Undeath Squad! I demand entry into this Abbey!”

  Mother Zombie let out a mournful Zombie moan that would have had normal mortals seeing stars. The members of the Nazi Undeath Squad, however, were hardly normal.

  Another scream: “To repeat: Major Erich Hassler, Nazi Undeath Squad! I demand entry into this Abbey! If my request isn’t granted immediately, I shall be forced to use force.”

  Gretl said, “Forced to use force? Talk about ridiculous word choice.”

  The eight other von Trapps whispered, “Do shut up, Gretl!” Unfortunately, eight whispers add up to one yell.