Suburban Vampire: A Tale of the Human Condition—With Vampires

by Franklin Posner

  The House, a large château consisting mostly of stone masonry, was situated at the end of a long U-shaped driveway. Trees bordered both the north and south limits of the property: a long poplar grove to the south and a thicker stand of evergreens to the north. As he drove up the driveway, Scott noticed cars—all of them black—parked along the driveway near the mansion and on a smaller side driveway that led to what was obviously a double-port garage. He recognized that the cars were all high-end sedans—Mercedes-Benzes, Cadillacs, Lexuses, Maseratis, and BMWs—and he made special note of the same BMW that had been at his house on Sunday.

  Scott pulled up to the portico and stopped. He questioned whether he should just park where he wanted or if there was a carhop. He was sure that these guys had to have a carhop, since it was obvious they had money.

  The old wooden French doors slowly opened, and a large Samoan man in a tuxedo approached Scott. He rolled down the window to address the big man.

  “You Campbell?” the Samoan asked.

  “Yeah, I’m Campbell.”

  “Park there.” He jerked his finger to an open spot along the driveway. “Along curb. No blocking traffic. Then come in.”

  Scott did as he demanded, got out of the car, and made sure it was secure. He didn’t know these people, and he would have hated for anything to happen to Irene’s car. Scott then entered through the French doors, which made a forbidding groan as they opened. He saw the Samoan standing there in the lobby behind a lectern.

  “Wow, nice sound effects!” Think positive, Scott told himself. After all, he was a vampire. What did he need to be scared of?

  The Samoan grunted. “Huh. Needs lube. The boardroom is down the hallway. Halfway down. Through the double doors. He is waiting. So move.”

  What a pleasant fellow. Scott went down the hall to the double doors that were similar to the doors in the portico, only these seemed darker, more forbidding. He took hold of the black iron door handle and pushed the door open.

  There inside, at the far end of a long darkly stained wood conference table, sat a slim, well-dressed, pale-skinned, black man in a high-backed, black, leather-covered chair. Standing next to a chair at the near end was the lady Scott had met on Sunday. The chair was drawn out from the table; Scott assumed that this was where he was meant to sit.

  “Please, sit down,” the man said.

  Scott looked around. The wood-paneled room was lit by wall sconce lights that may have been actual candles, although he thought they were more likely lightbulbs that simulated dancing flames, as he could not smell smoke. That, and the unnatural flickering pattern, also was a likely giveaway. The walls were festooned with swords and battle axes. Scott thought it was pretty cool, especially since he considered himself an amateur historian and medievalist. He looked around with childlike Ren Faire geek delight.

  “Whoa, dude, cool room!” Scott said. “I like your taste in decor!” He then sat in the drawn seat.

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Campbell. Or may I call you Scott?”

  “Scott. Please call me Scott. Mr. Campbell is my old man’s name.”

  “Very well. Scott it is. And you may call me Father.”

  “Father? Father…what?” Scott was slightly unnerved that this man could refer to him by name, while Scott could only know him by some kind of title.

  “Just Father. And this,” Father said, extending his hand toward the beautiful woman standing near Scott, “is Elizabeth.”

  “Hi there.” Scott nodded to Elizabeth, but she did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.

  “Okay, then,” Scott muttered.

  “I would like to welcome you to the House. If you were not completely sure, this is the House. I am the head of this House, and it is my responsibility to lead this House, to oversee its operations.”

  “Okay, I get it. You’re the boss.”

  “Right. I am, as you say, the boss.”

  An electronic buzz came across an intercom device set into the head of the table where Father sat. Father pushed the red intercom button. “Excuse me,” he said before speaking into the monitor. “Yes?”

  “Jack’s here,” the Samoan said.

  “Allow him in,” Father responded before looking again at Scott. “I apologize for the interruption. Where were we? Oh yes, we were discussing my role as head of this House. But before we continue, I must ask, do you know what the House is?”

  “I have an idea. It’s like a vampire government, right?”

  “In many respects, that is correct. We fill a similar role to that of human governments for the vampiric population. In that respect, we are indeed a vampire government, after a fashion.”

  The double doors flew open, and Jack skipped in like a schoolgirl playing hopscotch.

  “Jack, welcome,” Father said. “As always, your entrances display your flair for the dramatic.”

  Jack knew that was no compliment, but he bowed to Father anyway. “Father, I present myself before you. Oh, hey, Scott! I see you’ve met the family. Or at least a couple of its more illustrious members. And Liz, you look delicious tonight. What’s your secret?”

  “Do not call me Liz,” the vampiress huffed.

  “All righty, then,” Jack said. “Let’s get this show on the road. I’m a bit pressed for time.”

  Father glared at Jack. “I take it you have a perfectly good reason for being here, Jack?”

  “Yep.” Jack pointed to Scott. “Him.”

  Father settled back in his chair and folded his hands. “Oh, I see. Why am I not surprised that we have here an unregistered, unaffiliated vampire, and now you show up. Are you claiming responsibility for siring this creature?”

  Scott did not appreciate being referred to as a creature and almost told Father so. Jack put his hand on Scott’s shoulder. “If you are asking if I sired him, then…yeah. Okay. You got me.”

  “And you are here to claim responsibility for him?” Elizabeth asked. “How noble. Such a change for you. You’ve never claimed responsibility for any of your likely converts before. What suddenly gave you a change of heart? A newly found conscience?”

  Father motioned for Elizabeth to quiet herself, which she did as she stepped away from her post at the end of the table next to Scott. She began looking over the weapon-adorned walls of the boardroom.

  “Jack,” Father said, “I am pleased that you are willing to come out and identify yourself as the sire of this new acolyte. I, like Elizabeth, have questions about your reasoning for doing so, not that it is of much importance to me. I do not need to inform you that you have a reputation for siring vampires without our express permission. These vampires then almost inevitably fail to register. And then some engage in activities that risk exposure.”

  Father’s eyes shot daggers at Scott. He wanted to hide from those eyes but knew he couldn’t. Scott found himself afraid, an all too human reaction that he was not too happy he had retained. So, you’re a vampire? And you’re afraid of this guy?…Okay, so yes, I am.

  “Well,” Jack responded, “oops. My bad. So maybe I sire one or two unregistered vamps here and there. What’s the big deal? So far, so good; no harm, no foul. Scott’s little thing at the mall, that was just a glitch in the system. We will both be more cautious from here out, okay?”

  “We have detailed policies and procedures that must be followed concerning the creation of new acolytes, which include an extensive vetting process for applicants. Criminal background checks, credit checks, and psychological profiles are conducted on each and every applicant. This is to ensure that our acolytes meet our criteria for membership. We cannot simply accept everyone who wants to become a vampire. The process must be controlled, and so must the acolytes. You know this.”

  “Policies? Procedures? Seriously?” Jack scoffed. “You talk like a middle manager, like we’re hiring for some corporation. It’s all a bunch of bureaucratic bullshit. I mean, come on, what the hell are we? Are we flipping pancakes here? No, we are vampires. No wonder no one takes us seriously anymore.
The humans laugh at us, no thanks to their entertainment industry. Teenage girls either want to slay us or sleep with us. And it all comes down to the fact that we have lost our way. Once we were gods among men. Now we’re undead jokes. We’ve got to submit those forms in triplicate, and make sure the lawyers get their due.”

  Elizabeth glanced back from her survey of the wall of arms, wanting badly to make Jack eat his words. Father once again motioned for her to remain silent.

  “Jack,” Father replied, “I understand your frustrations. Truly, I do. But this does not negate the fact that you have transgressed against this House, its rules and bylaws. I have no choice but to issue an injunction against you, to prevent you from siring any new acolytes. You have been warned. Now it must be official.”

  Jack was fuming. The look in his eyes could have cut glass. Scott had been listening the whole time but not understanding why he had been privy to the exchange. What does any of this have to do with me?

  “Scott,” Father said, “you have risked exposure for yourself and all vampire kind. I understand that was not your goal or intention. Still, the damage has been done. There are rules, and they must be adhered to.”

  Father then nodded to Elizabeth, who had found what she had been looking for. She took one of the swords from the wall. Scott recognized it as a reproduction of an ancient Spanish sword known as a falcata, a forward-curved short sword much like the later khukris of the Gurkhas. The falcata had achieved a reputation among the ancient Romans during the Punic Wars and the conquest of Spain for causing Roman soldiers some literally splitting headaches. Scott admired the choice. He probably shouldn’t have.

  “Therefore,” Father continued, “because you were sired by a vampire who lacked the authority, without registration, and because of your recent public activities and their subsequent risks, I have no choice here. I am truly sorry, Mr. Campbell. According to our policies, you must be culled.”

  Elizabeth was once again standing next to Scott, only now armed. She snapped the blade up to his neck. He felt the cold, sharp edge against his throat.

  Unable to otherwise move, Scott looked to Jack. “Um, Jack? A little help here…”

  Jack just stood there, his cocky attitude having left the building. “Sorry. You heard the man. There’s nothing I can do now.” He then looked to Father. “But I’m telling you, you’re killing the proverbial golden goose if you do this.”

  “I would ask you to elucidate, but your reputation for truthfulness leaves much to be desired. Besides, I have a schedule.” Father then motioned to Elizabeth.

  Elizabeth raised the sword. She knew that the cut must be from just the right angle and that the blade, in order to best accomplish its gruesome task, must strike the target using the sweet spot, ensuring a deep and very effective cut. She had done this many times before, so it was all second nature for her. She begun to swing the sword.

  “Whoa!” Jack cried. “Wait!”

  “What?” Elizabeth huffed, as she lowered the sword.

  “Now, surely, you don’t want to do this here, now, do you? I mean, it is the boardroom, not the killing floor. Am I right? You might wanna think about doing this thing…somewhere else, you know?”

  “Actually,” Father said, “Jack happens to be correct, at least in this case. Not in the boardroom. We do not wish to make a mess, now, do we? The dust gets everywhere. If you would be so kind, please move Scott to a more appropriate location. Then you may remove his head.”

  Elizabeth was about to tell Father that she knew of several good places where Scott’s ashen remains would not cause headaches for the maids when the intercom buzzed again.

  “Again, forgive me.” Father sighed as he pushed the red button. “Yes?”

  “He’s here,” the Samoan said.

  “Who’s here?”

  “The guy whose name you don’t want us saying.”

  Father rolled his eyes. “Oh, very well, show him in. Again, I apologize for the interruption.”

  “Hey, that’s all right by me,” Scott said. Father once again glared at him. Scott swore that if that guy’s eyes could kill, the whole city would be wiped out.

  CHAPTER 15

  A tall, muscular, bald black man with striking features entered the room. He was wearing a simple black T-shirt and matching jeans and black Doc Martens. The newcomer carried an air of superiority—not a smug, pretentious superiority, but an accomplished, hard-earned one. The man had a true presence. And even Father seemed a bit intimidated.

  “Jeremiah!” Father said. “I would like to welcome you—”

  “No, you would not,” the clean-headed black man replied in an accent Scott could only describe as that of an African immigrant to the United Kingdom. The voice was clean and deep and completely serious.

  Father could not deny it, but he was, after all, concerned with formality. “Be that as it may. What are you doing here, Jeremiah?”

  “I received a blocked call on my cellular device. I did not recognize the voice; it had been electronically altered. It informed me of an unregistered vampire who was facing the prospect of culling and that I might be interested in this ill-fated acolyte.”

  Jack had been staring down Jeremiah the second he entered the room, seemingly a bit less intimidated by the large newcomer. “Well, well. If it ain’t Jeremiah. Here to save the day. Well, good luck with that.”

  “Jack, shut up,” Elizabeth said.

  “No, no,” Jack responded as he stormed about the room. “Here I am, in trouble for a few unregistered converts. And guess who gets the welcome wagon here. That’s right: the vampire quisling.” He walked up to Elizabeth and got in her face. “Oh, but birds of a feather, they say. The only difference is that Jeremiah here actually switched sides, while some other vampires may as well have.”

  Elizabeth glared at Jack, her upper lip twitching. “I am no traitor, Jack. What I do is for the good of vampire kind. I keep them safe. I keep us safe.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, darlin’.”

  Before Elizabeth could say anything back, Father once again stopped her. “Stop this, Jack. Now. Jeremiah is a guest in this House. He has deserved respect, and it shall be extended to him, regardless of whom he chooses to affiliate himself with. So please, quiet yourself.”

  “Yeah, fine. Let’s hear what our noble friend has to say. What do you want, Jeremiah?”

  “I wish to save the life of the vampire known as Scott Campbell,” Jeremiah said.

  “Again, Jerry, I tried that already. No joy. Poor old Scotty here is good as toast.”

  “Excuse me,” Father said. “What is your interest in Mr. Campbell?”

  “You are familiar with several prophetic texts, are you not, Father?” Jeremiah asked.

  “I am. And I am failing to see where this is going.”

  “So you are familiar with most known vampiric prophetic literature, I assume?”

  “Indeed, I have studied many ancient texts, especially vampiric prophecies. You know we have facsimiles of most of the relevant texts in our library. So, yes, I am well versed in vampire prophecy. Where are you going with this?”

  “Are you familiar with The Prophecies of IshBosheth?”

  “Of course. It’s an Ugaritic text, dating, it is believed, to the fourteenth century BCE, although some archeologists and students of linguistics have dated it much earlier. It predates the compilation of the Torah by several hundred years, at least.”

  “There is a passage about a coming historical figure, a vampire of great power and authority, who will bring justice to the earth and free vampires from their captivity,” Jeremiah said. “A deliverer. In other words, a vampiric messiah, if I may be so bold.”

  Jack laughed. “Oh great. A vampire Jesus. Puts that whole ‘drink of my blood’ thing in a whole new light, doesn’t it?”

  No one else was laughing. Father glared at Jack, instantly silencing him.

  Jeremiah continued, “The texts tell us that this deliverer will be an unwilling convert, for
ced into a bondage he never sought. That this unwilling convert will be known as a Redeemed One. He will be a soldier of truth, a dark warrior for the light. And he shall be a witness to the end of days.”

  “I am familiar with that passage,” Father said. “I am not convinced that it can be taken literally. And besides, vampiric prophecy does not have a great track record for accuracy, anyway. I think this ‘prophecy’ can be dismissed.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I agree with Father. It’s an overanalyzed fairy tale, a story made up to be fed to the weak-minded,” Jack said. Father once again glared at him. “Okay, shutting up!” Jack cried.

  “Despite your inclinations,” Jeremiah continued, “The Prophecies of IshBosheth have never been proven false or even disputed. Why, Father, you should know that it is one of the few prophecies that the Council of Elders accept as canonical. Many well-placed vampires are convinced of its accuracy.”

  “Many well-placed vampires are morons,” Jack said under his breath, coughing to cover his insult.

  “A tickle in the throat, Jack?” Father asked. “We can get you a cough lozenge. Would you like one?”

  “Uh, no, that won’t be necessary.”

  “You are quite a convincing speaker, Jeremiah,” Father said. “Still, we do have policies. We cannot suffer Scott Campbell to live. It’s nothing personal. In truth, I find the fact most distasteful. But we cannot alter our rules for anyone to include your Redeemed One.”

  This was no comfort to Scott, as he was still fidgeting in the chair, his would-be executioner still looming over him. He could hardly keep up with all the crazy concepts this Jeremiah guy had mentioned. Vampire messiahs? Dark warriors for truth? End of days? I mean, who comes up with this stuff? And what does it all mean?

  “Has Mr. Campbell been allowed to appeal his sentence?” Jeremiah asked.

  “He has not sought an appeal,” Father said.

  “Hey!” Scott shouted. “I didn’t seek appeal because I didn’t know you could appeal!”

  Jeremiah shook his head. “Father, Father. Did you not advise Scott of his rights as a vampire?”