I’m a Vampire At War On Halloween

by Jackie Rose

  Soon an entire fighter squadron’s worth of bats was flying away over the Washington rooftops, while a wolf and a Maltese raced out the door. The press followed in hot pursuit, until the creatures proved that they could outrun even their sound trucks. They were somewhat impeded by the little trick-or-treaters, who looked up at the bat-blackened sky to say, “Oh, wow!” and “Sweeeeeet!”

  By the time the police reached the embassy, the only beings they found there were a plump schoolteacher and a slim, elegant brunette who asked, in her best-bred breathless tones, “Is there a problem, officers?”

  * * * *

  “I’ve never done that before!” Tiffany exclaimed, as her black bat wings turned back into the glittery black sleeves of her evening gown. They had landed safely in Glen Echo Park, where they hoped that no one would find them among the dark trees.

  “Aren’t you glad that I insisted on teaching you?” he demanded. “You thought it was too much of a stereotype.”

  “Can we fly back to the embassy this way?” she asked eagerly.

  “But what if someone sees us landing there?”

  “Then thank goodness…or whatever…for diplomatic immunity. Besides…it isn’t really a stereotype. More of an ethnic heritage. And we really SHOULD raise a little Hell on Halloween.”

  “That’s just what I was hoping for,” he assured her. “Part of me is rising already.”

  As though she had had any doubt, his hand guided hers to the portion of his anatomy that was doing so. It was, indeed, rising and hardening, until it resembled the tree truck he was leaning against. Using her entire body, she pressed him against it and fumbled to open the fly of his perfectly tailored tuxedo.

  At that point, she decided that love in the wild was just the thing…and if anyone caught them at it, they could always soar away again, preferably in the middle of the act. This particular stereotype was coming in very handy.

  * * * *

  Constantin and Ingrid almost had more of a problem. Seeing the huge, howling creature loping down Massachusetts Avenue, the residents naturally called animal control. The officers started approaching him with due caution, ignoring, for a moment, the little white dog who was yipping frantically beside him.

  Fortunately for all concerned, the sun started rising at that moment. Soon their prey had vanished, and they were confronting a hulking young man and his slim blond wife, both in evening clothes.

  “Is there a problem, officers?” the man inquired.

  “Other than your genocidal policies, of course,” his companion snapped.

  “No problem at all, m’am,” they assured her. “I just wish that you were-creatures would wear dog tags, so we can take you home.”

  “Instead of throwing us into your gas chambers!”

  “Well, I am sure you would have had time to transform in our shelter, after the sun came up.”

  “Shelter? You call that…that gulag..a…”

  “Have a good evening, officers,” her husband hastily put in, as he pulled her away.

  * * * *

  As for Jacqueline Kennedy, the current first lady was waiting anxiously beside her when the sun came up. Just as the svelte brunette was urging the gathering crowd to re-elect President O’Neill next year, she turned into an equally sleek black cat.

  Evelyn O’Neill immediately gathered her into her arms. The creature responded with a purr that was especially contented, since she had managed to keep wearing Jackie’s trademark triple strand of pearls.

  * * * *

  “I just wanted to know if you made it out all right,” Count Victor thought, rather grudgingly. “I’m glad you did.”

  “Me, too,” his older brother said silently in return. “I mean, I am pleased that you also survived.”

  “I am so glad that you are making it up with each other,” their mother’s mind broke in. “That is all a mother really hopes for, in return for selling her soul to the devil so that…”

  “We already know, mother,” her younger son thought rather loudly. “Now will you please leave us alone?”

  “Well!” she exclaimed. “At least tell your brother to sit up straight.”

  At that point, Countess Tiffany came on the psychic party line.

  “Now that you are talking to each other, you can learn from each other, too,” she enthused. “I mean, we should all try to keep our ethnic heritage, even while we join in…”

  “You get off, too,” her husband snapped. “This is a private conversation.”

  “Well!”

  “Now you hear them, Tiffany,” her mother-in-law thought at her mournfully. “This is the way they have always treated me. And I know that my daughters-in-law have always despised me, because I don’t want them following their careers. But if they don’t make me any more sons-in-law who can make other daughters-in-law in turn…well, what will happen to our ethnic heritage then?”

  “My mother says the same thing! But not about vampires, of course.”

  “Don’t we all,” her mother-in-law sighed.

  * * * *

  Feeling dismally sure that his mother could somehow see him as well as overhearing his conversations, Vlad Tepes sat up briefly in the overstuffed sofa. He even braced himself against the arm rest, to keep him propped up that way. It was too well padded, though, and he soon sunk comfortably down again.

  The entire living room gave him a feeling of comfort, with the bright red sofa seeming even more inviting against the equally cheerful yellow walls and draperies. The white bookshelf beside it seemed just as homelike, crammed with history texts.

  His hostess was sitting opposite him, in a matching armchair.

  “Come over here,” he ordered silently. He patted the seat beside him, in a way that he hoped would make his invitation clear, even if his mental powers failed to do it.

  “I am doing it on a strictly consensual basis,” she assured him, as she took her place at the other end of the couch. He reached out and pulled her to him.

  It was obviously still consensual when he placed his lips against her pulsing throat, above the green turtleneck jersey. She was especially glad to have all those turtlenecks in her wardrobe now, to hide the evidence of this evening’s adventure…even though she was pretty sure that, when she insisted on changing to night school teaching, her students would get the message.

  “You will not have to teach anything,” he assured her out loud, reading her thoughts. “You will be my bride.”

  “Your WIFE,” she responded, drawing back.

  “Very well,” he said, with a sigh. “My wife. But you’ll have to tell my mother.”

  “Or she’ll do WHAT to me? Make me wear scratchy tags and talk to telemarketers?”

  “She made that part up,” he assured her. “No one would put up with that.”

  It was not, she thought, the sort of thing a vampire was supposed to say, let alone the real Dracula. But in the next moment he exceeded her expectations, by pressing his lips against her throat again and then licking her neck. This must be vampire foreplay, she realized, and it was even better than the other kind.

  “You taste of sauerbraten,” he whispered, as his tongue stroked away. “Beef, onions, spices and the red wine vinegar sauce. And you taste of strudel…apples, vanilla, sugar and cinnamon. I will drink them all in your blood, and they will be delicious. You must be a wonderful German cook.”

  “I am from Wisconsin,” she reminded him. “We are the best German cooks of all. But will I taste you, too?”

  “Lamb stew with onions and garlic,” he assured her. “Then little cakes with honey and walnuts. I can afford the best Romanian chefs to make them.”

  “You should pay them double,” she said. “I mean, drinking blood and having dinner at the same time…no wonder vampires are impossible to resist. Who could ask for anything more?

  “Who indeed?” he asked, as he reached up for a gourmet feast he could literally sink his teeth into.

  * * * *

  “I hope you are sitting up
straight,” she said, “Since you are calling me up on the telephone now, instead of sending your thoughts to me, you obviously no longer seem to care about acting like a prince…but you could at least try to look like one. That is,” she added bitterly, “if your FIANCEE will let you.”

  “I always try to sit up straight,” the producer answered, in some confusion. “And I am not engaged to anyone right now…three brides were enough for me…at different times, in my case. You must have confused me with someone else.”

  “With my son,” she said, in embarrassment. “I am so sorry for the mistake.” Her crooning voice held the promise of all the ways she was willing to make up for her error.

  Those techniques would even include some consensual fang action, which he would probably enjoy much more than she did. With a shudder, she realized that he would probably taste of whiskey and tobacco, since he had smelled that way. While lung disease was not a problem for her, nausea still was.

  “How can I help you?” she asked, hoping that he did not want her to do it by providing the dark kiss.

  “Well, you very much impressed me with your appearance on our ‘Dueling Duo’ talk show. You seemed to know your material very well…although I am sure you had time to learn it. I hope we can take advantage of it by hiring you as our technical consultant for another project.”

  “Another talk show?” she asked, always glad to promote the cause.

  “Actually, it is my first made-for-TV movie,” he said nervously, and she could almost see him rubbing his hand over his bald head. “It will be very sympathetic and also very timely…the story of two vampire cowboys in the Old West. We are calling it ‘Brokevein Mountain.’”

  “What an original idea!” she said dryly. After opening her mouth to say that she would have no part in such a vulgar exploitation, she quickly closed it again.

  Now that her son was spending so much time with his future wife, she herself was all alone in this big house. It was a tribute to the violence of the times that the prospect frightened even her, when she was supposed to be the one who terrified others.

  “What a wonderful idea!” she exclaimed instead. “I hope we can meet together to talk it over in person. We certainly did…and we still do…have people in your Wild West…and did you know that during the cattle round-ups, many of our cowboys resorted to beef blood, to save time and manpower?”

  “We’ve got to use that scene!” he said. “I know you’ve got a lot more great stories to tell me…and I’d love to meet you at the da Vinci Café. Do you know how to find it?”

  Indeed she did, as she assured him. The Vienna, Virginia eatery was, in her experience, just as good as anything in Vienna, Austria. What’s more it was easy for anyone to find, behind its lace curtains in the little shopping center off the Maple Avenue

  main street, on Glyndon St

  .

  The charming, courteous staff would certainly be able to serve her a blood-red steak there. What’s more, they would do it with as much enthusiasm as though she had ordered the specialty of the day.

  So considering everything, at least for someone in her position…an empty bat’s nester, as it were…whiskey and tobacco would no longer taste so bad, after all.

  About the Author

  Living in Northern Virginia, Jackie Rose indulges her passion for history by touring restored colonial homes. A resulting newspaper story on historical re-enactors led to a Virginia Press Association first prize. This was the first of five VPA prizes she earned during her ten years of feature writing for the area’s weekly newspapers.

  Her husband David shares her love for history, cruising, Walt Disney World and their son Frank and daughter-in-law, Susan. He also supports her other hobbies: working out with Jazzercise and buying the latest Vera Bradley pattern handbags.

  She shares that fashion passion with Tiffany Golden, the heroine of “I’m a Vampire in the War on Halloween.” It is the first in the series of Humor best-sellers that began with “I’m Undead and I Vote.”