At this time of the year, I usually have a great time checking out stores that sell costumes and other Halloween items. But this year is going to be different. It started out really strange. The last thing I want to see is someone dressed as a vampire.
The Count asked, “Do you know if she has the same type of blood as you?”
“She’s my sister.”
“That doesn’t mean that she’ll have the same type of blood. I hope she does.”
“Why?”
“With the both of you as bait… it will be that much easier for me, to get the other vampires.”
I didn’t know if I should be honored or horrified. It’s nice to feel wanted. But I’m not that thrilled about being used as bait. I feel like a worm on a hook.
And I have seen the other side of the Count’s personality. The dark side. He can be vicious and cruel.
I felt that the better part of valor would be for me to keep my mouth shut and keep my fingers crossed.
And of course, as I was walking through the streets of the Village with the Count, I was looking for a sharp piece of wood… anything that I could use as a stake and drive it through the heart of the monster.
Why do these kinds of strange things always happen to me? What’s next… will I be meeting Frankenstein or the Wolfman?
I asked, “Do you know Frankenstein or the Wolfman?”
The Count didn’t bother to answer me. He just hissed.
We were on the subway platform, and the train was coming. Tons of steel barreling through a tunnel. This was my opportunity. I pushed the Count in front of the train.
Our eyes briefly met as the train ran over him.
Someone tapped me on the back of my shoulder. It was the Count. He said, “Don’t do that again.”
He brushed himself off.
I realized at that time that he was very resilient.
We had to take the R train for three stops. We got off at 8th Street. Everyone on the train was looking at us. The Count had a black suit on, with a white starched shirt, and black tie. I didn’t notice it before — probably because I was scared out of my mind, and didn’t realize it — but he was extremely pale, except for his lips. They were really red.
And he had really bushy eyebrows that needed to be trimmed and his black hair was slicked back. He had a nose like Lugosi. All he needed was the cape. And this jerk had me pay for his fare.
I asked him at the time, “Can’t you hypnotize the token clerk, so that the both of us can walk through the turnstile?”
“No!”
“But I can’t afford the subway fare. I was saving this money to buy a couple of joints.”
“No!”
I had to pay his fare. I don’t know why he couldn’t jump over the turnstile like me. He said it was, “undignified.”
Vampires are no fun. And the Count didn’t like to talk. For a guy that was several hundred years old… you would think that he would have a lot to say. He would just hiss at me every now and then.
And when he really wanted to get my attention… he would stomp on my foot. And sometimes, even when he had my attention… he would still stomp on my foot.
He thought it was funny. And he had this really weird laugh. He sounded like he was gasping for air.
I opened the door to my sister’s apartment. I was surprised. She was there. It was a Friday night and she was home. Usually at this time of the night… she would be stretched out on some guy’s bed.
I was surprised to see her clothed and asked, “I thought you had a date with Terrence?”
“Don’t ever mention that asshole’s name again. I hate him. And who is this asshole?”
I said, “This is Count Vampiro.”
“Nice to meet you,” said the Count, as he grabbed my sister’s hand and kissed it.
“You don’t have any STDs?” asked my sister Cynthia, as she pulled her hand away. “A girl can’t be too careful.”
She went into the bathroom to wash her hand. She’s a germ freak. All vegans are.
While she was in the bathroom the Count said, “She doesn’t have the same blood type as you.”
I noticed the Count looking around the apartment. I felt proud. It was nicely furnished, and my sister bought most of the furniture except for the couch.
I stole that from the elderly Hungarian couple that lived above us. Me and my friends one night, after smoking a few joints, thought it would be nice to have a more comfortable couch in the living room.
We went out on the fire escape and started peeping through people’s windows. We were window shopping. We’ve done it before.
And that’s when we saw the couch. We opened the window and entered the apartment.
The couch was much more difficult than we thought it would be to carry down the stairs. The stairwell was very narrow. I still don’t know how we did it. And then we took my couch and put it in their apartment. We exchanged couches.
The next day, when I was no longer high, I started getting nervous about the couch. But my best friend Michael told me not to worry. They would need a search warrant to enter my apartment. Just don’t let them in.
I smoked a joint to calm my nerves.
But my sister Cynthia was relentless. A real bummer! She wanted to know where the couch came from. And what happened to her couch.
I tried my best to convince her that the couch in the living room was her couch… but she wasn’t buying it
I finally told her, “I exchanged couches with our elderly neighbors in the apartment above us.”
She asked, “Why would they exchange this beautiful couch for our ragged flea bitten one? Do they even know about the exchange?”
I replied confidently, “They’re both senile. They probably won’t even realize it.”
My sister took a moment or two to think about it, and then said, “Alright.”
When Cynthia came back into the living room she looked at the Count suspiciously and asked, “Why is he dressed all in black? Is he an undertaker? And why is he wearing red lipstick?”
“Here you go,” said the Count. “This will take the edge off of you.”
He handed Cynthia a joint, and then he handed me one.
The Count obviously knows how to talk to young people. That was so thoughtful of him. I’m 17 and Cynthia’s 19. He must have got the joints from the drug-dealing vampires.
We lit up and started sucking away. We looked like two babies, with big smiles on our faces, sucking milk from our baby bottles.
Cynthia and I smoked the two joints and had some wine. We were getting our buzz on.
When I asked the Count if he wanted to join us, he replied, “I don’t drink or smoke.”
Cynthia and I started laughing. And then we realized that he was serious.
Cynthia whispered to me, “Strike one and strike two.”
And while Cynthia and I were watching TV with rock music blasting in the background, the Count just stood by the window and looked out.
Cynthia said, “Strike three! What is wrong with this guy? Is he a serial killer?”
“He’s just a quiet guy that examines life through an introspective lens.”
I thought that was a clever answer. That’s what this peeping tom told me, who lives in the building across from mine, when I caught him with binoculars looking through my sister’s bedroom window.
At the time I was spying on his sister too. I called him and told him not to do that anymore or we couldn’t be friends.
“What!” said my annoyed sister. She didn’t like my smart answer. “I think he’s probably a serial killer.”
I didn’t know what to say. In a way… he was. But she wouldn’t believe me if I told her that he was a vampire. And he was using us as bait.
There was a loud knock on the door. Someone was pounding on it. I knew who it was before I even opened it. It was the old lady Mrs. Jamieson.
She is really annoying!
I yelled through the closed door, “I’m turning the music off… don’t call the cops.”
Why couldn’t she be like the old Hungarian couple that lives above us. They’re both hard of hearing.
Have you ever noticed that the time just seems to fly by when you’re drunk and high.
It was 3am and it was time to go to sleep. I told my sister that the Count was homeless and needed a place to stay for the night. She refused.
“Here you go,” said the Count, as he handed my sister two joints.
She agreed. He could stay for the night.
It was weird. I couldn’t sleep. I was wondering if the Count was hanging upside down… like a bat.
I had the munchies and went into the kitchen to get a snack. I noticed that the Count was sitting on the couch, in the dark, staring straight ahead.
The Count looked like he was in his late thirties. But I knew from what he told me that he had to be at least four-hundred-years old.
He used to attack the Roman citizens as they were going home from watching the gladiators fighting at the Colosseum. He told me some awesome stories.
When I woke up in the morning the Count was standing right over me.
I screamed! I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I’m waiting for you to get up. We have to start walking around Greenwich Village. We have to see what we can attract.”
That’s right. I remember now. I’m the bait.
Did he say, “We have to see what we can attract?” or “We have to see what we can attack?”
We walked so much that I was feeling dizzy. I was also having lower limb issues. I couldn’t feel my legs. They were numb. And when I could feel them… they felt like they were being pricked by little needles.
We went from the East Village to the West Village. And back again. And back again. We went left… we went right. We even bunked into each other.
But no vampires attacked us. I was hoping they would… I was exhausted.
The Count watched as I ate my lunch at this nice diner on 13th Street and Broadway. The steak was delicious. I had another one. I didn’t realize it but endlessly walking makes you hungry. After I finished eating, both of us ran out without paying. We didn’t have any money.
We even saw a movie. We had to sneak in.
There was only one ticket girl at the window, and when the Count told her that we didn’t have any money and asked if she could “Let us in for free?” She said “No!”
We went around the back of the movie theater and the Count opened up a window. We climbed through. We were in the bathroom of the movie house.
The Count didn’t like climbing through the bathroom window. He felt it was undignified. I thought it was cool.
I asked, “How did you know that this was the bathroom window to the movie house? Do you have x-ray vision like Superman?
“No! I’ve been here before with Elvira.”
I thought, that’s nice. Vampires like movies. I love them too.
But when the movie started the Count was not even watching. He was staring straight ahead. That’s when I remembered hearing about several grisly murders in this area.
While the movie goers were picking out their snacks and refreshments… the Count and Elvira were too.
And that’s when I remembered the Count telling me, “We prefer vampires… but sometimes we get hungry and have a snack or two.”
I responded, “I can understand that. I like snacking too.”
What was I talking about?
I’m not sure why… but I was feeling uneasy. Did the Count want to pick up a quick snack?
There was a family sitting in front of us with two kids and a baby. And the baby looked plump and juicy.
The story will be continued in Count Vampiro 4
Photo by David Knieradl on Unsplash
Fictional stories by John Saccone 
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