New York City has the greatest movie theatres in the world.
And it was a great movie. A romantic comedy with a heartbeat and a funny bone.
And the screen was at least 15 feet wide. And it had great audio and the theatre had motion seats. These are interactive seats that move and vibrate in sync with the on-screen action. I felt like I was in the movie.
During the love scene, where the couple are in bed for the first time, I noticed the Count’s seat was really moving back and forth.
It was surreal!
And the Count didn’t attack anyone. He even waved goodbye to the baby.
The Count told me that when he and Elvira were really hungry, they would settle for people. But they preferred sucking on vampires. He explained, “There is a great difference between drinking beer and a really great wine.”
I understood what he meant. There is a great difference too… between smoking neighborhood pot and Columbian Gold that comes straight from the Columbian jungles.
When the movie was over, we started walking around the West Village and went to Washington Square Park. I sat down on one of the benches and was listening to one of the musicians performing. The Count kept standing and was just staring straight ahead.
He was obviously not a fan of rock and roll. This guy could play.
I asked the Count, “If I was a vampire and sucked his blood, afterward, would I be able to play music as good as him?”
“No!’
Would I be able to read music?”
“No!”
“Would I be able to play music by ear? Copy it… by just listening to it?”
“No!”
I thought, what a bummer.
“Are you able to read minds?”
“No!”
“Are you able to touch someone and give them an electrical shock?”
“No!”
“Can you break large rocks with your hands?”
“No!”
“Do you know people who turn into big wolves?”
“No!”
“Can you do the Monster Mash?”
“No!”
Can you do the Transylvania Twist?”
“No!”
“Can you do the Drac Boogie?”
“No!”
“Do you have friends that would help you fight your enemies?”
“No!”
I was going to ask him another question, but he started hissing at me.
A young attractive girl sat next to me. She had red lipstick on, and orange hair. She had a very short, patterned orange skirt on and a tight orange blouse. She looked like a pumpkin. She wore dirty white sneakers.
She asked, “Who’s the weirdo standing up? Is he a friend of yours?”
I didn’t know what to say. Maybe we were friends. I did most of the talking but I’m pretty sure the Count was listening. He would even hiss at me. I’m sure he was paying attention.
Me and the girl with the orange hair talked for a little while, and I realized that we had a great deal in common. She loved Halloween too.
Tomorrow was Halloween and she invited me to a Halloween party that night. It was around Houston Street.
I said, “Yes. I’ll be there.”
The Count hissed.
She said, “He can come too.”
I asked, rather shyly, “What’s your name?”
“I don’t have a name. And don’t tell me yours. We’ll be the couple with no names. Bye.”
I said underneath my breath, “I’m Jason.”
She walked away and I noticed that she had a really nice caboose.
I asked the Count, “Do you think she’s a little bit strange? Why wouldn’t she tell me her name?”
The Count stomped on my foot. He gets annoyed when I ask him too many questions.
We got back to the apartment a little after midnight. I was exhausted from all that walking. And my feet were crying.
The Count looked like he could walk another thousand miles.
“What is that doing back here?” asked Cynthia.
I felt bad for the Count. I thought she hurt his feelings. But he stared straight ahead.
“Does he have any more pot?” asked Cynthia.
The Count shook his head “No.”
“In that case,” said Cynthia, “you can’t stay.”
I said, “I was invited to a really nice Halloween party tomorrow night near Houston Street. You can come too… if you let him stay for the night.”
Cynthia asked, “Is Houston Street, near the Bowery where they have all those crazy rock clubs? And all those people are stumbling around like zombies?”
“Yes.”
“We have a deal,” said Cynthia. “That area sounds like it’s rocking. It’s probably going to be a great Halloween party. He can sleep on the couch like last time.”
And like last time… Cynthia didn’t bother to get the Count a pillow or blanket or anything.
Cynthia said, “Goodnight.”
I could hear her locking her door and bolting it. She was paranoid like that. All vegans are.
We all went to bed. But when I checked up on the Count, like last time, he was just sitting on the couch, in the dark, and staring straight ahead.
I felt sorry for him. I liked him.
It was like the Count read my mind. He turned towards me and said, “We shouldn’t be friends.”
I said angrily, “Why didn’t you just let the fat woman crush me and save yourself all this regret.”
“Do you think that I regret saving you?”
“It’s obvious that you do… but I don’t know why?”
“You don’t know anything.”
I felt really rejected.
The Count said, “I didn’t say I didn’t want to be friends. I just don’t think it’s a good idea. I’m not good for you.”
That sounded like a line from a movie.
The Count turned away from me. And just looked straight ahead.
I remember when my mom and dad threw me and Cynthia out. I was sixteen at the time and Cynthia was eighteen. We wound up on a Central Park bench the first night and I was staring straight ahead too. There were so many thoughts rummaging through my mind. I guess the Count too… has lots of thoughts about life. Many things to think about.
The story will be continued in Count Vampiro 5
Photo by David Knieradl on Unsplash
Fictional stories by John Saccone 
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