It wasn’t the best of times or the worst of times, it was Halloween.
And when I woke up in the afternoon, I nearly had a heart attack. I went into the kitchen and there was this monster standing there. It had three eyes, all on the left side of its face, and its skull had a gaping wound, and its brains were falling out. I screamed. Was it one of the Count’s meals or a friend?
My sister Cynthia started laughing. “Do you like my face mask? I have one for you too. Happy Halloween.”
I wiped the cobwebs from my eyes, and asked angrily, “Are you trying to give me a heart attack? You know I’m very vulnerable when I first get up. Sometimes I hallucinate.”
“Stop smoking so much pot. That might help. Are you still sniffing glue?”
“No! I stopped doing that. If Danny didn’t stop me… I would’ve jumped off the roof. I learned my lesson.”
“If you stopped sniffling glue, then where are all my brown paper bags? I need to carry my lunch in them for work.”
“I gave them to Henry.”
“Another jerk,” said my sister disdainfully.
I ignored the remark and asked, “What about the Count? Do you have a mask for him too?”
“He doesn’t need one,” said a laughing Cynthia. “He looks ghoulish enough. Do you have any friends that aren’t freaks? I still can’t believe I gave up living with mom and dad because of you.”
“I didn’t tell you to leave.”
“I left… because they threw you out. And I was worried about you. I must have been insane. You’re incorrigible.”
I didn’t bother to respond. She and her friends were no better. I’m a work in progress.
Don’t respond! Don’t respond! I should’ve listened to myself.
I said, “I’m this way because of mom and dad. It’s hereditary.”
My sister couldn’t stop laughing. She doubled over with laughter. She almost threw up.
She said, “You’re this way because of mom and dad. Our very religious parents. They don’t drink or use drugs. They don’t even smoke cigarettes. I don’t even think they have sex.”
I poured myself a cup of coffee.
There were many things that I could say. Like her and her girlfriends are all sluts. And that the reason mom and dad didn’t have sex is because she was having enough sex for the entire family. But I held my tongue.
I asked, very concerned, “Where is the Count?”
“I don’t know. I got up about an hour ago and he wasn’t here. Good riddance.”
I don’t know why… but I was worried about the Count. He seemed so out of place in New York.
My sister gave me a mask that had one large eye in the middle of it, and blood running down the side of its mouth.
I put it on. It was a little tight… but not bad. We would attend the Halloween party with our masks.
The doorbell rang. I went to answer it. I was hoping it was the Count. My sister followed me. When I opened the door, I was pleasantly surprised and then shocked. I was glad to see the Count… but he yelled and fainted.
When he woke back up… he fainted again.
What was wrong with him? Was he not getting enough to eat?
“I think,” said a hysterically laughing Cynthia, “that we better take off the masks. This idiot thinks that we’re really monsters.”
We took off the masks and when the Count woke up again, he looked all around the room.
“Where are the undead?” asked the Count.
“What?” asked Cyntia and I almost in unison.
“The undead. Those waiting in Hell until Judgment Day.”
“You can chill out genius,” said Cynthia, “it was only us. We had masks on. It’s Halloween.”
The Count hissed at both of us, and his eyes turned a blood red. I almost fainted.
Cynthia started laughing. She said, “That’s so cool. How did you make your eyes turn a bright red?”
The Count didn’t bother to answer. He grabbed my hand and we left. We started walking around again. We went from the East Village to the West Side and back again. My feet were killing me.
I refused to walk any further. I couldn’t.
I asked, “Can I jump on your back? You can give me a piggyback ride.”
The Count refused. He felt it was undignified.
We went back to Washington Square Park.
I sat down on the bench, and the Count remained standing. I was hoping to see the girl with no name again.
The Count was standing underneath a tree, and a pigeon pooped on him. I started laughing. The poop hit him right in the face.
The Count pointed his finger at the flying rat, and the pigeon was engulfed in flames. He barbecued it. It fell to the ground dead.
Several people saw what happened. They looked shocked. Stunned.
Thinking fast… I started applauding loudly and said, “This is the great magician Count Vampiro.”
People started applauding. They were even inspecting the dead pigeon.
I said, “It’s a fake pigeon.” I picked up the scorched pigeon, and threw it into a nearby garbage can.
I was about to say, “This is the great Count’s disappearing act,” and grab his hand and run out of the Park.
But the Count was mad. He was wiping the bird shit off his face and started pointing his finger at other pigeons and engulfing them in flames.
I started running around and grabbing the dead pigeons, and throwing them in the garbage can.
As I was running around I was yelling, “They’re fake birds. Don’t be alarmed. They’re part of the act.”
People were throwing money at the Count’s feet. It was donations for the performance. I saw a box and grabbed it.
I yelled, “Please toss the donations into the box. Thanks.”
I continued running around collecting the dead pigeons. And then I noticed a homeless man squatting over the box. He was going to take a dump in the box.
I started yelling at him. I told him, “If you’re going to take a dump… do it in one of the baby carriages. The babies do it there all the time.”
We started arguing. He put his hands up and started boxing around. He wanted to fight me.
The Count was about to point his finger at the homeless man, when I grabbed him
I saw a blue uniform in the distance. It was either a dumb cop or an even more stupid security guard. I couldn’t take the chance. I didn’t want the Count to be arrested. He fried about 39 birds.
I grabbed the Count’s hand and the box filled with the donations and we ran out of the Park.
The homeless man was yelling, “Scaredy cat.”
He threw an empty bottle of Vodka at us. That was a mistake.
The Count pointed at the homeless man and a really large bird — it looked like a small dragon — came out of nowhere and scooped the homeless man up and carried him off.
Several people saw what happened and they were stunned.
I yelled, “It’s an optical illusion crafted by the great magician Count Vampiro. Let’s give him a hand.”
They started clapping. I ran over with the box… and they tossed in donations. A little boy tossed in his lollipop.
After several blocks we stopped running and I counted the donations. We made 23 bucks.
I asked, while sucking on the lollipop, “Where did the dragon-like bird take the homeless man?”
“To its nest. It’s going to feed him to its babies.”
I was shocked.
The Count must have noticed the expression on my face. He quickly added, “I’m only kidding. It’s taking him to a detox center.”
I felt relieved.
We went to a nice diner for dinner. I had lobster and as usual the Count
didn’t eat anything. I had the money to pay for the dinner. But I didn’t pay.
I don’t know what happened. Force of habit. I dined… and dashed.
It was almost 9pm and I wanted to go to the Halloween party. I was hoping to get lucky with the girl with no name.
We met my sister outside an abandoned warehouse on Houston Street. She wasn’t happy.
“What kind of place is this?” asked Cynthia. “You’re a moron.”
She didn’t say it like that. She used a few more F bombs.
I said, “This has to be the place. She said it was an abandoned factory. A warehouse. This has to be it.”
“Who has a party in an abandoned factory?” asked my sister. “And how do we get in? There’s no entrance.”
She didn’t say it like that. She used a few more F bombs.
I said, “The girl with no name told me to squeeze through anything that looks like an entrance.”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense. And what kind of girl… has no name?“
She didn’t say it like that. She used a few more F bombs.
The Count hissed.
The story will be continued in Count Vampiro 6
Photo by David Knieradl on Unsplash
Fictional stories by John Saccone 
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