Fictional stories by John Saccone

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  • Count Vampiro 7

    New York, New York. A helluva town.

    Cynthia and I were very nervous. We were walking past the vampires. We were terrified but we pretended to be joking and fooling around with each other.

    I tried to whistle. I tried to pretend that I wasn’t afraid. But I wasn’t making any sound. My mouth felt very dry.

    We passed by the vampires. They didn’t smell me. I didn’t smell.

    But now something very ominous was happening. A darkened mist seemed to infiltrate the air. And it was getting darker. It was like fog.

    And in this darkened atmosphere, where there is no Light, you could now clearly see the demons.

    And I saw grey ones. They were horribly disfigured and had spikes protruding from their bodies. They too, like us, were afraid. And the red demons were whipping them. Urging them on. Forcing them to fight.

    But it was just the Count.

    Why did they need a whole army… to just fight against him?

    Why were they afraid?

    We were running as fast as we could in the opposite direction. Away from the factory. But it was hard to run through the fog. It was like being encased in mud, from head to toe, and trying to run through it. Or trying to run while you’re under water.

    The fog felt like it was alive.

    It seemed like an eternity, but we finally ran past the fog.

    We were only a block away and now in a normal darkened night.

    Cynthia and I looked back.

    I saw dragons fighting in the skies. The same kind of dragon that carried off the homeless man. But these were much huger. As big as skyscrapers.

    I saw three-headed monsters with horns that had the body of a snake, fighting against them.

    They were slithering in the air… just like a snake would slither on the ground. And they would wrap their muscled bodies around the dragons.

    I saw what looked like vultures, with beaks as big as a building, swooping down… tearing apart the dragons, piece by piece.

    What looked like huge bats, in a swarm, thousands of them… attacking the dragons.

    There were also three headed dragons, fighting alongside the other dragons and they were spewing out white fire. They incinerated everything in their path.

    There were monstrously deformed vultures engulfed in flames… and crying out from their pain.

    I saw what looked like gladiators, each 500 feet tall. Beings that had as skin, a silvery metal, and from their mouths roared death and destruction. A spraying burning liquid acid, deforming and piercing through everything that it touched.

    They were helping the dragons.

    There were beings that looked like hyenas, that stood erect, with two bronze legs, and with claws as big as a building. They were tearing into the dragons.

    I stopped looking. I didn’t want to see anymore.

    My sister screamed! “Look!”

    A huge lightning bolt lit up the sky, cutting it, and it started pouring drops of blood. And then the sky split in two. Like the Red Sea. And in the middle was a blackened portal. The entrance to hell. To unbelievable horror.

    And some of the dragons, still alive, were being dragged there. And so were the people.

    You could hear the people pleading for mercy. Crying out for help. Even crying out to a God that they had long ago abandoned.

    Now it was too late.

    I remembered the line in a movie, “As darkness envelops the Light, the Souls of the people will also be enveloped in darkness.”

    I put my hands over my ears. I couldn’t bear to hear the screams from the people anymore. Both Cynthia and I felt like crying. But there were no tears to shed. No drops to display how awful the horror was.

    Vampires don’t cry.

    There was a loud roaring explosion. It shook the ground. The night was engulfed in flames. The sky was burning.

    There were cars underneath the explosion, parked on the ground… they melted.

    Cynthia and I could feel the heat and started running.

    I now realized that everything that the Count told me was a lie. He made me believe that he didn’t have any power. But they would have never assembled such a great army just to destroy an ordinary vampire.

    Who was he really?

    When we arrived at our apartment… We were both still shocked.

    I found myself staring straight ahead. Deep in thought. I looked at my sister, and she was staring straight ahead.

    I wondered what type of horror the Count had witnessed over the centuries… he was always staring straight ahead. Was he Imprisoned by the thoughts of his past? Shackled to a history that he could not undo. And a loneliness known only to those that experience unbelievable horror. Or a loneliness known only to those that orchestrate it.

    I didn’t sleep that night. I would never sleep again.

    I noticed as the night advanced, how incredibly strong I felt. I also had a better sense of hearing, sight, and smell.

    And my eyes burned.

    I saw a vision. It appeared right in front of me.

    I was in a Church… No! It was a large auditorium. There were beings arguing with me. They weren’t people.

    My eyes started burning. A fire was lit inside them. It was a raging inferno.

    They exploded and engulfed the whole auditorium. Everything was on fire. And the creatures were burning and writhing in pain.

    I walked through the flames… like I was walking through air. Unharmed.

    I tried to look away, but the vision continued and I was motionless… paralyzed.

    I saw different kingdoms. Different cultures. Human beings and those that were not. And I saw a plague… a Black Death. This disease was merciless… heartless. It killed everyone in its path.

    It was a raging inferno that could not be contained.

    It was the Black Death.

    Someone lit the match. Someone lit the match.

    Everything was scorched… consumed. Everything became ashes. It was a burning ring of fire. And it burns, burns, burns.

    I lit the match!

    I was the Black Death.

    I turned everything into black ashes.

    Is this real?

    The night embraces me. It coddles me. It protects me.

    Darkness is my cover.

    A veil that shields me. Conceals me.

    I am the fire that lights up the darkness. When I want to be seen… I burn.

    I am a spark from the nether world.

    Born in hell.

    Immortal!

    I consume everything that I touch.

    I’m a scorching, penetrating fire that brings fear into people’s eyes. To meet me… is to invite unbelievable horror and terror into your life.

    I am not a vampire. The vampire is my host. I feed off of it. I live through it.

    It hides me.

    I remain in the shadows. Unknown… unseen.

    A parasite.

    Count Vampiro was not a vampire. That was his costume.

    The vision ended.

    I stood in my living room and looked around. My sister was standing up and looking straight ahead. I started staring straight ahead. My eyes burned.

    I hissed.

    All of this happened two hundred years ago.

    And we’re still searching.

    Myself, my sister and Elvira. If the Count was still in this world… he would have contacted us by now. If dead… there is nothing else that we can do for him. If imprisoned and enslaved… we would have to fight our way past the gates of hell to retrieve him.

    We continue to look for the girl with no name. She is our only link. And as we look for her… we are gathering our own army.

    My sister and I do not feed off of the blood of people. Neither does Elvira. We only feed off of vampires. And we are their mortal enemies.

    And so, our legend grows.

    Photo by David Knieradl on Unsplash

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  • Count Vampiro 6

    New York City is a city that never sleeps. That’s not necessarily a good thing.

    We finally found a board that we could dislodge and we entered. A few feet away was a doorway. We walked through the doorway and started walking down a long hallway. It was dark at first but we kept walking. We started seeing ghoulish lanterns hung on the wall… lighting up the way. There were skeletons pointing the way with their skeletal fingers.

    There were also ghost and skull ornaments dangling from the ceiling. And evil looking pumpkins hung on the walls.

    We were passing by a mummy and I gave it the middle finger. It spit on me, and started laughing.

    My sister noticed what happened and she started laughing too.

    There was obviously a stupid dummy… inside the mummy.

    The Frankenstein monster pinched my sister on her butt.

    There were bloodcurdling yells and spooky laughter.

    Me and Cynthia were laughing. It was hysterical.

    The Count started hissing.

    We kept walking and walking. It felt like we were walking around a maze.

    We went right and then left. And left and then right. And right and then left. We were following the skeletons and where their fingers pointed.

    We were at an intersection. And there were two skeletons. One was pointing left and the other right.

    Me and Cynthia started laughing.

    The Count started hissing.

    Finally… a door. We opened it and entered a room with bright lights and blasting rock music. They were playing Roadway to Hell. And there were people dancing that were wearing little red devil horns.

    The musicians all looked like demons. What outfits! They had feet with very pointed toenails and tails. And the people dancing to their music had similar outfits on. Some had more grotesque mask features than others. The female demons had short skirts on.

    The music was pulsating with a beat that excited the senses. And Cynthia and I were moving in rhythm with the music. The place was rocking.

    Cynthia and I started dancing with each other. And while we were dancing, I was looking around for the hostess. The girl with no name.

    There was a beautiful aroma in the air. The fragrance was intoxicating. The couple dancing next to me… were smoking a joint. She stopped dancing, and walked near me, and put the joint in my mouth.

    That was so thoughtful.

    I love it when people are friendly like that. I noticed that she had a big rock on her finger. It almost slapped me in the face.

    Maybe their swingers. I’ll sleep with her, and her husband can sleep with my sister.

    The Count didn’t look happy. He tapped me on the shoulder.

    I asked, while still dancing, “What’s wrong?”

    The Count asked “Have you noticed the design on the floor?”

    “What?”

    “Take a look at the design on the floor.”

    I said confidently, “It’s a star.”

    I was always good with geometric figures.

    “And how many points does it have?”

    “Five.”

    “Are there any breaks in the drawing or is it one continuous line?”

    “There are no breaks. It’s one continuous line.”

    My sister Cynthia was listening in and she whispered, looking shocked, “It’s a pentagram. A symbol for Satan. You moron! This is a Satanic cult. Let’s get out of here.”

    She didn’t say it like that. She used a few more F bombs. And called me a moron more times than I would like to admit.

    I said, “I’m not going anywhere. This party is awesome.”

    My sister pinched me real hard on my arm.

    I asked, in a very annoyed tone, “What is wrong with you? Why did you do that? You know I have very sensitive skin.”

    “Did you ever think… maybe you were invited to this party so that they could sacrifice you to some demon deity that they worship?”

    That was a frightening thought. But she might be right.

    We went back out the way we came in. And when we were outside, I saw the girl. The one with no name. She was smiling. She stood on the other side of the street.

    I waved to her. She didn’t wave back.

    There were eight girls and at least sixteen guys with her. They all looked very pale. They looked like the Count. And there were a couple of others that were hovering above the ground.

    I had to look twice. What was holding them up? And they had long fingers and long nails.

    The girl with no name shouted, “Count Vampiro… it is so nice to finally meet you. The great Vampire slayer. But after tonight… you will drink no more.”

    The Count pulled me and my sister back inside.

    He said, “Those are vampires and demons. I’m trapped.”

    “Is he out of his mind?” asked my frightened sister. “Are they all out of their minds? What was that girl talking about?”

    Cynthia, like me, couldn’t speak. We were both terrified. The Count’s eyes were blazing red, and they both looked like fires were burning inside them.

    And more than that. We could see inside the flames… people and buildings being consumed in a raging inferno.

    We could feel the scorching heat coming from his eyes. We both moved back.

    “He really is a Vampire,” said my shocked sister.

    She didn’t say it like that. She used a few more F bombs.

    The Count and I stuck our heads outside the door. There were others on top of the building across the street. I saw horribly disfigured faces, with horns, not only on the top of their heads… but also sticking out the sides of their faces and necks. They had claws, and skin that looked like burnt rubber. Most of them had an appearance of charcoal or black; but a few of them were red.

    None of them were walking. They were floating a few feet above the ground.

    There was one that was yellow. It was golden. It was in charge.

    “Demons,” said the Count. “Real demons.”

    We went back to the Satanic Halloween party.

    The Count led us toward the back of the room… into a bathroom.

    I said, “Why don’t we exchange costumes with some of these people. We can sneak out of here with them… when they leave.”

    The Count said, “They’ll smell you from a block away. Your AB Negative blood. We could never sneak you past the vampires.”

    I asked, “Can they smell you too?”

    “No!” replied the Count disdainfully. “Unlike you… I don’t smell. And your sister just has regular common blood. You’re the problem.”

    I didn’t know what was happening. The Count dragged me and my sister into one of the bathroom stalls and closed the door. Was he some kind of pervert too?

    He bit into my neck and drained me of my blood. It burned! It felt like it was on fire. And then he bit into his arm. And he sucked blood from one of his veins and bit my neck again and transferred the blood to me.

    It was a blood transfusion.

    I no longer had the AB Negative blood coursing through my veins. I had his blood. And the vampires wouldn’t be able to smell me.

    He bit Cynthia. We were now… both Vampires.

    But Cynthia was mad. She didn’t want to be a vampire. But the Count explained to her that she was a natural. She had two big front teeth. Like a beaver. It would be easy for her to tear open someone’s throat and feed.

    But she still didn’t like it. And she even felt insulted. She’s always been very self-conscious and sensitive about her teeth.

    People were leaving the party. It was very late at night. We exchanged costumes with two of the guests. That was easy. The Count just threw them up against the wall and knocked them out.

    I was now a demon pirate. And I had a snake sword too. Cynthia was Casper the unfriendly demon ghost.

    I asked, “Why aren’t you getting a costume for yourself.”

    “I would never,” said the Count, his eyes staring straight ahead, “be able to sneak past the demons. But you two can. Now that you don’t smell, you can also sneak by the vampires. You’ll just be another common blood type to them. Just one of the guests.”

    I said, “I would never leave you Count. Our destinies and fate are intertwined.”

    I liked that line. I heard it in a movie.

    “Mine isn’t,” said Cynthia. “Bye!”

    The Count pushed me outside the stall. He pointed his finger at me. “If you don’t go with your sister… I’ll engulf you in flames and end your life here.”

    I said, frightened, “But I’m just a baby. A baby vampire. My life just began.”

    The story will be continued in Count Vampiro 7

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  • Count Vampiro 5

    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

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  • Count Vampiro 4

    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

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  • Vampiro 3

    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

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  • Count Vampiro 2

    New York’s Greenwich Village Halloween Parade shouts with excitement. Creativity; style; imagination; no other parade comes close.

    A youthful exuberance for life fuels it.

    It’s a powder keg of anticipation and excitement, and the parade ignites the fuse.

    And afterward the bars and clubs are lit up with the intoxicated masses.

    It’s ready to explode.

    And when you’re partying on the highway of life, eventually you come to the realization that some people will lose their life, some their Soul.

    But it wasn’t Halloween yet. And spooky and weird things were already happening.

    I should have realized that something was wrong. While I was walking with the woman, I noticed that the full moon was covered by dark ominous clouds. Was it a sign? A Warning?

    Out of nowhere… a man and a woman came to my rescue. Good Samaritans.

    The man grabbed a hold of one of the drug-dealing vampires and snapped his neck back. It snapped, crackled and popped.

    The other vampire started running away but the woman jumped on top of him and started biting him on the back of his neck.

    She started tearing one chunk of flesh out after another and spitting it on the ground.

    Wow! These good Samaritans were vicious. I almost threw up.

    The beautiful woman, who was now a big fat worm like blob, with ugly fingernails, tried to fly away. But the guy jumped 20 feet into the air and grabbed a hold of her and flung her to the ground. He then ripped her wings off and her heart out.

    Before she died, she cried out for mercy… but the empathy in that man’s eyes… that light was extinguished long ago.

    I passed out.

    When I woke up… the guy was standing over me and looking at me. He had blood all over his face.

    “I’m Count Vampiro. It’s nice to meet you.”

    He sounded weird. It was like his tongue was stuck to his front teeth while he was speaking.

    I didn’t want to think about it. And I didn’t want to say it. But it was like he was reading my mind.

    The Count looked at me sternly and said, “Say it! Say it! Say it out loud!”

    I said, “You’re a vampire!”

    “Yes. But I won’t hurt you. Are you afraid of me?”

    “No.”

    I don’t know why… but I wasn’t afraid. I felt nauseous… but not afraid. He seemed so sincere.

    I asked, “Do you have superpowers?”

    “What?”

    “Can you fly like Superman?”

    “No!”

    “Can you climb like Spidey?”

    “No!”

    “Can you climb really big trees?”

    “No!”

    “Can you dance?”

    “No!”

    “Can you play the piano?”

    “No!”

    “Can you play baseball?”

    “No!”

    “What can you do?”

    “I can suck every drop of blood out of you.”

    The woman vampire was still sucking the juice… I mean blood from one of the vampires.

    She looked up at me… and the blood was drooling down her chin.

    When she finished, she walked over to me and Count Vampiro.

    “This is Countess Elvira,” said Count Vampiro.

    “Why is he still alive?” asked the Countess. “Did you save him for me? I’m stuffed.”

    “He has AB Negative blood,” said the Count.

    “That used to be my favorite beverage,” said the smiling Countess. “It’s very rare. The last time I drank that was when we were in the Arctic. Do you remember?”

    “How could I forget? We ran into that tribe and almost half of the thirty meals had that blood type. What a great buffet.”

    “We have to go back,” said the Countess. “It’s so peaceful over there. And I loved playing with the Polar bears and Wolves.”

    The Count stared straight ahead. It looked like he was thinking about something.

    The Countess burped and a little bit of blood and pieces of flesh drooled out of her mouth. It was disgusting.

    The Count said, “I’m going to use him as bait. He’ll lure other vampires to us. They’ll all want his AB Negative blood.”

    “What are you talking about?” asked the Countess. “Our plane leaves in two hours for Transylvania.”

    “We can go later… after we find the other vampires.”

    “No! My brother is expecting me and so is his wife and kids.”

    “In that case,” said the Count, “I’ll meet you there.”

    She looked mad. I mean really pissed. She looked just like my sister does whenever one of her boyfriend’s disappoints her. But the Countess didn’t say anything. She just walked away while wiping the blood from her mouth and dislodging pieces of flesh from her teeth.

    Unlike my sister, she was obviously a dignified and classy woman. A real lady. She didn’t start dropping F-bombs.

    I yelled out to her, “Bye!”

    She turned around and hissed at me.

    The Count yelled, “And when you get there leave those two old witches alone. I still have lice in my hair and boils on my ass.”

    The Countess yelled back, “And you better stay away from that bleached blond niece of theirs or I’ll pull her hair out from the roots and shove that broom up her butt.”

    I asked, surprised, “They have witches in Transylvania?”

    “Yes. And they’re ruining everything. Since they started moving in… the neighborhood has really changed.”

    “I can imagine.”

    “No! You can’t. Last year, I was walking down a road, moon bathing, and I fell off a cliff. There was no road there. They made it look like a road. They thought it was funny.”

    I summoned up all my courage and said, “I’m not going to be your bait. My sister will be worried about me. I have to go home.”

    “That’s great,” said the Count. “I would love to meet your sister.”

    “What? No! What are you talking about? You must never say that to me… never.”

    “Why not?”

    “Because you’ll hurt her.”

    “You nitwit… I’ll be protecting her. If there are vampires around, they’ll go after her. They’ll be able to smell her blood type. And AB Negative type blood is the best. Well… a distant second best. Vampire blood is the best. That’s the only kind I drink. It’s a beverage for those of us with discriminating taste. But she’s in danger.”

    I didn’t think of that. The blood sucker had a point. But I didn’t know what to do.

    I asked him, “Are you related to bed bugs? They suck too. I mean, they suck blood too.”

    The story will be continued in Count Vampiro 3

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  • Count Vampiro

    Halloween in New York starts with the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade. That’s when the real partying begins.

    The parade starts around 7pm and stretches from Canal Street to 15th Street in Manhattan.

    I love it. It’s my favorite parade.

    Last year I went as a skeleton and my sister as a clown.

    It was fantastic.

    It’s in a few days and I still haven’t decided what costume to wear.

    I also have to get some pot. I smoked the stash that I had. And I don’t want to have the same problem that I had last year.

    Last year, I waited too long and all the drug dealers that I knew sold out.

    All the young people buy pot for Halloween. It’s part of the tradition. And I always wind up at a Halloween party. And the magic dragon’s smoke always makes the occasion more festive.

    I was outside of the Life Rock night club. And I knew the bartender inside. He was a bartender who sold drugs on the side. Or he was a drug dealer that bartended on the side. Either way… he sold pot. And good stuff. Not the stuff mixed with oregano, or parsley… or whatever.

    This stuff came from California. Where they also make wine and have all those beautiful vineyards. They have a good reputation for producing good wine and weed.

    I knew the bouncer, and he let me in. He knew what I was there for.

    But Leonard wasn’t there. They told me that he left early.

    A young woman approached me and said, “You smell so good.”

    It must’ve been from the pot that I was smoking earlier. It has a nice fragrant smell that clings to you. I smell just like burning weed.

    She was really good looking. She wore soft black mascara, and pink lipstick. And had on a tight-fitting black dress and black high heel shoes. And black stockings. Wow!

    She had an hourglass shaped body.

    I wiped the saliva from my mouth. I was drooling.

    I didn’t know what to say. I asked, “Do you sell pot?”

    She smiled and said, “No! But I know two guys a few blocks from here that do.”

    We left the club together and walked three blocks. As we were walking, I was hoping that I would get lucky tonight. She was gorgeous.

    We went down an alleyway, and there they were… the two drug dealers.

    She asked them, “Doesn’t he smell nice.”

    “Delicious,” said one of the male drug dealers.

    The other guy said, “Yummy.”

    I started blushing.

    Was I dreaming? Was I hallucinating? Was I smoking bad weed earlier? As I approached the two drug dealers, I noticed that they had fangs, and their eyes were blood red.

    And the beautiful woman… her nails had grown. They were now each four inches long. And they were black and ugly looking. She could definitely use a manicure. And I noticed that she had a forked tongue like a snake. It was split down the middle.

    And her arms looked like a bat’s wings. And she no longer had any legs. She was wiggling her fat body on the ground. That’s how she moved. She was changing her form right before my eyes. She was enormous.

    I must be hallucinating. It comes from all the weed that I smoke. They say that you shouldn’t smoke three or four times a day… but I do. And this is one of the benefits. Sometimes you hallucinate.

    She grabbed a hold of me, and I couldn’t break free. She was as strong as an ape. And had really bad breath. It smelled like a rotting corpse.

    I was frightened. This was no hallucination.

    I started laughing. She was tickling my neck with her forked tongue. Was she tasting me?

    She threw me to the ground. She was about to jump on top of me and crush me.

    The two drug dealers were standing next to her. They had ghoulish grins on their faces.

    The story will be continued in Count Vampiro 2

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  • The Soap Dish 2

    Not every door is meant to be opened. Nor should you peek behind every curtain.  

    During dinner I asked Jeffrey if I could borrow his new tennis racket. I wanted to try it out. Maybe I would play better. He told me that he lent it to Leon, and he has yet to return it. 

    I don’t why… but I didn’t believe him. 

    Jeffrey and I have a big rivalry going on over tennis. We both claim to be the better player. And whenever one of us loses to the other, we always make excuses. It’s either the tennis racket, the balls, the sun in our eyes, or the wind. Or anything else that we can think of.

    We have a great time coming up with the most outlandish excuses.

    I pretended that I had to go to the bathroom and went upstairs. But instead of opening up the bathroom door, I opened up the closet door. I just wanted to take a peek. I wanted to see if the tennis racket was there. 

    I didn’t see it. 

    I started moving some bags around. Maybe it was behind one of them. I picked up one bag and some of its contents fell out the side. A soap dish fell out. My soap dish. May’s soap dish. 

    What was it doing there?

    I started rummaging through the bag that the soap dish fell out of and found an envelope. I opened it and saw pictures of my wife and Jeffery naked. Naked and together. I felt like throwing up. I felt dizzy. 

    In the photos the both of them looked much younger. 

    I stumbled into the bathroom and threw some cold water on my face. I felt like I was in shock. I had to compose myself. 

    I went into Jeffrey’s bedroom and got a piece of paper and a pen. I wrote in capital letters, “ADULTERER.”

    I opened up the soap dish and placed the note inside, and also put one of the photos of them both in bed naked. I then closed the lid. I put the soap dish back in the bag.

    I went back downstairs.

    Jeffrey joked, “I was about to send a scuba diving team up there to look for you. I thought you fell in the water.”

    I tried to smile but I couldn’t. 

    I didn’t say anything about him and my wife. What I just discovered. How could I say anything? Jeffrey’s girlfriend was there. 

    I’m a very proud man. And a proud man like me doesn’t like being humiliated. Doesn’t like airing his dirty laundry out in public. 

    Is there any greater humiliation, than another man that is your best friend, sleeping with your wife? 

    I pretended that I wasn’t feeling that well. And I really didn’t have to pretend. I wasn’t feeling well. 

    We left early.

    When we got home I didn’t say anything to May about her affair with Jeffrey. I didn’t know what to say. My mind was so cluttered with emotions that I couldn’t think straight. 

    That night I couldn’t fall asleep. 

    The thought of Jeffery, my best friend, and my wife together haunted me. I found myself crying. I found myself wondering about how many years they were involved with each other. Were they still seeing each other? 

    And how many times when we were all together…  Were Jeffrey and my wife exchanging sly glances, whispers and smiles, as secret lovers do? 

    And how many other people knew? Her family and our friends? 

    Was I the only one left in the dark? Unaware? Was I the brunt of their jokes? 

    How sad it is to be betrayed by someone that you love. And I did love her.

    I knew it from the first moment that we met. The first time that I touched her. 

    I knew that I would be enslaved to her for all my life. For what is love but some kind of enslavement? 

    I would exhaust and spend my time and life pleasing her. I would do her bidding. I would place her on a pedestal. 

    Did she fall out of love with me? That’s understandable. 

    It happens. 

    Couldn’t she have let me down easily? Give me some time. If she no longer loved me… let me down gently. 

    Not like this! Not with my best friend! Not behind my back!

    A depression that I have never felt before… gripped my soul. I’m hurting terribly. Is there anything about my life that is free of lies and deception? 

    Negative thoughts seem to come in bunches. And when you go down that road… it gets darker and darker. 

    My love for May was turning into hatred.

    Betrayal by your spouse… the unkindest cut of all. 

    That morning I let out all my pent up anger. I knew I had to get away from her. I was so mad with May that I felt like hurting her. 

    And now I felt like turning the car around. I wanted to go back. I wanted to go back there and kill her. And afterward myself. 

    My thoughts were painting scenarios of horror. The canvas showed the corpses of two people… me and May. 

    My eyes were turning red. Blood red!

    The Story will be continued in The Soap Dish 3

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  • The Soap Dish

    In life I have suffered the slings and arrows of a thousand misfortunes… but combined, they paled, compared to this.

     I have been lied to; deceived; conned; betrayed.

    And no one that really lives life to the fullest and inhales it deeply will tell you otherwise.
    It comes with the territory.

    But even a battle-hardened warrior of life like me… was left gasping for air. I was deeply wounded.

    I was incensed. Outraged.

    I started yelling and screaming at my wife about the soap dish.

    She thought I lost my mind. It was early in the morning, and we were in our bedroom.

    “What is wrong with you?” asked my wife May. “Did you have a nightmare?”

    I still had my toothbrush in my mouth. I was so mad that I was biting on it.

    “Where’s the soap dish?” I roared.

    I bought her that soap dish as a fifteen-year wedding anniversary gift. It wasn’t a regular soap dish. It was made of silver, with real gold trimming. Her name was engraved on it. It cost me almost a thousand dollars. That was ten years ago.

    “Where’s the soap dish? If you don’t get me that soap dish in five minutes I’m walking out of here and never coming back.”

    She looked at me like I was crazy.

    She said, “You know it got lost eight years ago. We looked all over and couldn’t find it.”

    I took the toothbrush out of my mouth and spit my saliva and toothpaste on the floor.

    I roared again, “Where’s that soap dish? You have two minutes left to find it.”

    “What is wrong with you?” asked May, with a fearful expression in her eyes and a confused look on her face.

    I yelled, “How could it get lost? Things just don’t disappear into thin air. Where’s that soap dish?”

    “We looked all over for it,” said a shaken May. “I don’t know what happened to it.”

    “You’re running out of time,” I shouted, my eyes ablaze with hatred for my wife.

    Whenever I took my wife on a business trip with me or we went on vacation, she would always complain about the soap. The soap in these hotels was terrible. At home she used a special soap called Fragrance. It was enriched with vitamin C and had organic shea butter… that was not only good for her skin, but the soap had a nice pleasant fragrant smell. It smelled like green tea.

    It looked and smelled so good that I felt like eating it.

    May told me that the soap “creates a rich, creamy lather that gently moisturizes and softens my skin.”

    She told me to try it, but I never did. It seemed too girly.

    And one bar of soap was five bucks. That’s right… five bucks.

    And May was the type of woman that loved to take showers and even baths. Sometimes, in the summer, three times a day.

    She was costing me a fortune in soap bars. But it was worth it. She was soft to the touch. And smelled exotic. Like Green tea.

    And that’s why I bought her the soap dish. She could now carry her precious, expensive soap with her, in a nice fancy soap dish.

    May grabbed a hold of my arm and I pulled it away. I continued packing as fast as I could.

    May started crying. She knew that I was a man of my words. I said… only what I meant.

    I am not the type of man that there is any subtlety in my words. My words don’t have a double or triple meaning. They are not nuanced. I say what I mean… and then do it.

    I was packing my bags. No soap dish… I’m gone.

    “What are you doing?” asked May through hard sobs. “We’ve been married for twenty-five years and you’re leaving me over a soap dish.”

    I ignored what she said, took the bag that I packed, went downstairs and slammed the door behind me.

    I’m gone.

    I decided to spend the day in a hotel. I didn’t bother to go to work. I had many things to think about and wanted to be left alone. I called to let them know that I wasn’t coming in. It was no big deal. I’m the boss.

    I’m the boss. I’ve always been the boss. I don’t like working for other people. When you’re the boss, or self-employed, your success or failure depends on you. When you work for other people… there’s too much favoritism. Hard work is not rewarded… who the boss likes is.

    As I was driving to the hotel, I started thinking about last evening.

    My wife May and I were dining with my best friend Jeffrey and his girlfriend Diane. We were dining in Jeffrey’s home.

    Amidst the tranquility and fun of a peaceful evening… That’s when the storm arrived.

    Little did I know, but I was already engulfed in a fog that I was not even aware of.

    The truth came in the form of lightning and thunder. Shattering my ignorant bliss into a million pieces.

    That’s when the cloak of darkness and secrecy that surrounded my life began to unravel. And that’s when I was able to peek behind the curtain.

    That’s when this nightmare began.

    The Story will be continued in The Soap Dish 2

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  • The Burglar 5

    Anyone can do well in a sprint, but you have to remember that life is a marathon.

    The doctor told me that for the first two days that I was in the hospital I was in a coma.

    I’ve now been here for three weeks. I’ve lost two fingers on my right hand and three on my left. I have severe facial lacerations and part on my scalp was ripped off.

    I no longer have a lower lip and part of my nose was torn off. I have bites all over my legs and arms and chest and back.

    But not my neck. I made sure to protect that.

    I told the police that I had surrendered. I even told the couple that I didn’t have a weapon. Why did the woman have the dogs attack me?

    The couple told the police that when they entered the apartment their dogs were already attacking me. That they stopped them. That I was lying.

    When the cops started questioning me, I refused to say anything else. I wanted an attorney.

    I was confused. I was weak. I almost died.

    And when I saw my attorney, he told me to take it easy, and we would discuss the case in detail when I was feeling better.

    The couple must have a really good attorney. They usually tell you what to say… so that you don’t get into trouble. He had the woman deny that she commanded the dogs to attack me.

    What it came down to… It was my word against theirs. And you better believe that their attorney knew that. And he would make sure to have the couple use the same rehearsed script. They won’t be tripping over each other’s words. They would back each other up.

    I was a criminal, and they were two upstanding citizens. The cops didn’t believe me.

    I am currently thinking about a career change. Not sure what.

    My mom visited me in the hospital and handed me a letter. It was from my uncle. She went to see him in prison yesterday.

    It read, “Sorry to hear what happened to you. I always told you to carry a gun. I don’t know why you didn’t listen to me. If you had one, you could have killed them all. Keep track of the couple and the two dogs. I’m getting out next year, and I’ll pay them all a visit. And believe me… I’m not the kind of guy you want visiting you.”

    My mom told me that when her younger brother, my uncle, was a little boy that he would never tire of playing. He was a very playful little boy, and very friendly. I wondered how he learned to become a monster.

    I tried to forget what happened to me and move on. But every time I look in the mirror… I’m reminded.

    That couple should have never done that. They knew that I surrendered and was unarmed. And it won’t be just my uncle paying them and the two dogs a visit next year. We’ll be paying them a visit.

    It was Friday and I couldn’t wait to see my mom. She was bringing me some pastries. I have an awful sweet tooth.

    The aroma alone, from freshly baked pastries makes my mouth water. From flaky croissants to sweet Danishes… I crave them all.

    They’re perfect for breakfast… even lunch.

    When my mom arrived, she smilingly handed me the pastries. I didn’t even offer her one.

    She gently wiped the jelly from the donut off my mouth. After I devoured the pastries, we started talking about my case. I couldn’t believe what she was telling me.

    I just started laughing and laughing. My mom looked at me like I was crazy.

    She told me that the couple said, “The rare coins were stolen.”

    She looked at me for a reaction. But I didn’t have any.

    She sternly said, “When the police arrived at the couple’s apartment, they found the safe open and it was empty. And I was told that the combination number to the safe was found in your wallet.”

    I kept laughing.

    She sarcastically said, “Are you on some sugar high from eating the donuts.”

    I didn’t bother to respond.

    She added, “The couple also said they heard another man going down the fire escape. Who was he?”

    I kept laughing and laughing.

    “Are you alright,” asked a concerned mom.

    “Yes.”

    It was ingenious. That’s why the woman had the dogs attack me. She realized in a split second what she needed to do.

    It was a burglary, and I was the burglar. But it wasn’t me that stole the rare coins. They stole the rare coins.

    And more than likely she wanted the dogs to kill me. I was the only one that knew the truth.

    I would later learn that they filed an insurance claim for the theft of the rare coins for over 200,000 dollars.

    I would also later learn from my sources, that the weekend that the couple were going away was wrong. It was the following weekend. The date was wrong.

    That’s why the dogs were in the apartment. The couple never went away. They were home.

    Time goes by very slowly when you’re healing. The monotonous routine is mind-numbing. It felt like I was living in slow motion. Living under water. It was surreal.

    My life used to be like rock and roll. It had a pulsating beat. It resembled Las Vegas nightlife. It had a heartbeat.

    Being in a hospital was as exciting as a children’s petting zoo.

    I was bored out of my mind.

    Maybe that’s why I was having so many arguments with the staff.

    I’m an extrovert. Is that a flaw? It is when you combine it with boredom. We can become insufferable bullies. We crave attention.

    I was eventually released from the hospital.

    As I was leaving, I heard one of the nurses’ comments, “Good riddance!”

    When I went to visit my uncle in prison, I told him everything about that awful night. And I told him about the date mix-up.

    He smiled and said, “Don’t you get it. It was a scam from the beginning. The couple purposely left the wall safe combination number by the safe. They wanted one of the construction workers to see it and break in. Or pass the combination number off to someone else, and that person would burglarize their apartment.”

    “But why?”

    “Why? It’s so simple. That’s why they had the wall safe installed in their apartment in the first place. They wanted people to know that they had valuable coins stored there. I’m sure people knew that this guy was a rare coin dealer. That’s also why they let people know that they were going away for the weekend. It was a set-up. They weren’t really going away. They would be waiting. Waiting silently with their well-trained dogs in their three-bedroom apartment. Waiting silently with their well-trained dogs to attack and kill the guy that broke in and give the police the same excuse… There were two of them, and the other guy ran off with the coins. It was an insurance scam. It was all planned. By the way, you’re lucky to be alive.”

    I started crying.

    I felt so embarrassed, but I couldn’t stop myself. The tears were streaming down my face.

    I had been through so much.

    I knew that throughout my life, the scars on my face would haunt me and serve as a constant reminder about that dark night. Throughout my life, the memory would sting my eyes and be rinsed out by my tears.

    And for me, the world will change. That’s inevitable. It looks very different when you see it through scars and tears.

    Don’t get me wrong… I’ll still dance my way through life. You can’t change what you are. But I’ll tweak it here and there. And I’ll always be looking over my shoulder.

    My mom told me, “Even after the darkest storms… afterward, the sun shines.”

    That’s true. But sometimes after a bad storm, a tree is uprooted. Or a baby bird is displaced from its nest. The storm leaves its own scars.

    I didn’t realize it when I was younger, but the bill for choosing unwisely in life… always comes due.

    The postman always rings twice.

    I would never rob anyone again.

    I now knew what it was like to be caught in a spider’s web, and to be at the mercy of a spider. And the spider’s gaze is cold and merciless.

    Photo by Aconitum on Unsplash

    Hospital bed photo by Author.

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