A Lugubrious
Vampire
by R L Tilley
It happened on
All Hallows Eve. The evening when the dead walk,
and the undead, not to mention the living.
It was late
evening and I was walkingthe dog. We were walking
along a road opposite some woodland where the
Local Authority had placed a wrought iron bench
to commemorate the advent of the Millenium.
A dark figure
was huddled on the bench and was illuminated
somewhat by the amber rays of the street lighting
that was situated nearby. As we drew closer I
perceived the figure to be that of a man. He was
wrapped in a black coat with a red lining that
showed in the unfurled folds that hung below the
bench. his face was extremely pale and as we were
in the act of passing he looked up at me and I
was startled to see that his eyes were red. The
dog growled.
‘Don’t
let him bite me,’ the man cried, fearfully.
‘He
won’t bite you,’ I said.
‘You’re more likely to bite him. You
are a vampire, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’
he replied. ‘But I don’t want to be.
I’m fed up with being undead. It’s a
damned nuisance and I wish Uncle Vlad had never
persuaded me to be bitten. I’m sick to the
back teeth of going around biting people, young
women, mostly, and sucking their blood.’
‘Well,
why don’t you pack it up?’ I asked him.
‘Easier
said than done,’ he replied.
‘I
suppose it’s your life’s blood,’ I
said.
‘Something
like that. Why don’t you sit with me a while
and I’ll tell you all about Mona and me not
wanting to be a vampire?’
‘Who’s
Mona?’ I asked.
‘She’s
my girl friend, in a way,’ he said.
I didn’t
much relish sitting on a bench with a vampire and
would rather have carried on walking the dog.
However, this vampire looked so sad and lost (he’s
probably a terrible bore, I thought) and I did
have some dog biscuits in my pocket to keep Henry
entertained. Henry is the name of my dog. He
doesn’t like vampires but he’ll do
anything for a biscuit. I sat down.
‘I
don’t have a crucifix,’ I told the
vampire. ‘But I do have a clove of garlic.’
‘That’s
old hat,’ he said. ‘Anyway, I won’t
hurt you.’
He extended a
hand in greeting.
‘My
name’s Sandor,’ he told me, shaking my
warm hand with his cold one.
‘I’m
Jeremy,’ I told him.
‘Well,
Jeremy,’ he said. ‘I’m in love.’
Oh no, here we
go, I thought. What have I got myself and Henry
into?
‘It’s
a long story,’ he said.
Oh no, I
thought. It gets worse.
‘I was
born in Transylvania,’ he told me. ‘And
I grew up on a farm there. My Uncle Vlad would
come and stay. He would always arrive after dark
and we only saw him at night. I didn’t know
he was a vampire. That was eight hundred years
ago. I used to have awful dreams of mortality and
I was morbid and fearful and one day, or should I
say night, I confided my terrors to Uncle Vlad -
“The old impaler,” my father used to
mutter, behind his back - and he told me that
with one bite he could put and end to my fears.
‘”Will
it hurt?” I asked him.
‘”No,
just a little nip. You’ll barely feel a
thing.”
‘I
trusted him, more’s the pity, and let him
proceed.
‘He
seized me by the shoulders and bit my neck. He
stood back then, saying, “Well, young Sandor,
now you are one of us.”
‘”One
of who?” I asked.
“The
vampire people, of course.”
‘Well, I
suppose I haven’t been a bad vampire when
all things are taken into consideration. I’ve
done my fair share of biting and I’ve left
quite a few undead roaming around, but I have
never properly killed anybody. You can, you know,
if you get too greedy about the blood.
‘My
father knew what Vlad had done. He told him he
was no longer welcome in our house. My mother was
very upset. Vlad was her brother.
‘Vlad was
angry.
‘”You’ll
be sorry,” he told my father.
‘”Be
off and don’t show your fangs around here
again,” father shouted at him.
‘As I say,
all that was eight hundred years ago and my
parents are long dead.
‘Well, I
put up with this vampire business over the years,
until about eighteen months ago.
‘I was
prowling around one night, looking for someone to
bite and I began to follow this young woman ...’
At this point,
Henry growled.
‘Are you
sure he won’t bite me?’ Sandor asked.
‘No, he
just wants to get on with his walk.’
I gave Henry a
biscuit.
‘I’m
sorry,’ Sandor said. ‘You see, I
don’t often get a chance to chat with people,
to tell them my troubles.’
Why pick on us,
I thought, somewhat uncharitably.
‘Anyway,
this young woman, she turned round.
“’Are
you following me?” she asked, in a
challenging manner.
‘And that
was when it happened. You know that old song
“My Heart Stood Still?”
‘Yes,’
I said.
‘Well,
that was it. I fell in love. Her eyes were wide
and grey. A wisp of ash blonde hair curled around
an eye. Remember Veronica Lake? Astounding. I
apologised and told her that I very much admired
her.
“’Don’t
be silly,” she said, and walked away.
‘But
being a vampire I can shape shift. I turned
myself into a black cat and followed her home.’
‘Don’t
turn yourself into a black cat tonight,’ I
advised him. ‘Henry will chase you.’
‘I
followed her home and I heard her father say,
“Mona, you’re late. Where on earth have
you been?”
‘I never
heard an answer.
‘Since
then I have inveigled myself into her affections.
She thinks I am a stray black cat.’
‘Look,
this is all very interesting,’ I told him.
‘But we must get on with our walk.’
‘No, wait,’
he pleaded. ‘Please hear me out. I
won’t bother you again.’
‘Well,’
I said. ‘Why don’t you walk with us,
then?’
‘I will,’
he replied.
So here I was
walking in Knightwood Road with a love-struck
vampire.
It was clear
to see that this passion an eight hundred year
old vampire had conceived for a modern young
woman was doomed. He could not see it. As we
walked he spoke of his attempts to free himself
of his vampiric destiny.
‘I sought
out a Transylvanian psychiatrist,’ he told
me. ‘A Doctor Simion Petrescu. He
wasn’t very helpful. He asked me to explain
the nature of the problem and when I did he
shrugged his shoulders, saying, “Vat you
sink I should know of vampires? You sink I am Van
Helsing? I cannot help you.”
‘So, you
think if you would rid yourself of your vampiric
destiny you would cease the black cat routine and
declare yourself to this Mona?’ I asked.
‘Yes.’
I could not
see how this would work. Why would a modern young
woman like Mona reciprocate the affections of an
eight hundred year old man, and, indeed, if he
was not undead, would he continue to exist? His
situation seemed impossible.
‘I am so
unhappy,’ he said. ‘I climb into my
coffin at dawn and I am awake by the early hours
of the day. I lay there restlessly tossing and
turning and visiting all the past traumas of my
life. I don’t know what to do. Whomsoever I
turn to says, “I cannot help you.”
‘Neither
can I,’ I told him.
‘I
realise that,’ he said. ‘But you know
how it is. a problem shared is a problem halved
and all that ...”
‘Yes, yes,’
I said. ‘But what are you going to do about
Mona? You could stay as a cat and drink milk. You
would still have nine lives and you could be her
cat.’
‘That’s
a great idea,’ he said. ‘She does like
me as a cat. Thinks I am a stray. Thank you.
Thank you so much.’
‘You’ll
need to overcome your fear of dogs,’ I told
him.
‘I’ll
just hiss and arch my back. Perhaps you will
allow me to practice on your dog?’
‘No, no,’
I said, hastily. ‘Not a good idea. Not a
good idea at all.’
Henry growled.
‘See what
I mean?’
‘Yes,’
he said. ‘Look, I am so glad I met you. You
may well have solved my problem. If there is
anything I can ever do for you, you have only to
ask.’
‘No.
that’s all right,’ I told him.
‘There’s nothing you can do for me. I
am only too glad to have been of service.’
‘Well,
I’ll be saying goodnight then,’ he said,
and with a swish of his cloak he danced away down
the road singing, shouting, ‘Freedom,
freedom ... no more blood lust. Love has redeemed
me. Hooray!’
My suggestion,
made half in jest, had truly transported him.
I took Henry
home.
‘Well,
what about that?’ I said to him.
He growled.
I have to say
that since that night I have seen a blonde young
woman walking with a black cat. The cat has
betrayed no sign of recognition. Perhaps you will
see them too. If you live in, or visit, Chandlers
Ford.
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