Uninvited

We turn onto Baker Street. Lazarus leads, leaping and pirouetting with arms outstretched. I limp behind.

Vanilla smoke laces the night breeze, which whips through the cookie-cutter homes. Obviously, a housewife on this street forgot to set her kitchen timer, and consequentially crisped the sugar biscuits. If she's not good in the kitchen, then she might want to reconsider her life on Baker Street. I'll be sure to tell her that. On second thought, I'd better help her move on from here. Hereafter Hotel is sure to have vacancies; of course, it might be crowded this time of year. Humans check in, but they don't...well, you know.

Lazarus stops short at a doorstep. Screwing up his eyes, he cocks his head to the side and listens. He listens to nothing. Then, he ducks down, lifts the corner of a ragged mat, and reveals a dingy brass key. He holds up the begrimed scrap like a prize.

"Dark power," he confides.

The key turns the lock. Leaning against the door, Lazarus meets with resistance. The door doesn't budge.

"You have to be invited inside," I whisper.

"No, I just locked the door." He stammers an explanation. "It was left open, so I'm testing to see if the key is still good. It is."

Unlocking the door he enters the dark foyer. "Follow me," he says. "I have acute, vampiric vision." Zombie-walking through the front hall, he shambles down a corridor, toward a seam of light. Dutifully, I follow. My vampiric vision must have yet to develop. I can't see anything in the windowless interior except for the light at the end of the hallway.

Sniffing the air, I identify a pungent aroma. The food in this house must be terrible. This baker cooks with lavender!

Why would anyone eat lavender? And, why would a vampire bake, anyway? Lazarus did say we were going to see a vampire who could help me, didn't he?

"This guy can be a bit high-strung," Lazarus admits. The low glow from beneath the door illuminates the underside of his dark chin, nose, and brow like a flashlight prop in the hand of a storyteller. "I'll go first."

A plump hand fumbles for the doorknob; his other hand clutches at his trusty cape. For a moment, he hesitates. He seems frightened. I lean forward in anticipation. With sudden gusto, he swings open the door. "Hey, I brought someone to..."

He freezes.

Inside the room, sits something shocking.


What is the unexpected something?
A. An empty casket surrounded by potent flowers
B. A filled casket and lavender incense to cover the smell of rotting flesh
C. A cauldron boiling over with odoriferous potions
D. A naked woman in the bath

For one kiss

Oh, but for one kiss!

Never in my mortal life did a man (or a woman, for that matter) plant a lusty kiss upon my face. Daunted by my superior intellect, would-be suitors eschewed me. Nervously, they avoided me, fearful that I might deduce their dark secrets from the quiver of their lips.

The kiss of death

Waxy hairs puncture the soft flesh of his neck, sprouting in patches of wiry beard. Beneath the scrubby skinscape, a torrent of dark blood rushes. Leaning close to his throat, I inhale the scent of humanity.

As it turns out, humanity smells a lot like composting garbage.

I make my move.

"You psycho! You bit me!" He shrieks. One hand clutches his neck, the other flails wildly, knocking over trashcans as it gropes blindly for a handhold.

I retreat, spitting foul blood and scraping my tongue against my shirtsleeve. I should've gone for the kiss.

"I think I got a hair." I flash a toothy snarl. "Is there anything in my teeth?"

"You're crazy! You know that?" He stumbles back against the rough wall of the lecture hall. "Why did you bite me?"

I shrug. "It's what I do."

"I knew it," he declares. "The dark power reveals all. You're a vampire!"

"Yeah, and you're what--a fat Spiderman?"

Intensely, he stares. His voice assumes the goofy intonation of an entranced psychic. "You think I look like a superhero, but you wonder why I keep this rugged beard."

"Yes, but only because a piece of it is still wedged between my incisors. Are you sure you can't see it?"

"It's the curse of being a vampire. I shave, but in the course of the night the hair regrows to its former length." He postures. "Ah, where are my manners?"

"Who knows?" I grumble, but hope he doesn't hear. His manners and sense of personal hygiene have called a labor strike, apparently.

"Let me introduce myself. I am the Vampire Lazarus!" He curtsies...seriously, he curtsies, flourishing his wrinkled cape. "So, Deirdre, what's your story? No luck grabbing a bite to eat tonight?"

"None," I sigh. "How do you know my name?"

"I already told you; it's my dark power. Your thoughts aren't secret from me."

So he says, but I don't recall uttering my name...verbally or mentally. I wince. What if he heard that? Quickly, I sing out an oral response to cloak the twisting thoughts in my head. "Mind-reading is a useful talent. So far, my only vampire power seems to be accelerated bruising."

"Interesting," he muses. "I know a guy who can help you find your true gift. Walk with me." He scowls. "Or, limp with me, if you'd rather. That is, unless you can fly."

Already, I'm stripping out of my tacky, fast-food uniform. Yanking off my blood-stained shirt, I shake my head. "I can't fly. Can you?" On its way over my face, the plastic name badge snags my lip.

"I'm working on it." He responds, eyeing me as I discard my shirt. Snared on the edge of the dumpster, it sags like the tattered, yellow flag of a cholera epidemic.

"How does this look?" I smooth my red, pleated skirt and re-adjust my knee-high socks.

Lazarus ogles the bit of lace that peeps above my low-cut camisole. Then, his eyes linger on a margin of naked midriff. "Like a vampish schoolgirl," he admits.

"Great." I lament and toss another vestige of my uniform toward the fortress of rubbish. My greasy hat flutters in the breeze before it bounces against the dumpster.

"Too bad this isn't a costume party," he grins.

"It's funny you should say that," I remark. "Because, you seriously have to lose that cape!"


What is Deirdre's vampire power? You decide:
A. Superhuman speed
B. Preternatural vision
C. Accelerated bruising
D. Other (please explain)

The Story

It's time to write a story.
Why?--because I say so.
What's this story about?--It's about vampires, of course.
What makes this story different from the vampire tales ridiculed on this site?--Well, it's different because I'm involved, and I won't be criticizing myself, obviously. But you know what, it's even better than that. This story is one in which you may participate. Think of it as a "Choose your own adventure" story (Aw c'mon, you remember those).

Essentially, as the story progresses you get to decide the fate of the characters, the decisions they make, and incidents affect them. So, in the end, if the story sucks (and not in the good way), then it's your fault. (See how I passed the blame onto you? Clever, hm?)

Don't worry. I'm sure it will be fine; I'll be chaperoning you along the way...and censoring you...and blatantly adding my own opinions and ignoring yours. It'll be fun.

Let's begin shall we? First off, we need characters. Below I've listed the four main characters and a mini-biography of each. Yes, I have stolen the personality traits from other stories. So, bite me. Or, sue me...whichever you feel is more appropriate (just kidding about that).

Our characters need names. That's your job. (Be sure to specify to which character your proposed name belongs. Using the number system I've provided is a very good idea.)

Cast of Characters
Vampire 1:
Male, The Sherlock Holmes of vampires

Vampire 2:
Female, A sleuth who uses clues to unravel mysteries

Vampire 3:
Male, The "Dark Gift" gives him the power to read people's minds

Vampire 4:
Female, The Daphne of this Scooby Gang (as in 'Daphne Blake' not 'Daphne the Laurel Tree')

Well, that's it for now. Tune in soon for the first chapter.

Ciao,
Ana

--Oh, and one more thing: if you don't have a sense of humor, then you can't play. Well, you can, but it'll frustrate you to no end. See you soon.

--Post-postscriptum: This isn't intended for role-playing (although, you're more than welcome to do that on your own, if you wish). This is a story in which I write a paragraph, and then you decide if the vampire saves the damsel in distress or if he drains her and dumps her body off a bridge to see what kind of splash she makes. Is that clear?