On impulse Leila had scooped up some of the lichen into a container to take home. She would re-pot it in London and keep it in her window box as a memento of the tour. It would remind her of the glorious scenery she had enjoyed, the snow-capped Carpathians stretching into the horizon instead of the number twelve bus passing under her window. The coach jolted her out of her reverie; Francis was holding forth again.
“Count Dracula. We meet again.” “I need a job, Doc. I’m so desperate I could…” “I vant to suck your blood! Ha, ha.”
Robin finished sewing the eyelift and then turned to put her tools away. Her arms from wrist to elbow were covered in black goo—the old blood that ran through the ancient woman’s veins—but it wasn’t as if the Madrina minded the loss of fluids.
“Will you for the love of God please turn down that God-awful music!” Wolverhampton, the tenant in the next flat, shouted, banging on the radiator pipes.
The glass doors slid open as he approached, welcoming him to his new night-time home. The customer greeter nodded as he passed by, most likely laughing inwardly at the new guy.
Okay, people. Here we go. Let’s do it by the numbers and get it right. Don’t forget, this is going out live, and any mistakes certainly will be seen. Camera one, focus on Slippery Dick. Adjust that white balance; get that tooth glare down.
The vampire dragged itself to the foot of the bed, struggling to raise itself on faltering wingtips. A frail figure lay almost hidden beneath the tangled grey bedclothes.
“You actually tried to create a vampire. That’s got to be one of the single stupidest things I’ve ever heard."
Sure, too much sun makes me itch and blood sausage tastes superb after midnight, but compared to my distant vampire heritage, Aunt Daisy had to cope with far worse.
At the moment of eye contact, the fear that the stranger at the bar will ramble on his tired anecdotes is a certainty. The old man raises his beer to you with a tan, weathered hand, the sign of a man who still enjoys working outside. His cheerful jabber starts just as another blood-warm Florida evening commences. The sun masterfully flourishes a multi-coloured dusk and then slyly winks goodnight, the gesture of a con-man who may never return.
Grab A vampire story by Sheri Morton Stanley - Featured in Fangers Inc. Volume One The easiest grab, ever. That’s what Andre was thinking as he rounded the corner with Marvin and Del. Big old house, windows always open, even in the wintertime - didn’t ever look like anybody was home. If you leaned all... Continue Reading →
I was born into this living death in the nineteen-thousand-and-twenty-fifth consecutive Year of Our Lord (an impressive run by Our Lord, unlikely to be bettered for several millennia, at least).
Margate is an upper middleclass suburb of Atlantic City, New Jersey. It is home to mostly permanent residents, who built large houses to be lived in all year round. It is not a place for your typical summer-only cottage renters. So, there is a real sense of community in Margate.
Before he realized Tesla's intention, the self-proclaimed vampire had righted himself in his chair, leaned across the desk and touched the knotted pain near Tilden's right eye with two of his brown fingers. Tilden felt a queer dizziness pass through his body.