Greg Krojac - WTF?

“What do you mean, you turned me?”

“I mean, I accidentally turned you into a vampire.”

The flexing of his throat muscles was starting to reduce its intensity.

“I’m a zombie, not a bloody vampire, and I’m only just starting to come to terms with that idea.”

“Well, now you’re a zombie and a vampire. The throat palpitations are a signal that you need blood.”

Arnold was not amused.

“For crying out loud. I can’t eat or drink normal stuff but now I need to drink blood? Thanks a bunch, Trevor.”

He stormed out of the dining room, limped upstairs, and locked himself in the bathroom.

Trevor looked anxiously at his wife.

“Do you think I should go up after him?”

Tracey shook her head.

“Give him a little alone time. He’s gone through a lot today. We’ll talk to him a bit later.”

A bit later turned out to be ninety minutes, during which time Arnold’s throat spasms had worsened. He shuffled back into the dining room where the two vampires were still waiting and sat down on the chair that he had vacated an hour and a half earlier.

“So how do I get blood? I don’t want to hurt anyone. That’s just not me.”

Tracey held his hand, ignoring the fact that it was discoloured and had half its skin missing.

“You won’t have to attack anyone.”

“Trevor attacked me.”

“But he didn’t mean to. Sometimes the thirst comes over us unexpectedly and forces us to act against our better instincts. He’s really sorry.”

She nudged her husband.

“Yes. I’m really sorry. It was completely out of character.”

Tracey continued.

“We have a supply of blood. We both need to feed tonight anyway, so we’ll take you with us. Don’t worry – nobody will get hurt.”

The trio waited until after sunset to leave the house, primarily because it would be easier for Arnold to avoid being seen. They weren’t going far, just to the next road, but Arnold didn’t know that. He felt quite nervous. It was one thing to be seen as a zombie by a couple of vampires, but to be seen by regular humans – well, that was an entirely different kettle of fish.

Arriving at 4 Alucard Avenue, Trevor was just about to knock on the house’s front door when Arnold stopped him.

“Are we not going to hunt for blood?”

Tracey grinned.

“Don’t be silly, love. This isn’t the dark ages. We have an understanding with our donors. It’s all very civilized.”

“Donors?”

“Yes, love. We have a legal agreement with some of our neighbours – a contract signed by both parties – which states that we will pay them a fair price for their blood.”

“How many donors are we talking about?”

Well, we don’t want to drain them or cause any ill effects, so we have about thirty on our sign-up list.”

Trevor was getting thirsty too, as witnessed by the ripple forming in his throat.

“Can I knock yet?”

Arnold held up a slightly decayed hand.

“Just one more question.”

“Go on.”

“What about me? I mean, you two are good looking twenty-somethings and they’re used to you. Me… I’m a decaying zombie.”

Trevor had everything planned out.

“Not decaying any more, Arnold. Anyway, I called ahead and explained your predicament. Adrienne has volunteered to be your first feed. Just don’t be distracted by her – how can I put this – her enthusiasm.”

Trevor rang the doorbell and the door opened almost as soon as he had taken his finger off the button. A beautiful young woman with long jet black hair, black eyeliner and black gloss on her lips stood before them. Her complexion was deliberately pallid, but with a hint of charcoal grey blusher. Wearing a short black dress with lace sleeves, she looked like Morticia Adams’s younger sister. She air-kissed Trevor and Tracey, hesitated for a moment, and then air-kissed Arnold. A half-full wine glass was wrapped between fingers whose long nails were garnished with sparkling black nail varnish.

“Hi, guys. Come on in.”

Trevor looked at the wine glass.

“I hope that’s not wine you’re drinking, Adrienne. You know we can’t use your blood if you’ve been drinking.”

The Goth girl waved her finger in faux-offended admonishment.

“Don’t be silly, Trev. I know the rules. I haven’t touched a drop for forty-eight hours.”

She gazed into Arnold’s remaining eye.

“So this is Arnold? He’s kinda cute – in a zombified way.”

Arnold failed to see how anybody could possibly describe him as cute. Zombies aren’t cute by definition. She moved her focus to his decomposed left hand.

“Kinky. I’m looking forward to hooking up with you, Arnold.”

She spun on her Dr Martens and walked elegantly back into the house, followed by the two vampires and the zombie.

A rather odd-looking middle-aged couple who looked more like twins than husband and wife sat on a velour sofa. They stood up to greet the new arrivals. Trevor made the introductions.

“Hilda, Harold, this is our new friend Arnold. He’s a new member of our community and is a little overwhelmed by the transition – transitions – that have happened to him.”

Harold and Hilda responded in unison.

“Hello, Arnold. Welcome to our support group.”

Arnold found their penchant for dressing and speaking identically far creepier than the fact that his new best friends were vampires.

Adrienne was impatient. She’d been looking forward to donating since she’d received Trevor’s phone call explaining the situation. Arnold, on the other hand, was nervous.

“How does this work then, Trevor? I don’t know if I can just bite Adrienne. It doesn’t seem right, somehow.”

Trevor approached Hilda, who stretched her neck to allow easier access for Trevor’s fangs.

“It’s a lot more technical than just biting someone’s neck. Watch what I do, and then I’ll talk you through your first feed.”

Trevor rested his fangs on Hilda’s neck as if marking the exact spot where he was going to penetrate her skin. Suddenly he drew his head back and his head became a blur as he thrust it forward, penetrating Hilda’s skin at the exact spot where his fangs had previously rested. Arnold watched as Hilda’s eyes opened wide and 350ml of warm blood seeped out of the puncture wounds and passed into Trevor’s own circulatory system.

Arnold flinched. It looked like it should be painful – for Hilda – but she appeared none the worse for wear for the experience. Years of donating had left her rather blasé about the whole process.

Trevor pulled his teeth away from her neck and pointed to where he had bitten the woman’s neck.

“If you look closely, Arnold, you’ll see the puncture wounds disappearing and in a few seconds there’ll be no evidence of Hilda having donated.”

Arnold found the whole procedure macabrely fascinating.

“Doesn’t it hurt the prey?”

Trevor shook his head.

“We don’t call our donors prey , Arnold. It’s politically incorrect these days.”

He licked his lips.

“And no, it doesn’t hurt them. The technicalities are quite incredible. When I rested my fangs on Hilda’s neck – without actually biting it – I was marking the entry point. I reared my head back and then plunged my fangs into the exact spot that I’d marked – like a laser-guided missile, I suppose. My fangs then released an enzyme that both anaesthetizes and heals so that Hilda felt no pain and then the wounds self-healed almost immediately. It’s a real marvel of evolution.”

Adrienne was getting impatient.

“Come on, Arnold. My turn.”

Arnold was feeling nervous, but his rippling throat reminded him that he definitely needed to feed.