Eric Morecambe - The Reluctant Vampire

The Doctor looked at him with a frozen smile on his face for at least a minute, a thousand things chasing through his head. But one thought kept leaping up in front of the others. It kept asking, ‘Is he joking or does he mean that last stupid remark?’

Within the next few seconds the Doctor realised that Igon meant it. He could tell by the vacant look in his eye. Their three eyes held each other till the spell was broken by the Doctor who whispered in a soft voice, convulsed with fear;

‘You stupid, twisted fool. Hiding the bucket is no good.’ His voice became louder. ‘You can’t just hide the bucket, you … you …’ He was at a loss for words.

‘You owe me sixty-five krooms,’ Igon said defiantly.

‘Shut up you stupid, knotted nit,’ the Doctor shouted back at him, going quite red in his face.

‘I’m not a knotted nit,’ said Igon sadly.

The servant by now was leaning over the coffin, busily sucking a piece of ice.

‘Valentine’s moving,’ he said, wiping his chin. The Doctor and Igon raced to the coffin. The now near-hysterical Doctor grabbed the lapels of Valentine’s evening dress suit and started to shake him.

‘Wake up, sir. Please wake up, sir,’ the Doctor begged.

Valentine opened his eyes.

‘Hello,’ he said quietly, his head resting in the crook of the Doctor’s arm.

They all looked down at him. He was a most handsome young man, not a bit like a Vampire; more like a normal person.

‘I’m very hungry,’ he said.

‘Me too. Me too.’

Igon received a blow on the head that was so quick he didn’t know whether the Doctor or the servant had done it.

‘I really am hungry.’ Valentine slowly sat up.

The Doctor grabbed Igon by the hair and pulled a few rags from his throat and offered the exposed throat to Valentine, saying, ‘Here, Sir, try this until we can get you something better.’

‘No thank you,’ said Valentine nicely, much to the relief of Igon.

‘I’ll shake Igon for you, Sir. You’re not supposed to take medicine without it being shaken.’

The Doctor shook Igon so vigorously that a cloud of dust came from his old clothes. He once again exposed Igon’s neck towards Valentine.

‘No thank you. I don’t like blood.’

For a few seconds everyone was still.

‘Pardon?’

‘I don’t like blood, so would you mind putting Igon away please.’ Valentine asked. The Doctor dropped Igon hard on the floor.

‘You don’t drink blood?’ he said incredulously.

‘No. To be quite honest with you, it makes me feel a bit queasy.’

‘How long, Sir, may I ask, have you not been drinking blood?’

‘You may not believe this, but all my life. As a matter of fact, I don’t like any of the food we Vampires are supposed to eat or drink. I like chips and I like a small glass of red wine.

For years I’ve been kidding everybody I’ve been drinking blood, but I change it for red wine. Father doesn’t know or Vernon either. I have a feeling that Mother knows, but I’m not positive. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I don’t even know who you are, or worse, if I can trust you. Of course, I know I can trust Igon because I look upon him as a friend.’

The servant and the Doctor looked at Igon who was now smiling gummily at everyone. The Doctor was the first to speak.

‘Of course he’s your friend, sir. He’s our friend too,’ he said, patting Igon on his head. ‘Maybe we should introduce ourselves. I’m Doctor Plump.’

Valentine’s hand came out of the coffin to be shaken by the Doctor. The servant walked slowly over to the coffin and said:

‘My name is Sed.’

‘Is that your first name?’ asked Valentine.

‘No Sir. Sed’s my last name.’

‘Well, tell his Vampship your first name then,’ Doctor Plump snarled.

‘My first name is a traditional Gotcha name, Sir. It’s Ronnoco.’

‘Yes, that’s a traditional Gotcha name all right,’ Igon said, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

‘So,’ said Valentine. ‘Your name is Ronnoco Sed?’

‘Yes Sir,’ The servant nodded.

‘How long have you been working here, Ronnoco?’

‘I started last week, Sir.’

‘And may I ask what you did before you came here?’

‘I was a troubadour, Sir. I used to sing. I toured our country and sang to the people of the cities and the villages.’

‘And why are you now working here as a servant?’ Valentine inquired nicely.

‘The people of the cities and the villages didn’t want me to sing to them.’

‘Sir, would you mind lying down in your coffin,’ pleaded Dr Plump. ‘After all, I am the doctor and you do have the vile Vampire vapours so you need all the rest you can get.’

‘I’m getting up,’ Valentine told them. ‘I’m getting up if someone will give me a hand.’

‘But you can’t …’ the Doctor spluttered, thinking of leaving the castle in a small bucket.

‘I haven’t got the vapours. The only thing I have at the moment is a chill from staying out late the other night.’

The relief on the Doctor’s face was a sight to behold.

The Doctor helped Valentine down from the coffin to the floor. The four of them quietly left the room, Valentine with the specific intention of telling his mother not to worry. He was feeling better.

King Victor smiles with venomous grace

At Wilf the Werewolf’s hairy face.

In the village of Katchem the clock had just struck midnight, although the hands said the time was a quarter to twelve. The reason was that Victor was sitting on the pointer, his cloak billowing in the wind.

Above the din of the clock and the strong wind, the four people in the tavern heard the howling of a lone wolf; a long, piercing sound that almost stopped the blood flowing through the body. A howl so chilling as to make the serving girl, Areta, drop and break an empty Stein mug she was clearing off a table. Her father, Klaus Grabbo, who owned the tavern, gave her a look of annoyance. She, in return, gave him a quick look of apology.

Then the wolf stopped howling and within seconds the large window next to the door burst open and Victor stood in its frame. A flash of lightning lit up the tavern for a mere second, followed by a deathly silence. Areta and her father, with their two customers, stood like statues.

‘Gutt evenink,’ Victor the First said, smiling, showing a fine set of teeth of which two were noticeably longer than the others. ‘I vould like a drink, mine host. A drink out of mine special bottle, ya?’

He crossed to the bar with the movement, ease and grace of mercury on glass. Grabbo picked out a bottle hidden at the back of the bar.

The liquid in the bottle was blood red. With a shaking hand Grabbo poured from the bottle until Victor hissed, ‘Enough’. Then, with a hard look around the room at the other two customers, he raised the glass to his lips with the Vampires’ toast:

A soldier’s in love with his rifle,

A sailor’s in love with his deck,

A Vampire’s in love when he kisses a girl

And leaves two holes in her neck

He swallowed the blood red liquid in one fast gulp. The other two customers kept their eyes averted from Victor, not wanting to antagonise him in any way and not wanting to be noticed by him either. Victor smacked his lips and said: