Creature of the Night

Good evening, stranger. I’m surprised to see you. Please, make yourself comfortable.

I don’t get many visitors.

Perhaps that’s because of the hours I keep. Yes, it’s very late in the evening; the sun has long since set. This is my time.

Can I get you some refreshment? No? Very well, then. I can only guess why you are here.

You seem nervous, a bit uncomfortable. You’re sitting so far away. Are you frightened? Now that you’re here, you can see I do not resemble HIM. Yet, still, you have fear; fear you have bravely overcome to hear a story.

So I shall tell it.

You know, of course, of HIM. Master of the night. Immortal, Undead, the Drinker of Blood. We shall not utter his name, for wherever He is, He shall hear it, and He will come.

You do not want that.

Yet I have no fear of him, for we are related. He will not, can not, would not harm me. Sadly, I possess none of his attributes. I am not immortal. I do not have superhuman strength and speed. Ladies do not find me sensual, irresistible. Even so, we are related. And for that reason alone I have nothing to fear from Him.

One more thing - I do not drink blood.

I see you have relaxed a bit. That is good. See, you have nothing to fear from me. Actually the taste, even the sight, of blood makes me nauseous. I much prefer Diet Coke.

But I am what you would term a Vampire. I am a creature of the night. But just as He craves blood, needs blood to maintain his life force, I too have a need, an unquenchable thirst, a thirst that must be slaked nightly for me to maintain my own life force.

I crave the sound of children’s laughter.

I see that you find this amusing. What a contrast, you must be thinking. The dashing, dangerous, sensual Count, slaking his thirst with the blood of comely young maidens. Me, the not-so-dashing Ordinary Man, slaking my own desperate thirst by finding ways to make young children laugh.

Yet, I must have it. I must. It is a terrible addition. If I go more than a night or two without hearing the sound of children laughing, I begin to get weak, woozy. My life force begins to ebb. I find it difficult to function, my strength (such as it is) drops, my skin turns pale.

So I do what I must to stay alive. I search them out, those young, innocent children for whom laughter is as normal as breathing. Once I find them, I do what I must to incite that laughter. Often it is as easy as making a silly face. Occasionally I must do a pratfall, trip over something, fall in a spectacular fashion.

Once I had to make Diet Coke come out of my nose.

See, it has worked on you. Just the mental image you created of me with fizzling Diet Coke gushing from my nostrils has set you to laughing. Sadly, your laughter does not quench my thirst. It must be the laughter of children.

You cannot stop laughing now. You are stuck by the ridiculousness of my plight. A vampire who must make children laugh to stay alive. The contrast between He and I could not be more stark. Everything about Him is dashing, mysterious, sensual and scary. Even his name, inspires fear, dread, and also wonder, a hint of sexual danger.

Mine name, alas, does not.

He is The Count. Count Dracula.

I am called VamPickle.

The Vampire who Tickles.

I shall pause until you can stop laughing and pick yourself back up off the floor.

I must say, you are exhibiting rather poor manners. You are, after all, my guest.

Do you not think I hate my plight? Do you think I enjoy this name?

And yet, my name serves me in my quest. Merely saying my name to my intended victim is sometimes enough to create the laughter I crave.

You can see that, considering how well it has worked on you.

But now, I have uttered His name. He has heard this, and he will come.

For your sake, you must be off. For if he were to find you here, he would not be satisfied merely to hear you laugh.

Yet if you return upon the morrow, I shall finish my sad tale. The Tale of VamPickle, the Vampire who tickles, and the two young children whose laughter I most desire above all others.

For just as he is a connoisseur of blood, seeking out only those who have the finest, freshest vintage; I too have a discriminating palette. And I have found two young children whose laughter has become a narcotic for me. I must have it. Continuously.

So if you return, I shall tell you how I have become trapped by this addiction, and how it has become ever more difficult to obtain.

Safe travels, stranger. Stay out of the dark alleys.

It’s great to be VamPickle.