|
The Unfortunate Bad Luck of Count Dracula
The sky was a deep sapphire, growing blacker by the second. Soon the witching hour would approach, and with it would come
another night in the manor. For years now the manor had lain cold, dark, apparently abandoned, the shadowy figure of the
structure blending into the starless black blanket hanging above. What once was the height of society was now a social morgue.
Gone were the nights of reckless abandon, with champagne flowing like tears, and clothes serving as carpeting. These sights
were replaced by the dank of the cold, the mildewed scent of despair, and a sense of nothingness.
A figure was pacing up and down the hallways, wearing trails in the layer of dust and grime that covered the once marble floors.
He glanced longingly up at the clock ever few steps, measuring the duration, waiting for the bells to chime. He had dreaded
this moment for some time now, but there was no way around it. Tonight the news must be relayed. There was no more time
to waste.
****
The hands of the clock, great tangled messes of iron, were both pointing straight up. The time had come that he had been
dreading. He could feel that his mouth had gone dry, a knot was tying itself in his stomach, and he didn’t know if
he would be able to speak when he had to. He was a mess of a person, if indeed he was a person. He paced faster now, not
bothering to pick his feet off the ground with each step. He slid across the floor, shuffling nervously and wiping his brow
with a handkerchief.
As he was moving away from the staircase, he heard a voice behind him. He spun on his heels, almost falling as he tried to
stop himself.
“Ahh. What a lovely day of sleep. The night looks so wonderfully dark.”
“Yes sir. It’s a lovely night to be out.”
His voice trembled as he spoke, the syllables running over each other, as if in a race to get to the end of his sentence.
“Are you all right? You don’t sound very well.”
“I’m fine sir.”
“I’m not so sure. I’ll tell you what. A little bit of herbal tea would help you tremendously, and I know
the best place to get some. Get the jet ready and we’ll head out immediately.”
“I don’t think that will be possible sir.”
“Why not? It’s my jet.”
“It’s not in the hanger at the moment.”
“Is that damn thing in the shop again? What the hell is wrong with it this time?”
“Payment.”
“Payment? What are you talking about?”
“I hate to tell you this sir, but the jet wasn’t paid for this month, so it was repossessed.”
“And why didn’t you pay the bill when it came?”
“I would have loved o sir, but I couldn’t do that?”
“What do I pay you for? You’re supposed to take care of this sort of thing for me.”
“I know sir, but…..”
“But what? I want to know what’s going on.”
“Very well sir, but may I suggest that we go into the drawing room and sit down for this?”
“Let’s go.”
****
The drawing room was illuminated by the flames of a slow burning fire, flickering the light upon the walls, making the shadows
of the decoration dance with spiritual delight. Two chairs sat in front of the fire, facing in to the heat of the flames.
If the situation didn’t cause him to sweat, the flames surely would.
“All right. What’s going on here? I have a right to know.”
“I regret to inform you sir that you are broke.”
“Broke?”
“Broke.”
“How could that be? How can I be broke?”
“It’s simple sir. You’ve been living for the past 200 years on your family fortune without investing, or
having any other sort of income. The money just ran out.”
“And why did no one ever tell me that this could happen?”
“By the time we realized that it would, it was too late to invest anything, and we were all afraid to mention the alternative
to you.”
“And what exactly is the alternative?”
He swallowed hard as the question was asked. His breath was coming in short, staccato gasps. He was sweating lightly, even
though the fire had burned out. He tried several times to speak, but he couldn’t make the words come out of his mouth.
“Well? I’m waiting.”
“The alternative, sir, is for you to get a job.”
“A job? Me?”
“Yes sir. A job. You.”
“You have to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were, but I’m afraid it’s come to this.”
“But I’m Count Fucking Dracula.”
“I know that sir.”
“I’m not supposed to have to do this kind of stuff. I’m supposed to haunt the night, stalk the lovely little
maidens of the city, and live a posh lifestyle. I’m not supposed to have to work. It’s enough work for me just
to stay alive.”
“You’ve told that story many times now sir.”
“Oh shut up.”
The Count thought for a minute without speaking, which for him was an eternity. Everyone around the Count knew that he liked
to talk, quite often, and at great length. It wasn’t that he liked the sound of his own voice, it was that he thought
everyone else needed to hear him expound about anything and everything, since with his age, he thought, came incredible wisdom.
“All right. What would it take for me to get a job?”
“Well sir, given your credentials, I’m afraid that it would be rather hard for you to get anything that you would
be pleased with.”
“Why would that be?”
“To be honest sir, you have no skills.”
“Bah. I am a highly skilled man. Never before has there been such a skilled player of Parcheesi.”
“That’s true sir, but I’m afraid playing Parcheesi does not pay very well.”
“Well then, you tell me what I’m qualified to do.”
“You’re really not going to enjoy this sir.”
“I doubt I will, but tell me anyway.”
****
“Hello and welcome to Burger Master. How may I help you?”
The Count was distraught. In all his time on earth, he had been surrounded with the best that money could buy. He had women
flock to him. He had his way with life, and now it had come to this. He was working in a fast food restaurant. Things were
so bad that he couldn’t even get a job at McDonald’s. He had to settle for the run down local establishment that
was usually reserved for the people in town who lived in the houses with dirt floors.
Things had gotten bad for the Count, even worse than when the news was broken to him that he no longer had any money. The
manor was foreclosed upon, and he had to move into a small apartment in a slum area that Igor had procured. Life was not
good for the Count right now, and having to deal with the gap-toothed, double and triple chinned, redneck slime of the inner
city was only serving to make things worse. If the Count were a lesser man, he would have killed himself. But, since he
had been able to convince the establishment to let him work the graveyard shift, he thought that he might as well give work
a try. He had outlasted plagues, famines, and disasters. Surely he could outlast poverty as well.
“Yeah. I’ll have me one of them there extra combo meals. But instead of a soda I want the drippings from my
burger in a glass. You got that?”
“Yes ma’am. Or should I say yes ham, since you have the manners, and the odor, of a hog?”
The latter part of that remark was said under his breath, so that she wouldn’t hear him. The last thing he needed at
this stage of his humiliation was for that great mound of humanity to jiggle after him and attempt to eat him in one bite,
as she did the entire burger that he handed her. Often, in his dreams, the Count had pictured women who were able to eat
an entire banana in one motion, but the sight of this was enough for him to wish never to see food again.
****
“Do you know why you’re in here right now?”
“No sir.”
The Count had an idea why he was being interrogated at the moment, but he was a smart enough man to realize that keeping his
mouth shut, something that was very difficult for him to do, was in his best interest.
“It seems that you’ve been doing some things in the back that you ain’t supposed to be doing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The hell you don’t. Let me tell you this right now. I don’t care how much the customers piss you off;
you don’t go licking the burgers and getting your spit all over them. We could get shut down for that kind of activity.”
The manager looked at him with his eyes set deep in his face, the folds of fat around his eyes cutting off his peripheral
vision. His jaw would wobble and shake as he spoke, coming to rest a few moments after he had finished. He peered at the
Count continuously, and after about a minute he spoke again.
“And by the way, just so you know, you’re supposed to lick the burgers after they’re cooked. All the saliva
burns off when you cook the stupid things. Everyone knows that you dumb fuck.”
The manager muttered under his breath a few things. All the Count could make out was one sentence.
“Who the fuck licks raw hamburgers?”
****
“What do you mean you got fired?”
“Well Igor, if you open your ears for a minute, you’d hear what I said. I got fired today. That’s exactly
what I mean.”
“How could you get fired from Burger Master? Is that even possible?”
“Obviously it is. I managed to do it.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, what did you do that led to your firing?”
“I licked the raw hamburgers.”
“You what?”
“It was one in the morning. I was hungry. What else was I supposed to do?”
“That’s true. I supposed you couldn’t go into the alley and bite one of the customers.”
“That’s what I was thinking. I was trying not to get myself into any trouble, but I can’t seem to avoid
it.”
“It does seem to follow you around.”
“So what am I supposed to do now? I need money, and I only worked for four days. I don’t think I amassed a fortune
in that time.”
“I guess I’ll have to try to find you another job.”
****
“I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to let you go.”
“You mean I’m fired?”
“That’s exactly what I mean.”
For the past two weeks the Count had been working as a gravedigger at one of the local cemeteries. He liked the hours, and
the solitude of the job. After dealing with the clientele at Burger Master, the chance to work alone was refreshing. The
Count knew that he wasn’t cut out to deal with people. His recent experience reaffirmed this fact in his mind. Besides,
he was having too much fun in the cemetery. It was a place he would often go at night, when he needed some peace, so getting
the chance to work there was a thrill. Digging the graves reminded him of the olden days, when he was himself buried on more
than one occasion. In his youth he was reckless, and he missed those days. Ever since the move to America, he was a different
person. He didn’t care for staying out until the first rays of sun peered over the horizon. He didn’t stalk
his prey with the same diligence and flair. He was embroiled in a mid-life crisis at the ripe old age of 243. He was depressed,
but he wasn’t going to let that put him out of a job.
“Why?”
“Well, it seems that you didn’t quite understand how this business works. You see, we dig new graves for fresh
bodies, and you were digging up the ones that were already in the ground.”
“So you mean all those stones weren’t just markers for where I should be digging?”
“No.”
“My bad.”
“You’re right. You are bad. And now you can get out of here before I let any of the families of the people you
dug up know you were behind it.”
“Cheerio.”
****
“Not again sir.”
“It’s not my fault. They never specified where I was supposed to be digging.”
“Sir, you’ve spent enough time in cemeteries, and you’ve sent enough people to cemeteries, that I would
have thought you knew the process by now.”
“Well, I guess not.”
“How many times have you been buried yourself?”
“Three that I know of. But one of those times I really was dead.”
“Right. And how many of those times was there a stone there before you went in the ground?”
“There was never a stone, but there was always plenty of rotten eggs. And the soil was unusually wet.”
“I haven’t a piss of a clue why that would be.”
Igor thought he was being funny, but he forgot that jokes are never funny when there’s no one to laugh at them. Humbled,
he resumed his questioning.
“Sir, I might be able to procure another job for you, but can you promise that you won’t cause a fuss this time?”
“I’ve been doing my best. I’m only human you know?”
“No you’re not sir.”
“Oh, shut up. No one likes a know it all. I was just using a figure of speech.”
“If you say so sir.”
****
“Vlad, I’ve never had a problem with an immigrant worker before, but you’ve crossed the line this time.”
The Count had just gotten a job as a bartender at a local establishment. He didn’t know anything about making drinks,
but the place looked like a dive, and he didn’t think he’d have to do anything except open bottles of beer. Of
course, the Count wasn’t prepared for life behind the bar, which he quickly found out on his first night on the job.
“What did I do?”
“You know damn well what you did. You served drinks with blood in them.”
“I wasn’t supposed to do that?”
“No. What would possess you to think that anyone would drink that?”
“Um…..”
****
“Please tell me that you’re joking.”
“I am not.”
“Sir, of all the things that you’ve done, this could be the dumbest yet.”
“They asked for Bloody Mary’s.”
“But they’re not made with blood.”
“I know that now.”
The Count was running out of patience. These work experiences had soured him on the prospect of life in the real world.
He wanted to return to his former life, free to walk the streets with no care, searching for his victim of the night. But
now he was afraid to go out at night. He couldn’t afford to pay the price if he were ticketed for loitering or jaywalking.
He had to watch himself carefully. In order to find his meals, he had resorted to hanging out at a local ‘goth’
club. He blended in well with the crowd there, even though he couldn’t stand the music, or the people. They liked
the idea of vampirism, but they had the entire idea wrong. It wasn’t about drinking blood and acting mysterious. Being
a vampire was about being rich and flaunting it to high society. Immortality was a tool to use the necessary time to enjoy
the finer things in life.
“So what do we do now Igor. I don’t think I want to work anymore.”
“And I don’t think anyone else wants you to either.”
“So what does that leave for me?”
“There’s only one thing I can think of sir.”
“What’s that?”
****
“Just sign here and you’ll be all set.”
“Are you sure this is right?”
“Yes I am. A person who has no job, and has trouble holding one, which you obviously do, is qualified for welfare.”
“It seems wrong that you’re going to give me free money.”
“It’s not free money. The government is paying you, and you specifically, for not working. It’s better
for everyone this way.”
“That’s what I always said.”
“Anyway, you’re all processed, so we’re done here. You should get your first check in about a month.”
“If I threaten to get a job again, can I get a raise?”
“Just get out of here.”
“Cheerio.”
****
“You know Igor, it’s nice to be financially independent again.”
“If that’s what you wish to call it.”
“There’s nothing else to call it. I’ve made sure that I have money, and I don’t have to be pedestrian
enough to work for it. All is right with the world.”
“That’s being a bit presumptuous sir. Keep in mind that you still have no savings, no house, and all of your
heirlooms have been sold at auction to cover your debts.”
“That’s all in the past. Today begins a new life for the mighty name Dracula.”
“Would you mind opening the window? It’s a bit stuffy in here.”
“But sir, it’s……”
“Never mind any of that. Just open the damned window.”
“If you say so sir.”
Igor opened the window, but as he had tried to point out to the Count, it was three o’clock in the afternoon,
and the sun was shining brightly. As the shade was rattling the rod upon which it hung, Igor looked to the other side of
the room. In the corner was a pile of dust, slightly steaming.
“I think I’ll collect a few of those checks of his before I conjure him back to life. Lord knows I
don’t want to have to go through this again.”
|
 |
|
