Category Archives: Skwibby fiction

Nosferadude

Posted on by
Reply

Graffito of a cartoon vampire looking at garlic

Vampire fiction was my education. It was all I was allowed to sink my teeth into when I was young.

And when I was just a little boy, I loved it.  My mom introduced me to the vampire Lestat, and all his cronies, and I caught the hunger for bloodsucking then. We read Stephen King’s book, Salem’s Lot.  We went back to the original, by Bram Stoker. And read other Victoriana.

But then something bad happened, at least for me and all the others who once found a thrill in the vampire myth – the vampires became the heroes of the stories. They became the ideal. And then they got sparkly.

It was at that point that I lost all interest. Mom found other things to occupy our time, and we moved on. Sure we were annoyed by the proliferation of teenie-bopper nosferatu, but we took it in stride.

And then humanity discovered that vampires were real.

People disappeared every year. Everybody knew that. The authorities assumed the people who disappeared were runaways, or homeless, or had nobody looking out for them, so they just kind of fell off the radar.

But then in 2021 the first conscious AI came online, and the fellow who invented it had lost a sister under similar circumstances.  He instructed iT (short for intelligent Technology) to look for clues to her fate, and you know what iT found?  Lots of people “disappeared” because the vampires were eating them, and then disposing of their bodies.

It was horrible.  No doubt about it, but at the same time, it seemed like a pretty minor problem, given all our other issues – massive climate change, population migration, genocide. But at this point, we’d had TruBlood, Twilight, a host of other similar stories, and  a generation of women had fallen in love with the idea of sparkly, sexy vampires. They sought out the hidden nests of the undead. Most never returned, and those that did make it home again usually ate all of their former family.

It was clear that something had to be done.  Once and for all, many of us decided, we must eradicate the menace of vampires from the Earth.  This rag-tag assemblage of people were probably the last group that you’d expect to tackle such dangerous quest – we were nerds, geeks, obsessive fanboys.  But we were able to convince a few geneticists and nanotechnologists to work on technologies that could turn these evil bloodsuckers into productive members of society.  And they did it!

All we had to do to turn a vampire back into a quasi-human was an injection of the nanotech in the heart.

iT helped us figure out the vectors — where did the vampires live during the day, and what did they do at night?

So we had a solution, and we had the information on how to find them, but there was still that pesky problem of delivering one injection into an extremely pissed-off vampire. Hardly the most promising of theraputic settings.

And that’s when we stepped up. Those of us who had once loved the vampire myth, but could no longer take the insipid literature of the new, sexy version of vampire.  We looked at the problem and said, “We will do this terrible job.”

The called us Nosfaradudes.

While the vampires had practical invulnerability to regular weapons, superhuman strength, speed and senses, we had science. We were outfitted with full-body, full-spectrum light emitting suits.  It was tight to the skin, but you couldn’t really tell because of the full-spectrum nodules covering every inch of it.  Even a starving vampire would find it impossible to approach, because daylight would shine from us like miniature, rotund suns.

Many of the Nosfardudes were in it for the adventure. The violence. For me, it was all aesthetics. I needed to make the vampires pay, and not only for the pain they’d physically inflicted on generations of human beings.

For all those sparkly vampires, I would have my revenge.

The End

The FridgularityMy longer fiction has %0 vampires that twinkle, though there are artifcial intelligences. Right now you can get the paperback of The Fridgularity for $3 off, if you buy it direct from Monkeyjoy Press. Use coupon code: YGMVFZZY. Available in all formats in all the usual online places:

Paperback ($15.99)
Amazon.com | Barnes & Noble | Amazon.ca

Ebooks ($4.95)
Kindle | Smashwords | Kobo | Nook | iTunes

 

Alltop has humor that doesn’t suck. Great photo by Ross Harmes.

A Reluctant Emcee

Posted on by
3

One of the Ab's brothers

The stun bolt struck near me, and I was flying through the air. My hair crackled with static electricity. My vision went red. Quite possibly I soiled my expensive trousers. Did any of that worry me? No, I had much bigger problems. My brothers were coming back to town for the wedding.

I’d been dreading both events. Their inevitable return, and the marriage of Josh and Mary. Just as inevitable: the lovebirds’ request to have me, the Right Honorable Member of Parliament for Middlesex County, Ab Durer, as master of ceremonies.

I loathe the role of emcee. And my friends always ask me to do it.

Earlier that week, I’d foolishly complained to my brother Warren about emceeing again; he’d looked particularly scary in a suit of plate mail he always “wore” in the datasphere. An affectation, but it had plenty of impact.

“Well, why don’t me and the other brothers come?” he’d said.

“Uh. I’m not sure how good an idea that is,” I had said.

“Sure! It’s been ages since we saw you. Fabian and Petrovich have been pretty busy in Central America, but me and Deeter can convince them to come up.”

“No, I really don’t think you should. You’re not invited.”

“Hey!” shouted Warren, “we’re never invited. Just suck it up. We’re going to be there. Besides, Albrecht,” he said — emphasizing the “brecht”, just the way I’ve always hated it —”we have something to tell you.”

It had taken me a while to work up the courage to let Josh and Mary know that all four were planning to attend. Mary had burst into tears, and Josh confided, “You know, I thought this relationship was just going to be the end of my bachelorhood, not the end of everything.”

I’d laughed and mumbled something about the boys being much more mellow since they’d left high school. You had to admire the couple’s pluck. They made contingency plans, booking a full riot squad for the reception, buying doses of the best nanobiotics money could buy, and hiring Freeze-A-Head, “in case” of fatalities.

I felt so bad that I actually gave them my speech to vet, though I figured we would never get through the wedding, let alone the speeches. I was kind of torn on that. I hate emceeing — blathering into a holo-mic so that the relatives and friends attending remotely can enjoy the syrupy sentiments. And while everyone else whiffs up jazzy nanocaines and quaffs copious amounts of Old Nurberg’s Pink Ale (those who like it like it enough to go blind), I have to abstain.

On the other hand, did I really want to see my brothers back in town, just to avoid sobriety?

But I should get back to the stun bolts, and my electric fandango as I flew through the air, shouldn’t I?

°°°
Continue reading →

Henry’s long ride with death

Posted on by

twistedvintage-deathride2

Henry rode with Death his entire life, but it never really cramped his style.

For the most part, other people couldn’t see Death, hanging on his coat-tails wherever he went, and whatever he did. It was usually the very old and the terminally ill, and Henry learned not to frequent hospitals and old folk’s homes after a (bad) decision to entertain his grandmother and all her friends in the Gentle Repose Rest Home. (There was nothing gentle or restful about the walker-enabled slow stampede away from the Henry’s constant companion.) In the early 70s, Henry had an intense relationship with a sensual hippy who was into transcendental meditation and tantric sex. The latter, especially, seemed to help her pierce the veil, and during an hour-long climax she spotted Death, hanging around in their bedroom.

“He looks bored,” Jenny had said.

“Yes. I think Death is bored much of the time. You’d think there would be a more efficient way to do it.”

“To do what?” she’d asked, and then adjusted her position a bit. “There. That’ll keep it going.”

“Well, everyone has their own Death. I can see them all.”

“Oh, me too?”

“Everyone. Your’s looks more bored than mine.”

“Hmm. Let’s ignore them, then.”

But for the most part, human beings were unable to see Death, hovering around them at all times. For Henry, it made the world seem a bit crowded. For every person, there was a dark doppelganger. A cloaked figure with that signature scythe.

It always seemed a bit cliché to him, that Death would represent itself in such a hackneyed way, and one day, Henry asked his Death about it. This would have been years before the incident.

“So, what’s with the scythe. Why do you all have them?”

Death was speechless. It had never realized that Henry could see it. “You’re aware of me? Like, my physical presence?”

“Sure,” Henry said. “I can see all you guys. Or whatever. It’s hard to tell with those cloaks and masks.”

“It’s not a mask! It’s my face, man.”

“Oh. Sorry. Well, what is the deal? Why the outfits.”

“We thought it would be helpful branding. You know, so when you’re supposed to see us, you know what’s about to happen. That way we get fewer ghosts. Most people become ghosts because they don’t see us coming, or the just don’t believe it’s us.”

“So what happens after?” Henry, like all humans, always wondered.

“I can’t tell you that! Who says anything happens?” Death said.

“Fair enough. You’ve got to keep the mystery alive. All part of the brand, right?”

“I suppose so. You have no idea what happens to me if I tell you anything about what happens after.”

“Bad?”

“It makes me seem like a pussycat. Now, let’s go back to me pretending you don’t see me, okay?”

“So you did know?”

“Of course. I was there when you were doing your tantric thing with Jenny, you know.”

“Right. I wonder whatever happened to Jenny?”

“Died of a heroin overdose in 1977.”

“Bummer,” Henry said. “She was one of the good ones.”

Death was non-committal.

After that conversation, Henry got back to the job of living his life. After Jenny he’d met and married Diane, and they’d had two kids. He worked in a large corporation, building a career that eventually led to upper management. He was the kind of boss that everyone liked, even the shareholders. He had a joy in living, in engaging with people, helping them when he could, that was infectious. He lived every moment as fully as he could

Then one day Death spoke to him again. He was at the carnival with his kids — it was a spur of the moment kind of thing. He’d taken the afternoon off from work, and pulled his son and daughter out of school, and they’d spent hours riding the rides, playing the games. The rollercoaster looked too scary for the children, so Henry said he’d ride it first, to show them it was okay. That’s when Death said:

“I’m really not suppose to do this, but I have to warn you not to get onto that rollercoaster.”

“Oh?” Henry said.

“Yes. Because, you know, there are many times when you could die and this is most assuredly one of them. Definitely one of them.”

“So you’re saying I’ll die if I get on the rollercoaster?”

“Well, all the probabilities say that. I don’t make the final decision,” Death said, and then added. “Shit, I’m really not supposed to tell you that.”

“But you have an impact.”

“Of course. I have some impact. In fact, I’m the guy who pulls the trigger, so to speak.”

“So it is up to you?”

“Ultimately. But I have to have really good reasons to not . . . follow orders.”

“Understood,” Henry said. “Now, let’s go show my kids there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

The End

The FridgularityEnjoy some of my longer fiction now and get the paperback of The Fridgularity for $3 off, if you buy it direct from Monkeyjoy Press. Use coupon code: YGMVFZZY. Available in all formats in all the usual online places:

Paperback ($15.99)
Amazon.com | Barnes & Noble | Amazon.ca 

Ebooks ($4.95)
Kindle | Smashwords | Kobo | Nook | iTunes

Alltop laughs at death. Photograph via Twisted Vintage.