Vampires of the Eight, page 9
part #1 of Vampires of the Eight Series
“No, but I want to show you the importance and respect I have for your two tribes.”
“You can’t just impose new laws without the other council members agreement!” Tabatha yelled.
“I can, and I will. It is my right as the leader of all the tribes.”
“You are invoking the primacy law? In a thousand plus years, it has never been used!” Platov said incredulously.
“This is getting interesting,” Sol remarked. “You’re giving away concession after concession.”
“I say we hear him out,” said Eli. “After all, he could have killed me over two hundred years ago. He let me live when I and some of our brethren attacked his village.”
“Despite Eli not being an elder, I respect his opinion. I will hear Clayton out,” Maryl intoned.
Clayton could see the open anger on the elders and the rest of his tribes, but he knew they would never rule against him nor retaliate against him.
“I offer lines being drawn all across Great Britain and beyond.”
“How would we know where one boundary ends, and one begins?” Maryl asked.
“We would mark the trees, the lands themselves, and other structures with our blood. No matter how old the blood becomes, we would always be able to smell it. And we can smell over great distances.”
“And what of centuries to be?” Sol asked.
“I don’t understand,” Clayton said with uncertainty.
“When our respective tribes branch out, and new territories are claimed, even across the pond in the Americas, how are we to discern whose territory is whose?”
“I have with me maps of the Americas and beyond. We can draw the lines in blood right here and right now.”
“Why are you so desperate that you would divide the lands of the entire world between the eight of us?” Maryl asked.
“Because we require your help,” Clayton responded quickly. Even now, he could hear the army approaching a couple of kilometers away.
“I suggest you tell us what you need from us before we commit to an answer. I simply will not offer any assistance of any kind without knowing what mine and Maryl’s tribe's responsibilities are,” Sol said sternly.
The two tribes nodded in agreement.
“Fair enough,” Clayton said as he looked around the fire—open hostility registered on some of the elders. “King George’s army is fastly approaching and plan on attacking us and taking away our land. We need your help in defending us.”
“Why? Aren’t your type able to easily stop them?” Maryl asked with fake sincerity.
“While we are considerably stronger, there will be too many of them.”
A silence followed. The hissing and popping of the firewood were a distant memory as the ramifications of Clayton's appeal sunk in.
“You want us to help fight alongside you against the King?” Maryl asked doubtfully.
“Yes.”
“In exchange for boundary lines across the globe, so we needn’t fear any attack or acts of aggression?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Clayton said with renewed hope that all was not lost.
Maryl turned to Sol. “What do you think? Should we help them?”
“I think it’s in our best interest and survival if we do,” Sol remarked simply.
“Then let’s draw blood on the written contract right away! That way, right here and right now, the agreement is binding. No one may alter it,” Clayton said.
Clayton took the parchment from his pants pocket and unfolded it. “I will pass this around to the elders of all eight tribes. All of us will take our nail and slice our skin and let the flow drip down on the parchment.”
Clayton went first, then Maryl and Sol. Platov and the others did the same, but they showed their displeasure.
When the parchment came back to Clayton, he handed it to Grady. “Put this in the cupboard in the kitchen for safekeeping.”
Grady sped to their house.
“Now what?” Maryl asked.
“Now, we wait. It won’t be too much longer, a couple of minutes at most,” Clayton said with relief.
Tabatha hissed in his ear. “You have no idea what you have just done!”
“Oh, yes, I do. I saved our tribe,” Clayton whispered back.
“Look around you! How many tribal elders would have agreed to your insane proposal?”
“None, that’s why I invoked the primacy law,” Clayton hissed back.
“You better know what you’re doing, Clayton. Our continued existence depends on it.”
Clayton got up. “It’s time. Prepare for an attack. Remember something when we fight today! We will not cave into tyranny! We are proud and able-bodied!”
Everyone rose. Clayton took a quick headcount. He estimated over two thousand vampires. Clayton closed his eyes and put his hyper hearing to use. He counted several thousand heartbeats of soldiers. For the first time in over seven hundred years, he was afraid.
The first soldiers entered the area where the firepit still burned. The king's soldiers looked around while the vampires had scattered before their arrival.
The red uniforms of King George’s army made them stand out. Easy targets, thought Clayton as he snuck up behind one. He fed on the man’s blood to gain much-needed strength. He noted the other vampires did as well. Since they could smell the blood, Clayton wasn’t worried anyone would die from sucking on the wrong blood type.
After fifteen minutes of fighting, with the mounting bodies of King George’s army sprawled over the ground, Clayton thought of something that never entered his mind until now.
If King George did not know about vampires, why was Clayton seeing a bunch of dead vampires on the ground too? The rifles should not be able to penetrate their skin. It was something else Clayton thought as he sniffed a deceased vampire.
And that’s when he knew he had been betrayed.
Heartbeats were heartbeats. There was no distinction between humans and vampires when it came to the beating of hearts, except in rare cases when there was a medical condition such as heart murmurs, a fast or slow heartbeat, or if someone had a pacemaker. But the smell of the vampires never changed. He had been tricked. He had been duped, but by whom?
Clayton sped to the edge of his house. He crept beside his home until he was at the front door. Detecting no heartbeats within a twenty-yard range outside, he sped in his house and looked around.
He saw several deceased vampires lying next to his father. Clayton checked for a heartbeat. His father, the mighty Tarson, lay still. Anger swept through him from the loss of his father. He looked around when he realized his sons Grady and Markus were nowhere to be found.
He sensed several humans behind him. He turned around. The soldiers backed away when they saw Clayton's unchecked anger in his eyes. He raced to them and dispatched them without care.
A roar that came from Clayton’s anguish eclipsed the sound of the rifles shooting.
He witnessed several soldiers looting his crops and putting them in large burlap bags. They stopped when they heard his battle cry.
Rifles were targeted at him from all angles as he went into the heat of the ongoing battle. Bullets bounced off him as he swept through the soldiers, slaying them with unchecked rage. His side was losing, which was supposed to be impossible. And then he saw the reason.
Sol was looking around and finally saw Clayton. Sol had Grady and Markus in each hand, holding them by the throat. “These your children?” he said tauntingly.
“Why?” the words escaped Clayton as Sol sliced his kid's throats and sped away before Clayton could get to him.
Panic forced Clayton to yell, “Retreat! We were set up! Retreat!”
Out of a few hundred vampires that made up his tribes, Clayton saw less than a hundred survivors. He motioned them toward him as he saw the truth unfold. There stood Maryl, and she was looking defiantly at Clayton.
“Now!” Maryl yelled to her right side. Over a hundred of her vampires jumped high into the air. They had burlap bags too, but they weren’t stealing crops.
“Oh no,” Clayton said as he realized what was in the bags.
“Dump them!” Maryl hollered.
The weapon Grady had told him about was in the bags! A fine mist of gray powder engulfed the skyline and fell steadily to the ground.
Not long before the mist touched the ground, he started to cough up blood. What manner of weaponry did they possess that could penetrate their impenetrable skin without affecting their own?
Before she sped away, he saw Maryl. She smiled fearlessly while she showed him the contract they had all just signed in blood, not an hour ago.
Clayton knelt and threw up. “Had I known you were in cahoots with King George, and not in my weakened state right now, I would kill you!” he said in-between nausea and retching.
Maryl smiled and then raced away.
Clayton staggered to the ground. His eyes burned, and his throat was on fire. He was losing consciousness when a tall African American woman appeared before him.
“Am I dreaming?”
“No, I am Desiree, and I am here to help you, your brothers and sisters.”
“Why aren’t you sick?”
“Because I am not of your sweet-smelling blood.”
“You would help someone, not of your type? Why?”
“Everyone deserves life,” Desiree stated simply.
Desiree took Clayton by his shoulders and hoisted him on her back. Her sudden acceleration made his nausea worse. She carefully placed Clayton on the ground well beyond the influence of the mist.
Desiree was swift as she rounded up as many as she could and laid them near Clayton.
Several minutes later, Clayton was able to sit up. He perched himself against a tree as Desiree sat beside him.
“That was a courageous thing to do, Desiree.”
“What do you mean?”
“Saving some of my tribes and me. You’ll be an outcast with the other smellers like yourself.”
“I never really fit in any classification.”
“By definition, you have to fit into one of the different smelling groups.”
“I base vampires on their actions and not what smell comes from them.”
Clayton peered at her youthful appearance. “I find that I am swiftly growing fond of you, Desiree.”
“Thank you.”
“My name is Clayton of the Cole Tribe.”
“I know who you are. Now stand up. We need to get you and your sweet smellers out of here.”
Desiree led Clayton several feet further when he fell to the ground. “You’re much weaker than you know, Clayton.”
“What sort of weaponry did I just witness?” Clayton asked in stark terror.
“I don’t know. I am not privy to such information.”
“Take me to the nearest town. I have friends there that can help my remaining comrades and me.”
“Of course,” Desiree said as she zipped away.
As his home grew in the distance, Clayton swore he would avenge his family. He didn’t care how long it took.
Chapter Nine
The Inception of the Fellowship of the Fangs
Stanford University, Assembly Hall 1912
Stanley Pearson was behind the curtains and looked at the full upside-down U shaped assembly hall with a measure of delight and unease. His packed audience of affluent and educated people gave him hope he would be taken seriously in California as opposed to his other ridiculed misfortunes across the United States.
He looked at the large poster board and his poster, but the massive clouds of smoke from people’s cigarettes threatened to cloak the arena. Pearson saw his new assistant and pulled him aside. “Mister Ward open the curtains and then the windows! I need the assembly hall smoke free for me to proceed!”
“Yes, sir,” Marty Ward said and hurriedly walked away.
Marty whisked people from their duties and assigned them the arduous task of opening the massive red curtains and using long poles to unlatch the window locks and open them.
Only after Marty was satisfied most of the smoke was gone did he go to Stanley Pearson.
Stanley Pearson was sitting at a lone desk when Marty whispered, “Ahem.”
“Yes, what is it, Marty? Can’t you see I’m going over my notes?”
“Of course. I am here to let you know the cigarette smoke has dissipated. You’re free to give your lecture, sir.”
“Excellent!” Stanley said as he slapped Marty on the back. “I knew I could count on you!”
“Thank you, sir. I just wanted to say I have been following your exploits...”
“Yes, yes, of course, you have,” Stanley said absentmindedly as he took a few deep breaths, walked to the curtain, waited a few more seconds, and then, in a dramatic display of showmanship, swung both curtains open wide.
The applause was a bit more unenthusiastic as he had hoped. He refused to let that affect his speech.
Stanley looked around his audience for a few seconds for effect. “Ladies and gentlemen, right now, sitting across from you, or perhaps several rows from you could lurk a species that has gone unnoticed for eons!” The crowd echoed with surprise. Stanley took that as a good sign.
He pointed to the gathering as he walked across the stage. “You see, I’ve been researching a phenomenon for the past decade! And I am here to tell you in no uncertain terms, that vampires do indeed exist!” He stopped walking and faced the crowded arena.
The laughter was immediate, as Stanley expected. It always was. But this assemblage was going to be different from his other lectures.
A crowd member from the back row rose. “Absurd!”
Another man stood up. “Preposterous!”
Stanley put up his hands. “Gentlemen, let me finish! Please, take a seat!”
Both wives took their husbands by the hand and forced them to sit. Chuckles rippled through the crowd.
“On May the 26th, in 1897, an author published a book about a vampire. The book was loosely based on Vlad the Impaler. I say to my audience that I have credible evidence he based his book about a species of humans that have largely been ignored….”
A person stood up and was rigid in his defiance. “Oh come off it, sir! You expect us to believe this nonsense?”
Stanley looked at the person with assurance. “Of course, I do! You spent your money to come to listen, so why doesn’t everyone stop complaining and actually listen to what I have to say?”
All across the vast land of the United States, Stanley Pearson had to listen to people's bellyaching when he lectured about the topic. He was fed up. This time if people left the assembly hall, Stanley would feel he had stuck up for himself.
“I have heard complaints similar to yours all across our great nation. Please, just listen to me for a few moments, and then all of you can go on your merry way. That’s all I ask.”
Nods of assent swept through the crowd. Finally!
“The author based his book on Transylvania in Romania, but he never went there. However, it was in Eastern Europe, where I researched the topic further!”
“Who funded your research?” a man to Stanley’s left asked.
“I belong to the Fellowship of the Fangs. They sponsored me. While I do travel across the globe, when I am in town, we have a meeting every Friday night at the library if anyone is interested.”
“What do you do at the meetings?” someone asked.
“We discuss ways of exploring other parts of the world using new and improved technology. We seek to find abnormalities of any kind. Some of the members are scientists!”
He took a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and dabbed his forehead.
Stanley looked at his audience and continued.
“For a millennium or more, in Eastern Europe, there were people of nobility and royalty who had a disorder. Nay! I daresay they had a blood disorder! And what is this blood disorder called? It is called Porphyria! (4) Yes, folks, there are people from times past and evident today that display characteristics like a vampire!”
“What sort of characteristics?” a stout man in the middle aisle stood up and asked mockingly.
“You, sir, are a clever person for asking such an insightful question!” Stanley let the sentence die for maximum effect.
“Let us list the traits, shall we?” Stanley bellowed to the audience as he lifted his left hand and put up his index finger. “Firstly, they exhibit hypersensitivity to light! Just like a vampire does!”
The gallery of people quieted down a little.
Stanley put up another finger. “Secondly, people with Porphyria tend to have repeated attacks from the disorder. That disease folks, cause the gums of the mouth to recede, which explains their fangs!”
A strange hush fell among the crowd of people. No one moved.
Another one of Stanley’s fingers rose steadily. “Thirdly, the urine from people with that particular disease causes their liquid discharge to turn red!”
Gasps echoed through the audience.
Stanley nodded sagely. “Yes, blood-red, folks!”
Stanley let that sink in before continuing. He put up the fourth finger. “Everyone knows vampires don’t like garlic. For these people that have the affliction, they have an aversion to garlic! Maybe it’s the smell; perhaps it’s from a component of garlic like sulfur or something. I will have to do more research. I do know they are in unbearable pain when exposed to garlic! I kid you not folks!”
The crowd shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Each neighbor looked at the other in controlled fear.
“There are more symptoms, but I wanted you to understand the nature of the beast involved!” He looked around his hushed audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, vampires do indeed exist!” Stanley lowered his eyes to the floor.
A gentleman from the front row lifted himself slowly. “My name is Clayton Cole, and I want to know…do you have any proof, sir?”
Stanley gradually raised his head and nodded gravely. “That I do, sir.” He peered to his right and moved his head slightly, then looked back at Clayton. “That I do.”
A moment later, a small metal cage on wheels pushed by Marty Ward went onstage. Not a peep was heard except the squeaking noise of the wheels turning slowly and reverberated across the quieted stage. Squeak… squeak… squeak. Intakes of breath and moans vibrated through the assembly. Several women fainted by the sight of the human inside.
“You can’t just impose new laws without the other council members agreement!” Tabatha yelled.
“I can, and I will. It is my right as the leader of all the tribes.”
“You are invoking the primacy law? In a thousand plus years, it has never been used!” Platov said incredulously.
“This is getting interesting,” Sol remarked. “You’re giving away concession after concession.”
“I say we hear him out,” said Eli. “After all, he could have killed me over two hundred years ago. He let me live when I and some of our brethren attacked his village.”
“Despite Eli not being an elder, I respect his opinion. I will hear Clayton out,” Maryl intoned.
Clayton could see the open anger on the elders and the rest of his tribes, but he knew they would never rule against him nor retaliate against him.
“I offer lines being drawn all across Great Britain and beyond.”
“How would we know where one boundary ends, and one begins?” Maryl asked.
“We would mark the trees, the lands themselves, and other structures with our blood. No matter how old the blood becomes, we would always be able to smell it. And we can smell over great distances.”
“And what of centuries to be?” Sol asked.
“I don’t understand,” Clayton said with uncertainty.
“When our respective tribes branch out, and new territories are claimed, even across the pond in the Americas, how are we to discern whose territory is whose?”
“I have with me maps of the Americas and beyond. We can draw the lines in blood right here and right now.”
“Why are you so desperate that you would divide the lands of the entire world between the eight of us?” Maryl asked.
“Because we require your help,” Clayton responded quickly. Even now, he could hear the army approaching a couple of kilometers away.
“I suggest you tell us what you need from us before we commit to an answer. I simply will not offer any assistance of any kind without knowing what mine and Maryl’s tribe's responsibilities are,” Sol said sternly.
The two tribes nodded in agreement.
“Fair enough,” Clayton said as he looked around the fire—open hostility registered on some of the elders. “King George’s army is fastly approaching and plan on attacking us and taking away our land. We need your help in defending us.”
“Why? Aren’t your type able to easily stop them?” Maryl asked with fake sincerity.
“While we are considerably stronger, there will be too many of them.”
A silence followed. The hissing and popping of the firewood were a distant memory as the ramifications of Clayton's appeal sunk in.
“You want us to help fight alongside you against the King?” Maryl asked doubtfully.
“Yes.”
“In exchange for boundary lines across the globe, so we needn’t fear any attack or acts of aggression?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean,” Clayton said with renewed hope that all was not lost.
Maryl turned to Sol. “What do you think? Should we help them?”
“I think it’s in our best interest and survival if we do,” Sol remarked simply.
“Then let’s draw blood on the written contract right away! That way, right here and right now, the agreement is binding. No one may alter it,” Clayton said.
Clayton took the parchment from his pants pocket and unfolded it. “I will pass this around to the elders of all eight tribes. All of us will take our nail and slice our skin and let the flow drip down on the parchment.”
Clayton went first, then Maryl and Sol. Platov and the others did the same, but they showed their displeasure.
When the parchment came back to Clayton, he handed it to Grady. “Put this in the cupboard in the kitchen for safekeeping.”
Grady sped to their house.
“Now what?” Maryl asked.
“Now, we wait. It won’t be too much longer, a couple of minutes at most,” Clayton said with relief.
Tabatha hissed in his ear. “You have no idea what you have just done!”
“Oh, yes, I do. I saved our tribe,” Clayton whispered back.
“Look around you! How many tribal elders would have agreed to your insane proposal?”
“None, that’s why I invoked the primacy law,” Clayton hissed back.
“You better know what you’re doing, Clayton. Our continued existence depends on it.”
Clayton got up. “It’s time. Prepare for an attack. Remember something when we fight today! We will not cave into tyranny! We are proud and able-bodied!”
Everyone rose. Clayton took a quick headcount. He estimated over two thousand vampires. Clayton closed his eyes and put his hyper hearing to use. He counted several thousand heartbeats of soldiers. For the first time in over seven hundred years, he was afraid.
The first soldiers entered the area where the firepit still burned. The king's soldiers looked around while the vampires had scattered before their arrival.
The red uniforms of King George’s army made them stand out. Easy targets, thought Clayton as he snuck up behind one. He fed on the man’s blood to gain much-needed strength. He noted the other vampires did as well. Since they could smell the blood, Clayton wasn’t worried anyone would die from sucking on the wrong blood type.
After fifteen minutes of fighting, with the mounting bodies of King George’s army sprawled over the ground, Clayton thought of something that never entered his mind until now.
If King George did not know about vampires, why was Clayton seeing a bunch of dead vampires on the ground too? The rifles should not be able to penetrate their skin. It was something else Clayton thought as he sniffed a deceased vampire.
And that’s when he knew he had been betrayed.
Heartbeats were heartbeats. There was no distinction between humans and vampires when it came to the beating of hearts, except in rare cases when there was a medical condition such as heart murmurs, a fast or slow heartbeat, or if someone had a pacemaker. But the smell of the vampires never changed. He had been tricked. He had been duped, but by whom?
Clayton sped to the edge of his house. He crept beside his home until he was at the front door. Detecting no heartbeats within a twenty-yard range outside, he sped in his house and looked around.
He saw several deceased vampires lying next to his father. Clayton checked for a heartbeat. His father, the mighty Tarson, lay still. Anger swept through him from the loss of his father. He looked around when he realized his sons Grady and Markus were nowhere to be found.
He sensed several humans behind him. He turned around. The soldiers backed away when they saw Clayton's unchecked anger in his eyes. He raced to them and dispatched them without care.
A roar that came from Clayton’s anguish eclipsed the sound of the rifles shooting.
He witnessed several soldiers looting his crops and putting them in large burlap bags. They stopped when they heard his battle cry.
Rifles were targeted at him from all angles as he went into the heat of the ongoing battle. Bullets bounced off him as he swept through the soldiers, slaying them with unchecked rage. His side was losing, which was supposed to be impossible. And then he saw the reason.
Sol was looking around and finally saw Clayton. Sol had Grady and Markus in each hand, holding them by the throat. “These your children?” he said tauntingly.
“Why?” the words escaped Clayton as Sol sliced his kid's throats and sped away before Clayton could get to him.
Panic forced Clayton to yell, “Retreat! We were set up! Retreat!”
Out of a few hundred vampires that made up his tribes, Clayton saw less than a hundred survivors. He motioned them toward him as he saw the truth unfold. There stood Maryl, and she was looking defiantly at Clayton.
“Now!” Maryl yelled to her right side. Over a hundred of her vampires jumped high into the air. They had burlap bags too, but they weren’t stealing crops.
“Oh no,” Clayton said as he realized what was in the bags.
“Dump them!” Maryl hollered.
The weapon Grady had told him about was in the bags! A fine mist of gray powder engulfed the skyline and fell steadily to the ground.
Not long before the mist touched the ground, he started to cough up blood. What manner of weaponry did they possess that could penetrate their impenetrable skin without affecting their own?
Before she sped away, he saw Maryl. She smiled fearlessly while she showed him the contract they had all just signed in blood, not an hour ago.
Clayton knelt and threw up. “Had I known you were in cahoots with King George, and not in my weakened state right now, I would kill you!” he said in-between nausea and retching.
Maryl smiled and then raced away.
Clayton staggered to the ground. His eyes burned, and his throat was on fire. He was losing consciousness when a tall African American woman appeared before him.
“Am I dreaming?”
“No, I am Desiree, and I am here to help you, your brothers and sisters.”
“Why aren’t you sick?”
“Because I am not of your sweet-smelling blood.”
“You would help someone, not of your type? Why?”
“Everyone deserves life,” Desiree stated simply.
Desiree took Clayton by his shoulders and hoisted him on her back. Her sudden acceleration made his nausea worse. She carefully placed Clayton on the ground well beyond the influence of the mist.
Desiree was swift as she rounded up as many as she could and laid them near Clayton.
Several minutes later, Clayton was able to sit up. He perched himself against a tree as Desiree sat beside him.
“That was a courageous thing to do, Desiree.”
“What do you mean?”
“Saving some of my tribes and me. You’ll be an outcast with the other smellers like yourself.”
“I never really fit in any classification.”
“By definition, you have to fit into one of the different smelling groups.”
“I base vampires on their actions and not what smell comes from them.”
Clayton peered at her youthful appearance. “I find that I am swiftly growing fond of you, Desiree.”
“Thank you.”
“My name is Clayton of the Cole Tribe.”
“I know who you are. Now stand up. We need to get you and your sweet smellers out of here.”
Desiree led Clayton several feet further when he fell to the ground. “You’re much weaker than you know, Clayton.”
“What sort of weaponry did I just witness?” Clayton asked in stark terror.
“I don’t know. I am not privy to such information.”
“Take me to the nearest town. I have friends there that can help my remaining comrades and me.”
“Of course,” Desiree said as she zipped away.
As his home grew in the distance, Clayton swore he would avenge his family. He didn’t care how long it took.
Chapter Nine
The Inception of the Fellowship of the Fangs
Stanford University, Assembly Hall 1912
Stanley Pearson was behind the curtains and looked at the full upside-down U shaped assembly hall with a measure of delight and unease. His packed audience of affluent and educated people gave him hope he would be taken seriously in California as opposed to his other ridiculed misfortunes across the United States.
He looked at the large poster board and his poster, but the massive clouds of smoke from people’s cigarettes threatened to cloak the arena. Pearson saw his new assistant and pulled him aside. “Mister Ward open the curtains and then the windows! I need the assembly hall smoke free for me to proceed!”
“Yes, sir,” Marty Ward said and hurriedly walked away.
Marty whisked people from their duties and assigned them the arduous task of opening the massive red curtains and using long poles to unlatch the window locks and open them.
Only after Marty was satisfied most of the smoke was gone did he go to Stanley Pearson.
Stanley Pearson was sitting at a lone desk when Marty whispered, “Ahem.”
“Yes, what is it, Marty? Can’t you see I’m going over my notes?”
“Of course. I am here to let you know the cigarette smoke has dissipated. You’re free to give your lecture, sir.”
“Excellent!” Stanley said as he slapped Marty on the back. “I knew I could count on you!”
“Thank you, sir. I just wanted to say I have been following your exploits...”
“Yes, yes, of course, you have,” Stanley said absentmindedly as he took a few deep breaths, walked to the curtain, waited a few more seconds, and then, in a dramatic display of showmanship, swung both curtains open wide.
The applause was a bit more unenthusiastic as he had hoped. He refused to let that affect his speech.
Stanley looked around his audience for a few seconds for effect. “Ladies and gentlemen, right now, sitting across from you, or perhaps several rows from you could lurk a species that has gone unnoticed for eons!” The crowd echoed with surprise. Stanley took that as a good sign.
He pointed to the gathering as he walked across the stage. “You see, I’ve been researching a phenomenon for the past decade! And I am here to tell you in no uncertain terms, that vampires do indeed exist!” He stopped walking and faced the crowded arena.
The laughter was immediate, as Stanley expected. It always was. But this assemblage was going to be different from his other lectures.
A crowd member from the back row rose. “Absurd!”
Another man stood up. “Preposterous!”
Stanley put up his hands. “Gentlemen, let me finish! Please, take a seat!”
Both wives took their husbands by the hand and forced them to sit. Chuckles rippled through the crowd.
“On May the 26th, in 1897, an author published a book about a vampire. The book was loosely based on Vlad the Impaler. I say to my audience that I have credible evidence he based his book about a species of humans that have largely been ignored….”
A person stood up and was rigid in his defiance. “Oh come off it, sir! You expect us to believe this nonsense?”
Stanley looked at the person with assurance. “Of course, I do! You spent your money to come to listen, so why doesn’t everyone stop complaining and actually listen to what I have to say?”
All across the vast land of the United States, Stanley Pearson had to listen to people's bellyaching when he lectured about the topic. He was fed up. This time if people left the assembly hall, Stanley would feel he had stuck up for himself.
“I have heard complaints similar to yours all across our great nation. Please, just listen to me for a few moments, and then all of you can go on your merry way. That’s all I ask.”
Nods of assent swept through the crowd. Finally!
“The author based his book on Transylvania in Romania, but he never went there. However, it was in Eastern Europe, where I researched the topic further!”
“Who funded your research?” a man to Stanley’s left asked.
“I belong to the Fellowship of the Fangs. They sponsored me. While I do travel across the globe, when I am in town, we have a meeting every Friday night at the library if anyone is interested.”
“What do you do at the meetings?” someone asked.
“We discuss ways of exploring other parts of the world using new and improved technology. We seek to find abnormalities of any kind. Some of the members are scientists!”
He took a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and dabbed his forehead.
Stanley looked at his audience and continued.
“For a millennium or more, in Eastern Europe, there were people of nobility and royalty who had a disorder. Nay! I daresay they had a blood disorder! And what is this blood disorder called? It is called Porphyria! (4) Yes, folks, there are people from times past and evident today that display characteristics like a vampire!”
“What sort of characteristics?” a stout man in the middle aisle stood up and asked mockingly.
“You, sir, are a clever person for asking such an insightful question!” Stanley let the sentence die for maximum effect.
“Let us list the traits, shall we?” Stanley bellowed to the audience as he lifted his left hand and put up his index finger. “Firstly, they exhibit hypersensitivity to light! Just like a vampire does!”
The gallery of people quieted down a little.
Stanley put up another finger. “Secondly, people with Porphyria tend to have repeated attacks from the disorder. That disease folks, cause the gums of the mouth to recede, which explains their fangs!”
A strange hush fell among the crowd of people. No one moved.
Another one of Stanley’s fingers rose steadily. “Thirdly, the urine from people with that particular disease causes their liquid discharge to turn red!”
Gasps echoed through the audience.
Stanley nodded sagely. “Yes, blood-red, folks!”
Stanley let that sink in before continuing. He put up the fourth finger. “Everyone knows vampires don’t like garlic. For these people that have the affliction, they have an aversion to garlic! Maybe it’s the smell; perhaps it’s from a component of garlic like sulfur or something. I will have to do more research. I do know they are in unbearable pain when exposed to garlic! I kid you not folks!”
The crowd shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Each neighbor looked at the other in controlled fear.
“There are more symptoms, but I wanted you to understand the nature of the beast involved!” He looked around his hushed audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, vampires do indeed exist!” Stanley lowered his eyes to the floor.
A gentleman from the front row lifted himself slowly. “My name is Clayton Cole, and I want to know…do you have any proof, sir?”
Stanley gradually raised his head and nodded gravely. “That I do, sir.” He peered to his right and moved his head slightly, then looked back at Clayton. “That I do.”
A moment later, a small metal cage on wheels pushed by Marty Ward went onstage. Not a peep was heard except the squeaking noise of the wheels turning slowly and reverberated across the quieted stage. Squeak… squeak… squeak. Intakes of breath and moans vibrated through the assembly. Several women fainted by the sight of the human inside.
