Suburban Vampire: A Tale of the Human Condition—With Vampires

by Franklin Posner

  Scott pulled his Mustang up the long gray driveway that led to the rectory. Jeremiah instructed him to pull in front of the small gray stone house and come inside.

  “A church? What are we doing here?” Scott asked. Churches were not places most vampires frequented—well, except for Scott, anyway, and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to frequent his own church very often. Well, that, and he was afraid that Dawn was going to blab about his behavior the other night. Then again, it was nighttime. Maybe there was some exception for nighttime church visits.

  “Part of the role of a sire is to allow the acolyte to become familiar with him, to get to know him on a personal basis,” Jeremiah said. Scott thought it was nice that new vampires got the personal touch. That’s good customer service. “And since you have been assigned as my acolyte, I shall let you in on a few secrets.”

  Scott nodded and told Jeremiah to lead on. The elder vampire took a key from his pocket and opened the front door to the rectory. The apartment was simple and sparsely furnished. Not far out of the vestibule was a large wooden door with iron furnishings and a slit at eye level that was closed. Scott thought the door seemed somewhat out of place, but he decided that it was not his place to judge someone else’s taste in home decor. Jeremiah knocked three times on the door.

  “Just wait. There should be someone here,” Jeremiah said.

  Scott could not hear through the door; his heightened sense of hearing didn’t seem to be effective here.

  “Who’s there?” a female voice finally responded.

  “I am,” Jeremiah answered.

  “You’re supposed to answer with the password! Did you forget the password?”

  “No, you forgot the password prompt, Weems.”

  “Oh, doggy doo! You’re right! I’m sorry, Jeremiah, I don’t know where my brain went! Isn’t that an odd thing to say though? Because obviously my brain is still in my head. I mean, there is no currently viable scientific way to be able to live without a brain short of dark magic, and that kind of stuff isn’t allowed here, so—”

  “Weems! Door! Now!”

  The large wooden door opened slowly, revealing a petite, dark-haired girl with a bad complexion, large glasses, and a lab coat. She held a clipboard, standing on the top step of a stone stairway that looked as if it were heading into a dragon-infested dungeon. Scott thought it was pretty cool.

  “Sorry, Jeremiah,” she said. “And who’s your friend?”

  “This is Scott. You know…Scott Campbell?”

  “Oh! Oh! That Scott! Oh wow! This is such an honor! I’ve been wanting to meet you for the longest time! Well, for the last few days, since Jeremiah here found out about you.” She took Scott’s hand and shook it aggressively. “My name is Weems. Kitty Weems. You can call me Kitty. Or Weems. Whatever floats your boat. It’s not every day you meet a newly turned vampire. Usually when you do, they’re trying to eat you. And it’s not every day you meet an honest-to-Betsy answer to prophecy! Well, in theory, anyway. I mean, as far as we know, the prophecy of IshBosheth hasn’t really been fulfilled, and your qualifications according to the relevant passages may be mere coincidence, but still it’s exciting to hypothesize…Oh, am I talking too much? I’m talking too much. I’m sorry. I blame it on the double mocha espresso I had for lunch.”

  “Too much caffeine. I know how that is,” Scott said.

  “Actually, it was decaf. Anyway, come on downstairs!” Weems began to head that way when she suddenly stopped in her tracks. “Oh bother! I’m forgetting something. Hey guys!” Weems yelled down the stairs. Scott was surprised by the volume the little lady had in her. “Guys, you need to shut off the obelisk!” She turned back to Jeremiah and Scott. “Sorry, we had the obelisk on. It’s set to block vampires from being able to enter here. It’s off now. You’re safe. You can enter without exploding in flames.”

  That was some kind of comfort to Scott, considering how he didn’t particularly want to burst into flames. The winding-stone staircase entered a large stone-walled room that reminded Scott of the interior of a medieval castle. A couple other white-coated lab workers were milling about the place. Scott noted the many racks of weapons all around the room. As excited as he’d been at the display of ancient weapons at the House, he found this even more impressive. And better yet, there was no indication that anyone was going to be using any of those weapons against him.

  “I’ve died,” Scott said, “and have gone to…a really weird version of heaven.”

  “Well, obviously, you’re not dead,” Weems said. “Or, I mean, you are kind of dead. I mean, technically, you’re dead, but…never mind. Oh, hey, Jeremiah?”

  “Yes, Weems?”

  “You know that synthetic human-blood substitute I’ve been working on?”

  “I have heard of it.”

  Weems turned to Scott. “I’ve been working on cruelty-free alternatives to meat-based diets. I mean, after all, meat is not really good for the digestive systems of modern humans, or even necessary. Plus the meat industry is not known for their compassionate treatment of animals, and besides, the consumption of animal-based products is not exactly environment friendly. I mean, I myself am a vegan. Not that I’m judging my carnivorous friends, especially not any vampires I know; it’s just that a more plant-based diet is better all around. And for humans, it is entirely feasible to get most of their nutrition from nonanimal sources. This led me to thinking, what about vampires? If I could perfect a cruelty-free functional replacement for humans, or even animal blood, we could wean vampires off of blood completely!”

  Weems led them to a lab table that held laboratory glasses of various shapes and sizes. She then took an Erlenmeyer flask filled with a red substance and poured the thick liquid into two small beakers. “This is an entirely plant-based mixture, all natural, all organic, pesticide-free, nothing genetically altered (Because us vampires are totally down on that, Scott noted to himself), filled with antioxidants and probiotics. And I’ve managed to get it to the consistency and viscosity of human blood. Have a taste!”

  Both Jeremiah and Scott took the offered beakers. Both of them drank. Both of them wished they hadn’t. Scott gulped the disgusting fluid, hoping it would stay down.

  “Well, what do you guys think?” Weems asked.

  “Oh well, it’s…uh…it’s great,” Scott lied. In fact, it was absolutely horrid. And it wasn’t just because he was a vampire and found most foods uninteresting or unappealing, but because it was, quite simply, awful by any standard. Scott thought that it smelled like decaying plant matter and tasted just as good. It was obvious to him that Jeremiah fully agreed.

  “I’m so glad you like it! We’ll have to get this to production right away! Answer to vampire bloodlust coming up!”

  “Uh, Weems? Scott and I have some things to discuss. Could you please excuse us?”

  “Oh sure! I’ve got a few experiments I still need to check on. Father Donegan is letting me use the large lab to work on my latest doctoral dissertation. I’m testing the hypothesis that string theory can be used to create wormholes. Well, secretly, I’m trying to find a way to kill vampires using calculus. Well, bad vampires anyway, not you guys!”

  “How is Donegan doing? Last time I saw him, he did not look well.”

  “I don’t know. He’s on leave. He didn’t want to talk about it. I noticed he wasn’t feeling too well when we were working on the cage.”

  “The cage?” Scott asked.

  “Yeah, the cage. It’s basically that, a big cage. Meant to hold vampires and other unnatural critters. It’s made of iron bars completely finished with pure silver. It’s like a reverse Faraday cage for the supernatural. Anyway, he took leave not long after it was completed.” Weems then left, heading to a door across the way.

  “Okay. What is this place?” Scott asked.

  “This,” Jeremiah answered, “is Ministry.”

  “Ministry?” Scott thought about all the single-named places and beings he had encountered recently: Ministry, Enforcement,
Jeremiah, Jack, Father, Elizabeth. What was up with that? Oh well, I guess it simplifies things. And Cher, Prince, and Bono can’t be wrong.

  “Correct. Ministry. The human race’s best hope against the evil undead. Ministry has been around, in one form or another, for most of human history and in several human cultures and religions. Ministry as we know it in the West goes as far back as ancient Sumeria; one of its early operational centers was the Temple of Solomon in Jerusalem. It moved with the times, from Jerusalem to Babylon to Athens to Rome. When the Roman Empire adopted the Christian religion, Ministry fell under the jurisdiction of the church, hence its name. It has managed to survive purges and inquisitions, almost falling with the destruction of the Knights Templar, who were guardians and warriors for Ministry. Since those days, Ministry has become more ecumenical, opening up to other branches of the Christian faith and eventually coming to encompass similar organizations in other cultures and religions, from China, India, Africa, and Latin America. Ministry keeps itself as far off the grid as possible, from friend and foe alike. Not many people have any knowledge it exists. But they all should thank God it does.”

  “‘People sleep soundly in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.’ Is that pretty close?”

  “That is an accurate assessment, yes. Men—and at least one vampire. Myself. Although it was not always thus. My excesses were legendary. There were parts of the world where, for generations, people whispered of me in terror, my very name striking fear in the hardest of hearts. Many agents of Ministry hunted me; many of them fell before me. I was an enemy of God and man. Then something happened that changed me forever. I do not speak of it, nor of the thousands of years so terribly misspent.”

  Thousands? That blew Scott’s mind. He knew vampires could live a long time, but thousands of years? “How old are you, Jeremiah? I mean, if I may ask?”

  “I have lost count. It’s about two thousand three-hundred sixty years, give or take. I was sired by one of the Old Ones. I have seen much, been many places. I have known great men and women. I served under Alexander and in the court of Cleopatra. I have fought and spilled blood in more wars than I care to remember. For I on honey-dew hath fed, and drunk the milk of paradise.”

  “Whoa, that’s pretty heavy.”

  “Indeed, it is. Perhaps, one day, you, too, will have similar stories, of great deeds and great men and women.”

  “Yeah, not likely. What’s the difference between Enforcement and Ministry? They seem to have some similar goals—you know, controlling the vampire population and all.”

  “It would seem that way, and at times Enforcement and Ministry work collaboratively. Enforcement is really not a terribly old organization. It was only developed after vampires realized that they could no longer function as they used to, not in the modern world. Peasants with pitchforks and torches did not trouble them; governments with modern communications and weaponry did. So the vampires formed a division that would keep the vampire population controlled from within. This is Enforcement. The House is the government; Enforcement is its police force. And sometimes Ministry and Enforcement find themselves working toward the same ends. We sometimes share intelligence and weapons. But never forget, Enforcement does not exist to protect humanity, but vampires.”

  “Okay, I think I understand now. They may not be the bad guys, but they aren’t the good guys, either.”

  “A simplistic but not inaccurate assessment. Anyway, allow me acquaint you with the facility.” He pointed past the racks of axes, swords, and polearms to a corner of the large room. A metal roll-up door stood out of place in the stone wall. “We had to add this as an extra measure of security for some of the more lethal munitions.”

  Jeremiah rolled the door up, revealing a room lined with steel walls, upon which were racks of more modern-looking weaponry: rifles, shotguns, submachine guns, heavy machine guns, even a couple RPGs.

  “That’s a lot of guns,” Scott said. He was a bit confused. Guns? For vampires? I thought vampires weren’t affected by bullets. I certainly wasn’t.

  Jeremiah took him to another table with a reloading press and loaded cartridges in Styrofoam boxes. He opened one of the boxes and took out a cartridge that was loaded with a shiny silver-looking bullet. “You may not wish to touch the bullet, but you can handle the cartridge itself.”

  “It’s a bullet. So what?”

  “Warheads. These are guaranteed to take down most undead you may encounter: vampires, werewolves, physically manifest demons. I even took down a wyvern some years ago with a shotgun loaded with warheads. Not technically an undead, but still, a nasty beast.”

  “Wait, wait, wait. Werewolves? Now you’re telling me werewolves are a thing?”

  “Of course, they are. Bullets of pure silver are enough to kill a werewolf. They cannot be used to kill vampires, although their wounds are painful and debilitating, and wounds caused by them are slower to heal. Warheads achieve similar results on vampires, except they can kill if the shooter does his job and places them properly in the heart.”

  “What are they made of?”

  “Well, silver, obviously, with a weighted hardwood core. The tip looks solid, but it covers a hollow point, not meant so much for expansion as it is a reservoir filled with holy water. Naturally these are laborious and rather expensive to produce, so we do not use them for practice. Perhaps, one day, should you wish to fight alongside Ministry, we may issue you some.”

  “Okay!” Scott started thinking that one of his father’s old service revolvers might one day see use in a role very different from the days when he had worn a blue uniform. “Got anything else cool to show me?”

  “Certainly. Over on that table.” Jeremiah pointed to another table, this one holding several canisters. Scott recognized what they were, or at least he thought he did.

  “Pepper spray? Tear gas? How the heck can that stop a vampire?”

  “Antiundead defensive spray. It will not necessarily kill but is guaranteed to stop the undead. It contains wolfsbane, garlic, holy water, colloidal silver, and yes, oleoresin capsicum, for added effect.”

  “Just a spray, and your vampire problem goes away. Hey, we could market this stuff! Got anything else to show me?”

  “We do not have time for much else. Eventually, I should like to test your skills with a blade. But for now, I have another lesson I wish to teach you. A practical and real-life demonstration of at least one of your abilities. Come with me.” Jeremiah walked over to yet another lab table. It was largely bare except for a couple large knives. Jeremiah picked up one of the knives—a khukri—and unsheathed it.

  “Roll up your right sleeve,” Jeremiah requested.

  Scott did as he was told. It seemed innocent enough.

  Jeremiah then directed him to place his hand on the table. Scott thought it odd, but he did it anyway.

  Then Jeremiah raised the khukri and struck, completely severing Scott’s hand. Blood spurted from the ragged stump as Scott screamed in overwhelming pain, fear, and understandable anger.

  “Aaaaahhhh! What the fuck, dude?”

  Now, it was not like Scott to use the F bomb. His mouth was not completely pure despite his best efforts, but there were a few words he tried to avoid, “fuck” being among them. But he felt that the expletive seemed appropriate, given the situation.

  “Now, just calm down,” Jeremiah said. The big black guy had a smirk on his face. Did he think this was funny? Scott could just imagine Jeremiah telling him that it was only a flesh wound.

  “Calm down? You cut my fucking hand off!”

  “Relax; I have your hand right here.” Jeremiah raised Scott’s severed hand. At first, Scott thought the man was taunting him. Here, let me give you a hand! Maybe it was just some more of that vampire humor Scott could never understand. All he wanted right then was his hand back. “Now, give me your arm.”

  Scott didn’t know why he should trust the man who had just mutilated him with a big-assed knife, and
yet he did. He extended the bloody stump to Jeremiah, who took the amputated hand, placed stump against stump, and then pushed. Almost immediately, Scott could feel nerves, veins, and tendons reaching for one another, fusing and healing. A red scar remained on his wrist, and his hand was still a bit numb, but it was definitely healing. Scott looked on in amazement.

  “Your hand will feel numb for a while, but it will return to normal in a few minutes, and the scar will disappear as well. I had to teach you this, as it is not something I can simply tell you and have you believe. You must know what you are capable of, should this happen to you out in the field.”

  “So vampires can graft body parts back on their bodies? Just like that?”

  “Yes. We cannot regenerate limbs. They must be grafted back on, a simple process made more difficult if the severed limb is denied to the vampire who lost it, for instance, if the champion they are fighting takes the part as a trophy or otherwise discards it beyond the vampire’s reach. There have been a few vampires who have permanently lost limbs this manner. Sadly, this has at times encouraged a particularly nasty underground traffic in human limbs. A vampire who has lost a body part will frequent one of these businesses where he can purchase an arm or leg recently harvested from an unsuspecting victim.”

  “Oh, that’s harsh. Talk about costing an arm and a leg!”

  “That was not funny. Anyway, it is time to go; we have much to do tomorrow morning.”

  “Morning? Dude, it’s like midnight. I need to get some sleep!”

  “I slept for one hundred years once. It was an overrated experience. When I awoke, men were still killing one another. Anyway, we must procure the services of an attorney for your appearance before the Inquisitor. Meet me at the county courthouse in downtown Portland tomorrow before noon.”