New Moan

by Stephfordy Mayo

  chapter 14

  * * *

  The Diary of Young Teddy, Aged 30 2⁄3

  DAY 1 WITHOUT HEFFA. PEOPLE KILLED: 0 (BRILLIANT, KEEP IT UP). CATS KILLED: 3 (BUT FAIRLY SURE THEY WERE FERAL). HOURS SPENT SUBSUMED IN MISERY: 18 (DISAPPOINTING, BUT IT IS FIRST DAY).

  * * *

  Arrived Romania after overnight flight from Berlin surrounded by people who stank of blutwurst; had to go into toilets a few times to calm down. Am determined to best control issues. Bobbi suggested Heffa could tie me up, but I’m not sure whether that would work; I might just break free. Bobbi said if I didn’t know, she couldn’t tell me, and then went and giggled with Jack for a while.

  Two of them are so juvenile. Wish they’d act their age. Heffa is only seventeen, but already so much more mature than either of them.

  Father was no use, of course – just said ‘ripe indeed’ and started one of his interminable stories about a girl he once bit. I’m so fatigued by my family. A break will be good for me, even though my soul aches hard for my Heffa.

  Stewardess on flight kept accosting me as I emerged from toilets to ask if I wanted to join a club. I said I was already member of most fearsome club that exists (i.e. vampires, but was more mysterious at the time).

  She shrugged and said yes, she’d thought I might be gay, but no harm in trying. Not sure how my drawn and wearied countenance could be confused with gaiety; all very perplexing, the living are strange.

  How I long for Heffa! Only she can understand what I’m going through. I thought briefly this afternoon of just going home, but must suffer through this self-imposed exile to prove my love. I believe that was my reasoning, anyway; it all seems a bit tenuous now I am miles and miles away. What if she finds someone else while I’m gone? Not sure I could survive knowing she was with someone else, would have to kill either her or myself, or both. Either way it would be messy. Father would be so proud.

  Exchange family’s house v. disappointing. Was expecting thatched cottage in midst of woodland; instead, cab driver left me at large gray tower block surrounded by other large gray tower blocks. Not at all soothing, I must say, the aesthetics are terrible. Lots of poorly lit alleys and underpasses a plus, though – a good place for pouncing. Host family tried to explain something about communes when I complained re: ugliness, but not sure why them being hippies is any excuse for an infatuation with concrete. Poor show all round.

  According to family, nearest forest is about 50 miles away. Rather tiresome to have to travel so far for dinner; consequently, dined on three scrawny felines I found in stairwell instead. Still hungry now, but Bobbi swears by a cat diet when she’s trying to keep trim, so I’m sure I’ll get used to it.

  Host mother screamed an awful lot when she returned home: v. protective of her sofa covers, I think, but I’m sure the blood will come out no problem. Some people are so overdramatic. Had to retreat to my bedroom to shut out shrieks and bellows. This is NOT restful.

  Lay on the bed all night, wondering if Heffa misses me yet. Am not going to call her. She has to call first.

  DAY 2 W.H. HOURS SPENT HUNTING: 7 (BEARS 4, WOLVES 7, RABBITS 18, GOATS 25, PEOPLE 3 – WHOOPS, WILL GO BACK ON WAGON TOMORROW). HOURS SPENT SUBSUMED IN MISERY: 5 (V. GOOD; HUNTING EXCELLENT DISTRACTION).

  * * *

  Depressing day. Heffa didn’t call. Think perhaps I forgot to give her my number when I was tearing myself away from her. Buggeration.

  Mood made worse by utter overreaction from host family viz cats/blood/sofa combination. Fear one of the pussies I was eating belonged to host mother. It was an accident! Tried to explain, but they persisted in their waving of garlic/crosses/holy water etc. Pointed out I was romantic lead not villain, and also they were meant to be amusing foreign comic relief.

  To no avail, though: they continued with the curses and the thrusting of stakes. Frankly, I found it all rather Freudian. No idea what their problem is, but decided probably prudent to leave them to it. I thought Europeans were welcoming and hospitable; feel I was sadly misled. Also, now homeless.

  Went into the local town in search of distractions, but no one seemed to know of any secret torture dungeons nearby; in fact, my questions seemed to provoke dismay. No luck at tourist office either, but I did get leaflets with directions to local caves, funfair and ‘DracuLand’, so trip not a total waste of time. Decided to leave the town and look for more stimulating company. So far, holiday hasn’t been at all what I was hoping for.

  Felt somewhat depressed again as I ran through Romanian countryside, and so took a detour into the forest to let off some steam. Romania still has bears! And wolves. Mood considerably better after a few hours in the woods, though I do feel a bit guilty about the hikers – v. difficult to tell difference between fur and anorak when in a hurry.

  Overall, then, a good day, despite inauspicious beginnings: I barely thought about Heffa at all as I tore beasts limb from limb. Bobbi is right; bloodbaths are very therapeutic and also good for skin. I feel years younger.

  DAY 3 W.H. TOURIST ATTRACTIONS VISITED: 1. VAMPIRES MET: 0 (SADLY). AMERICANS MET: 20. AMERICANS KILLED: 0 (GO ME!). HOURS SPENT IN HOLLOW PIT OF DESPAIR: 9 1/2.

  * * *

  Sunk in gloom again. ‘DracuLand’ a total failure. I stayed at this youth hostel specially so I could join the trip, and got herded onto a bus with twenty young blonde Americans, who kept sniggering at each other and putting on silly accents and nibbling at each other’s necks.

  Thought about explaining how disrespectful this was of my culture and then killing them all, but decided not to as a) Heffa likely to be disappointed in me and b) Dracula likely to be angry that his takeout had been eaten en route. V. clever idea to persuade victims to come to you!

  Arrived at Castle Vlad to find it was made of concrete, just like every other building here. Would have expected better of Prince of Darkness, but reminded self that times are hard for everyone. Irritating peasant in cheap smock and bad wig led us round castle. I suspected his hump was less than genuine. Again, comforted myself with notion that it must be hard to get good staff these days. Though I was going to have something to say about it in the visitors’ book!

  Nonetheless, was v. excited about meeting the old boy, and possibly getting him to sign an autograph in blood for Heffa. She seems fascinated by vampires, so I was sure she’d be thrilled.

  Not sure when it began to dawn on me that Dracula was not, in fact, living there, despite all the posters. I first had my doubts when the guide explained about Vlad the Impaler being the origin of the myth (MYTH?), and gave various other explanations of the legend (LEGEND?!). Then we were shepherded into a small room, where a pale girl lay asleep on a four-poster bed, and I began to cheer up – this was much more in keeping, and I was glad to see the old ways still being practiced.

  Was considering when would be best time to introduce myself – was secretly hoping to get an invite for dinner – when, of all things, a HUMAN in a cape, wig and bad white make-up sprang into room and shouted, ‘I haff come to suck your blut!’

  Some of the Americans screamed, but I could tell they didn’t mean it. It was all fake! Felt sullied. Our heritage, abused for the mindless pleasure of idiots. I didn’t even think killing the wannabe ‘Dracula’ would make me feel better, so I just sat at the back of the minibus, listening to the appalling tourists laugh at the cheesiness of it all and talk about who wanted to give whom a good staking. I felt like they didn’t mean ‘staking’ literally, but couldn’t decide what hidden meaning might be.

  Feel lack of Heffa more than ever, she’s got such a way with words, she’s told me several times how good she is with her tongue. I’m sure she could have explained why they found concept of poking each other with long, hard stakes so alluring.

  Will stop writing now, as someone is knocking at the door; at least, will stop writing once have written about how someone is knocking at door … dammit, this journal style is REALLY hard.

  *

  AmerIcans brllant., later in ev’nin
g now, went to bar w. them introdecued to new drink can’t remember name but def green so must be good 4 you. told all abt being evil night-stawking bl’dthristy beast they were so suportive all cheered toasted me brilliant friends love them all. Martha said could stalk her anytime might take her upon that latrr. Sleepy now, s’weird, dont’ even sleep. Heffa … hair so lovely., black as bat wing, something like that, Heffa my darling …

  DAY 4 W.H. KILLS: 0. MINUTES SPENT GRIEVING: 8. HOURS SPENT BROODING: 15 (NOT EVEN ASHAMED, TODAY HAS BEEN TERRIBLE).

  * * *

  Head feels like someone has gouged hole in it with hammer. Horrible. In cold light of morning, am not feeling so friendly towards Americans. Suspect drink contained alcohol of some sort. Would kill them all if only I could move without room spinning. May never be able to face Heffa again. Am addict. The shame of it. Must call her and admit my weakness. Will she ever forgive me?

  WORST DAY EVER. HEFFA DEAD. LIFE MEANINGLESS. DEATH IMMINENT.

  Correction. Heffa still alive. Am torn between joy and anger. Not sure what happened to be honest, all v. confusing. Rang up to confess all re: succumbing to temptation in form of greenish liquid; her phone was answered by voice I didn’t recognize. Asked to speak to light of life/other half of existence/perfect figure of womankind.

  Unknown voice: ‘No, I’m sorry, she’s dead. She’s totally dead, I blew her head off with a shotgun.’

  The assailant callously gave me further details as I pleaded with him to say it was not so; I assume he wished to torture me the more, but I was no longer listening. A hysterical grief washed over me. I had found soulmate, only to lose her. Oh, cruel irony of fate.

  Words cannot express despair I felt at that moment. Like a dark, dark, black, dark, black, bleak, dark hole in the center of everything.

  Spent two minutes planning memorial I would construct to my beloved’s memory, a large museum where her beloved corpse could lie in state; or possibly I could name a star after her, or a rose garden. And then I would live a long, pointless existence full of suffering, as I’m sure she would have desired.

  Thought occurred to me that I should find out details so I’d know what to write in epic poem I was midway through composing, so I called back. Turned out, they were talking about one of those newfangled computer games, ‘World of Woecraft’ or something. Newspapers always said they drive people to murder; can see why now.

  Still, must remember to be positive, it was all an honest mistake and an unfortunate, unbelievable coincidence. Heffa is still alive. Glad I thought to check, otherwise who knows what might have happened?

  Yet I fear she is under some strange spell; when I called again to hear her dulcet tones and to reassure myself of her safety, she pretended to be dead AGAIN. Am v. troubled by her behavior. And who is this Antony, anyway? Do I have rival? All bloody complicated, frankly, and makes my head hurt.

  I think I might cut short my time here. It’s been a bit of a letdown so far, and Heffa seems to be enjoying herself far too much without me. Must return to make sure she is still moody and still mine. Perhaps turning her into a vampire isn’t such a bad idea after all, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about her dying if she was already dead, seems sensible. Will spend a couple more days hunting, then return home.

  DAY 5 W.H. MILES TRAVELED: 300 (DARN TRUCK DRIVER). VAMPIRES KILLED: 1 (HAH!). PIECES OF OMINOUS NEWS RECEIVED: 2. TIME SPENT WORRYING ABOUT HEFFA: ALL DAY.

  * * *

  A most troubling and portentous day! Can’t believe what I’ve learned. (Deep breaths, Teddy, the flow of oxygen is calming even if unnecessary.) Will start from beginning; must try to get things in order, hopefully will make more sense.

  Went hunting early – I caught the scent of what I thought was wild boar and tracked it for most of the morning. Unfortunately, turned out I was following a truck of pork products on its way to Bratislava. Worry sometimes I am not terribly good at hunting, but I make up for it in enthusiasm.

  I retreated to nearby woodland and was spending a cheery half hour making daisy chains out of rabbit entrails as a love token for Heffa, when I was distracted by the sound of sniggering. Looked around to see vampire from Spatula – Baz or Boz or something. Felt even more perturbed about hunting skills since I hadn’t even heard him approach.

  Anyway, immediately launched into spirited rendition of ‘You Are My Sunshine’, which wiped the smile off his face. Take that, smirking vamp! Once I’d finished off the second verse – with verve and tempo, if I do say so myself– he was pressed up against nearest tree with his hands over his ears, pleading with me to make the noise stop. No appreciation for music at all. I sang first line of ‘Here Comes the Sun’ and moved in for the kill.

  Will try to write exactly what he said as I feel sure it must mean something, though all rather obscure at the moment.

  Me: Hello. My name is Teddy Kelledy. You harmed my Heffa. Prepare to die.

  Him: I know who you are, jeez, unoriginal much? Is there any genre you won’t pastiche, you disgrace of a vampire?

  Me: You won’t be so sanguine when your blood has run dry! (Was quite pleased with wordplay, I must admit.)

  Him: Oh, just stake me already. It doesn’t matter. Once The Reshuffle happens and the New Moan rises, the true vampires will take control, and we’ll get rid of you – and your little girlfriend, too.

  Me: Now who’s being unoriginal? Wait, what?

  Him: The New Moan? The Reshuffle? Man, are you guys such lame vampires you didn’t even get the memo – aaaaargh.

  Sadly, at this point my ire got the better of me and I accidentally uprooted the nearest tree, beat his arms and legs into a pulp of blood and bones with it, and then impaled it through his evil black heart. Probably a little rash; I might have found out more details if I’d held off a few more minutes. Still, at least there won’t be any loose ends to reappear at any moment when Stephfordy thinks there’s a need for increased tension.

  Also, I do have vague and mysterious threat to Heffa to deal with now – investigating that and sorting out whatever it is might provide climax after the last hundred pages of unresolved sexual tension! What did he mean about the New Moan?

  I returned to the youth hostel and practiced my ‘resolved’ face in mirror till I felt able to make a resolution. And this was it. I shall go and visit D’Arcy D’Acula, the coolest, most romantic vampire of all. If he finds us worthy, he’s sure to help Heffa and me. Conveniently, he lives just a few miles away. I will set out on the morrow and not rest until I have answers!

  DAY 6 W.H. KILLS: 0 (HURRAH, V. GOOD). TIME SPENT SHIRTLIFTING: 1 HOUR (BUT ALL IN NAME OF ART).

  * * *

  D’Arcy D’Acula resides in town of Boubcharest. Guidebook calls it ‘one of the most stimulating Romanian locations – good for wine, women and song, and be sure not to miss the festival of St. Voluptua, which has to be seen to be believed!’ I knew D’Acula would pick only the classiest locations to hang out in.

  Anyway, sprinted over there early in the morning and found it just as I had imagined, all cobbled paths and red-brick houses and cute little shutters on the windows. Found a passing yokel and complimented him on authentic Eastern Europeanness of his home; he just shrugged and told me that the ‘set’ usually impressed Americans, but of course he actually lived in the tower blocks on the outskirts like all the locals. Why must people persist in shattering my dreams?

  Demanded to know where D’Arcy D’Acula was. Yokel consulted watch. ‘Probably shooting,’ he said, and gave me directions to the ‘studio’. I decided ignoramus probably meant shooting range or forest, I couldn’t imagine what D’Acula would be shooting in a studio, but was sadly mistaken, and the day took a most disquieting turn from here on in.

  The ‘studio’ lay a little out of the town, in a twin set of domed buildings. I joined a merry throng of young men and women at the gates; young women in a most disgraceful display of undress – I could see almost all of their skin and had to fight hard to control myself. Men smelt overpoweringly of
cologne and had styled hair and sometimes toolboxes. I wondered if they were day laborers looking to help with plumbing and so on.

  Eventually, the gates opened and we were ushered inside; men went one way and I followed. Found myself shut into a room with a bed with a velvet counterpane and a table next to it with collars and a lead. Horrible – why do people let pets into their bedrooms? So unhygienic.

  ‘Darling, yes, perfect, what a figure!’ someone exclaimed enthusiastically, and I turned to see D’Arcy D’Acula himself.

  He was wearing a white shirt and leather pants, and had a neatly trimmed pencil moustache and elegantly slicked-back hair. He gestured to an assistant: ‘Arpatz, more water!’ A rather buff type with a chiseled quiff heaved a bucket of water over him, rendering his shirt translucent. D’Acula shook himself; shining droplets flew everywhere. Could see his muscles rippling under his clinging shirt. Have to admit I was quite starstruck, gulped a little before I gathered myself.

  ‘D’Arcy!’ I declared, ‘I have come to throw myself on your mercy.’

  ‘Throw yourself on some other thing and we might get somewhere,’ D’Acula smiled at me with his renowned grace and elegance. Then frowned – ‘Wait, are you a vampire?’

  Explained that I was Joseph Kelledy’s son and had come to consult him on matter of utmost urgency, had heard rumors of an impending event involving something called The Reshuffle and a New Moan and was concerned for my lady love, Heffa Lump. Would he help me?

  D’Acula looked rather misty-eyed. ‘Ah, The Reshuffle, if only I were young again! How time does fly. I had no idea one was due. And dear Joseph, tell me, how is he? Still persisting with his ridiculous “no killing” ethics?’

  ‘Indeed he is,’ I said proudly. ‘Well, most of the time.’

  Begged D’Acula again to explain what this dread occurrence was. He stroked his moustache thoughtfully and asked what it was worth to me. Of course, I swore I would do anything, anything, for my Heffa.