The Vampire in Danville, Virginia

Once upon a time in a huge metropolis called Danville, Va., there lived a vampire whose name was something nobody could pronounce since he was born in Transylvania and nobody could find his birth certificate since he was born in 1821, before they were available. He was actually the black-sheep of his family because he was so, “ba-a-a-a-ad” at being good. There were a lot of things he didn’t like about being a vampire. Among them was that he couldn’t enjoy the beach because he was allergic to the sun. It made him melt, yet he loved the big storms which had a lot of thunder and lightning, but he couldn’t stand the wet-stuff that came down from the clouds because of what it did to his body, namely it made him melt like sugar.

Every night because his parents had taught him to do everything that a young vampire should know, like brush his fangs and to wipe behind his points before going to coffin each morning. He would always get down on his knees and say his prayers, except for one small difference, it was to Satin. His mom wanted him to someday grow up to be a prince, like, “The Prince Of Darkness” rather. The 0nly other price he knew anything about were just the paw, “prints” from his pet wolf. Some villagers would ask, “How can you have a pet wolf? They're not domesticated and can’t be tamed!” The answer was, “He doesn’t! Now, what he does is make it become as mean and ugly as possible!” Still, one of the main things was to never go out with somebody who wasn’t his type, because he was type b-negative. He also had to make up his coffin each morning. Because of that kind of lifestyle, he led an, “un-normal” kind of childhood, but nobody could define the word, “normal” so nothing ever changed about his living conditions.

As he grew up, his parents taught him everything he needed to know about life, or more about death, to be specific. When they went to the beach for vacations, they had to be sure to put on moon-tan lotion. In Seattle, Washington where it rains pretty much all the time, people are on the beach getting their rain-tans. If you say to a Seatelan, “Gee! Y0u look like a prune!” they take that as a compliment. It is no place for a vampire to be, although he could be a really great umpire even though he was actually a vampire. When the fans yell, “Kill the umpire!” he would blow that person a kiss since it sounded so cool to him. Yet to start off the best ones have to be a, “ ‘bat’-boy,” that’s for obvious reasons.

Every place he went where he had to sign his name on something he’d sign, “The Count.” When anybody frowned on it or questioned him about it, he’d say sternly, “All lives, ‘count.’ “

On any job application where it said, age, he would leave it blank. If somebody questioned him about that he’d stare at them sternly until they were in a trance, then walk away from them. The Count loved the night-life because that’s when all the young people would go out on dates, or to party on the weekends. That was when the youngsters were always available, some of them would even be going on dates. Yet since he hadn’t been on one in 3 centuries, he had to learn what the teenagers went so he could often get a 2-for when it was time to eat some dinner.

Because he only could come out at nighttime, he loved the nightlife more than any of the people his age did in his hood. Well, that was because there weren’t too many 400 year-old people who lived near hm. Once when he was hungry and couldn’t find anything to suck, which really did, “suck,” and in more ways than one, he went there to buy some blood. When the girl at the front desk told him he couldn’t just come in and ask her to give him any kind of blood, he said, “Any kind will do,” then bit her on the neck and sucked all of hers out. That was how it was for a vampire in the 21st century who was born in the 1900s, although he got as much respect from people as a mosquito since they’re both blood-suckers. He felt like Rodndy Dangerfield.

On New Year's Eve, when people stay up late, The Count had to crash a party since he wasn’t too popular. He wasn’t invited to celebrations. Hee figured he’d have much, “fresh blood” to choose from, since there’s nothing worse than old blood to drink. That is if you’re a blood- sucker, which doesn’t leave much other than mosquitos for animals who do that, and they really do, “bug” people. At the party, the Count met some special friends, then he drank their blood. (With friends like the Count, jeese)! Anyway, it was a fun night, that is to a thirsty blood-sucking vampire, and you have to be in order to appreciate it. Then the servers brought meat for them, which was ribi, “steak.” That‘s not a food enjoyed by vampires. When the plates were passed

out, The Count asked the server to bring him some raw meat, preferable with fresh blood on it. She turned her nose up at the order, but reported it to the cook anyway, who was more than a little bit suspicious. He paid close attention to how the Count did with his order. He blended right in with the other guests who were eating, except for his cape and his eyes glowed brightly in the dark. The waiter also had heard about the mysterious deaths of people who’d been found with no blood and fang-marks in their necks. That’s when he put a lot of garlic on the Count’s order, but he didn’t tell the unsuspecting cus- tomer about it, so when he bit into the food which had all the garlic in it, his face got pale, for a vampire, that’s really saying a lot, he gagged and spit it out onto his plate. He took a hand-held mirror by the Coun’ts table and he showed no reflection on it. That made the waiter become absolutely positive about his suspicion being confirmed. The Count said, “Uh, excuse me, Mr. Waiter, I believe you gave me the wrong,”

That was the last word he said. Then he fell on the floor, convulsing like he was having a seizure. The server grabbed a sharp steak he’d gotten which held up a sign outside, and drove it into The Count’s heart with a hammer as he writhed on the floor, screaming in pain. His blood-curdling sounds were so loud it would have broken the sound barrier. The customers also screamed, but theirs couldn’t come close to the sound of the Count’s. Blood was spewing everywhere. Several tables-full of guests ran out of that restaurant screaming. The waiter grabbed another long, sharp spike off of his cart and jabbed it in beside the first one that went into The Count’s heart. That changed his terrifying scream into some that didn’t even sound human. It was like the server was driving stakes into the Devil himself. Blood kept spewing all over the restaurant, but by that time, the Count’s screams had stopped. He lay lifeless on the floor while blood continued to pour out of him, but at least one thing was certain, the vampire was most definitely dead, to the ecstasy of the server. He yelled, “Hallelujah! Thank You, Lord!” and did a made-up happiness-dance around the dead body of the Count, who didn’t even come close to resembling a part-way human figure, which he really wasn’t close to in the first place.

Somebody had called 911 when the first spike was driven into The Count’s heart. The police came charging into the restaurant armed with garlic, spikes, wolfbane and really bright lights, but when they saw the monster was lying on the floor dead, they all laughed. It was all over.

Later the governor of Danville, Jeany Brooks, arrived at the restaurant. She held a check in her hand for $8500,000.00, which was more than enough money to support the server and his family for many years, but he told the governor if he took that money, it would take away from the blessing God gave him. He said to give it to The Head-Injury Foundation to find a cure. Later she got married and had sveral sons and daughters, so as the best-written children’s stories will finish up, “SHE LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER!!!!” The end. By, Cuz Roye.