Whelp

The ragged black lump mewled in its nest of white blankets.  Tiny fangs glistened, and ebony eyes peeped out.

“It’s so helpless,” Chelsea said.  “I was expecting it to be... meaner, I guess.”

“You still have to be careful.  More so, really.”  Alice filled the eyedropper with crimson fluid.  “The big ones just make you afraid.  You can tell they’re dangerous.”  She lowered the dropper to the waiting mouth.  The creature sucked hungrily, staring up at her wide-eyed.  Suddenly, it lunged up the glass tube and sunk its fangs through Alice’s latex gloves. 

“They are what they are,” said Alice.

Vampire Boyfriend

Angeline wanted a vampire boyfriend more than anything.  She'd read all of the books, even the terrible ones, and they'd stoked her imagination.  Her friends told her she was crazy.  "Even if it were possible," they said, "it wouldn't work out.  He'd have all of eternity ahead of him; how long do you think you'd be able to hold his attention?"

It didn't matter.  Angeline knew what she wanted.  She had her eye on him, tall and pale, his expression holding the faintest tinge of sadness.  She followed him as he walked home.

Once she turned him, he'd be perfect.

Development Cycle

The aliens invaded.  They put up an app on their website.

(The aliens had a website, by the way.  It was kind of bare-bones.)

Millions of people downloaded it.  It was a great app.  Really useful.

The aliens were going to activate the mind-control chips.  Then they could rule the world.

But by then they were making a lot of money.  They thought maybe they could do better with version 2.0. 

That one only got three stars average, though.  The aliens launched a retaliatory strike.  They pushed the button.

And nothing happened.

The vampires had a new viral video out.

The Burden

My father was dead.  I carried, they told me, a terrible burden.  I had, perhaps somewhat naively, assumed this to be metaphor. 

"Here it is," the butler said, dropping the thing with a hollow, papier-mâché thud, "the family vampire."

It was withered and dry, curled in on itself until it was no larger than a toddler.  Sticklike arms and hands like dried twigs occluded the gaping holes in its face.

"A hundred milliliters of blood each day," he said.

"And if I don't?"  I watched the thing.  Malignant eyes glinted deep in the sunken sockets.

"I'd advise against it, sir."

Nosferatechnology

"We're very excited about the new photovoltaics," said Dr. Stoukre. "The latest materials to come out of the lab have some amazing properties, particularly with regard to light sensitivity. They practically scream energy when you expose them to sunlight."

"Not any other light, though," Newson put in. "Just sunlight."

"Oh?" Dr. Brenner blinked. "That's unusual."

"We suspect it's something to do with the... origin. We've had to stake three of them trying to work out the kinks."

"Luckily," said Newson, "there's always more idiotic grad students willing to sign the waiver. Three days later, we're restocked. Thank goodness for 'Twilight.'"

A Temporary Solution

The last glimmer of sunset showed them their doom. The main horde had finally caught up, and the ancient mansion wouldn't last an hour against a determined zombie assault.

"Please," Trey said, holding out the shotgun, "I want a clean death."

"Wait!" Gertie pointed out the window.

In the twilight, a shadowy figure darted with blinding speed among the zombies. Heads exploded, limbs fell off, and in an impossibly short time, the undead assault was blunted.

"Thank you!" Gertie called to their rescuer.

He turned. "You may thank me properly. Later." He smiled, bone-pale, his fangs flashing in the darkness.

Train a Child Up in the Way He Should Go

A man can bend a tree if a child but bends a twig. That, Grigor reflected, was the simple truth of it. A child exposed to a variety of foods learned to enjoy exotic flavors. A child encouraged to ask questions learned curiosity and creativity. Harshness and discipline begat austerity; love begat kindness. Thus the cycle continued.

"Pay attention," said Grigor. He placed an eighteen-inch piece of sharpened wood into Toby's pudgy hands. He pushed a button, and the next slide popped onto the screen. "We'll start with an easy one. Notice the pale skin and, most importantly, the teeth..."

Delicious

"C'mon, we can make it!"

"Dude, no way. The sun's almost down."

"We got like five minutes. Think of the chicken nuggets!"

Skeeter resisted manfully, but he couldn't deny he had the munchies something fierce. "Okay, but let's hurry, awright?"

They pushed inside, and the bell over the door chimed. The pale woman behind the counter smiled thinly. Brody grinned at her.

"We, uh, like, want some nuggets, man?" Brody said.

"Sorry," said the woman, as the locks slammed shut and dark forms rose from the shadows behind the counter. "We're no longer serving dinner. It's the breakfast menu now."

Helpless

"Oh, little one," Victor crooned, stroking Cherise's cheek. "You're such a tempting morsel. It's hard for me to restrain my... darker impulses." He leaned in, brushing her neck with cold lips. "Very hard," he whispered, feeling the warm pulse beneath her fragile skin.

"Vic..." She pushed at him gently, and suddenly he was inflamed. He threw her down with inhuman strength, fangs extending. He lunged, hands like claws, only to stop with a jolt as the stake slipped between his ribs.

"I do kinda like dom-play," Cherise told Victor as he crumbled, "but you have to remember: it's only play."

Fangs Gleaming in the Darkness

The doors creaked open with the shudder of long-rusted hinges.

"Is the Count not here?" asked Harker.

"Oh, no, sir," said the bedraggled servitor. His skin was red and welted, and his shoelaces undone and partially shredded. "The Master never rises before dark. He will meet you in the dining chamber."

"Any chance of a good glass of wine?"

"The Master does not drink... wine." The servant blinked. "We have milk, and water. Dinner will be tuna tartare, and..." He paused, rolling his red-rimmed eyes before sneezing powerfully. "The Master prefers to be scritched behind the ears, but no belly-rubs."

The Information Age

Alucard was using the Internet again, which never failed to amuse him. "Grigor, look," he called.

"It is the day, Alucard. I rest upon my native soil, as you should."

"Come and see," Alucard insisted.

Grigor pried the top of his coffin up. "More of your Inter-net cobwebs?"

"Web pages. Here, I have found this."

Grigor peered at the screen. "Alucard, this is a recipe. Why do we need recipes?"

"It is called a turducken. A turkey stuffed with a duck stuffed with a chicken."

"So?"

Alucard's eyes gleamed, and his fangs extended unconsciously. "It has given me... an idea."

Sacrificing Speed for Accuracy

"They're not vampires. They can't manufacture hemoglobin, so the quickest way for them to maintain homeostasis is blood. The adrenal glands are misfiring, granting incredible speed, strength, and disregard for pain. The paleness is a function of constricted blood vessels. The extreme photophobia is the organism itself; it lives just under the epidermis and can't handle ultraviolet radiation. So they're not vampires. They're infected with aphotic hemophagic adrenal anemia."

"But see, if I'd been able to shout, 'Look out! Vampire!' instead of all that gibberish, you'd have been able to look up in time to not get eaten just now."

Phillip's Drinking Begins to Interfere with His Life

"Goddammit, Phil. You're drunk."

"Huh?"

"It's Tuesday."

"Wha- Oh."

"Yeah," I said. "You idiot."

"Hol' on. I'll ge'reddy."

"No, you're staying put," Sal snapped. "I'll go."

I raised an eyebrow and shrugged agreement. "Tom's meeting us there. On meal break."

"But it's Tuesday!"

"Bosses don't care."

When we arrived, the basement was thick with the usual shadows and sense of foreboding.

"Ready?"

Sal and Tom hefted their weapons. I tossed back the lid, and they went at it.

"Fools!" gasped the Count as he withered away. "I will rise again, three days hence..."

"Yeah," I told him. "See you on Friday."

How Do You Say Vampire in Italian?

George and Betty got off the baggage carousel after the lights went down.

"I hate ending up in 'unclaimed,'" George said.

"Cheer up, mopey-dope," Betty chided. "We're in Italy!"

"I'm not eating any noses."

"George!"

George stuck out his lip. "I heard that's what they do here."

"We tried pineal glands back on the islands," said Betty. "You liked those."

"They made me sick."

"Well, no wonder, with how many you ate!" Betty chuckled. "Now come on. We're on vacation, we're in love, and we're bloodsucking fiends of the night. The world is our oyster!"

"Still not eating any noses."

Monthly Routine

Larry woke in the bathtub. He’d trained himself that well, at least, even if he’d forgotten his pants last night. He turned the water on without standing. One more night at full, he told himself, scrubbing the dirt and blood away under too-hot spray.

When Larry opened his mouth to gargle, he felt something hard pinched between his cheek and gum. He coughed and spat it into his hand: a dog tag. “Rusty”

“Shit,” said Larry. The Basinger’s new puppy. Must’ve picked a fight with the big dog. Do I say something?

He wondered if vampires ever nicked themselves shaving.

It's a Sensitive Topic

Chet pounded on the dorm room door. “Come on, dude, open up!”

“What’s up?” said Jenny.

“Drac locked the door and won’t come out.”

“What happened?”

“I dunno! We were telling jokes, and I told that one about the guy who gets a wish and wants to save it and then he accidentally sings along with the commercial and goes, ‘I wish I was an Oscar Meyer weiner.’”

“Oh, no wonder,” said Jenny.

“What?”

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Meyers.” She stepped to the door and rapped gently with her knuckle. “Drac? Come on out, honey. No one thinks you sparkle.”