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Vampire Tuesday
Sep. 13th, 2022 09:39 amAs my royalties have accumulated, I have turned my eyes to the prospect of a trip to France next May. (Current itinerary includes Paris - Giverny - Arles. It will be a very Impressionist trip.) However, as it would be nice if royalties would accrue yet more, I asked myself, “What is the most commercial idea that I currently have on the docket?”
“Well,” I answered, “there is that story where the main character’s boyfriend is secretly employed as a vampire’s on-tap snack and the vampire sometimes sucks his blood till he faints.”
This story has resided, unfinished, in both my hard drive and my brain for over a decade now. At long last (!!!!), it appears to be working out. Maybe I just needed the proper motivation, the proper motivation being of course the prospect of eating eclairs in a boulangerie in Paris.
***
“You’re late.”
Josh eased the heavy door shut behind him. “Chris’s gig went longer than I expected.”
“You’re late,” Mr. Coombs said again. Josh could only see the back of his head, peeking out above the high top of Mr. Coombs’ leather swivel chair. “Late,” repeated Mr. Coombs, calmly.
“I know,” Josh said. He crossed the Turkish carpet to stand in front of Mr. Coombs’ heavy mahogany desk. An equally heavy chair stood in front of the desk. Josh didn’t sit in it, but stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry,” mused Mr. Coombs. He seemed to roll the word around his tongue like fine wine. “Sorry. Do you think my superior officers accepted an apology when a soldier returned after going absent without leave?”
“I hope so,” said Josh, and gave his most charming smile.
Mr. Coombs turned his chair around to face Josh. The dim light from his desk lamp cast sharp shadows on his pale, gaunt face. “Hold out your hand,” Mr. Coombs said.
Josh held his hand across the desk. He didn’t draw away when Mr. Coombs jabbed a needle into his finger, although he blinked hard at the pain.
Mr. Coombs let a droplet of blood fall into a vial, and both Josh and Mr. Coombs watched as the drop drifted to the bottom of the liquid. “Your iron levels are up,” said Mr. Coombs. He licked the bloody needle with a yellowish tongue, then carefully returned the clean needle to an embroidered needle case. Then he swiveled his chair away from Josh, and sat gazing up at the leather-bound books packed tightly into the tall shelves.
“I am glad,” said Mr. Coombs, “that this Chris entertains you. It seems to have an advantageous effect on your health. You were not very well for some time, Joshua, and that was not good for me.”
Josh looked down at the carpet.
“Pleased as I am by your improved health, however, I do not approve of your tardiness.”
Mr. Coombs’ chair creaked as he turned, and Josh looked up quickly into his pallid face. “I wasn’t very late,” Josh protested.
Mr. Coombs lifted a hand to silence Josh. The skin stretched along the bones between the joints of his fingers. “No excuses,” he said. He held out his hand. “Come along.”
Josh swallowed. He unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve above his elbow, and held out his arm, the blue vein visible through his olive skin. Mr. Coombs took Josh’s arm in his hand, and despite himself, Josh tried to pull away. The grip tightened on his arm, hard enough that he clenched his teeth.
“Be still,” Mr. Coombs said.
Josh’s chest heaved. But he didn’t try to pull away again.
Mr. Coombs lifted Josh’s arm to his mouth, his pale lip lifting in a snarl that revealed his needle-sharp canine teeth. Mr. Coombs’ teeth sunk into the crook of Josh’s elbow. Josh’s face contracted as the teeth pierced his veins, but he didn’t try to pull away, only steadied himself against the desk with his free hand.
The grandfather clock ticked on. The reading lamp seemed to pulse and grow, glowing into a fuzzy orb, swirling like the stars in Van Gogh’s Starry Night.
Josh’s head swam, and the thought swam away from him into the dizziness. The clock tolled the hour.
Mr. Coombs drew back, his teeth sliding out of Josh’s elbow. Josh let out a little gasp. Mr. Coombs licked the tooth marks with the now-red tip of his tongue. He looked like a silvery old daguerreotype with the cheeks stained pink.
He let go of Josh’s arm. Josh sat down in the hard wooden chair in front of the desk, his head lolling against the ornately carved top rail. The spiky ornamental finial dug into his cheek.
“Be on time next time,” said Mr. Coombs.
He left the room. Josh did not turn his head to watch him go, but followed him with his eyes. Only when Mr. Coombs had gone did Josh cross his arms on the desk and lay his head down.
“Well,” I answered, “there is that story where the main character’s boyfriend is secretly employed as a vampire’s on-tap snack and the vampire sometimes sucks his blood till he faints.”
This story has resided, unfinished, in both my hard drive and my brain for over a decade now. At long last (!!!!), it appears to be working out. Maybe I just needed the proper motivation, the proper motivation being of course the prospect of eating eclairs in a boulangerie in Paris.
***
“You’re late.”
Josh eased the heavy door shut behind him. “Chris’s gig went longer than I expected.”
“You’re late,” Mr. Coombs said again. Josh could only see the back of his head, peeking out above the high top of Mr. Coombs’ leather swivel chair. “Late,” repeated Mr. Coombs, calmly.
“I know,” Josh said. He crossed the Turkish carpet to stand in front of Mr. Coombs’ heavy mahogany desk. An equally heavy chair stood in front of the desk. Josh didn’t sit in it, but stood with his hands clasped behind his back. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry,” mused Mr. Coombs. He seemed to roll the word around his tongue like fine wine. “Sorry. Do you think my superior officers accepted an apology when a soldier returned after going absent without leave?”
“I hope so,” said Josh, and gave his most charming smile.
Mr. Coombs turned his chair around to face Josh. The dim light from his desk lamp cast sharp shadows on his pale, gaunt face. “Hold out your hand,” Mr. Coombs said.
Josh held his hand across the desk. He didn’t draw away when Mr. Coombs jabbed a needle into his finger, although he blinked hard at the pain.
Mr. Coombs let a droplet of blood fall into a vial, and both Josh and Mr. Coombs watched as the drop drifted to the bottom of the liquid. “Your iron levels are up,” said Mr. Coombs. He licked the bloody needle with a yellowish tongue, then carefully returned the clean needle to an embroidered needle case. Then he swiveled his chair away from Josh, and sat gazing up at the leather-bound books packed tightly into the tall shelves.
“I am glad,” said Mr. Coombs, “that this Chris entertains you. It seems to have an advantageous effect on your health. You were not very well for some time, Joshua, and that was not good for me.”
Josh looked down at the carpet.
“Pleased as I am by your improved health, however, I do not approve of your tardiness.”
Mr. Coombs’ chair creaked as he turned, and Josh looked up quickly into his pallid face. “I wasn’t very late,” Josh protested.
Mr. Coombs lifted a hand to silence Josh. The skin stretched along the bones between the joints of his fingers. “No excuses,” he said. He held out his hand. “Come along.”
Josh swallowed. He unbuttoned his cuff and rolled up his sleeve above his elbow, and held out his arm, the blue vein visible through his olive skin. Mr. Coombs took Josh’s arm in his hand, and despite himself, Josh tried to pull away. The grip tightened on his arm, hard enough that he clenched his teeth.
“Be still,” Mr. Coombs said.
Josh’s chest heaved. But he didn’t try to pull away again.
Mr. Coombs lifted Josh’s arm to his mouth, his pale lip lifting in a snarl that revealed his needle-sharp canine teeth. Mr. Coombs’ teeth sunk into the crook of Josh’s elbow. Josh’s face contracted as the teeth pierced his veins, but he didn’t try to pull away, only steadied himself against the desk with his free hand.
The grandfather clock ticked on. The reading lamp seemed to pulse and grow, glowing into a fuzzy orb, swirling like the stars in Van Gogh’s Starry Night.
Josh’s head swam, and the thought swam away from him into the dizziness. The clock tolled the hour.
Mr. Coombs drew back, his teeth sliding out of Josh’s elbow. Josh let out a little gasp. Mr. Coombs licked the tooth marks with the now-red tip of his tongue. He looked like a silvery old daguerreotype with the cheeks stained pink.
He let go of Josh’s arm. Josh sat down in the hard wooden chair in front of the desk, his head lolling against the ornately carved top rail. The spiky ornamental finial dug into his cheek.
“Be on time next time,” said Mr. Coombs.
He left the room. Josh did not turn his head to watch him go, but followed him with his eyes. Only when Mr. Coombs had gone did Josh cross his arms on the desk and lay his head down.
