"After the Blood"
By Michael J. Paluka (Xebot)
Part I
After the blood, after the carnage, after the vainglorious victory of the living over the undead, there was hell to pay.
The castle was in ruins. What had not been destroyed in combat had been consumed by the ferocious flames that followed. Even my shoes had been scuffed.
I suppose that I should have seen it coming. There were all the signs and signals of a B-rated horror picture. Thunder and lightning in the middle of summer should have tipped us off. Not the least of observations could have been made of the fact that the meteorological menace was centered in the middle of the living room, though drifting towards the kitchen.
Also unperceived as odd was the background music that had swelled up around us. Although our spines were definitely tingled by the mysterious arrangement of augmented and diminished arpeggios, it was generally attributed to beer and gas.
In defence of my own acumen, I was, in fact, the first to notice the strange turn of events. 'Twas while sloshing through the living room and stumbling upon the second or third bloodied corpse of a now departed friend that I took notice.
I have always believed that restraint was the better part of valor. Given this aphorism, I debated with myself as to whether to mention my grim discovery, or just hope that the dog would eventually drag the cadavers to someplace less obtrusive. I finally decided to intellectualize my discovery to my remaining friends.
I stated calmly, "Fred, Johnny, and asshole Mark are dead."
Mary and Lou were preoccupied on the couch in a medium-carnal fashion. Oscar looked up and uttered one of his more sentient expressions.
"Huh?"
"I said we got dead bodies here."
Lou, who was one who could truly rise from the dead in order to voice a grammatical correction said, "We 'have' dead bodies here. Have! Have! Not we 'got' dead bodies."
Lou had seen through to the heart of the matter. We weren't going to solve this mystery with poor grammar.
Part II
However, the events of that mournful night were not to be the subject matter of this document. Rather, it was the subsequent drama, that which is never detailed in such accounts of horror and the horrible, that is the raison d'etre of this chronicle.
For those whose curiosity and thirst for blood is left unsatisfied by the evening news, suffice it to say that there were vampires and they killed my remaining friends, who then turned into vampires and I had to cut their heads off and put stakes through their hearts and burn their bodies and while the last one was diverted by Lou on a critical point of semantics, I was able to sneak up behind it and kill it, but not before it had grown weary of Lou's pedantics and killed him, all in one big run-on sentence. Whew!
Having extinguished the flames that had leapt from an errant vampire flambe, I proceeded to survey the damage. Five friends, several vampires, and asshole Mark were the casualties. Two pillows and my favorite blue blanket had been consumed by the awful inferno. The smoked crystal and baked pottery were now baked crystal and smoked pottery. The interior maelstrom had caused extreme water damage to one small corner of the room. I didn't know how I could rebuild my life again. The dead were the lucky ones.
After several seconds of mourning, I decided that I should call the police and recount to them the evening's tragedy. The corpses would have to be taken away by the cops before they started to stink (the corpses, that is).
Being an emergency, the cops rushed over in two hours flat. Two of Transylvania's finest knocked on my door. Two of Transylvania's fattest were there when I opened it. At first I thought it was Raymond Burr and Orsen Wells, until I noticed the second cop.
"Evenin'. I'm Officer Byrd and this is Officer L'Enfant. That's French. But he don't talk. I'm in charge. He's the F.N.G. I ask the questions, you answer, and he better be taking some fucking notes!"
Officer L'Enfant removed his notebook, nervously.
Just great, I thought, Officers Ostrich and Elephant to save the day. I wanted to ask where they showed their home movies, at the IMAX theatre? Are you two related, like, to whales? But I didn't have the heart to insult them and get my nose broke, so I asked them in.
I asked, "Can I get you two coffee?" (Or should I toss you a peanut if you can balance a beachball on your nose).
"Fine. Black with sugar and cream for both of us. Some flood around here. Where'd all this water come from? Looks like fuckin' Noah's Joan of Arc!"
I explained, "I think it's clearing up. I can see a patch of daylight in the rumpus room."
"Hey, hey! What's this? A dead body?" , asked Officer Byrd.
"Yeah. I didn't have time to clean up. You boys rushed over here so fast I only had time to rebuild the south wall and the north dam."
"We do our best. But don't change the subject. What's with the dead body?"
Officer L'Enfant looked up from his notebook. "And BLOOD! BLOOD! There's BLOOD! Look!"
"Shut up, you imbecile!", shouted Officer Byrd who then returned his attentions to me. "What's the story? What are you trying to pull? What do you take us for?"
Cranial lipo-suction comes to mind. I replied, "That was my friend, Fred. He was killed by a vampire."
"They all vampires. Just give me the bitch's name and address."
"No. You don't understand. It was a real vampire."
"You mean with long fangs, a Romanian accent, and floats around like a bat, like Bela Lugosi?"
"Well, this one had buck teeth, an English accent, and floated around like a fairy, like Prince."
"That's all brother. You're comin' downtown. Wait a minute. What's that? Another body over there. You're gonna tell me a vampire got him too?"
"No. I killed him after he turned into a vampire."
"You confess! You're comin' with us. Wait. We have to read you your rights. Now, don't pay any attention to what I'm about to say. You just keep thinkin' to yourself, 'confess', 'confess', 'confess.' You have the right to et cetera, et cetera. Ready to confess now?"
"It was self defence. They were trying to kill me."
"What happened to the heads? You cut off their heads!"
"You have to do that with vampires. You have to cut the heads off of vampires. The stuff with the stakes was just for the movies. In the fifties you couldn't cut people's heads off on-camera. A stake through the heart was considered more suitable for young, impressionable minds. Sort of an Eighth Ammendment for the undead."
"Where'd you put the heads?"
"I had to burn them, too."
"You expect us to believe this crap?"
"It's true."
"Yup! Right! A bunch of blood-sucking vampires came out of nowhere and started into givin' ev'body Suzie Rotten-Crotch hickies! Boy, what you been suckin' on tonight?!"
"They didn't come out of nowhere. They came from the house next door. I should have known something was wrong when James Mason moved in next door with a truckload of Stephen King novels."
"That's it. Let's go!"
"Wait. I can prove it. Just let me think..."
"I hope you ain't thinkin' something crazy like trying to escape and call some fleabag lawyer, are ya, boy?"
"I'm the one who called you!"
"The only thing you done right, son. You just sit there and think up some more crazy stories while I call the station. And don't try nothin' 'cause I'd love an excuse to put a bullet through your head. Go ahead, make my day!"
I can't stand cops who quote movie dialogue.
Part III
Down at the station things were really down. Up at the jail I was ready to give up. I could plead insanity. Why not? I could certainly pass any lie detector test. I knew I was telling the truth.
I had spent my whole life preparing for that night. From Poe to H.P. Lovecraft to Clive Barker, I could handle anything from a banal fat crow to an extra-terrestrial pumpkin pie to RawHead Rex and his urinary incontinence. I was prepared to fight and defeat any unholy creation of devil or science.
Within my education, as complete as it was as to its intended purpose, was exposed one fatal flaw. As competent as I was to combat supernatural evil, I was wholly uneducated as to how to proceed from what is the "end" of most stories. After a hard day at the office decapitating vampires, how does one return to the ever-stable waters of the commonplace and explain the storm that one has weathered? It teeters one on the brink of a much darker abyss than Poe could have imagined, THE LAW.
Part IV
I finally found a counsel who would accept my case. After paying him in advance, including a 20% tip, I retained the servces of Jack Benny.
I felt better when I found out that the prosecutor was Gracie Allen. The deputy prosecutor was George Burns. I would have rather had it the other way around. The judge was selected by lot. Lot was still pissed-off about his salty wife. He selected Robin Williams as the judge.
Gracie Allen started, "He's guilty! Any fool can see that, right George?"
"Anything you say, Gracie", replied George Burns.
"Well, don't just agree with me! This is supposed to be a fair trial!"
"Gracie, I'm supposed to agree with you; I'm your deputy, and you're the prosecutor, so prosecute!"
"George, I'm ashamed of you! Not for God or country!"
"I said prosecute, not prostitute!"
"Well watch your consonants. Anybody would think you had a speech impotence!"
"That's 'impediment.'"
"I suppose impotence would be an impediment."
"Gracie, sit down," asked George.
Gracie retorted, "Sure. Just as I'm winning my case you want me to sit down!"
"This is only opening arguments. You haven't presented your case yet," corrected George.
Gracie replied angrily, "So now we're having an argument! In front of all these people? What will the papers say?"
"That Gracie Allen is the greatest lawyer who ever lived. You could twist a breadstick into a pretzel without dropping a crumb."
"That's only because I'm the one who'd have to clean it up!"
Judge Robin Williams spoke, "Since I'm sitting here in my underwear, I would ask you all to please be brief. Let's not quibble. We're among friends. We know the sucker's guilty, so let's get on with it. Word up to the hangman!"
A swift kick to the shin drove my defence counsel, Jack Benny, to his feet. "Your honor, I object!"
Judge Williams replied indignantly, "To what? If you want something objectionable, how about Ethel Merman in a g-string? How about Pete Rose on 'You Bet Your Life'. How about George Bush with another term? Worse, how about his son? How about we focus on the good possiblities in life? Maybe Michael Jackson will turn black again. Maybe Jane Fonda will choke on a white russian. Maybe KKK will come to mean Kindness, Knowledge, and Karma, instead of Kerosene, Kick, and Kill. Lord I pray for that day! I'm commin' for ya, mammy, I'm commin' for ya!"
Counsel Benny retorted, "Your honor, there is an objection pending."
"How can you object to truth, justice, and incidentally, the American Way?"
"I would like to ask for a mistrial on the grounds that the bench has demonstrated an obvious bias against my client."
"Bias? Len Bias? There aren't any football players here. I sent them all to Betty Ford."
Jack Benny turned to me. "There's only one more chance, and it's a long shot. Hold your breath, you may need it in the gas chamber. Your honor, may we approach the bench?"
"You and who else, tough guy? I can lick ya all! I can lick you AND the jury, especially the blond, stage left. You can sit on my prima facie, anytime, doll!"
Benny said, "Your honor, I think we're drifting a little bit far afield here. This is a very serious case, here! A man's life is at stake as well as the whole, entire legal system! If there is any possibility of justice in this entire country, let it show itself here, today, in this court. Your honor, in closing, I would like to ask one final, important question. Do you validate parking? This is gonna cost me two bucks!"
"Mr. Benny, we are not here to validate your parking. We are not here to convict nor to absolve, per se. We are here to administer justice. Be it ever so humble, there's no place like court (Williams singing):
If you're doin' that snoot
and stealin' that loot
don't end up in my court !If you killed your wife
and can't afford a bribe
don't end up in my court !
Benny interjected, "Your honor, I move for a mistrial."
"Take one false move and you're dead, pilgrim," replied Robin Williams.
"If you're not going to validate my parking, the least you can do is to acquit my client!"
"Acquit? Acquit?! A legal beagle never quits! Not until the last drop of sweat exudes from his furry brow; not until the last moulting burrow of fur has ruined his master's couch; not until the last wilting drop of urine befalls an ivory carpet. We will never quit! We are canine! We are woman! We are a BITCH!"
"Your honor, we have one last plea to make before the court," begged Benny.
Williams responded, "Plea? For want of a plea the plebes were lost. How could we know they were really on fire? It's so easy to fake a third-degree burn. Give me a break!"
"Your honor, my client is NOT guilty of murder by virtue of the fact that the victims were already dead!"
"Were they medically dead, mentally dead, or just die-hard Republicans?"
Benny added, smugly, "Worse, your honor. The victims were Reagan Democrats."
"Not guilty. Case dismissed!"
Mr. Benny turned to me. "We need to talk about that parking fee ..."
Gracie Allen smiled at me with that inimitiable smile and said, "I'm glad that you won. I'd hate to have to lose."
"Say goodnight, Gracie."