THE WORST VAMPIRE IN THE WORLD

The world’s worst, certainly most inappropriate, vampire is a blood donor!
When he looks in a mirror he sees his shadow,
While his reflection follows him everywhere.
He loves sunbathing and when night falls he sleeps like a log.
He is so averse to danger—to it he is a stranger,
The only occasion when the stakes were high was once inside a bookie’s.
He really wasn’t cut out for a life of vampirism,
In fact, he had false teeth!
The idea of him biting anyone’s neck was quite beyond belief.
Blood-sucking suits certain creatures, he reasons, like mosquitos,
But he prefers sinking his teeth into Doritos.
Other vampires would look down on him, perhaps,
Or maybe they would pity him, thinking he is dim.
How could they suggest that he, at least, got started?
By advising him to prey on haemophiliacs who bleed copiously when targeted?
In the absence of proper guidance, his blood consumption avoidance continued,
With no close friends or family,
No one to make sense of the expression ‘blood is thicker than water,’
He is definitely no vampire but still he feels confused,
Especially by the erections he gets when he sees skin that’s contused.
He reads Dracula and watches Buffy the Vampire Slayer with curiosity and detachment,
Associating with Goths in an attempt to find his true self,
His dreams feature being buried alive in a coffin on a dim shelf,
While scenes from Nosferatu are projected onto walls dripping with blood,
He wakes with the foul taste of clichés in his mouth and to the sound of a loud thud.
His eyes, tired and bloodshot, disguise little of his inner torment,
This strongly appeals a girl, who is about his age, he finds himself with at around this stage.
For her, discombobulated vampires are all the rage,
The relationship is an exciting new chapter for him and she is a brand new page,
One I shall leave unturned at this point because I am bored with this poem.

THE DRACULA APPRECIATION SOCIETY

The Dracula Appreciation Society’s members were looking forward to their AGM, and who could blame them?

Their Founder/President beamed with pride in anticipation of all that the annual event would provide.

A new bust of Bram Stoker was to be unveiled and the Treasurer presented with an engraved poker.

The society’s membership had substantially grown, as founder member, Patrick Fussett had somehow always known.

Judging by the number of vampire film and TV spin-offs, regard for the fictive Count was not something held by Patrick alone.

The Dracula fans, gathered by Patrick, often dressed up like the legendary vampire,

Complete with fangs and flowing capes—behaviour seen by others as japes—they’re known collectively as the ‘Caped Crew.’

The Caped Crew’s dos couldn’t do without their eccentric caterer, Ada Fallowball,

Providing more than their refreshments, seemingly she does it all!

‘I don’t know what we’d do without Ada,’ Patrick habitually asserts.

Not intentionally sounding patronising in the manner, which he blurts.

Ada has her flaws, he knows, but atleast she never flirts.

Some of her idiosyncrasies are quirky, but her attitude towards vampires hurts.

To Patrick and the society’s dismay, she seems to think they are real vampires!

To protect herself she wears a garlic necklace, carries crucifixes and vials of holy water.

She regularly checks to see if society members have shadows and reflections, or seem to avoid sunlight.

Patrick’s gentle attempts to disabuse her of her views met with Ada’s brusque resistance and have long since been abandoned.

On balance, Patrick knew, Ada was efficient helper to the point of being indispensable, while her delusional beliefs were an embarrassment to him and his members.

Not that it was her fault, he remembers.

Still, she was theirs—the realisation elicits Patrick’s proprietorial pride.

She is the caped crew’s Ada, he smirks to himself and at the exact same instant she died!