You know what’s the worst thing about being a black vampire? People laugh at you when you say you can’t stand the sun. They think you’re a wuss. Drives me nuts and it’s meant I’ve gone undercover, spending my days in a doorway, hoodie up, head down. I’m just another vagrant, invisible. I told my cousin Leroy in Milwaukee that it made my blood boil and he just laughed. ‘You don’t have enough to boil’.
Truth is, being homeless worked for a time. Then that bloody dog appeared. You know it, don’t you? A solo panhandler is ignored but give him a pet, and they’re all over him, cooing and giving him bits of burger. Humiliating for a Count of Transylvania; mother would spin in her grave if she hadn’t been skewered by a length of 2 by 4.
I tell him to bugger off or he’ll get it in the neck. I felt stupid as soon as the words came out and blow me if he didn’t laugh. I should have smelt a rat then, a dog laughing.
So the sun sinks, and I’m testing my teeth to make sure they’re sharp when he starts this twisting and roaring thing. It’s dead impressive. Turns out he’s a werewolf. Did you know being infected as a werewolf could cross the species barrier? Me neither. I thought it was a wolf/human thing.
It’s dark, the moon’s out and he’s drooling at me and I’m lusting at him. We go at like two world’s colliding, fur and hair, blood and guts everywhere. Two hours, we’re in bits. Any likely punters are long gone. It’s been the same all this week.
The paper says it’s a half moon tonight; hope so cos I’m gasping for a pint.