Act I Scene V: A Vampire's Tale

By Rob Gordon

Victor has just died and, with seven other spirits, is looking in on his straight neighbor, to whom, along with his godson, Lucas, and present lover, Martin, he told about his former lover, John, who was a vampire. What confuses the neighbor even more is that Martin reveals that John was his own great-grandfather. Victor and company want to make sure that the neighbor does not go off the deep end. The neighbors wife seduces him into telling her what Victor had revealed in the hospital before he died. Now, she too, has some problems. After all, every one knows that vampires dont exist, eh?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 9, 2009
• ISBN: 9781477164532

Rob Gordon

I live in central New Jersey. I have a B.S., spent over six years in the US military, and have used observations and experience, conversations with others, much reading, and a bit of imagination in developing this story.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Do you recall the passage in Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Act I, Scene V in which Hamlet says to Horatio There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.? Hamlet spoke these words up on the parapet of the castle after his father’s ghost had departed having first revealed the details of his murder. Well, I was reminded of that speech recently when a friend of mine of long standing told me a somewhat strange but interesting story—claimed to have gotten it first hand. Now, this friend is generally reliable but not adverse—shall we say—to exaggerating or embellishing a bit for the sake of a good telling. So, I suppose it would be appropriate to take some of it with a grain or two of salt. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t be surprised if the story were a total fabrication. But—whatever!

Now that the nights have grown longer—the sun is further south and lower on the horizon; I can sense it—we’ll have more time together; so, I thought we might pass some of this extra time by my telling you what was told to me. This is a tale that has several elements in it including, of all things, a couple of vampires and a few gay guys. Of course, I realize that you’ve already heard many stories about vampires, but, I assure you, this one is different. I must admit, the whole account is a bit long, but with these longer nights, I think we’ll have enough time to have finished by dawn. And, if we don’t complete it all tonight, we can finish up tomorrow evening—I wouldn’t mind the pleasure of your company again, at all.

Now—I don’t claim that everything in this story happened just the way I heard it and as I will pass it on; I wasn’t there to see for myself—I’m merely repeating what my friend told me. But, if you want to believe that it all happened just the way it was given to me, that’s up to you. As I said, I make no claims for the accuracy of all or any of the details.

And, if you want to dismiss the surface details and look for an underlying rational basis for explaining it all—fine; I have no quarrel with that. Stranger things than this have been told and later verified. Now—if you think this story is weird, you should hear some of the things I’ve heard down at Cal Tech and Stanford. Ever hear of Quantum Mechanics or Quantum Physics or String Theory? No? Well, try those on some time. It’s just possible that there may in fact be a scientific explanation for it all just awaiting discovery. Of course, you could just reject it all or simply accept it as a story and enjoy it as such. It’s all up to you.

Well, enough said. Why don’t you just lie back, relax, and I shall repeat to you a story of strange happenings just as it was told to me. I guess it would be a good idea to begin this story at the beginning—just as I heard it.

CHAPTER I

Well, as the story goes, there was a gathering of seven that had assembled to greet the newest arrival who brought the group to eight. Now, this gathering took place in that realm—whatever its nature—that has been called Tir Na nOg, Paradise, Nirvana, Heaven, the Other World, the Next World and so forth and so on, to name the region of existence believed to await us after our earth-bound lives have ended. Perhaps, all the names are correct; for is it not written: In my Father’s house are many mansions.? And, perhaps, is it not possible that one can slip from one abode to another, as one does on Earth, while still being in the presence of Being-and-Beyond-Being, Itself?

Now, it was an oddly constituted group, this seven that greeted Victor. There were three medicine men who went by the names of Looking Wolf, Sparks, and Sees-Through-The Mist; they were of the Raven Clan of a tribe that had a reservation way to the north of Victor’s former home town. Then there was also a Jesuit priest, Fr. Lagenac; he had the reputation of being a bit of a maverick, by bureaucratic standards, but a very spiritual and intelligent man, and was said to have a good sense of humor. It was he who greeted Victor with the tale that the Divine Judge had given him a choice of where he would spend eternity: here with the other seven or in The Other Place—he hadn’t quite made up his mind yet as to which would be the more preferable. As soon as they realized he was pulling their leg, he embraced Victor warmly and welcomed him to the new life. Then there were Victor’s two former lovers: Michael and John. Now, we have been told that tears don’t exist in Paradise but, if tears of joy could be shed there, they would have been shed then for it was a joyful reunion. The last of the original seven, but not the least, was John’s Mentor, known the others as Wolf or Wolf Spirit, and who played a central role in having brought most of the others together during their earthly life. Now, here’s where the vampire element comes in: Wolf and John had been vampires in the previous world and, during his vampire existence, John had been one of Victor’s lovers. I told you there were a few gay guys in this story. But, getting back to the story—once the introductions and the hub-bub of reunion had quieted, Victor requested a favor of them.

Sure, if we can., came the answer. What is it?

"Well, a good friend of mine—my next door neighbor, in fact—I’m concerned about him. If I’m right, he’s going to have serious problems. I believe I’ve dumped a heavy burden on him just before I came here. It would be no problem for us, but, I’m concerned that it’s going to be a very weighty problem for him: I told him about us. He’s really a good-hearted guy and pretty smart—once you explain things to him he tries to understand—but he’s an engineer and, I fear that if he’s left to his own devices, he’s going to have real trouble. You see, his idea of reality has been that if something fits into a prescribed mathematical formula, then, it’s true and he can understand it. I’m pretty sure that there’s no one capable of leading him through this situation and into the clear. So—I’d like us to keep an eye on him for a while and try to keep him from going over the edge by attempting to figure out, like an engineer, everything I told him. Remember, I, too, was an engineer at one time—so I know whereof I speak. Besides, I’ve known him and his family for a long time—they even adopted me—so I feel doubly responsible for his welfare. Unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time to deal with this matter before I came here. It shouldn’t take much effort on our part; and, as I said, I hold myself responsible for him.

Well, we can observe, Fr. Lagenac said, but, we can’t interfere. We can nudge, we can inspire, and we can suggest, but we have to let nature pretty much take its own course.

The others agreed. Even in that world there is room for concern, but, there are also some rules. So, it came to pass that there were eight watching, from a dimensionless and timeless world, what was going on in the world of three dimensions and time.

CHAPTER II

So, they look in on him and find him that Friday evening sitting by himself in the living room, sprawled out on the couch, his legs outstretched in front of him, his left arm slung across the back, his right arm resting on the couch’s arm. His fingers alternate from waving slowly in the air to tapping the arm of the chair with a rhythmic frequency. His face is telling it all even before they begin to read his thoughts, for his nearly blank stare into nowhere and the wrinkles in his forehead are reflecting the heavy pall of uneasiness that has been hanging over him for the past week. He is indeed wrestling with something and that something is not yielding to the effort he is expending.

The events of the past week have provided sufficient distractions to arrest his attention and provide an excuse to put off a full frontal attack on the problem. But tonight, with no distractions, legitimate or otherwise, he has to address this demon that was born in his mind last Friday. Exactly one week ago, today, Victor died; they buried him on Wednesday. He recalls the funeral attendees: many friends and a few family members, mostly his own, although he and his family weren’t related to Victor—except by choice. But, as sad as it is to lose a friend, it isn’t this loss that has been haunting him as much as it is the contents and implications of the weird tale that Victor told him earlier that same Friday, one week ago.

He is only slightly aware of the conversation Janet, his wife, is having on the phone with Janet, junior, their eldest offspring, known also as Junior, Juni, and, a few choice terms invented or brought home by Tommy, her brother, four years younger than she—but, we need not go into those names here. He’s paying only casual attention to what he knows is going to be a long, long call. He realizes that, although they were all fond of Victor in their own fashion, Junior is taking that loss the hardest. But, then, she always formed very strong bonds with whomever she admired and loved.

Barbara, their youngest, is away, staying at his brother’s place for the weekend since his brother has daughters who are about the same age as Barbara and she felt she needed her cousins’ company for a few days. Tommy’s up north with Martin and Lucas for a talk—a long talk, unless I miss my guess; I wish I knew what was going on up there, he thinks. For the first time in many years, Janet and he are home alone in an otherwise empty house.

Victor and Martin, Victor’s companion of 30 years, had not only been their next door neighbors for a good part of those years but had also been a part of their extended family and had shared their joys, sorrows, struggles, and celebrations. They were present for Tommy’s and Barbara’s baptisms; the way they carried on you’d have thought that they were the proud parents. They came to Junior’s wedding and sat with the rest of the family—not in the area reserved for friends and other invited guests. And now, one of the family is gone; the loss is sorely felt. But for him, it’s more than the death of a neighbor and friend; it’s the whole affair including that unsettling account for which he has no explanation and to which he cannot reconcile his mind.

Just sitting alone in the living room and staring into the empty fire place while waiting for Janet to finish the phone call is making him even more uneasy. Come on, he’s thinking to himself, come on, get it over with already; what’s taking so long? I need you; I need your company now. However, he seems to know it will be a long, long phone call, so, he resigns himself to having to sit there all alone for the time being. Suddenly, he realizes: When she comes in, she’ll probably ask me about what happened; and I really don’t want to tell her about it. So, actually, maybe being alone would be the lesser of the two evils. This way, I won’t have to talk about it. Just as sure as God made little green apples, I know she’ll ask questions and, if I tell her what I heard, she’ll think I’m out of my mind.

But being alone with thought is something he’d still rather avoid just now; but, neither does he want to talk about it, at least not with Janet. Maybe with Martin—if only Martin were here to talk about this haunting which has prowled his mind since that last meeting with Victor in the hospital last Friday evening before he died—exactly at sundown. This haunting has become an uneasiness he can’t shake and is the cause of his dark mood.

There has to be a rational explanation for it all, he keeps telling himself, as though it were a mantra that would disperse the mists of not understanding and take him into enlightenment. After all, here I am, an educated man—a modern, rational individual—Hell! I’m an engineer! I’m not some peasant or primitive in a mud hut with charms and talismans to fend off the unseen and unknown powers and terrors of the night. I know the earth is round and you don’t fall off the edge. There has to be a rational explanation and basis to this. Yet—What? After all, Victor didn’t seem to be out of his mind; he spoke quite lucidly. At first, it seemed that this weird stuff came out of the medicines he was given or maybe even his failing health; but, no, this doesn’t ring true. Damn! Neither Martin nor Lucas challenged either the details or the spirit of that impossible yarn he told the three of us. They didn’t even bat an eyelash over it. Now, these guys are rational, well educated, men, too. Well, OK—Lucas is a medical doctor but he’s also a shaman so this evaluation may be on shaky ground where he’s concerned. But Martin is a physicist and should know better. But, Hell! Martin backed up Victor’s story with an unbelievable story of his own. And, yet—if they are rational men, as one would expect them to be, how could they accept such things; how could such things be?

If it had not been for his respect for Victor’s and Martin’s integrity and intelligence, he would have taken it all simply as a sick man’s story and not to be taken seriously. Now, here, he has a non sequitur that has become a paradox and is developing into a full-scale dilemma. And nowhere in his thinking, or in his experience, or in his education, was there anything that prepared him for handling this situation. In fact, his whole background is throwing up a roadblock to handling such matters.

Perhaps, he continues the thought, the problem is that I really don’t want to know—not if it doesn’t fit my ideas of reality—and this was something Victor kept challenging me on: what is real?—always taking me into areas of thought into which I would not ordinarily tread except with great fear and trepidation and which I normally would have happily avoided or ignored. Victor used to point out how much easier it is not to look into things too closely than to subject them to a closer scrutiny; it’s far easier to march to the same drummer than to discover that a different drummer may have the proper beat, or that there may not even be a drummer at all. Yeah, that was Victor, all right. A lot of times he drew me into thoughts which I would not have touched on my own, and, if left to my own devices, I would have preferred to avoid either out of fear of seeing the consequences or because they were in realms of fact I didn’t even know existed. He sure had that knack! Now then—the present situation; there has to be, and is, a rational explanation if only I look for it and analyze the details. But—I wonder; I’m not sure I really believe there is one, but, dammit, I need to find it, and I will! Why does that line in Hamlet keep popping up: ‘There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’? Oh what the hell am I saying here?

He draws up his legs, folds forward, rests his elbows on his knees, holds his head, and ponders the problem some more. Suddenly, he straightens up, raises his hand with his fingers curled forward as though he is about to press a button, signifying an answer is on hand—but then he takes a breath, and with a groaned Damn! hits the arm of the couch and flops back against the chair. The unraveling of the question is still not realized. He is left as confused and apprehensive as before.

Feeling the need to change his focus, he gets up and moves over to the window. The day had been clear, but, shortly before evening, clouds rolled in and are now in a drenching mode, raining down their store of waters in large, splattering drops. Across the yard, beyond the low hedgerow, his neighbors’ house stands empty and its windows are darkened. Victor is in the cemetery and Martin has taken Tommy north for a conference with Lucas. He still wishes he had been included in that meeting but that would have left Janet all alone. That meeting with Lucas and Martin might have provided more information with which he could construct the solution to this problem. He’ll just have to wait until Martin and Tommy return in order to talk it over. But then, he remembers that, after dropping Tommy off, Martin will take advantage of an invitation from some friends to stay with them for a few days of getting away. So, that house will remain empty for a while. And, who knows what light Tommy will be able shed in this darkness—if any.

Watching the empty house through the downpour and pale light, he wonders if his mind has begun playing tricks on him—the power of suggestion, perhaps? Hey, did he imagine it—or was that a face in the upstairs window? Did he see some beastly hulk stalking across the porch, the roof, and down the tree alongside the patio—or was it only his imagination spurred on by uneasiness and fear? Get a grip on yourself, man, before you lose it completely!

A bolt of lightning flashes and is followed by a great, booming roll of thunder, adding light and sound effects to his already advanced state of apprehension that something is very wrong in his world. Now the wind has picked up and, in its passage, the trees are swaying, dark against the slight amount of light coming from the street lamps. Close the shades; that will help. Hollywood could not have concocted a more eerie set to reflect the mood that is haunting him. Close the curtains and the drapes as well. Done. Even with the windows shut off to the outside and the interior lights turned on, there is still an unfamiliar fear stalking the inner courts and chambers of his mind. Oddly enough, this fear is mixed with the element of hope—a strange combination if ever there was one; this combination has evinced its own unsettling since he doesn’t know which one to deal with first or how to integrate them both. Neither of these elements would fit nicely into either a differential equation or an equation of integration nor does he know of any computer program or model to plug into for answers.

He begins to search about the room for someplace to hide his thoughts for a few minutes of peaceful distraction. The fireplace—that’s the ticket. Yesterday’s newspaper won’t be missed. With deliberate and thoughtful movements, he tears the papers into pieces and wads each of the pieces and with them he builds a pile of wadded pieces of paper in the center of the fireplace with the utmost care and precision. There are some thin twigs, kindling, in the wood bucket; a few logs are lying alongside. Carefully, with intense concentration and meticulous care, he builds up the kindling, artfully, over the pile of wadded paper. With even more meticulous care, he arranges the larger logs, in gradation of size, on top of the kindling. Never before has so much care and concentration been expended on the production of a fire in this fireplace. One match, struck and applied, is all it takes to set off a conflagration of paper and wood. One match. he thinks, This must be an all time record for me. This thought carries him as far as the cabinet where he picks out a bottle of brandy from the shelf and pours a small amount into a glass. After taking a sip, he picks up the bottle and pours a healthier shot of brandy into the snifter. With glass and bottle in hand, he heads back over to the couch. Here, he settles down, drained, into the couch’s familiar comfort and turns his attention, once more, to the activities in the fireplace.

The fire is burning cheerfully, as a fire in a fireplace should. Combustible gasses, released from the wood by the energy of heat, dutifully ignite and, through rapid oxidation, put on the familiar dance of light manifested in flames. Due to the pressure that is generated by the gasses now expanding due to heating, the wood snaps, crackles and pops. Now, this is working in accordance with the laws of thermodynamics; this is real.

He is starting to relax and feel better. The fire is still reassuring him that the laws of nature, as he understands them, do not allow what he had heard last Friday afternoon in that hospital room in the company of Martin and Lucas Crowfoot or the strange story that Martin told him later. It must be just some poetic explanation of what was really of natural origin and has a perfectly reasonable and rational explanation in accordance with the laws of biology and physics; this thought is encouraging. The laws of physics are operating, as they properly should, right here, in this fireplace; now, this is reality! He is also trying to suspend the suspicion that he does not fully understand all that nature holds; such a suspension is something, he’s been informed, that his engineer colleagues and he, routinely, have no problems doing.

He gazes deeper into the fireplace. The avatar of the muse of creative thinking and story telling is having a mesmerizing affect on him. Such a spectacle must call to the more primitive parts of the human psyche. It was probably just something like this which inspired our remote ancestors, huddled in their cavern homes, to think, and to create and tell stories of both real and imagined happenings during those long dark nights. And so, he begins recalling events from the past many years since Victor and Martin had entered his and his family’s lives when a new thought comes to him: Perhaps, in examining the past, an answer to the present problem will come forth. So, he begins calling up what he knows to be really true,—or is it the only truth? At least these memories fit the normal pattern of this world’s operation as he understands it and do not violate rational reality as he usually perceives it.

In the dancing fire, he sees how it happened that two gay men moved in next door and how their lives became interwoven so intimately with the lives of his family. And now the one who lay in the ground was still challenging his views of rationality and reality from beyond his mortal remains. Well, the first meeting, at least, he knows was real and the way it happened as well. And so he directs his thoughts to the reality of the events stored in his memory.

* * *

The eight take council among themselves. You were right—this friend of yours is having a pretty bad time of it. It looks like you and Martin really laid it on him heavy. Should we jump in now?

No. Let’s just watch him for a while. He may come around. Well—maybe a slight nudge now and then. Let’s see what he remembers and how he deals with it. I’m still hopeful.

OK; then—we just watch him for the time being.

And so, they settle back to watch and listen to his reminiscences—his memories of the past dredged up with the hope they will provide the key to explaining the present.

CHAPTER III

"Let’s see—we bought this house shortly after Janet and I got married. Junior came along a year later. A few years after we moved in, the elderly couple next door went to live in a retirement community and put their place up for sale. It must have been on the market, I guess, for at least a year. Then the for-sale sign came down one sunny afternoon and the realtor informed us that we were going to have new neighbors. A month later, Martin and Victor moved in. Janet, Junior, and I watched the movers unload the trucks and carry in the household furnishings. Then we met our new neighbors.

In no way did we suspect that they were either gay or lovers. I guess if I had known about them at that time, I would not have allowed the kids to associate with them, nor would have I, except, I suppose, for observing the proper norms of neighborly etiquette like saying good morning, good evening, etc. But by the time I found out that they were interested only in each other and not in the opposite sex, we had already become friendly. Well, hell! How could I know—they didn’t lisp, they didn’t swish, they didn’t prance about or carry on; they just didn’t display any of the usual behavior patterns I had associated with homosexuals. Besides, they were great company to watch the Super Bowl and the World Series with.

And it was Janet who told me about them when I suggested that we fix them up with some of Janet’s single lady-friends like Gerri and Dotty. I don’t think it would be a good idea. she said.

Well, why not? I asked; Gerri and Dotty would probably jump at the chance to go out with them. Hey, I’ve seen them nearly drooling over those two guys. I thought those gals were still unattached. What happened—they dating now?

No, they’re still unattached—nothing serious.

Then what’s the problem? Victor and Martin are great guys—good looking, decent, stable, good jobs, sense of humor. Hey, it’s not as though they had to get married on the first date.

She gave me that I-thought-you-knew look, and said, I don’t think it would be a good idea simply because those two are not into women.

What do you mean, ‘aren’t into women’? What else would they be into? I asked.

Again that look. They are gay—they are lovers. she replied.

What! What do you mean? Come on, you’ve got to be kidding. Come on! Get serious! NO WAY! I said. How can anybody who roots for Notre Dame, the Vikings, and the Giants, and knows the standing of all the major league teams be queer? Come on, NO WAY! Hell! The three of us watched the World Series and the Super Bowl together last year! Nah, NO WAY!

Maybe so, but, believe me, they are gay and they are lovers. she persisted. Hell! Try reasoning with a woman when she gets some screwy idea in her head!

OK, then—How do you know? I asked.

Woman’s intuition—and, besides, I asked them and they said ‘Yes’. she replied. So I don’t think it would be a good idea to try fixing them up with Gerri or Dotty. It’s a nice thought but I think you’d better just forget it. Now don’t go telling Gerri or Dotty; it would break their hearts. They think Martin is the living end; but I don’t think they’d turn Victor down, either.

Well, I couldn’t fight that. It sure was a real kicker. That sure hit me right between the eyes—another instance of Victor upsetting my nice neat view of the world.

I guess I had problems adjusting to their being gay, but the rest of the family didn’t and, besides, Janet and Junior had already grown quite fond of them. Actually, to tell the truth, so had I. But, my hang-ups would surface from time to time. It took me some time to feel comfortable with the thought that two men might really love each other and even that a display of affection between two men did not necessarily involve sex nor did it diminish their masculinity. It sure took me some time to adjust to this revelation. Well, even if it did take time, I did finally come to accept them as good friends—even adopted them as family. I guess I can even accept that their love for each other was as genuine and strong as mine is for Janet. Besides—they were great to watch the Super Bowl with.

So far no answer to the problem—not even inkling. Well, let’s see—what else do I know?

Well—Victor used to work for the state highway department. Now, there was one organization which I always suspected required that all their employees have an IQ no higher than 65. Well, it didn’t take long talking with Victor to persuade me to think otherwise. At least one of their personnel had a higher level of intelligence. It was truly amazing that he could ever get a job in such an organization especially when he told me he had worked his way up from a laborer on a road crew to a supervisory position. Well, he sure looked as though he had swung a pick-ax or wielded a shovel. I have to admit—he was one good looking guy and had a deep, bass voice that sounded good—used to sing while working in the yard while he and Martin were building their patio. He put on some weight in the last couple years but, when they first moved in, he looked more like Michelangelo’s David—lean, muscular and lithe and had a mind that matched with a tendency to be devoid of any sign of fat. He had a sharpness that was somewhat intimidating but at the same time gentle. Yes, in many conversations of a philosophical bent he took me mentally into places I would not have gone on my own and got me to see through the illusion of things I had thought to be true and immutable or things I just accepted without any question. I couldn’t imagine how he ever could be content working for the highway department and how he came to have as much insight as he did. Well, there was that time I asked him about how he came to have such insights and understanding. He said he had good teachers—between them they had over 2300 years of knowledge through education and experience; but, it was a long story and that sometime when we had an eternity he would tell me all about it. He did—sort of—last Friday. But, hell, that’s the problem! Watch out what you ask for—you might get it, eh? Well, what else is there!

Martin was of a stockier build but all muscle thanks to frequenting the gym and he was just as good looking as Victor. His voice was a bit more towards the tenor. They sure