Hangry as Hell: A humorous paranormal novella: Freaky Florida Humorous Paranormal Mysteries, #0

By Ward Parker

They are old, cranky, and dangerous.

 

Midlife witch Missy Mindle is also a home-health nurse for vampires. You see, not all vampires are young, sexy urbanites. What happens if you were a senior citizen when you're turned? You move to Florida, of course, to an oceanfront condo tower in Jellyfish Beach. There's even a bloodmobile that shows up each night like a food truck.

 

But a disturbed ex-con hijacks the bloodmobile, leaving a community of vampires who aren't just hungry, but freaking hangry. Missy's magick is the only way to find the bloodmobile before the residents starve or feast upon their unsuspecting human neighbors.

 

This novella is your ticket into the Freaky Florida humorous paranormal mystery series. It includes four sample chapters from Snowbirds of Prey, Book 1 of Freaky Florida.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ward Parker
• Release date: Sep 15, 2022
• ISBN: 9781957158129

Book preview

HANGRY AS HELL

1

THE LAST DROP

Missy Mindle worked the graveyard shift—literally. How else could she describe work hours designed to accommodate the vampires she served? It wasn’t easy disrupting your natural diurnal cycle for a job, especially one with hazardous duty. Let’s face it, being a home health nurse for vampires was risky, no matter how many vampire-repellant amulets she wore around her neck. And when she had to do blood work for her patients, forget workers comp. In this job, you needed to run fast at the first sign of hunger in your patients’ eyes.

Today, she rolled out of bed well before sunset, fed her two gray tabbies, Brenda and Bubba, and made toast along with her pot of tea. She had several patients to see tonight, not only vampires but also two werewolves in the condo complex next to the vampires’ building. All her patients were old, and all were challenging. The vampires had been turned late in life, so they were typically cantankerous Florida seniors with untypical superhuman strength. The werewolves had aged normally, like all mortal creatures; however, their condo complex was filled with party animals. Pun intended.

Missy showered, dressed, and left home earlier than usual to stop by the botanica to buy herbs she needed for a magic potion. You see, Missy was also a witch. It was little more than a hobby, but she was getting better at it with time. The more skilled she became, the more effective her vampire-repellant amulets would be—a work expense she deducted from her taxes.

As she drove toward the beach where her patients lived, she was cut off by a giant RV crossing two lanes to make the entrance ramp to the interstate. She was tempted to hex the driver but fought back her road rage. The RV was painted red with signage that said, Blood Bus. It looked just like the one that stopped each night at Squid Tower, where the vampires lived.

She never would have imagined the trouble this vehicle was about to cause.

Alfred Pentelope expected sirens and flashing lights at any moment as he drove the stolen bloodmobile up I-95 through the South Florida traffic. He had no idea why he had pulled out his Glock and hijacked the vehicle. Poor anger management? Probably. He had been written up three times by the office manager for losing his temper with coworkers. It was okay to yell and make threats of violence on the phone when trying to collect debts, but it was a cardinal sin to snap at a fellow team member. Sunshine Telemarketing and Collections Agency was all about team spirit. And reaching your Revenue Goals. Or else.

Now that his anger had cooled, only ten minutes after he had hijacked the Blood Bus, he realized the sting of being rejected as a blood donor had sent him over the deep end. He hadn’t even wanted to donate blood today. But it was the company’s Spring Sunshine Blood Drive. Everyone was expected to take part in this completely voluntary act of charity that everyone knew was actually mandatory. They all gladly signed up to pay it forward, live their company’s mission, and participate in a corporate team-building exercise. Or else. The company even handed out T-shirts commemorating the blood drive with the slogan, Draining every last drop from customers, that everyone had to wear. Or else.

The Blood Bus, a giant converted RV, had pulled into the building’s parking lot at noon and was scheduled to leave at 5:00 p.m. Alfred had signed up for the last donation slot of the day, hoping that no one would notice if he didn’t show up. But then he got the text message from the CEO:

Hey, Al. Where are you? Everyone has donated except for you.

Alfred replied he was headed downstairs right away. He was on the phone with a deadbeat who had a $79 debt the company had purchased. Alfred was in the middle of threatening to kill the man’s wife and break his children’s legs if he didn’t pay up, but he had to cut the call short to go perform his act of altruism. And probably miss his Revenue Goal for the week.

When he got off the elevator downstairs, his boss was waiting to get on.

Hey, Al! That’s my boy! his boss said, wearing a tight Blood Drive T-shirt, his silver hair worn in a long ponytail. Go give your pint of lifeblood and make this world a better place!

The Blood Bus sat at the edge of the parking lot, engine running to power the AC, refrigerators, and electronics. All his coworkers had already left, so there was no line. Al climbed up the steep steps into the rear door of the bus.

Two workers in lab coats, both young, a Hispanic male and an Anglo female, looked like they were packing up. The woman glanced at a clipboard.

Mr. Pentelope? she asked.

That’s me.

You’re just in time before we leave. She handed him a tablet and stylus. Please answer all these questions before we begin. Click the green arrow at the bottom of each page to go to the next.

He sat down on an upholstered bench that faced four recliners, each with a single large armrest for the pricking. He studied the tablet and tried to get the stupid questionnaire over with. It was filled with embarrassing questions about prostitution, gay sex, IV drug use, hepatitis, travel to certain countries during certain years. Then the stickler:

Have you been an inmate at a correctional institution or been incarcerated for over seventy-two consecutive hours during the previous twelve months?

He was going to click No, but started overthinking. What if they checked some database and saw that he had been released from Florida State Prison only eight months ago? And what if they told his employer? He had one of the few jobs out there that didn’t check—or didn’t care—if you had a criminal record. But what if Sunshine Telemarketing and Collections did care?

So, he answered the question truthfully. And five minutes after he finished the questionnaire, he was told by the Hispanic male that he couldn’t give blood.

I’m sorry, sir, it’s the policy. We have to be extra careful to avoid transfusion-transmitted infections. But thanks anyway and have a nice day!

Alfred descended the steps of the bus filled with shame. He hadn’t wanted to donate anyway, but now he felt like a loser. A reject. A criminal still tainted by his past.

He stopped in the parking lot, the hot Florida sun burning the bald spot on his head and baking the asphalt beneath him. The anger began at the base of his spine and rose until