Vamp at the Coffeehouse
John A. Ward

She sat at the table next to me in a black dress with a high collar reading from a paperback. I decided to be gregarious. "What are you reading?"

 "None of your damned business," she hissed.

"I'm not familiar with it. Is it interesting?"

"You just won't shut up, will you?"

"Bite me!" I sneered.

"You'll be sorry you said that." She curled back her upper lip and revealed two very prominent, very sharp canines. "I'm a vampire."

I was ready for her. "Be positive."


"Be positive, that's my blood type."

"You're kidding me."

"No, really, it's very rare you know."

"Good, I get tired of sucking universal donors."

"But suppose I'm not your type?"

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe we're not histo-compatible."

"That's not a problem. Do you worry about the blood type of the steer when you eat a hamburger?"

"No, I'm a vegetarian. I worry about mad cow disease." I pointed to my head. Swirled my finger in a circle and lowed, "Moo."

She drew her finger across her throat like a knife. "A steer isn't a cow. It's a castrated bovine."

"Oh, then I worry about bovine spongioform encephalitis."

"Roll down that turtleneck collar," she uttered with a soupçon of sangfroid.

I complied.

"Mmmm, you have nice veins," she said.

"I love it when you talk like a phlebotomist," I replied, flexing my sternocleiodomastoid muscle to make my jugular bulge.

"That's my day job."

"Before we begin, do you practice safe exsanguinations?"

"How would I do that?"

"Did you floss after your last victim?"

"Yeah, I used mint floss."

"First, there's something I have to tell you."

"Oh no, you're married."

"No, I had Italian food for lunch. Does that make any difference?"

"Why should it?"

"There was garlic bread."

"That's an old wives' tale."

"I suppose it is. I've been accused of spreading wives' tails."

"I'll bet you have. Is there anything else I should know about your dietary habits?"

"Do you mind onions?"

"You didn't eat onions, did you?"

"Do onions bother vampires?"

"It's more of an aesthetic thing than a health hazard. You didn't, did you?"

"No, I didn't."

"Then let's get on with it." She sunk her fangs into my jugular and sighed deeply, but her passion was premature. "Aagh! You did eat onions."

"Gotcha!" I laughed and tied a tourniquet around my neck to staunch the flow of my rich red blood, well not that red, more like burgundy because it was venous.

First published: November 2005
comments to the writer: Knob'