Halloween Image Part 11 The Vampire Who Was Afraid of Blood

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The trouble with being a vampire,
Count Alaric von Dreadmoor had discovered, was that everyone expected you to enjoy blood. He did not. He disliked its colour, its smell, and especially the way people discussed it at dinner. For three hundred and twelve years he had survived on tomato juice, beetroot soup, and a butcher who thought he made sausages. Only his bats knew, bribed into silence with mangoes. Then, on the night before Halloween, Alaric bit into a particularly hard bread roll and broke his left fang. His scream rattled the windows and caused an attic ghost to resign. By two, he was writing his will, leaving everything to his teddy bear, Mr. Snuffles, who had never mentioned blood. At three, his head nurse, a bat named Matilda, landed on the pillow. She wore a little white cap with a red cross and the manner of an angry tax collector. “You need a dentist.” “I need a coffin,” Alaric replied. “You already own seventeen.” “One with extra padding.” Matilda unfolded a leaflet. DR. MORTIMER GRINN: DENTAL CARE FOR THE UNDEAD. NO PATIENT TOO OLD, NO JAW TOO COLD. Below: PAYMENT IN CASH, BONES OR FAMILY CURSES. “He sounds dreadful,” Alaric whispered. “He comes highly recommended by the skeleton community.” “They have no teeth to complain with!” “Exactly. His reviews are excellent.” At sunset Alaric was dragged through the castle corridors by Matilda and two assistant bats, Pip and Squeak. They carried tissues and emergency tomato juice labelled TYPE O-POSITIVE. The Count insisted on wearing his finest cape, because he intended to look magnificent when he died. Dr. Grinn's surgery occupied the former torture chamber, with Gothic windows, candles, and alarming instruments. A poster showed cheerful fangs beneath the words FLOSS LIKE YOUR AFTERLIFE DEPENDS ON IT. Something in a jar winked at him. “Good evening!” called Dr. Grinn. He was a skeleton in a spotless white coat, with spectacles perched on his absent nose. “Do sit down. I'm delighted to see a patient with actual gums.” Alaric sat, gripping Mr. Snuffles so tightly that the bear's stitched smile became a grimace. “Before we begin,” he said, “I should warn you that I have a rare medical condition.” “Which is?” “I faint at the sight of blood.” The dentist paused. His jaw dropped onto the floor. Pip retrieved it and handed it back. “But you're a vampire.” “Thank you, Doctor. I had noticed.” “Remarkable! And what do you drink?” “Tomato juice.” “With pulp?” “Don't be disgusting.” Dr. Grinn clicked his jaw into place and peered at the damaged fang. “A simple repair. Perhaps a little bleeding.” Alaric fainted before the word had finished. Matilda caught his head with practiced weariness. “We haven't started,” the dentist observed. “He likes to be early,” she replied. They revived him with smelling salts stored beside garlic powder. Alaric woke, sneezed so violently that three candles went out, and fainted again. “This could take all night,” said Dr. Grinn. “We have until dawn,” Matilda replied. “Then he turns into a nervous puddle of ash.” “Not a puddle,” Alaric murmured from the chair. “I have standards.” Pip staged a puppet show starring Sir Enamel the tooth. Squeak sang about hygiene. Matilda offered to read the Count's favourite romance novel, The Duchess and the Extremely Respectful Werewolf. Nothing worked. Every raised instrument made Alaric shriek; every pause made him complain. Finally the dentist removed his spectacles. “Count, what exactly are you afraid will happen?” Alaric stared at the ceiling. “When I was seven, my father took me on my first hunting lesson. He said a proper vampire must be fearless. I saw a cut on his finger, fainted into a turnip cart, and woke up with a vegetable seller trying to charge me rent. Father laughed for a century. Every time someone mentions blood, I hear him laughing.” The room fell quiet. Even the jar stopped winking. “Your father was a fool,” Dr. Grinn said. “Mine wanted me to become a concert pianist. Do you know how hard it is to play the piano when your fingers keep falling off?” Alaric looked at the skeleton's hands. “I imagine so.” “I became a dentist instead. Fear doesn't decide what we are. It merely tells us which chairs we'd rather not sit in.” “I would rather not sit in this one.” “Yes, that much is medically obvious.” Matilda patted his shoulder. “You don't have to enjoy blood to be a vampire. You don't even have to enjoy being a vampire. But you do need that tooth fixed before you start whistling through your soup.” Alaric considered this. Then he sat up straight. “Very well. No more fainting.” Dr. Grinn raised a tiny mirror. Alaric fainted immediately. “A promising beginning,” the dentist said. “At least he committed to a goal.” They tried again, this time with a screen hiding the instruments and a large bowl of tomato soup placed beneath the Count's nose. Dr. Grinn explained each step in terms of cooking.