“Of course, I bit you. What did you think was going to happen? Satan’s bifurcated cock! I told you what I am. Feeding on and corrupting the living is what I do. I don’t want to be your boyfriend or your sugar daddy. I’m not some slicked-haired, business-suited douchebag that you can domesticate. I am a creature of metaphysical evil. And I didn’t pay for dinner so I could get into your pants. I don’t give a shit about what’s in there.
“I’m dead. I’m room temperature. You must have felt that. My heart doesn’t beat. There’s no blood to flow. No blood pressure, no erection, no arousal. All I want to do is drink the blood from your body. Hell’s hairy asshole! If I wasn’t so hungry I’d just snap your neck right now.
“I miss the days when people knew there was such a thing as evil. When they took it seriously and were afraid. How sweet to get past their prudent caution and faith-powered crosses to drain the life from their veins. The women back then were delicious. They were redolent of frustrated desire and the fear of damnation. You stink of birth control and misapprehended capitalism. Your vague spirituality couldn’t cause that cross around your neck to give me the tiniest blister.
“I should get out of this country. Go somewhere less modern and cynical. Get away from the half-believers who think it would be so cool to meet or date or be a vampire. I should go where they still know that there are dangers beyond the mundane. Of course, it would be more dangerous for me. But the thrill of it! The carefully planned hunt. The hard-earned kill. Beelzebub’s festering prostate! There’s the arousal. That’s what makes it worthwhile. Not sucking the blood from narcissists too busy preening for their next selfie to be afraid for their lives and souls.
“Fine, let’s get back to sucking your disappointing blood. It tastes of B vitamin supplements and dishonest concern for the poor. Struggle a little more, I’m about to end your life. A scream, yes. Finally, some real fear. Keep it up, just like that. A little music with my meal.”
MICHAEL: Michael Calkins has worked in bookstores for 31 years, the last 28 at
Powell’s.