Hello, My name is Terrence Von Diesel. I am a vampire. It’s extremely nice to meet you. I must say, you have a very nice neck. And how are you today?
My apologies. I know that can be a bit off-putting. I’m a bit of an expert, you see, and, well, sometimes I can’t help but admire. Never fear, I’m not planning on biting you. Not yet! Just a joke. Please, sit down.
A little about me- I am not a count. I don’t mind the cliche, really. I mean, culture, right? But no, I am not a count, despite being a vampire and having the “von” in my name. I had to change it, see, as the name is Dutch by origin, and was originally Van. But I can hardly allow myself to share my name with a Hollywood celebrity. Did you know I met the man once, Van Diesel? Charming fellow. He tasted of clover, more than anything, which I found curios.
At any rate: not a Count. There’s an earldom I could make a claim to, if enough people died. Not really worth the hassle. The hassle of making the claim, that is. Getting that many people to die wouldn’t be too much trouble. But I don’t want to talk shop, as they say. Let’s talk about you. Have you done speed dating before? This is my first. I’m a bit overwhelmed, if you must know.
Please, call me Terry. As in “I’ll terry your throat out!” Just kidding! You’re safe, I promise you. Look, if I was going to devour you, I would have done it by now, And if I was planning on doing it later, there’s really nothing you could do about it. Some people actually find it peaceful to have their fate in another’s claws, I mean hands.
For example, a few months ago, I was in a 24-hour cafe, doing a crossword puzzle. I admit, I’m not very good at them! You’d think, being nearly three hundred years old, I’d have learned a thing or two. And I have, but not when it comes to trivia, it seems. Still, I try.
So there I was, staring at this folded newspaper, when I finally realized that someone had been talking to me. I pulled my eyes off the page and looked up- it was a waitress, holding a pot of coffee, asking if I wanted more ‘joe.’ I just stared at her for a moment, still stuck in my train of thought. Ten down, a nine letter word for tasty. I looked at her neck, and then the answer popped in my head. “Delicious,” I said.
And do you know what she did? She set the coffee pot down, then took a seat across from me. Our eyes locked. And she, well, she just sighed. I could have had her right there. Or, I could have stood up, taken her by the hand, led her to the alley behind the cafe, and had her there. She was at peace. This woman, maybe in her middle forties? Probably a mother, a teenage son, born before her own life had even started, a few grey strands, some laugh lines, but I tell you this: she was beautiful. Deliciously beautiful. I was very moved.
Then some cretin in the back yelled something about an order being ready, and the reverie was broken. She got up and left without another word. I went back to my crossword, and filled in ten down.
Why am I telling you this? Your neck reminds me of hers. The way you’re looking at me now. I don’t know how these speed-dating things are supposed to work, really. If we have a connection, do we simply leave together? Are there some forms to fill out?
Do you– I’m sorry, a very personal question. Do you have a next of kin?