Image: maraisea (Pixabay)
His stench drove off vampires half a league around.
There’s something about being disintegrated by raw garlic, then having your ashes flushed down the toilet that gives a certain pong to your person, and pernicious itch to the skin.
Darkoo hung malevolently alone on a tree branch as a bat, plotting revenge (all the other bats had chased him out of the cave).
Flitting down as the graveyard march began, he followed the spectral beings emerging from tombs, their flowing auras giving his thoughts a certain calm and coolness.
Yes, tonight, Einstein Wilde would die.
First, he wrapped himself up in plastic (nothing else could contain the smell of garlic-tinged sewage), and draped in rags, wandered into town as an old beggar, black locks peeking out above a pair of old aviation goggles. His long nose sniffed assiduously like that of a greyhound. Above his own overpowering smell, he caught the scent of his prey.
Wilde was in a coffee shop, sitting at an outdoor table, and reading a paper with his back to the road. Perfect.
Stepping toward him, Darkoo manifested a gleaming dagger of bone, sharp as a vampire’s tooth, in his hand.
The young man did not turn as he raised his arm, unveiling the deadly blade against the moon…
In a flash, a cup of holy water was dumped into his face. Darkoo had only an instant to notice two cups on the table, one with coffee and another quite empty.
“Noooo!!! Curse you!!!” he squealed as the water melted off his features, leaving him to blunder through the night with a face as blank as an egg, and terrifying the late night strollers.
The laughter of Einstein Wilde echoed to the moon.