The Alphabetical Attack

“Zombies, blood-sucking monsters, werewolves, they’re all here in the Horror House. You will not find a better collection of nightmares, ghosties, ghoulies, and long-legged beasties anywhere in the known world,” Donna continued, in her crisp, animated voice. “X-file aliens,  giant salamanders, even your run-of-the-mill ogre, we have them all here for you to enjoy.”

With her dozen “chicks” in tow, the gorgeous, black-clad “mother hen” strode into their first stop, the Hall of Blood, as the door slowly closed behind them with a heavy thud. Vampire paraphernalia lined the walls: hardwood stakes (for evergreen woods can not kill a vampire), garlic garlands, crosses, capes, mirrors, and stuffed bats, while caskets, crypts, and Transylvanian “native” dirt were spread across the cold stone floor.

Uneasy eyes turned toward the iron-bound door that enclosed them. Tina, a forty-something version of Barbie, who had scribed a ditzy smiley face on her name tag, raised her hand as if she expected it to fall off.

“So what if we like have a fire or a vampire shows up or something and we have to, you know, get out in a hurry or something with the door closed?”

“Rest assured, Tina,” the smiling Donna replied, now convinced that the woman was indeed Barbie, ”that the door is closed only so we do not disturb other tours.

“Quite often,” she continued, her pasted smile still firmly in place, “vampires may drop in to visit this lovely old castle, to meet our guests, and of course, to feed.

“Perhaps you recall the alleged incident late last year where a tour group, much like yourselves, disappeared near here. Only one survivor, a woman, was found to tell the tale of the monster’s savagery and blood lust. Needless to say, her incoherent description of the ritual slaughter of a dozen innocents, and the ensuing blood bath, was sufficient to commit her to an asylum. Many believe she was demented, much like many believe vampires are villainous bloodsuckers.

“Lycanthropes, vampires as you call them, are believed to be, but are indeed not, harmful to humans when left to their own devices. Killing them, unfortunately, has become a quaint hobby in many parts of the country by many so-called heroes who delight in their own savagery.”

“Just for the sake of clarity,” a hulking lad named Charles, asked, “are you defending vampires? Is that what I’m hearing? How can you stand there, little lady, and say with a straight face that drinking blood is a good thing, unless you’re a mosquito?”

Gently, like a  mother to a whimpering child, Donna laid her hand on his shoulder. “Fiction and fact are often mixed, and determining which is which is sometimes difficult.”

“Everyone knows they are not real, you idiot,” Charles spouted as he backed away from her hand.

Donna smiled warmly, revealing two descending fangs among her perfect white teeth.

Charles froze in abject horror, then covered his ears as the sound of thousands of flapping wings attacked his ears.

Bats, hundreds of them, erupted out of the shadowy ceiling and swooped like Kamikazes at the shocked tour group, their fangs snapping.

“Actually,” said Donna, wiping Charles’ dripping blood from her ruby lips and turning toward the screaming Tina, “there is very little fiction involved.”

 


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TheTaleMonger
Short Story
Satire
writing TheTaleMonger
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Synopsis
Enter the castle at your own risk
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