“Money is a form of magic,” I say, while lifting the wallet off another sawed-in-half volunteer from another shrieking and now dispersed audience. “A form of sleight of hand that combines trust and paper.”

The village has a vampire living in the castle that rests on the cliff that overlooks the valley, but no one has seen it, because it has depressive episodes.

Even now, as bats swirl about the parapets, it is inside, face down in the master bedroom, where it has been unable to convince itself to get up for 103 years.

“There’s probably not even anyone living in that village anymore. What would be the point of going down there.”

A timber creaks as the castle settles.

“Last time I went to the village they made fun of my accent, but MY ACCENT IS THEIR ACCENT, from only THREE generations ago! EVERYONE sounded like me!”

The fluttering of a bat wing outside.

“I just can’t. Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow.”

A real estate agent leads a rich couple through the castle.

“It’s going to take some cleaning up, sure, but I think you’ll find–”

And the three of them find the vampire, face down in bed. It doesn’t acknowledge their entrance.

“Huh. My grandfather told me this place had a vampire, but that was so long ago… I figured it would be gone by now.”

“Does it come with the castle?” asks the man, clutching a trifold pamphlet with the castle printed on its face.

“Honestly, I have no idea,” responds the agent.

“S’my castle,” comes a voice, muffled by the blankets it’s speaking directly into, the vampire unwilling to even turn its face towards the intruders.

They answered the knock at the door and found the vampire standing there, a gift-wrapped box in its pale hands. The wrapping was lightly scratched by the vampire’s long nails, which picked at the corners of the box nervously.

“Hello,” said the vampire. “Is Andolf around? It’s his birthday, and…”

The vampire moved the box up slightly in explanation, then let it sink again.

“Andolf?” said the man at the door. He looked to his wife. “Was ‘Andolf’ the name of the old man who lived here before us? ‘Andolf’?”

“I think maybe it was Andolf,” answered his wife, who looked over the vampire’s shoulder to see if any of the neighbors had noticed it standing on their porch.

“We bought this house 8 years ago,” continued the man, “after the previous owner passed away.”

“Ah,” said the vampire. A sad breath of acknowledgement. “Ah,” it said again, then let the box fall to the ground. “I’m late.”

The wife asked, “Today was Andolf’s birthday?” as the vampire slumped and abruptly sat down on their porch. The vampire rubbed its eyes and started to curl over, its head dropping to rest on its knees.

“I’ve been busy,” muttered the vampire, its lips pressed against the fabric covering its legs. “I’ve– there’s been a lot going on.”

“Okay,” said the man, slowly closing the door. “It happens,” he said just before the door clicked shut.

The vampire sat quietly on the porch for a long while. A dog ran down the dark street, intent on its own private errand. As the moon sunk behind the trees, the vampire muttered, mockingly, “‘Was Andolf the old man?’ Feh.”

It scratched at a paving stone at its feet.

“He was young.”

Upsides: Clean teeth, gentle humming in your head, scrubbing feeling across tongue is a gentle stimulant

Downsides: Every time you speak and a wave of skittering & aggressive insects spills out, you get to have the “Back, you unearthly horror! BACK!” conversation all over again.

Okay, okay, quick check: Everyone here who HASN’T given over some part of their hate-fueled corporeal form to the housing of horrors in exchange for power, raise your hand.

For this gift-giving season, why not give your friends and family something they’ll really use?

Wrap them in linens and ointments, then seal them in a tomb where they’ll sleep until the world is a wind-blasted, abandoned dunescape that they can wander, shuffling and shedding cloth, adrift in a distant future beyond imagination?

Spritzomancer: An adventurer archetype for a world where everyone’s a plant. Duel-wielding spritz bottles, one with restorative water & minerals, one with weed-killer.

A crude plant bravo might engrave their bottles with decorative labels such as: PISTIL and STAMEN. Such an effort to symbolically pair reproduction with violence is considered gauche, of course, but an adventurer’s life is an outsider’s life.

“If I’m venomous, that means my bite contains poison. If I’m poisonous, then I’m made of poison and shouldn’t be eaten.”

“I hate riddles,” I responded as its wriggling feet slurped past my lips. “Just real quick, tell me which one you are.”

A muffled voice responded, “I feel you have me at a disadvantage and that my honesty will be in question no matter how I respond.”

1) Trade one of your most precious recurring dreams to the Gentleman of Thrice-Dark Woods. After he’s dined, and after you’ve realized what you’ve lost, he’ll gladly apply some sort of colored paste for you by way of apology.

2) Open a portal in the soft side of this world, your fingers tugging at the dimension’s fatty layers until you’re viewing the colorless obscenities that live outside all-we-know. (I assume you want WHITE hair?)

3) Close your eyes. There. Your hair’s black. Everything is black. Now press against your eyes. Your hair is now full of stars.

The Corpse in the Red
My Bullets Are Missing
Hangman’s Delivery
The Case of the Case
Blonde Justice
The Case is for Judgement
Stop That Case!
Witness for the Dragon
My Gun Waits for the Case
The Talented Bones
Bullets Bullets Bullets: My Crime Struggle