A Bad Turn In the Road- Part 2, by Francesca Quarto

Published on by Francesca Quarto

These simpletons!

She was annoyed and uncomfortable as her head was hanging slightly toward her shoulder.

They don't know I'm a vampire I suppose.  Guess I'll have to show them!

The old man let her body drop with a heavy thud onto the black and white linoleum of the small kitchen.  He knew his wife needed a bigger pot for their new addition of meat to the thin vegetable broth.  

The wife looked over at him saying "I wish we could hunt like the good old times, dear.  Getting up there in years has taken a toll on that bit I suppose."

"Yes dear.  We both loved the feel of the earth under our feet, but I miss all the hair!"  he was chuckling as he patted the sparse patch of gray on his head.  He picked up the butcher knife and commenced stropping it against a whetstone.

His wife stirred the pot for a minute longer and looked over at the still body.

"Wonder if this young woman knew that she looked cheap in that outfit. Tisk, Tisk!  Looks like a darned tart!"

That comment seemed to prod the floozy-looking vampire to spring to her feet like a jack-in-the box.

"You folks aren't very hospitable and I don't much like being called a tart!" The vamp's head was lying like a dew drop on her shoulder.

"Oh, dear! " the old woman shouted, dropping her wooden spoon on the floor where the young girl's body should have been.

"Now don't get excited there, miss.  We thought you looked a bit peaked when you come in just now.  You keeled right over and I was fixin' to call the emergency people," the old man added to his wife's abbreviated statement.

"Don't bother old man.  I'm just fine as you can see, in spite of your breaking my neck! And you can drop the hokey act too.  Like I'd believe you're just two old foggies  living like pioneers out here!"

With that, she reached up and gave her head a few sharp twists.  Her head snapped back straight on her slim, now healed neck.

The old lady shot a quick look at her husband, her eyebrows raised like signal flags of warning.  He didn't speak, but answered her with a curt shake of his head, like he was trying to clear the cobwebs of old age.  

"Looks like you've discovered our little secret miss," he said smoothly. 

"We don't get many of your kind out here in the country. Why, I do believe you might be our first, right momma?"

The vampire cut off momma's reply, moving in a blur to where the old woman stood by the old wood stove.

"You are very rude werewolves living off the land...so to speak!  And I am a hungry vamp just trying to get a bite of dinner.  The way I see it, we may be able to help each other out."

She moved with the grace of a leggy spider and sat down at a much used kitchen table.  It had long gauges carved into its surface like claw marks.  

I wonder if they have food fights, she thought wrinkling her perfect patrician nose.

The old farm couple joined her at the round oak table, taking seats on the flowery covered cushions.  They watched her closely for any signs of trickery, but so far, theirs was the only deception to transpire.

"Ahem! Do you have a plan on how we can all eat without raising too much of a ruckus around these parts?" the old man asked.

"I do.  I have certain "charms" you might say, that can be employed from time to time to lure unsuspecting gents out this way.  Now, the last guy didn't cooperate and that's how I ended up here."

"Oh, my.  Maybe you needed a shorter skirt, if they make them shorter," the old woman said a small smirk on on shriveled lips.

When the vampire shot her a whithering look, the old man was quick to intervene.

"You hush now, momma!  This young lady is trying to help us all out.  I 'spect she sees our empty cupboards and knows these are dire times."

"Listen folks, you need me more than I need you, so let's get that straight.  I know some of my marks don't exactly like paying for a good time in some of their blood, but most do.  And more importantly to you two worn-out shaggy lobos, I can bring home the bacon, so to speak."

"Do you mean you'll be moving in here, young lady?" the husband asked, giving his wife quick, sharp looks.

"It would be convenient and right now I could use a place to store my sleeping arrangements."

And so it was settled.  The sexy vampire moved her self and all her other-worldly possessions into the small farm house.  They changed the name on the mail box to The Hunters, but since they never got any mail, no one questioned that.

Their arrangement went on swimmingly for many long years until the old lady's heart exploded in her thin chest after an extremely heavy meal of a fisherman and chips.  

"Too much fat, I 'spect," drooled the old man.

Another swift twenty years flew by, so they must have been having lots of fun.  But like all things good, this too was destined to come to a conclusion. The old man seemed about ready to lie next to his wife in the plot behind the moldering farm house.  

Unfortunately, he was stubborn and would likely only succumb to the Grim Reaper with help from the still sexy vamp.

She gave it lots of consideration since she was incredibly bored with his constant yammering about infirmities.

One evening when she was applying her deep red lipstick for her nightly visit to bars in the area, the old man spoke his mind.

"You seem as fit as the day I broke your neck.  Don't you think you might share some of that special blood you carry around under those leather skirts you favor?"

Now, this line of questioning didn't sit too well with the vamp and her eyes turned a savage red.  This unfortunately went unnoticed by the old werewolf.  He was more focused on the voluptuous body and perhaps taking a small taste.

"This has been a good arrangement old man; hunting together has kept the frig and freezer well-stocked.  I bleed 'em; you eat 'em.  Don't try changing the natural flow of things."

Their next joint foray into a nearby town, found them sitting in front of an all-night  greasy spoon in the old man's ancient pick-up.  

Neither of them brought up the topic of the vamp sharing her curative blood with the old codger.

The vamp had scored well at this type of joint in the past.  She had high expectations while she unconsciously tugged her leather skirt up a hair.

She watched as several men slouched through the filthy door and stuffed their fat rears into a booth, or over-flowed a stool by six inches.  These men and a few women seemed quite at home eating vast amounts of fried foods and swilling burnt coffee. 

Lining up at the trough she thought, irritated that she always had to settle for the most unpleasant dining experience.

"Geesh! What's with this jumbo-sized population here in the sticks?  In all my hundred years I've never seen such pig-out mania. What ever happened to the liquid diet and jogging?  Good thing you're a werewolf old man.  You might look like one of these dumplings otherwise."

For some reason, that comment triggered something the old guy hadn't felt in many years.  He wasn't out of shape for a werewolf; just a bit long in the tooth in human terms.  He was still a big, bad wolf under his sagging jowls and stringy muscles.  

While the vamp studied the people sopping up gravy and biscuits, the gnarled fingers wrapped around the steering wheel began to lengthen, sprouting curved claws perfect to holding and ripping.  The man's usual hunched back became broad and strong.  He flexed his massive arm muscles and the vamp turned toward him at the sound of ripping cloth.

Before she could say a word, the werewolf was at her throat. ripping it out and finally, detaching her head from her slender neck.

Though there was copious blood spatter all over the inside of the windows and the car seats, no one noticed as the old man calmly backed away from the curb and headed home.

The moral of the story for the vamp was obvious: Never remind a potential threat that age can't truly dull the power within; especially if they still have all their teeth.

 

 

 

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