After Zventish the vampire bled Clyde Plimpleman, they became ardent associates as only the soulless can be, the elder using his vampire connections to set Clyde up in a castle with coffin, slaves, and Batman comics. It was a vampire’s paradise, really.
Clyde relished his strength, power no ensouled man could ever appreciate, and far superior to his feeble self before Zventish bit him.
Dressed in his three-piece suit, he awaited nightfall in his coffin, anticipating the dark adventures, supreme among all creatures. There was nothing he couldn’t do.
The pipes burst. He heard water spraying and trickling in the lavatory across the hall. He listened for hours as his house flooded, unable to open his coffin and take care of it.
When the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Clyde popped his coffin open and splashed both feet on the floor. The flood extended throughout the halls, down the stairs, and into the foyer. He sloshed his way to the telephone and called a plumber.
The slave emerged from the servants’ chambers.
“Master.” He remained near the door and cowered.
“Why didn’t you take care of this flood?”
“Very sorry, Master, my profession is accounting.”
“Please don’t tell anyone that,” said Clyde.
“As you wish, Master.”
“We can’t have the public knowing you’re more despicable than me.”
“You could have made a call.”
“So sorry, Master. I wasn’t aware of it. Your servants withdrew so as not to disturb your slumber.”
“Well, be sure to meet the plumber and take care of this mess.”
“As you wish, master.” Sanders backed into the servants’ quarters and shut the door.
Clyde turned into a bat and flapped out a window, his house back under control. He relished his might, dominating the sky, the world below just waiting to bleed.
Into town he flew, a lighted kitchen showing a nubile woman washing dishes, smiling, singing, and dancing as she cleaned. Clyde’s lust for blood electrified his tiny bat brain, and he dove for the house. Several cords yanked him from the air, stopping him cold, then swinging back and forth. He twisted and thrashed, but the cords wrapped him up and immobilized him.
Clyde held still until the wiggling slowed, then figured out he’d been snared by a volleyball net. He turned into a man, the cords cutting into him, then snapping. The woman doing dishes was gone.
Now he was in his element. A vampire walking upright into the night, no man or creature safe from his ascendant power.
He glided toward the park. Well lit, but almost empty, Clyde found a young, dark-skinned man shooting baskets, an easy target.
Clyde swooped. The basketball smashed him in the face.
“You better get out of here, pervert.” The man retrieved the ball and held it ready to bean him again.
Clyde bared his fangs and hissed.
“No way,” said the man. He dropped the ball and ran.
Clyde dashed after him. The man was fast. He pursued him past the pavilion, through a parking lot, and through a backyard garden.
Searing pain ripped into his eyes and his lungs stung. The vampire coughed and stumbled, the smell unmistakable. Garlic.
Clyde screeched, ran out the other side of the garden, then followed the man over a fence and into the front yard. Puss ran from his eyes, and spittle dripped down his chin as he recovered and followed the man through a tall wooden gate into another yard.
Clyde smiled. He was too close for the man to climb out. He’d catch him before he got over.
The man seemed to realize it. He ran to the other side of a swimming pool and turned toward the vampire. The yard was large but crowded with the pool and a sizable deck, about three feet high.
Clyde cackled. “You can’t escape me.” He reached out a hand to hypnotize the man. “I’m your supreme master.”
“I’m not sloopy,” said Clyde. “What does that even mean?”
A growling dog came out a pet door onto the deck, a German Shepherd.
Clyde scoffed. “This dog is nothing to me. You think it can stop me?”
“No,” said the man. “But he’s a great distraction.”
Three pit bulls emerged from under the deck.
“How you feeling there, oh supreme one?” asked the man.
“I want my soul back.”