Nosferatu with a Box

Alexandros Papadopoulos regarded the box wrapped in brown paper. He wanted to shake the box a bit, like a kid trying to guess at a Christmas present. Instead, he sat in the cool night air and stared at the package. The porch light flipped on, blinding him for a second, and out stepped Tempe, his witch friend. She held a mug smelling of apples, and he asked, “Hard Cider?”

She pulled her oversized Hoodie with panda ears closer and said, “This and pumpkin spice are the only reasons to have Autumn. So, what's in the box, Papadopoulos?” She was incredibly proud to have mastered the correct pronunciation of his last name.

"I have no idea." The vampire replied, sitting back in the porch swing, “I just know it’s for me.” He envied her looking warm and comfy in the ridiculous Hoodie. Being dead, he didn’t notice heat or cold and had to look at the weather channel to decide what to wear all night long.

Tempe bent over and examined the box, careful not to touch it. Her hair spilled out from the raised hood, had been an unholy ruby red and now was back to its sedate brunette. She, too, was curious about the package. It was the size of a shoebox and was wrapped in brown paper. The witch stood and said, “How do you know it’s for you? I don’t see a label on it.”

“It smells like Maria Saint Croix.” He said evenly and with little enthusiasm.

“Who?” Tempe asked, sipping her drink.

“She was my progenitor.”

“Alex, your vampire Mom, sent you a gift; that's kinda sweet." Tempe had little knowledge of vampire communities or the vicious politics in them. She would assume a vampire progenitor was a gentle motherly figure. Saint Croix was none of those things.

"Tempe, you are adorable, you know that," Alex said, giving her a slight smile.

“Of course, I do.” She said as she sat next to him on the porch swing. Then Tempe held out her mug, “Wanna sniff? It’s the best I can do to share.”

Alex smiled and patted her knee, “I smelled it as soon as you poured it in the kitchen. Thank you for the offer.” He liked that about his friend, in her charmingly simple way. Tempe always tried to treat him like any other person, never mind he was a monster who drank blood.

Tempe used the toe of her sneaker to poke the box. She waited, and nothing happened, “Any Idea what is in that box?”

“Not a clue.” He replied, amused that she thought it might explode.

“So, how long are we sitting here and staring at it?

“I’m essentially immortal, and how long do witches live?" Alex asked.

“Depends; most of us can go a century and not age till the last twenty or so years. The smart ones serve a good deity and get more time.” Tempe shared draining her mug.

“Well, there you go; we can stare at this box for a very long time," Alex replied philosophically.

The porch door opened, and Benedicta stood in the doorway. She held a mug of hot chocolate, “Oh, for crying out loud, just pick up the damn box and open it.” Benedicta wore her favorite wool sweater and grimaced, seeing that her kitty Morgenmuffel had shed all over the sleeve. The two looked at her, and she thought perhaps she had been speaking Mandarin since they didn’t move.

The lengthy pause continued, and Benedicta picked up the box and put it in Alex’s lap. She took another drink of her cocoa and said, “C’mon, get it over with so I can herd Tempe into the assemble room to help me package skin cremes.”

“Did you ever consider this was personal? “He said, examining the box closer.

“Great, take it up to the bat cave in the attic and open it," Benedicta replied sarcastically.

He made a rude gesture with his finger at her. He hated that his attic apartment had been renamed the bat cave. It was just so predictable.

Benedicta snorted; having lived with Tempe, there were no rude gestures she hadn’t seen.

Alex sighed; he should get it over with and open the damn box. He tore the brown paper and saw that it was indeed a shoebox. There had been at one point a pair of Jimmy Choo, size seven, slingbacks in the box. He lifted the lid, and inside was a sheet of paper in an elegant script that no one used anymore. Alex read it, and seeing the two witches waiting impatiently, he shrugged and read it aloud:

Dearest Blood Son,

This trifle with the master will not be forever. I will see you to my side when the time is right. In the meanwhile, the court gossip is that you made it to the home of Benedicta Hicchecok and convinced her not to steak you on the spot. You are now admired and feared in some measure, and as your doting maker, I could not be prouder. You have virgin hunting grounds, and we are envious.

I sent a glamoured human to drop off the few things I could secret out of the compound and not raised notice. As the banished, you are supposed to leave with the clothes on your back and that it. Take care of yourself until I need you.

M.

He finished reading, and Tempe said, “Aww, your mom is working to have it so you can go home."

“ She is waiting for the right time to stage a mutiny and kill him. Vampires don’t do subtle.” Alex said, sifting the contents of the box.

“ Awww, she is going to get all murdery and bring you home. That's love." Tempe said as her sister Benedicta rolled her eyes at Tempe’s eternal optimism.

He pulled out a dagger in a sheath and said, “I was alive when I got this. I was a guard for an Ottoman Administrator. I enjoyed killing him.” He next brought out a velvet bag and showed its contents, two fangs old and yellowed three inches long. “My first dual in 1700, I believe. I almost died again.” A silver locked that he opened and showed to the witches. In it were tiny hand-painted portraits of a woman and a girl. “My wife Athena and my daughter Helena, they died long ago.”

He snapped the locket shut and moved on to forestall Tempe from asking any questions. A black plastic square was next, and he reached for his wallet and put it away, “It’s a twenty-four-hour use credit card with no limit. Once the times up, then the card shuts off.”

“Really?!” Tempe said.

"Really, and no, you can’t use it.” He shook his head; that was Tempe, always looking for a good time.

The last object he held a little reverently was a hair braided locket and held together with a ribbon. This he carefully replaced in the box. The silence dragged on, and he was surprised that it was Benedicta who asked, “Who did the lock of hair come from?”

My Granddaughter several times removed. She was the last of my natural descendants. After her death, I came to America. There was no point in being in the Mediterranean after Edith died.

Tempe hugged him unbothered by his cold body temperature. He patted her hand and said, “Tempe it was two hundred and twenty-some years ago. It’s ok.

He stood and tucked the box under his arm, “I shall put this in my apartment and go out for the evening.” Benedicta moved so he could pass, and he went to the stairway to climb to the attic. He unlocked his door and went into his lightproof room. He was rather proud of how his work turned out, making the space go from dusty catch-all to a sleek modern bedroom, living room, and bathroom with a clawfoot tub.

Alex sat on his bed; he had lied to the witch sisters. Two minutes, two days, or two hundred years, he still hurt at the loss of his last vestiges of a human family. That was the dichotomy of being the undead. You became a blood-sucking monster eating the humans you used to be a part of. Yet you never forgot the emotions and care you had for some of them. It’s why when most vampires are made, they go far away from where their human lives had been. He couldn’t; he wanted to make sure his daughter was safe and had a good life, then it became her children, and so on. His maker chiding him for the weakness but never preventing it. That was how Saint Croix worked she allowed you to have things she could take away to control you. He slid the box under his bed. Not very original, but if anyone or thing could get past Benedicta’s and Tempe’s magical wards, no place in the house could be safe.

Vampires don’t cry. It’s not a macho thing; they lack tears. The best they can do is a pinkish blood-tinged fluid that the eyes wring out in a tiny amount. He shed those few tears for people he had loved, then stood and, selecting a leather jacket from his wardrobe, slipped it on to drive into the town of Cadillac. Alex would allow his inner demon to hunt and come close to killing prey. Then he could go home to being the happy-go-lucky vampire.