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A Night for Questions and Answers

  By T. A. Staver

  Copyright 2012 T. A. Staver

  Cover Art by Julie Staver Copyright 2012

  A Night for Questions and Answers

  I had just settled in for an evening of reading and drinking a few beers. The new Stephen King and Leinenkugel; a match made in heaven. The December wind howled outside the window. Is there anything better than being warm and comfortable on a cold winter night?

  Someone knocked at the front door. Is there anything worse than your comfortable evening being interrupted?

  “I’m coming, I’m coming,” I muttered as the pounding continued. “Sheesh, give me a minute to get there.”

  I unlocked and opened the door. There appeared to be a very large snowman standing on my stoop. It shook its head and revealed a familiar face.

  “Chuck!” I said. It was my former kidnapper and newly-made vampire acquaintance. I hoped he hadn’t changed his mind about drinking my blood.

  “What are you doing out on a night like this? You could catch pneumonia in this weather.” I stopped. “Um, being undead, maybe you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “Well, are you going to invite me in, or are we going to talk with your door wide open?” he asked.

  “Sure, sure,” I said.

  “No, you have to invite me in. I can’t come across your threshold without an invitation,” he said.

  “Wow, really? I thought that was just some crap that they put in movies.” I was actually surprised by this. “How does it work? Is there an invisible barrier or something?” I asked.

  “I’m not sure how it works. I will myself forward, but nothing happens. My body just knows that I haven’t been invited inside. This is the first time it’s actually happened to me. I’ve been reading all sorts of stuff on the internet about being a vampire, and I came across the invitation-to-enter theory. I didn’t really expect it to be true. So, are you going to invite me in or not?”

  “Oh yeah, um, I, Rodger, invite you, Chuck, into my house. Will that…” I was cut off as he pushed past me into the house.

  “About time; my new coat was getting all wet from the snow,” Chuck grumbled as he looked around my living room. His shoes were forming a puddle on my carpet. I was about to mention that fact, but I remembered how touchy he could be, so I held my tongue.

  “Do you get cold?” I asked. I’m pretty new to this having-a-vampire-for-an-acquaintance thing, so I find myself asking a lot of questions.

  “No, the cold doesn’t affect me at all,” he said with a smile.

  “Then why do you have a coat?” I asked.

  “I…” Chuck stopped in mid sentence and frowned. “You know, I don’t know. It must be a habit. Huh, what do you know, I never even gave that a thought.” He slowly nodded his head. “For the time being, I think I’ll continue to wear the appropriate clothing for whatever season it happens to be. Wouldn’t want anyone questioning why I’m not dressed right.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” I said. “Do you think there are people out there who would see you for what you really are? I didn’t when you kidnapped me. I thought you were some kind of psycho, babbling about drinking my blood. Until I saw your teeth, that is.”

  Chuck started to move about my living-room as he thought about my question. His eyes took in the entire room, but he had a distracted look on his face. I didn’t think he was seeing the bric-a-brac that he picked up, handled, and put back down. Hopefully he didn’t see all of the dust. My mother would have a fit if she saw it. But being a bachelor, dusting is quite low on my list of things to do.

  “You wouldn’t think that there are people who believe in vampires,” he said. “Hell, I didn’t believe in them until that horse’s ass of a master I have made me one. But there are a lot of people out there who read The National Enquirer, know what I mean? So there must be somebody out there who believes.”

  Chuck continued to prowl my room. For a very large man, he moved with surprising grace. He reminded me of a cat I had once owned; always prowling, always checking things out. The thought made me smile.

  “What are you grinning about?” Chuck asked me. I stopped smiling: he was faced away from me and couldn’t see my face.

  “I was thinking about how you reminded me of a cat I used to have. Um, how did you do that?” I asked.

  He turned, and smiled at me. “A cat, huh? Not a bad comparison. Cat’s are predators, you know.”

  I noticed that he avoided answering my question. But again, being new to the vampire world, I didn’t want to push my luck with him. I would try to remember to ask him again sometime in the future.

  Chuck glided across the room and sat in my recliner. “Let’s talk,” he said. Don’t think I didn’t notice he took the most comfortable chair in the room.

  “Sure, what should we talk about?” I asked as I sat down.

  “Let’s talk about the soul, or the lack thereof. What are your ideas concerning that?” Chuck looked at me with a very unsettling intenseness. I would have to be careful here. I didn’t know Chuck well enough to make light of something he obviously cared deeply about. I was starting to regret telling Chuck that I would be available to talk to him. If I aggravated him, would he kill me? After all, he is a vampire.

  “Well, I assume you’re talking about your soul. Is that correct?” I asked. Chuck nodded, his eyes fixed on mine. “I also assume you’re wondering if you still have one.” He nodded again.

  “Well, I did start looking up a few things on the internet after we, uh, met each other.”

  Chuck laughed out loud. “You mean the night I kidnapped you!” His smile was quite wide. He can be a jerk.

  “Yeah, that night. Anyway, I looked a few things up. And I have to say, I think you probably still have a soul.”

  Chuck looked surprised. “Really? I didn’t get that from the reading I did.”

  “Well, the internet resources I accessed all agreed that the soul is immortal, even when the soul is separated from the body at death. You did die in the…process, didn’t you?”

  Chuck grunted. “Oh yeah, I died.”

  “Well, I’m no theological scholar, but it looks like you still have a soul. The next question would be: where is that soul at? My faith tells me that God has it, just as he keeps all souls until Judgment Day.” I looked at Chuck. “You aren’t going to kill me if I tick you off, are you?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “WHAT?’

  “Ha, just kidding. You should see your face! Sorry, what were you saying?” Did I mention Chuck can be a jerk?

  I paused to gather my thoughts. “If you still have a soul that means it still needs to be judged. Your actions from before your…vampirism and your actions after will be looked at on the final day. Does that make sense?”

  “Yeah, I see how you can look at it that way,” Chuck said. “What about not dying. Well, not dying in the sense it usually means. Here I am, sitting in your chair, talking to you, expressing ideas. My brain appears to work just as before. But my body doesn’t work like before. My heart doesn’t beat. My lungs only pull in enough air to talk. How does that jibe with your theory?”

  I got up and started to slowly pace around my living room. This was turning into an interesting discussion. And the chair I was using wasn’t very comfortable. Chuck had that one.

  “Over the years, vampires have been associated with demons, so I think that it’s due to some demonic action or other form of magic.” I looked him in the eye. “Trafficking with demons won’t go well with your potential soul judgment, by the way.” I paused with another thought. “An incorruptible body is more proof of black magic. The fact that you are currently sporting an
incorruptible body is most likely a grievous sin.”

  Chuck looked glum. “I had the same thought.” He looked up at me. “I didn’t go out of my way to become a vampire. It just sort of happened.”

  “Just how did that happen?” I asked. “You’ve mentioned your master a couple of times, and I get the idea you don’t like him.”

  “No, I don’t. The jerk made me into a vampire then BAM takes off without telling me anything I need to know to survive. Would twenty or thirty minutes of his time have been too much?

  “Before I was turned into a vampire, I was a salesman. I sold all kinds of things. Shoes, ball-bearings, books; you name it, I’ve probably sold it. I’ve never had a problem talking to strangers. Cold calls were a specialty of mine. One night I’m on the road, staying at a motel in Dubuque, IA and I strike up a conversation with this nerdy guy in the bar. Imagine Wally Cox. That’s what the guy looked like. You look perplexed. Just Google him when we’re done tonight; you’ll see what I mean.

  “Now that I think back, he