SciFi and Fantasy Stories: The VA Club

By Katharina Prinz and Marijke Mahieu

Meet Monica.

Barely seventeen, she’s just dumped her milksop boyfriend to explore the real world. Standing frozen on the corner, her eyes are drinking in the events happening right in front of her.

Monica's hair is dyed in a bluish black and cut to a precise pageboy style. Her cute little face is dominated by big, blue eyes, framed by dark eyeliner and dark grey make-up. A silver ring is pierced through her lower lip. She wears a black tank top, a short skirt, stockings and high boots. All of them black. Of course.

But this 17-year old girl isn’t the darkest creature running about tonight.

She simply can’t tear her gaze away from the scene at the end of the alleyway. Finally! She thinks, almost letting out a squeal of excitement and anticipation, I knew they were real! I just knew it! She watches a young man come out of the alley, wiping the corners of his mouth with a clean white handkerchief and flicking on his sunglasses.

Monica slides out of her hiding place, a couple of large bins she decided to jump behind at the last moment, to follow him as inconspicuously as she can possibly manage in her exited state.

A middle-aged man fumbles with the keys in the dimly lit corridor. After some attempts to fit the key into the lock and several twists accompanied by muffled curses, he finally manages to open the door. He makes a mental note to ask Igor, the building caretaker, to oil the lock again. The “Cancer” group along the hallway has trouble with their door locks too, and he heard “AA” complain about broken light bulbs recently. For a second, the thought of persuading Igor to work a little faster crosses his mind. He knows how to be very persuasive in a way all humans understand. But he quickly dismisses that idea. It doesn’t fit for a founder and moderator of “VA” to have such violent, human-unfriendly thoughts.

Just before he enters, moderator Jonathan quickly polishes the plaque next to the door with his breast pocket's monogrammed handkerchief. He bends down to have a look at his reflection in the bronze tablet, striking over his dark hair and smoothing it carefully. Within his reflection, the words “Vegetarians Anonymous” boldly shine back at him. But then, something seems to distract him. His nostrils twitch. Straightening his back again, he frowns. He makes another mental note - replace the rare steak they’ve got stashed away in the fridge to frighten off real vegetarians that think of joining their little club. He noticed last time that it was starting to look a little green around the edges. It probably smells horrible by now.

While waiting for the others, Jonathan starts putting the chairs in a circle as he does each Tuesday. He’s always the first to arrive and the last to leave. The club means a lot to Jonathan. He's one of the founding members and he's certain that he's one of the very few who know what the meetings are really all about. “Renunciation is strength...” he declares to the empty chairs and turns to open the wine bottle.

As she rounds a corner, Monica almost bumps into the man she tries to follow. He is standing outside of a large building, one that should have been taken down with the rest of the depressing neighbourhood, but apparently got spared from the bulldozers. There are a lot of cars parked in the adjacent streets. Not that Monica notices. She can’t take her eyes off the young stranger that is leaning against the dejected stones, one knee pulled up for dramatic effect.

He must be in his twenties and is absolutely gorgeous. He has long silky hair and brown eyes with matching long lashes. Several locks of hair keep falling in front of his face in a cute way. He has the nervous tick to tuck them back behind his ear every other second. He looks stunning in his plain, yet carefully ironed shirt and worn out jeans.

The man extinguishes the remains of his cigarette with the heel of his boot and takes a little plastic card out of his pocket. He pins the card onto the front of his shirt. Monica squints her dark painted eyes and can just read the single word written on it: “Max”.

“Max….” She repeats to herself, a girlish and dreamy smile on her lips. She catches herself in time though to force her face into the familiar gloomy expression she finds fashionable to wear and quickly slips through the door she saw Max disappear behind.

Jonathan surveys the group from his slightly larger chair in the circle. He likes his chair. It makes him feel respected by the others. It doesn’t matter that he bought the chair himself - completely beside the point.

His eyes scan over his familiar club members.

Sue sits lazily with one leg over the arm rest, dangling her foot annoyingly. She is smoking her long thin cigarettes with a white holder. Her face is partly obscured by her large borsalino hat, but enough is shown to reveal that she’s quite an attractive woman in her late thirties. She is wearing a pinstriped, three-piece suit with matching necktie.

The old man sitting next to Sue is dozing off in his chair. They often have to give him a nudge to wake him up in the middle of a meeting. Victor is a poor old sod, one of the “old guard”. He never quite understood why the meetings were held, but Jonathan lets him trod along with the others. One never knows; there might still be time to change old Victor’s views on how the universe should be run - and especially by whom.

Walter looks as if he feels uncomfortable, like always. He's wearing one of his many tight slipovers that were hip 30 years ago. He bites his fingernails while his foot is constantly tapping on the linoleum. He's desperately trying to involve Sue in a conversation, but just like every Tuesday she keeps brushing him off.

Beside him there's a woman in her mid fifties whose hands are folded on a scientific magazine lying on her lap. Franziska is one of the oldest and most faithful members of the group. Her glasses are thick as ashtrays, and her socks are of different colours and length. She talks to her neighbour, Paul, a big man with a ridiculously small hat, an enormous coat and an old dachshund lying at his feet. Nosferatu is overweight, just like his owner, who now nods politely at Jonathan.

The moderator greets back silently, and his eyes move over to the youngest of the gang. His brow wrinkles into a frown as it usually does when he’s thinking of Max. Only Jonathan knows the real deal: Max is forced to come. That's why he isn’t too sure if any of his teachings are really getting through to the young man.

As he’s about to stand up to open the meeting, the door makes a hesitating squeak and a black-haired head protrudes from the opening. Jonathan notices how the others suddenly all stop talking. He hears some concealed sniffing from the ones sitting closest to him and feels how the tension thickens the air in the badly-lit room. The object of temptation. And it’s right at their doorstep now heading toward the empty chair next to Max.

Everybody is staring wide-eyed at the new arrival except for Victor, who is sleeping with his mouth open, little puddles of spit forming in the corners. Even Sue has straightened in her chair and is watching the girl with an icy, silent, yet hungry stare, her eyes fixed on the now seated newcomer. The others have started to shift their eyes back and forth between Jonathan and the girl. They want him to do something.

A test, he suddenly thinks, this could be a good test for them. Let them show each other how strong they are in their beliefs. Good.

He knows he should turn the girl away, that’s what the rare steak is for, but somehow he gets the notion that this one didn’t enter the room because of the name plate. He notices how she keeps throwing nervous glances at Max and how she’s dressed up like a very gloomy scarecrow. He realizes this girl knows what they are. Not that it matters. It’s completely beside the point.

But above all, Jonathan likes new people. It means everybody in the room has to stand up and introduce themselves, just to make the newcomer feel welcome and at ease. Jonathan likes introducing himself. He has quite a little speech practiced for occasions like this. And as founder of VA, he would be the last to raise objections where race is concerned.

He stands up briskly and gives the whole group a wide smile, revealing his white teeth. “With pride, I open this 493rd meeting of Vampires Anonymous! I see a new face today, so you know the drill by now people. Maybe I can set the example?”

The others all frown at him, but then they shrug it off. He probably knows what he’s doing, and if he doesn’t then they have a little after-party snack waiting for them. Jonathan clears his throat noisily and then officially states: “Hi. My name is Jonathan and I’m a Vampire. I haven’t bitten a human being for over 10 years now.” There is a weak round of applause and a faint muttering from the crowd.

“Welcome Jonathan.” They all mumble in unison.

Sue adds in her usual icy tone, “Yeah. Bla bla bla. Who’s responsible for serving drinks tonight? I want a gin-tonic. I think I’m entitled to one.” While speaking, her eyes never move away from the girl who’s shifting nervously in her chair, obviously feeling uncomfortable under the many stares.

Jonathan looks a little embarrassed but manages to keep his composure. “Everything in its due time, dear Sue. Let’s first welcome the new member in our group. Yes, you, Miss. Please stand up and introduce yourself.”

Sue bends forward gracefully, her elbows perched on her knees and her hands supporting her head. Her face, partly obscured by the large hat, shows up quite pale and beautiful under the meek ceiling light. “This I’ve got to hear!” she grins.

The girl gets up. She looks anxious, exited and nervous at the same time. She avoids looking Sue in the eye, but tries to attract the attention of Max, the sexy vampire on her right.

“Hi. I’m Monica, but most people call me Nightshade. I am a Vampire,” she says without hesitation.

There is a short silence.

Max raises an eyebrow. Jonathan sighs.

Sue slouches back down into her former position and exhales the smoke from her cigarette. It curls above her head like a mysterious crown. “Sure,” she says with her icy and sinful voice, “and I’m the Tooth Fairy.”

The girl - Nightshade - gives her an irritated glance.

Sue just smiles. “I think you’ve lost your way, dear. The “Make-up for minors” class is next door.”

Nightshade’s lip quavers momentarily, but she picks herself up again and gives Sue and the others a defiant glare. “The name is Nightshade,” she hisses, throwing back her shining hair, “and I am a Vampire. I always was and I’ll always be.” She tries to outstare the blank looks of the others, and just when Jonathan stands up to say something, the girl quickly states: “And I even have my own coffin!” almost as an afterthought.

Max rolls his eyes and snickers. “Don’t tell me you've bought one of those IKEA “Gothic Teen Bedroom” sets!”

There's a chuckle coming from underneath the borsalino hat. “Yeah. With funny skull motif curtains, mouth-woven by crippled elks.”

“And coffin shaped beds with integrated vases for dead plastic flowers!” Max grins widely.

“Well…yes, but…but…” Nightshade starts protesting but Jonathan stands up and comes between the two of them. He puts his hand on the girl’s shoulder, ignoring the slight twinge that goes through her body at his touch, and tries his famed “fatherly” approach.

“Now dear, we all know you are not a real vampire. You might think you are, but you most definitely aren’t. Maybe it would be better if you just left?” He already knows what her answer is going to be.

Monica crosses her arms firmly in front of her chest and bravely states: “I don't want to leave. All my life I’ve waited to meet real vampires. And I'm not afraid! I want to learn and be just like all of you. I belong here! Please don't make me leave!”

The pleading edge in her voice makes Jonathan recoil. This is yet another of those wannabes that won't take “no” for an answer. Maybe it's better if she learns the hard way?

He ignores the snort of contempt from Sue's direction as he answers, “Okay then, Mon-… Nightshade. If you really want to stay, I can't force you to leave. So, welcome. Why don't we continue our introduction? Max?”

The young man gets up, grimacing. “I am Max. I am Vampire. And I lllllike it.” He makes an obscene movement with his tongue, looking at Monica/Nightshade. She blushes, but underneath the velvet fabric of her tank top, her perfectly shaped breasts heave.

Silence.

Max falls back into his chair, lolling there casually. With one hand, he brushes his intractable hair back. When he feels the others' eyes on him, he just shrugs. “What?”

Jonathan smoothes the lapels of his suit. “Thank you, Max. Sue, would you please....”

Sue doesn't get up. “I am Sue. I am a Vampire. Just like last Tuesday. And I am bored.” She speaks slowly, giving her voice time to crawl down everybody's spine - or other appropriate parts of the body. She eyes the liquor cabinet in a meaningful way.

“Well, maybe a drink will help?” Jonathan volunteers for the waiter job again, just like every week, and starts to hand out drinks. The slightly intoxicating effect of the alcohol has always been useful to smooth the ruffled feathers. Not that anybody will get drunk. They couldn’t get drunk, not without having a fully functional stomach and blood in their veins, but that is again completely beside the point.

After the first round of beverages, Jonathan starts, as usual, by reading the club’s manifesto out loud. Jonathan likes reading the manifesto. For him it’s a weekly reminder of why these meetings are necessary. There is still so much misconception about vampires. Rumours and legends are hard to kill. But the days when vampires had to go out and hunt are long since dead. There are so many ways in this day and age to obtain the much needed fluids without having to resort to old-fashioned violence. Looking at Max, who keeps flashing his fangs at the now heavily blushing Nightshade, Jonathan realizes some of his kin haven’t got the message yet. There is still much work to do.

He decides to start right now, with the most troublesome of his pupils. Jonathan turns towards Max and addresses him in his most polite and level voice, “Dear Max, tell us how your personal progress is going. Any luck keeping your instincts down so far?”

Max looks taken aback for just a second, but then resolutely answers that he’s making loads of progress and hasn’t bitten a human being for nearly three months now.

Monica gasps loudly. Max doesn’t even have the time to send her a warning glance. “But I just saw you in the alley back there bit-...oh...” She suddenly understands why Max is hissing at her and shuts up abruptly, her cheeks flashing a deep red.

Nobody says anything for a moment. Jonathan just sighs while shaking his head slightly. “Seriously Max, you promised to-” Jonathan starts, but he’s interrupted by Monica as she stands up and comes to Max’ rescue.

“But isn’t that the whole point of being a vampire? That’s what vampires do, right? Right?” She looks around the room, making sure not to make any eye-contact with Sue, but none of the others seem eager to confirm her assertion. “I mean, it’s natural for you people, right? Well, I certainly think it’s natural. It’s what makes you guys so...superior!”

Max suddenly jumps out of his chair, embarrassment forgotten. He faces his rescuer. “What do you know? What?” he hisses hatefully, making the girl advance backwards.

“Max...” Jonathan mumbles in a conciliating tone.

“Max, Max!” the young vampire monkeys the old, “I just can't stand it anymore! Your hypocrisy, these goddamn girlie fantasies, I'm fed up with it. I'm fed up with you!”

He turns around to face Nightshade again, pointing his finger at her, “So you think you know who I am. And you’re not afraid at all. You've even had the guts to follow me into this dark building. I guess you’re planning to overwhelm me with your fearlessness, your youth, your vitality, and your pure heart. Am I right?” his voice drips with irony, “All that bloody innocence!” He spits out the last word as if it were poison.

Nightshade steps backwards until she bumps into Sue’s chair. Sue lifts her hand, keeping the girl from stumbling onto her lap. She frowns, disgusted, as if she has been forced to touch a fat spider.

There's an alarming shimmer in the girl's eyes. Her chin quivers but she manages to pull herself together. “You're right. I don't fear you. But I am not innocent. Not at all.”

Max snorts. “Wow. Now you've got me. So you've come to coquette with death? How creative!”

“Max...” Jonathan starts again but is interrupted by Nightshade.

“I want to learn!” she fires back at Max, “Why won't you let me be your disciple?”

“Oh. Of course,” He waves his hand in an ironic, effeminate way, “You’ve come here to learn. You’re interested in the knowledge of someone who has seen centuries pass by. Sure.” He examines her from head to toe. “And that’s why the straps of your top slide down a bit more and your skirt gets shorter and shorter each time I look at you, huh?” He grins scornfully, “No need to blush, girl. You’re not the first to try, believe me. What is it you’re looking for? Eternal existence? Well, I am sorry. I’m not allowed to bite humans and I definitely don't make new vampires.”

The shade of red on Nightshade’s face deepens with every word he speaks. Then, when he turns around to casually fall into his chair, she freezes. Her voice is full of pretended coolness. “Don't try to tell me that you would send me away if you were in charge here! You're a liar, Max.”

Sue's voice comes like a snake from behind. “If you feel like having it off with something dead, why don't you break into the morgue, Honey?”

“Ah, the morgue,” Victor sighs happily and slips into another little nap.

“Right,” Max nods, “I have no use for little girls.”

Jonathan has been shaking his heads for minutes. “Miss Monica, I am sorry for...”

Nightshade ignores him, her big blue eyes focus on Max alone. “There's no use in trying to frighten me off, Max. Don't tell me you have no feelings. No passion. No lust.” Her white breasts swell underneath the tight top. With a slight turn of her hip, Nightshade moves into a pose that shows her perfect body in a new angle.

“Lust? Oh, my.” The young vampire laughs, turning his head to make sure that everybody else is amused too. In fact, it's only Sue who seems to agree. The others - apart from Vic who’s off in dreamland - are watching the scene as if it were a tennis match, flinging their heads from one to the other. Nightshade doesn't move. She just stares at him. He leans back, giving her a dismissive smile.

“But...” Nightshade licks her lips. She looks a bit irritated and forgets her posing for a second.

“But what? You've heard about the ultimate lovers, vampires who combine their bite with the art of making love...those dark squires who can show a woman what real ecstasy is...”

The girl bites her lower lip, obviously caught.

He chuckles. “That's so damn stupid. Didn't you ever think about how we should manage to even have an erection, Miss Vampire Specialist?”

Satisfied with her reaction, he walks a half circle around the blushing Nightshade. “Biology. Lower grade so even you should know it. You need blood for an erection, remember? Now tell me - where should I take it from? I am dead. The only time I have blood inside, it’s in my digestive tract. No chance to pump it into that rudiment of my previous existence. My obsession is to swallow blood. My gorge is my crotch. Not romantic at all, is it?” He runs his eyes over her face. “I knew you would be intimidated.”

“I am not,” she utters shakily. Tears quiver in her lashes, “I'd love to know how it feels.”

“Oh, do you?” He obviously plays his cheerfulness, “Isn't she eager to learn, this little dove.”

“Max, please....” Jonathan moans.

But Max can't back off now. His voice becomes caustic, “I'll tell you what, Miss Monica slash Nightshade: Do you really wish to feel your teeth pierce the living skin of a person?” With one finger, he pulls the neckline of the girl's top in his direction. “Do you want to dig them deep into ropy, raw flesh, feeling sinews tear and muscles quiver under your lips?” With a click of his fingers, he releases the thin cloth. “Do you want to drink a salty, tepid and thick substance with particles of fat and flesh in it?” He watches her getting slightly green in the face. “Do you want to grub your tongue into the open wound, eager to not waste a drop, while your dinner's guts empty in mortal agony?”

He watches her stumble into the adjoining room. Choking sounds can be heard. Max calls after her, “If you think that’s sexy, you're my girl!!!” Adding a bitter laugh, he falls into his chair again. Sue gives an extra-lame applause into the silence.

Jonathan gets up. “Now, that was a great proof for aplomb and manners, young man,” he says reprehensively, “I am disappointed, Max. Very much so. And I think Richard will be, too.” Max seems to shrink in his chair at the mentioning of the name. Richard is Max’ boss, and the reason why the young man actually attends the meetings each and every Tuesday. If he doesn’t, he looses his job. All of the young vampire’s cockiness fades. “But...you just don't need to tell him...”

“R-right! Eh...I mean...you don't have to!” Walter, the tight-slipover-vampire, adds helpfully.

Jonathan sighs. “When will you finally understand? VA is not a means of self-deception! Richard is VERY concerned about Max, even though he knows what kind of a creature he is. He deserves our honesty.”

“Sure, for forcing me to come here every goddamn Tuesday,” Max mumbles sullenly.

“No, Max. For forcing you to survive your own brute instincts.” With this, Jonathan moves towards the kitchenette. His soothing voice can be heard over the heavy sobbing of the girl.

There's an embarrassing silence. It's Paul who breaks it. “Well,” he wheezes while lifting up his own weight, “Let me continue. I am Paul, and I am a Vampire. I haven't bitten a human being for over seven years now.”

“Welcome, Paul.” The choir replies.

“As you all know, I can't complain about life. Or existence, whatever you'd like to call it. Business is hard, especially with the hospitals having their budget curtailed, but none the less, I can still offer you special prices for our favourite medical supplies: six blood bottles for the price of five -sit, Nosferatu!- Just give me a call during the normal working hours. We don't want to talk about business here, do we?” He smiles jovially and looks over to the adjoining room where Jonathan still seems to be busy consoling Monica. “Allow me to assume Jonathan's part while he's not available...Franziska, would you please...?”

The woman’s eyes twinkle. “Oh, yes, sure.” She lets him help her up. “Thank you, Peter.”

“It's Paul, Franziska, Dear.”

“Oh, yes, I am sorry. Paul.” She smoothes her blouse out. “I am a vampire. I haven't bitten since...well, before I came over from the Island, I bit this guy with the weird hair. He was working on quantum physics then. A clever guy. He never wore his hearing aid, though. It was a bit complicated to...but I was young then. I had just finished my dissertation, and someone had given me that guinea pig. I called her Catherine Earnshaw, just like the Cathy in Wuthering Heights. I remember Emily being so impatient with herself, and I always said: “Emily,” I said, “Don't you hurry. A good story needs time to develop.” She had gold and black fur, and for some reason there was a...”

“Thank you, Franziska.” Paul smiles gently and helps Franziska to sit down again.

“God bless you, Peter.”

Meanwhile, Victor snores noisily while the others are softly chatting amongst themselves, completely unaware that the incoherent ramblings are finished. Peter just pats Franziska’s hand and turns to the circle again, clapping the others back to attention. “Who's next? Ah. Walter, of course.”

The tight-slipover-vampire gets up. “Hi,” the man clears his throat, “I am Walter, and I am a vampire. And eh...I have not bitten a human being for 7 years, 2 months, and a day.”

“Welcome, Walter.” The choir mumbles a bit unmotivated.

He smiles sheepishly. His eyes linger on his shoes. “Now that...Jonathan isn’t here to ask his weekly question...I will answer it...without being asked. I eh...feel better lately. For those of you who eh...don’t know, I lost my fangs several years ago in a car accident. I have false teeth now. Eh. It was very difficult for me in the beginning. I mean, eh...I was already on VA diet then...but it was sort of...eh...like being...not a real vampire anymore. But lately...like I eh...said, it’s getting better. I go out again and eh...stuff like that.”

While there's a weak applause, Jonathan returns. Monica walks beside him, a bit pale, but obviously calm again. She sits down in her old chair, neither looking left nor right. Jonathan smiles at Walter. “Oh, I see you've continued. Very good. Then let's move right into the serious material. Topic of the day: How to withstand a person who begs to be bitten.”

In the middle of the discussion, the light bulb in the centre of the room suddenly sputters and dies out in a slow sizzle. Someone curses loudly while flicking the switch back and forth. Nightshade starts fidgeting nervously in her chair. She quickly realizes that she’s the only one who can’t see in the dark. She tries to remember where she last saw Max.

After some shifting of chairs and Jonathan trying to calm people down, Sue has reached the fuse box and manages to make the light work again. A sigh of relief goes through the group. Monica looks confused. She is about to state that vampires normally love the dark, but as the words are on her lips she changes her mind, remembering Max’ earlier outburst.

Jonathan swiftly takes control over his group again.

“Thank you dear Sue! What would we do without you, eh? That blasted Igor! I’m really loosing my patience with that man. He can’t even make sure the light keeps on during our meetings! I’ll have a word with him, that’s for sure!”

“Don’t be too eh....hard on old Igor,” Walter says, “I hear the chap can hardly keep his mind to the job these days. You see, eh...his wife is eh...pregnant and due to give birth any moment now. Eh...Igor doesn’t want to miss the occasion and eh....has asked for sick leave to spend time with her. I saw them eh...come out of one of those baby shops yesterday. Eh...His missus looks like eh...a balloon about to burst!”

Silence.

Jonathan tries to look in Sue’s direction, giving her a sidelong glance without her noticing it. The others suddenly all find the little bit of filth beneath their fingernails immensely interesting. Sue still stands over at the fuse box in the corner of the room. Her hand that was in the process of closing the cabinet door is now frozen in mid-air.

“What did you just say? Pregnant?” Her voice is as cold and sharp as a blizzard.

She turns very slowly on her heels, her stilettos making an ear-piercing sound on the linoleum floor like someone scraping nails over a blackboard. Her eyes shine out from the dark shadows of her hat, two ice-cold pins that seem to pierce into the eyes of the vampire who dared to excuse old Igor. She takes one step forward. The others, even the dog, hold their breath as one.

Without tearing her eyes away from the now shaking Walter, she addresses Jonathan who immediately jumps to his feet at the cold and demanding edge in her voice.

“Why wasn’t I told, Jonathan?” The temperature in the room suddenly drops a few degrees. “Did you think I wouldn’t be able to handle it? Did you? Poor old Sue, eh? Better not tell her before she throws a fit. Is that what you thought? What you probably all thought?” The cold, shrill tones of the first syllables slowly evolve into a low, animal-like growl at the end.

Sue takes another step forward, putting her foot down so hard that some of the glasses rattle on the tabletop. Monica swallows hard. You don’t need to be a vampire to sense that a predator has been set loose.

Jonathan gives her a very faint smile while nervously licking his lips.

“Now Sue, dear, we all know how much progress you’ve been making these last months. We just thought you...ehm...might not...eh...be ready to handle this particular news yet. Walter didn’t know. He really didn’t mean it, Sue. Really.” Although the moderator tries to smile reassuringly, he can’t keep his hands from shaking. He quickly chucks them into the pockets of his dinner jacket.

“Who says I’m not ready?” Sue growls haughtily, “It’s not like I have a choice here, is it?” She takes another step forwards, now turning in Jonathan’s direction. Walter lets out a mental sigh of relief. He wouldn’t dare to breathe for real right now, in case that movement would attract the attention to himself again.

Although rather shaky, Jonathan seems to pull himself together and demands in a commanding voice that Sue hand over her handbag. The cold tension in the air suddenly evaporates. Sue clutches the bag to her chest and fiercely starts to shake her head in protest.

“No! You can’t do this! Please!”

“We’ve been over this before, Sue. It’s for your own good. It’s part of the healing process. Now be a good dear and hand over the purse.” He motions with his hand for her to give him the leather designer bag, nothing but understanding in his face. The others, except for Monica who has been following this strange turn of events with great interest, have the decency to look away.

Very reluctantly, Sue hands over her handbag. She casts her eyes down, ashamed like a child that has been caught with its hand in the cookie jar. All former poise is forgotten.

Jonathan raises an eyebrow as he starts pulling out various items: light blue rompers, a rattle, a napkin, a pregnancy test, torn out advertisement pictures of perfectly happy families...

“Sue...” He starts with a feeling sigh, but he notices how the woman has suddenly snapped her head up at the faint sound of giggling that comes from the other side of the circle. Before he can do anything, Sue is at Monica’s chair, slapping the girl hard with the flat of her hand for daring to laugh at the scene.

“Come on! Laugh at me! Laugh at me, the lot of you! I know I’m a laughing stock! Come on! Do it! Laugh!” Her shrill voice is losing its cutting edge as she starts screaming hysterically, turning to face every member in the circle individually. Her hat has fallen off by her sudden movements and lies at her feet. Nosferatu shuffles his fat form forwards and grips the rim of the hat between his teeth and paws. He starts chewing on the fabric.

Monica, a red blotch starting to form on her cheek, stands up indignantly, ready to defend herself. “I don’t understand you people! First you go to great lengths to convince me of the fact that there is no blood in your bodies, and then you of all vampires run around with these in your handbag.” She flings one of Sue’s sanitary towels into the vampire’s face.

Sue’s eyes have a mad glimmer to them and she looks like she’s on the brink of a mental breakdown. “Yes! Exactly! No blood, no menstruation cycle, no working ovaries, no...no...children.” Her lower lip starts quivering dangerously at this last word, large tears fighting at the back of her eyes. “But why not? It’s not fair! I want what every woman my age desires! Is it really so much to ask? All I want is a happy little family of my own, just like them!” She swings one of the ad pictures in front of Monica’s face.

“All I want is a little baby to call my own, just one of those tiny little creatures to call me mama!” She has sagged to the floor by now, sobbing and cradling her own arms, “But I can’t, they say. I can’t because I’m dead. It’s not fair! They tell me to just go and change a child of my choosing, make a vampire out of an innocent, cute-looking toddler. But they don’t know! It’s never the same. It’s never your own flesh and blood,” she makes a loud snorting sound at her own remark, “My flesh is dead, and the little blood inside of me isn’t even mine!”

Jonathan slowly moves towards her. Sue is crying out in long sobs now, throwing her pain and grief at the feet of her fellow creatures. None of them dare to say anything. Even Max is quiet this time. Monica still stands, her feet frozen to the floor.

Her mind is slowly trying to digest all the events of this evening. She knows she should be exalted by the fact that she stands among vampires right now, the noble creatures of the night. It’s what she had always dreamed about, to once be like those beautiful predators that are so full of hidden strength and mystery in the tales.

But somehow, as she looks around the circle of the VA club, she can’t dismiss the deep feeling of disappointment. The only one that showed some promise of being as superior as the books recount is now sobbing loudly on the floor, drying her eyes with one of the sanitary towels. The sexy vampire that had swooned her off her feet at first view turns out to be as a-sexual as possible. And then there’s the rest of the poor lot...No, this is not how it’s supposed to go.

“Disappointed?” She feels Max’ breath on her neck but resists the urge to turn around.

“No. This is just a coincidence. They can’t all be like you lot, can they?”

“I’m sorry to have to shatter your fairy-tale world, my dear, but we are the only ones left in this city. I’m not sure about the rest of the world, but from what I’ve gathered, things are pretty much the same all around. You better get used to the idea. Our little group here is the closest you’ll get to the notion of a present day vampire!”

Monica turns around and stares into the young vampire’s eyes for several seconds. Then, without looking back, she turns on her heels and heads for the door.

Meet Monica.

Barely eighteen, she’s wearing worn-out jeans, a motorcycle jacket and biker boots. Her hair is trimmed into an accurately tousled mane. The name Junglefever is written out in fake diamonds on the back of her leather jacket. She smiles at the young man who is casually rolling a toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the other.

“So you're a werewolf, right?”

“Right.” He gives her a challenging glance.

“So, tell me...are there weekly...werewolf-meetings?”

“Yeah...but how do you know about-?...Hey… Junglefever! JUNGLEFEVER! MONICA! WAIT!!!”