My Favorite Fangs: The Story of the Von Trapp Family Vampires (24 page)

Maria said, “Thank you, Mother Zombie. That was nice. Sort of.”

“The pleasure is mine, dear. Now, by the power invested
in
me
by
me, I pronounce you mortal husband and Vampire wife.” Maria closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss her new husband—who, for some reason, was slumping over, or at least seemed to be noticeably shorter—but before her lips made contact with her betrothed, Mother Zombie roared, “
Stop
! Don’t engage in such foulness in our Abbey! Kissing horrifies us, so if you want to see a roomful of Zombies emit foul discharge from every orifice in their body, I’d keep your mouths to yourselves.”

So Maria, eyes still shut, reached out her arm and squeezed the hand of her betrothed … a hand that seemed small … and soft … and cold, cold, so very, very cold, as cold as that of a Vampire’s. She opened her eyes and stared at the face of her new husband: Friedrich von Trapp.

Maria gasped, “Friedrich?… Where is Georg?… How did you?… I don’t understand…”

Friedrich touched his finger to her lips and said, “Best not to ask too many questions. Best to just accept and embrace the fact that we’re now married. Best to cut to the remainder of the wedding montage.”

And thus began the conclusion of the oddest, least romantic, most multi-orgasmic wedding montage in the history of wedding montages.

INTERLUDE #4

D
RACULA HIT A BUTTON
on his universal remote and turned the lights back on. “Okay, now that you’ve seen most of
The Sound of Music,
does this book make more sense?”

“You know what makes sense to me, Drac?” Handsome Boy asked. “That this Goldsher character is doing the same thing that the
Twilight
lot is doing: Trying to entertain people while making a buck.”

“You told us at the last meeting that
Twilight
wasn’t about money,” Brown Cape noted. “I thought you said it was pure and uncynical.”

“Yeah, well you can watch the bottom line while you’re being pure and uncynical,” Handsome Boy said.

“One,” Felt Face said. “I count one line of bullshit.”

Brown Cape said to Felt Face, “You’re surprised? This limey bastard flip-flops like he’s Bill Clinton…”

“Hey, lay off of Clinton,” Dracula said. “Best U.S. president since Kennedy.”

“… and he’ll contradict himself to make some point that he disagreed with twenty minutes before.”

“One,” Felt Face said. “I count one flip-flopper.”

Handsome Boy grabbed his crotch and said, “Two. I count two bollocks you can suck.”

“You know what?!” Dracula roared, “I give up! This is the worst book club I’ve ever been to in my entire existence, and I’ve had a long-ass existence, so I’ve been to a whole heap of book clubs. Screw it, I’m pulling the plug and joining Dave Frankenstein’s discussion group! Sure, he’s a pretentious fop who sounds like an elitist jerk whenever he’s on NPR, but at least he reads the frickin’ books!” Dracula gestured at Felt Face and said, “Let’s go. I’ll drive you home,” then he nodded at Handsome Boy and Brown Cape and said, “Watch the rest of the movie or not. Read the rest of the book or not. I don’t give a crap. Just make sure you lock up on your way out.”

After Dracula and Felt Face made their exit, the two remaining book clubbers stared at the door for a bit. Eventually Handsome Boy picked up Dracula’s copy of
My Favorite Fangs
and said, “You know what? This thing’s growing on me. Want to see how it ends?”

“Why not? My cereal will keep for a while.”

Handsome Boy put his arm over Brown Cape’s cartoony shoulders and said, “I’m sure it will, mate. I’m sure it will.”

PART THREE

CHAPTER 10

I
T WAS TWO WEEKS
after Friedrich and Maria got hitched, and Max Detweiler was gawking at some drab buildings, some bright streetlights, and some empty kiosks, then said aloud, “
Mein Gott
. What the
fick
happened here?”

“Here” was the town square where the Graz Gala of Gaiety had been held for the last five years, and “What the
fick
happened?” might better have been phrased as “
Who
the
fick
happened,” and that “Who” would refer to the Nazis. In Galas past, the square had been decorated with balloons, streamers, flowers, and a few incongruous piñatas. This year, however, it was all red flags with swastikas and crudely illustrated tributes to Adolf Hitler. Again aloud, Max said, “Call me crazy, call me nutty, call me kooky, but I don’t equate Hitler with the Gala of Gaiety.”

Waiting to begin a run through of their performance—which Max had dubbed “Vampirecrobatics”—the von Trapp children were huddled up by the stage, looking ill at ease. Max wandered over and said, “What’s going on, brats? Why the glum faces?”

Louisa said, “We’re not prepared for tonight, Herr Detweiler. My human-to-bat transformation is wonderful, but my bat-to-human won’t win us any prizes.”

Friedrich said, “You have got that right, sister dear. Mine is perfect in both directions, but the rest of you are going to mess it up for all of us. How can we synchronize our transformation if you have no control? It’s all about control.”

Kurt said, “You may be ready to go with transformation, Friedrich, but your centrifugal force is down significantly. You don’t move as fast as even Farta. Talk about blowing the synchronicity.”

Liesl said, “Can we just eat the judges and go home?” Pointing at the biggest of the Nazi flags, she said, “Because I don’t like the looks of this one bit.”

“Apologies, kids,” Max said, “but we’re committed. If we pull out, we’ll…”

He was interrupted by a tap on the shoulder. “What’s this about pulling out, Herr Detweiler?”

Max turned around and found himself face-to-chest with Colonel Wilde von Beckbaw, who was decked out in his best Nazi finery. “Oh. You. Good morning.”

Von Beckbaw’s arm popped up in a Nazi salute. “Heil Hitler.”

Max’s arm popped up and he scratched his cheek, mumbling, “Heil my
schvantz
.”

“Apologies, Herr Detweiler,” von Beckbaw glowered, “but my hearing seems to be going. Probably all that time I spend on the radio. Did you know I have a radio show?”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Quite. In any event, could you repeat what you just said, please?”

At the top of his lungs, Max roared, “HEIL MY
SCHVANTZ
!”

Von Beckbaw stared at Max. Max stared at von Beckbaw. After a tense minute, von Beckbaw burst out laughing. “Oh, Herr Detweiler, always the jokester, just like my good friend, Herr Stern. And your timing couldn’t be better. I need a chuckle, because this Gala of Gaiety is lacking gaiety. I hear there are Vampires on the premises, and you know how we feel about Vampires.”

Gesturing to the kids, Max said, “You knew we were going to be here, Colonel von Beckbaw, so don’t act surprised. You should be thrilled the brats came. Best act of the night. I guarantee victory.” He paused. “Or would you like us to leave? We’ll gladly be on our way, but that will leave the show about fifteen minutes short, and we all know how much Herr Hitler likes his punctuality. I can hear him now:
‘The trains run on time, but a gala doesn’t?! Kill von Beckbaw!’
”

Von Beckbaw sniffed. “He wouldn’t kill me. Der Fuhrer is a benevolent dictator who would never, never murder one of his men, especially one who does such a good job recruiting for the party. Castration, maybe, but not murder.” Glaring at the children, he said, “Fine, they can perform. But I can’t be held responsible for the audience reaction.”

Max said, “We’ll take our chances. Now if you’ll excuse us…”

“One more thing before I leave you to your duties, Herr Detweiler,” the Colonel said. “Have you been to Captain von Trapp’s house lately?”

“Why?”

“I was curious if he’d done up those Nazi arts and crafts I’d suggested. Maybe a macaroni Hitler head, or a swastika made from sticks and feathers. Why, even a crayon drawing of me would suffice. All he has on display in there is that hideous Austrian flag. It makes me shudder.” And then, as if to prove his point, he shuddered.

“The Captain is away celebrating Friedrich’s honeymoon, Colonel von Beckbaw.”

“Wait, what?”

“Friedrich pulled a switcheroo at the altar, but the bride chose to spend her post-wedding week with Captain von Trapp.” Max cocked his thumb at Friedrich, who was playing a game of pocket pool, a dreamy look plastered on his face. “Can you blame her?”

Ignoring Friedrich, von Beckbaw leered, “Georg is one lucky duck, bagging the Baroness. That girl oozes Aryanism, if you know what I mean.”

“I know what you mean.”

“Conservatively speaking, I’d make her scream liberally, if you know what I mean.”

“Again, I know what you mean.”

“I’d love to park my blue state in her red state, if you know…”

“Okay, okay, okay, Wilde. I get it.” Figuring it would be pointless to not mention that von Trapp had broken ties with the Succubus, Max said, “You’re correct, though. The Captain is a lucky duck, indeed. Now please go. We must prepare.”

Ignoring Max, von Beckbaw asked, “When will the Captain return?”

“No idea. He’s M.I.A. Radio silence.”

“I can’t fault him there. If I were with that luscious piece of
arsch
, I too would remain out of contact with the rest of the world. When he returns, tell him I expect to see him wearing that nice von Beckbaw t-shirt. If not, there will be consequences.”

“Is that so? What kind of consequences?”

“My American counterparts tell me that there’s a trend in the States in which one takes a scoop of dog
scheisse
, places it in a paper bag, leaves it on the victim’s front stoop, and sets it on fire. The beauty of this is when the victim stamps out the fire, his foot will be covered with…”

“I get it, Colonel von Beckbaw,” Max said. “Nazi ingenuity never fails to impress.”

“Yes, quite,” von Beckbaw said. “So we shall see you tonight. All there’s to say now is farewell, and…” Another Nazi salute. “… Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler!” Von Beckbaw then goosestepped across the square, knocking over a mere three pedestrians.

Max shook his head, then turned to the kids and said, “Alright, brats, we must go home.”

“No run-through?” Kurt asked.

“No, chunky butt. We shall be spontaneous! We shall improvise! Our talent will win out! Singers, instrumentalists, and magicians, beware: The von Trapp family Vampires are coming to get you! Now, in the car, brats.”

All the kids, save for Liesl, piled into Max’s brown jalopy. Right as Liesl was about to step through the door, a tall blond man in a brown S.S. uniform tapped her on the shoulder and said, “Good afternoon, Miss Liesl von Trapp, Vampire.”

Liesl turned around. “Good afternoon, Rolfe Mueller, Private in the Nazi Undeath Squad.”

Louisa poked her head out the window. “What’s the Nazi Undeath Squad?”

“Never mind,” Liesl said. “If you’ll excuse us, me and Rolfie have to have a chat.” She walked ten meters from the car; Rolfe followed.

Rolfe said, “I haven’t forgotten our night at the gazebo.”

“Nor have I,” Liesl said.

“It was a revelatory moment for me.”

“As it was for me.”

“I look forward to a repeat performance.”

“As do I.”

“The ending, however, shall not be the same.”

“No, it shall not,” Liesl hissed. “It shall be worse for you. Much, much worse.”

Rolfe made a fist and snarled, “If we weren’t preparing for the Gala of Gaiety, I’d perform right here.”

She pointed at his crotch. “Somehow I doubt that.”

Still snarling, Rolfe pulled an envelope from his pocket and threw it at Liesl; it bounced harmlessly off of her chest and fell to the ground. “Give this to your traitor of a father when he returns from his vacation. And tell him we left a little gift for him at your house.”

Liesl asked, “How do you know he’s on vacation?”

“The Nazi party is all-knowing and all-seeing! We know what you’re going to do before you’re going to do it!” He paused. “Plus I ran into him at that dive bar by my house, and he told me.”

Heading back to the car, Liesl said, “Get out of my sight, Rolfe. Next time I see you, I’ll end you, whether we’re at a Gala, a gazebo, or an Abbey filled with Zombies. And that’s a promise.”

He gave Liesl a Nazi salute, said, “Heil Hitler, and death to the undead!” then goosestepped off into the afternoon.

When she stepped into the car, she asked Max, “When are Father and Maria returning?”

“I have no idea,” Max lied. In actuality, Max knew the Captain’s plans to a “T,” for that morning, von Trapp had called Max to give him the details of his trip, because—you guessed it, dear reader—the plot needed advancement.

For the entire two weeks after the wedding, Maria and Georg drove around Austria in the Captain’s Austro-Tata, stopping to eat at every intriguing-looking restaurant, to drink at every intriguing-looking watering hole, and to sleep (and consummate, and re-consummate, and re-re-consummate their relationship) at every intriguing-looking hotel. The Captain, Max learned, found making love to a Vampire—especially one he was desperately in love with—far more fulfilling than sleeping with a Succubus. At times, his carnal relations with the Baroness felt more like a contest than an expression of their feelings, a test of who could go faster, farther, and weirder. With Maria, the bedtime games were playful, comfortable, and warm, the only difficult issue being that Maria had to be extremely careful with how she used her mouth; one too-hard nibble, and the Captain would join the ranks of the undead (or the castrated), and, as everybody knows, in every Vampire story, all undead heroes (or antiheroes) have to have a mortal guide, and said mortal guides have to have a full helping of franks and beans. If Maria Vampire’d the Captain, Max Detweiler would be called into mortal guide duty, something Max undoubtedly wanted no part of.