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| Bela Lugosi's dead, and so am I. But what's left of Bela is rotting in a pine coffin somewhere, while I have the opportunity to sit here on the balcony, enjoy my drink and look at you. Correct me if I'm being presumptuous, but I suspect that I have the better end of the deal. I can tell by looking at you that you're not comprehending. Of course you're not -- these are cynical, rational times, and you're not going to believe that I'm a dead man just because I say so. A century ago it would have been different -- well, it was quite different the last time I had this little talk with someone -- but this is the age of facts. And the facts are that corpses don't move, don't walk, don't talk. I'm terribly sorry, my dear, but I have a surprise for you: This corpse does. So sit down. Please, I insist that you make yourself comfortable. Pour yourself something to drink, preferably from the bottle on the left -- the stuff on the right is an acquired taste. It's going to be a long evening, and you're going to need a stiff drink or two, I suspect. After all, in the next few hours I'm going to explain to you in excrutiating detail why everything you think you know about life and death is wrong. In other words, you don't know a blessed thing about the way the world really works, and I'm going to open your eyes. But I'm afraid, my dear, that you're not going to like what you see. Before we go any furhter, allow me to tell you that you're getting an unprecedented opportunity here. My kind doesn't talk about itself to your kind -- not now and, for the most part, not ever. We've spent five centuries weaving a stage curtain that we call the Masquerade to hide the real show from you, but in the end it comes down to one simple fact: We vampires don't want you mortals knowing we're out there. It's for the same reason the wolf doesn't want the sheep knowing he's around. It makes our work so much easier. And so, for example, though we do indeed possess the sharpened canines with which dime novels and the cinema have branded us, you mortals will not see them unless we choose to reveal them. Like so. You're looking pale, my dear. That will never do if we're going to be seen later -- allow me to take care of looking pale for both of us. Still, I must admit I'm disappointed that you seem so disturbed by the notion of my being a vampire. Take a moment and compose yourself, if you can. Truth be told, I'm afraid that's the least of the shocks waiting for you tonight. Please, don't waste time trying to come up with a rational, scientific explanation, because there isn't one. It's just what I am. What many, many of us are -- too many, by some accounts. Damnation, are you truly that much of a fool? Sit back down. I said sit. Now watch. Hush, stop screaming. No one will come to rescue you, and no one will call the police -- not in this building. Discreet neighbors are a blessing to one in my condition. It's positively Victorian the way they ignore anything not directly in front of them. So at last you have your proof. Now do you believe me? Yes, it is blood in the other decanter; served cold like that, of course, the stuff loses much of its taste. You can try it if you like, but I don't recommend it, no. You're not set up to enjoy such things, at least not as presently configured. Don't get ahead of yourself guessing my intentions, my dear. If I were going to act according to your beloved clichés, you would be dead right now. I am a predator, after all, and you and your entire species are my prey. |