Nothing To Howl At

"He's a vampire, Harold. You know that! Vampires don't reflect in mirrors."

"Well, then, what happened last night?"

"He was afraid to go out. He thought he might be gumming his victim and making a mess of his attack. He's starving over there."

I didn't want to talk anymore about what happens to old monsters. It was all too, too depressing. Old age has no bite. A succubus I could only look at? A silver bullet? A wooden stake through the heart? It's really nothing to howl about.

 

End

 





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