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.




About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)