The tale of Vincent Ampire
August 5th 2009 07:00
Vampires, real or imaginery.
If such a creature were to exist in our time he, it would probably be a he, would simply go to the meat works and buy his requirements from the killing chains and devise some way of storing it so he could have it as TV dinners with the minimum of preparation. [Like weight watchers pre-prepared meals] [Now there's a thought, some enterprising business man could prepackage the blood for them]
Supposing we have a modern day Vampire living in quiet seclusion in a country village in remote Australia. He's there because some ratbag shot his castle in Iraq to bits with a not-so smart bomb forcing him to leave and reside in nearby Pakistan near the border to Afganistan where it's quiet and far from modern technology. Once more the warriors of war arrive and an unmanned drone wipes out his new home.
Thoroughly disgusted at this turn of events he transfers a couple of million dollars from his unlimited supply [ source unknown] in a Swiss bank to the the National Australia bank and migrates with great difficulty to Australia. He lands in Sydney and soon becomes disillusioned with life in such a cosmopolitan rat race. [In his own words: " Sydney is full of blood suckers."] He finds, on the internet of course, a small secluded cottage, one street from the CBD of a small country village. The cottage is mostly overgrown with ivy, blotting out that dreadful sunshine from most of the windows. So with his trusted assistant [ who is not affected by sunlight] he moves in.
Supply of his staple food[fresh blood] is limited so his assistant is sent to procure, if not a victim to feast on, at least some raw meat from the local butcher. The butcher, being old fashioned and not being a drinker of blood, declines the request to stock this product and refers the assistant to the local store where the proprieter will stock anything just to make a buck.
Having done all the hard work the trusted assistant then meets with an accident. She bumps into Mr Spock and they both fall over in the street. Mr Spock being there because Capt Kirk turned starboard instead of port, 3 light years from the Milky Way.
Mr Spock picks up his phaser , which has a short circuit and vaporises the trusted assistant [accidentally, of course] watched by Mr V.Ampire [ His new identity] through the ivy leaves. Before Spock can apologise Scotty realises the navigational error and beams him up.
Vincent Ampire is now in dire straights as he knows that he, and only he, can go get his sustenance from the general store.
[How can he, he's allergic to sunlight?]
Ah, Mrs Hilda Ogden lives next door. She, too saw the accidental vaporizing of Vincents trusted assistant and, being as inquisitive as her character in Coronation Street, [the long running soapie on UK tele] tries to help him with her wise advice. Vincent sees her as a meal, home delivered, and tries to bite her neck to get some life sustaining blood. Disaster, Vincents fangs clog up with Hilda's make up and she takes to him with an extremely sharp tongue, a strange accent and high pitched voice. Vincent is defeated. When Hilda stops screeching and pauses to take a breath Vincent enlightens her to his predicament. She softens and after extracting a promise from Victor never to touch her again as long as he lives. She comes to his aid with her old man's welding goggles and some make up. Poor Vince is as pale as a ghost and looks his age of 846 years [ I think. One can never be sure. There are no records available ] Hilda fixes Vince up with some pancake makeup, welding goggles, and some ordinary clothes from her old mans wardrobe and hey presto, he's almost human. He takes Hilda's advice and tells everyone his eyesight is bad due to an allergic reaction to sunlight. Hence the goggles. The storekeeper says he should see the optometrist when next it visits and he may get some more modern glasses.
Vincent returns from the general store furious with himself and his situation. He sees Hilda in her front yard and beckons her over.
"Mrs Ogden, I am in an insufferable predicament which can not be allowed to continue. As you are aware, I am a Vampire, and need blood to survive. I am, however, completely allergic to sunshine and in fact it is a threat to my very existence. I need an assistant who can come and go freely in modern society and accomplish small tasks on my behalf. I will, of course, pay such an assistant handsomely. Would you accept such a position?"
" I'll ave ta fink abart it, Mr Vincent. 'ow much are ya gunna pay and how offen?"
" Money, Mrs Ogden, is not a problem at all. What would you consider as a equitable remuneration for such services?"
Hilda was thrilled to bits. Being a trusted assistant to a real live Vampire meant she would have much gossip to spread among the hicks, [oops- pardon] people in the small county town. Vincent supplemented her meagre pension handsomely and tax free, of course.
Vincent settled quickly into the existence of a small town resident. [Poor bugger had to, didn't he] Soon he became bored with sleeping in his coffin all day and wandering alone at night. Even the mattress of earth had lumps in it and his sheets were being continually washed by Hilda. Why, he wanted to know. No one was going to see them, no one came to visit. So, he spoke seriously to Hilda about his predicament.
"Mrs Ogden, may I request some advice regarding my present uninteresting situation."
"Righto, Mr Vincent. Whadyawanna know?
" I find there are insufficient activities within the community to challenge my mental capacity and provide intellectual stimulus to my existence in this establishment. How would you suggest I overcome this dilemma in which I find myself?"
" Ay? Cor, now I get it. You want summat to do? What abart readin books frum the libry? They got heaps in town.It doan cost nuffin eiver."
" Money is not a concern, Mrs Ogden, but remember I am quite versed in history and my memory is excellent. Much of what you may read about history is incorrect. I know, for I was a participant."
" That maybe, but It'll give you summat ter keep yer mind active. Ya can fix the mistakes, or somthin like that. 'Ere, I got it, git some Australian 'istory. You wasn't 'ere so yer can learn somethin new."
" That is not particularly appealing to me personally, Mrs Ogden. Do you have any other suggestions I might contemplate?"
" Nah. Unless ya wanna do a bit gard'nin. You know, grow some plants or flowers. No good growin veg'tables, you doan eat em anyway."
" Now dear lady, that is something which I had not considered. My ancestry goes back to Transylvania where such activities were carried out in the lowlands by the peasant fraternity. They needed good sustenance so they could develop into fine specimens of humanity and thereby provide adequate supplies for my ancestor’s household."
" Supplies of what, Mr Vincent?"
" Why blood, of course, Mrs Ogden, after all, I am a vampire."
" Aw yeah, I forgot that."
“ Now that you have reminded me, Mrs Ogden, I have another small difficulty with partaking of my essential sustenance. For centuries I have used my fangs to ingest my proteins, but with this modern arrangement, I am loath to admit, I am not getting the full benefit by drinking that liquid. With your most agile mind would you be able to assist me to revert to the old way of doing things?”
“I’d ave ter fink abart it, wooden I? Wait a bit. Now you got two holler fangs and ye kin suck up blood wiv em, right? I kin give ya a Tupperware bowl wiv a sealed lid and just poke two holes where ya want em. You poke yer fangs in the holes an tip the bowl up. Yair, that’ll do it. Bring ya one next time I comes over.”
“Dear lady, are you sure this will suffice?”
“ Course it will. Leave it ta me.
“ Thank you dear lady. I am in need of sustenance at this very moment. Would you excuse me please?”
“ Ya want me ter nick orf ome now eh? OK, I was goin ter town anyway so I’ll git ya some gard’nin books ya kin read.”
And so it was that Vincent became an avid gardener. He created the most wonderful night scented garden for miles around and could be seen occasionally in the dim moonlight caring for his prize plants and flowers. During daylight hours his neighbourhood was alive with rubber necks leaning over his fence trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive Mr Vincent, gardener extroadinaire. Vincent, of course, was securely and soundly asleep in his uncomfortable coffin, lying in state on freshly washed white sheets [courtesy of Hilda] and was unaware of the consternation his creative gardening had caused in the district until, [ there has to be one, doesn’t there – an until, I mean] Mrs Ogden let the cat out of the bag. She told her good friend, Ethyl, that Mr Vincent only worked in his garden at night. Ethyl told Joan who passed it on to Anne who gave the secret to Sharon who put that wonderful garden in the local rag along with photos, taken, naturally enough, in daylight. Now the cat was really among the pigeons.
Vincent was immeasurably pleased with Hilda's solution to his problem of drinking, rather than ingesting via fangs, his bloody meals. He enjoyed it so much he partook of snacks at frequent intervals. This, of course, resulted in a slight change to his silouette shape, his chest slipped, just below his waist, or perhaps better described as, where his waist used to be. Vincent got fat.
"Mr Vincent. Just look at you. Ya was such a gentlemanly lookin man, wiv yer dinner suit an all. Now nuffin fits. Wot yer gunna do nau? Go on a diet or sumpin?"
" I shall refrain from becoming disturbed by your lack of courtesy in remarking upon my physical appearance in such a derogatory manner. As for my apparel, I shall, of course obtain more fitting attire as soon as you locate an excellent tailor on my behalf."
" Cor, Mr Vincent, there ain't no tailers no more. You buy offn Kmart or somewheres like that."
" Yes, of course Mrs Ogden, I had momentarily forgotten that human progress has made such great technological advances. You must be my envoy and purchase the necessary clothing as befits my taste and style. You will do that, won't you Mrs Ogden?"
" Yeah - oright. I'll ave to measure yer waist and other stuff though, ter git the fit. I'll ave me tape measure ere termorra. That'll ave ter do. When I go ome it'll be time fer me ter go ter Bingo. Oright?"
" There is another small matter I would request your assistance in solving. All those people peering into my garden with torches last night created so much light I found it necessary to wear your husbands glasses to shield my sight from damage. This cannot be allowed to continue. What would advise me to do."
" Just tell the damn sticky beaks yer a vampire and live on blood. Show yer fangs and maybe bite one of em, then they'll nick off an leave ya alone."
" Unfortunately, Mrs Ogden, I am aware of the somewhat unjust laws of the land and should I pursue any such response as you suggest, I would be persecuted by law enforcement officials to the detriment of my personal security."
" Awright, then ya'll just ave ter tell em ta bugger off, won't ya. I'm goin ome now. See ya termorra."
The night passed quickly and Vincent [wearing Mr Ogdens welding glasses] entertained that nights sticky beaks by discussing the various plants and flowers he had in his beautifully scented garden. All but one plant, a dead dog cactus, which the sticky beaks found absolutely disgusting. [ no bloody wonder; it got its name because that is exactly what it smelled like; a very dead dog] However Vincent was not concerned at the smell and was highly delighted when the interfering busybodies left when he brought it out to display to them.
Morning came, and just when Vincent was about to retire for the day, Hilda arrived with tape measure and pencil plus paper.
"Come on Mr Vincent , time ter take yer measurements. You'll ave ter old the tape measure up near your crutch, I ain't gunna put my and anywhere near yer family jules, no way."
" You have nothing to fear from me, Mrs Ogden, I assure you."
" Well, I ain't gunna give ya a cheap frill, eiver. You just old the tape as I tells ya, an we'll git along fine."
And so the measuring process proceeded without further ado.
Hilda had quite some difficulty in obtaining a tuxedo of the correct style and cut to suit the fastidious discriminations of Vincent, but with the advantage of the internet she managed to acquire the right gear for her Mr Vincent.
Vincent desired a brocade tuxedo, which is out of fashion these days, with smooth shiny textured material and showing a slight greenish tinge with the dark gray. White, of course for the dicky , collar and cuffs. And spats for his black leather pumps.
I shall not detail how payment was arranged for the purchase by Mrs Ogden as it may cause some financial institutions a real headache. Suffice it to say Vincent was elated when his new clothes arrived, and even more so when they actually fitted his pear shape to a 'Tee.'
The very first night after his new suit arrived Vincent went out to his garden resplendent is his Tuxedo. He went first to his garden shed where his beloved dead dog cactus was growing so well. It had flowers on it, glorious flowers with that magnificent perfume of a decaying canine corpse. [ Forgive me dog lovers} He carefully picked one flower and placed it in his lapel buttonhole.
" Now let them come and ask stupid questions. This perfume may be just enough to discourage them for all time."
Sure enough, about 8.30, just as it got really dark and Vincent was busy feeding his deadly nightshades, there came a call:
"Yoo Hoo. Mr Vincent, are you there."
" But of course I am here dear Mrs Pippington-Smythe, this my home. Is there some way I may be of service?"
"Ohhh Myyyy" Mrs Smythe lost interest as the beautific perfume reduced her to an unconscious untidy heap on the footpath. Vincent beamed. " One down" he thought. Mrs Smythe lie there for a minute before struggling to feet and staggering away to her home.
Vincent waited expectantly for the next one. They came, husband and wife, the doyans of the garden world on the other side of the railway tracks. Jack and Jill Pail. Vincent bid them a welcoming 'good evening' and Jill staggered at the knees while Jack held her up as best he could. They moved back from Vincent and that ever so sweet smelling dead dog cactus flower.
"Shit, Vincent, are ya dead or sumthin? Ya stink like a dead dog."
"I see you are familiar with the perfume Jack. Does it upset you too. I find it does have a perfume that requires an acquired sense of smell to appreciate, but I find it a pleasant change from roses, for instance, don't you thing so?"
Jack, by this time was out of the range of the perfume.
"Bugger it Vincent, I'll come and look at yer garden when you ain't around with that stinkin thing. Maybe when the sun is up in the morning, an after me an Jill as ad a good bath."
" But of course Mr Pail you are most welcome to admire the garden during the hours of daylight. I regret I shall not be able to converse with you on gardening practices, but I shall let you know when I publish my secret gardening hints."
For some strange reason Mr Vincent was able to pursue his night gardening with no further night visitations from the townspeople, though many peered over his fences during daylight hours while Vincent slept peacefully in his coffin on freshly cultivated, and comfortable, soil from his very own garden.
Peace reigned and the last time I saw Vincent was from a distance as Hilda went home one evening. She was a little old gray haired widow. Vincent, on the other hand, was as robust as ever. I wonder where they are now.
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