The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

how did I do my back in as badly as I did? well, a fellow in a cubicle toilet threw a fit... it was after seven minutes; so someone had to be slim enough and stupid enough to go over the top of a cubicle toilet and do two dead litfts, as he's still fitting. as I finished doing as was needed, I did in my left wrist and my spine... which got a lot worse after falling on the black ice in Bromborough Village thirty odd years later, when I had a roast chicken in my bag, on my back -- the chicken survived and went well with red wine. but, all the healing that had taken place over those thirty odd years was undone.

A day within a day





Papers from the office fluttered to the floor from where they’d rested in the centre well, as Karl Leiter dropped a gear.



He’d just left one of several feeders, to the main arterial road and, just noticed the length of the traffic jam ahead of him.



“Goddamn,” Karl cursed, as he was reminded yet again that the car’s electrics were ‘on the fritz’, as his windows would not descend, not matter how many times he tried.



His jacket had been removed, his sleeves were turned up and, the AC was on full, yet the air inside the car felt oppressively hot and, the sweat beneath his arms and at the middle of his back; caused his light blue shirt to cling to his flesh.



“I don’t need this… not today…” he muttered ruefully. The last meeting of the day had not been a good one and Karl had much on his mind, as the space before him and the traffic ahead decreased.



Using his hands-free kit, Karl tried to phone his wife Marianne, to say it looked like he’d be late home, only to hear static: “Damn!” He exclaimed.



“Now, this I really don’t need…” he added with a snarl, as a blue-grey mist slowly drifted from the embankment to the left and across the road ahead.



The mists sudden appearance did not puzzle Karl as much as the fact that it seemed to be drawn towards his car.



Karl reduced his speed, something he was loathe to do, but he wanted to get home, ‘And, this stretch of road is a notorious accident blackspot,’ he reminded himself, dropping a gear and applying the brakes, as the mist enshrouded his car; thick, clinging and swirling round the vehicle.



“Now what?” Karl quizzed of his day, as he braked hard and, stilled the car.



Karl turned his left wrist to look at the time.



“Goddamn,” he cursed again, “I’m already late for ‘The Weakest Link’. It was a show on tv before the news that he liked, with a host billed as ‘the queen of mean’, by the name of Anne Robinson.



‘The programmes been running for years,’ he considered, ‘and I’m sure she looks younger now, than when it started all those years ago.’ He grinned, at the idea that as her bank balance had increased with the shows success, so had her use of cosmetic surgery, often denied, ‘of course.’



He liked to relax with the quiz show, before watching the national news and learning of the latest threats to world security.



“But not tonight,” Karl reminded himself, suddenly very aware of the wet patch his sweat had created, down the middle of his shirts back. And shivering, he decided to turn off the cars AC.



Time passed. Sweat dripped. And, boredom set in. Finally Karl looked into his rearview mirror, aware of a something, a particular something, that sat there; waiting for him to notice it.



Karl glanced back over his shoulder and ahead, through the back window and saw naught but an empty road. He turned his gaze back to the front and saw a sparkling of lights dancing before him, within the midst of the thick, cloying mist.



The lights of gold and silver coalesced into a thickened form, before Karl’s car then shattered into slices of white light, which flew outward. Karl stared stupefied.



Blinking, Karl opened his eyes to see a clear road ahead and no queue of cars. He blinked again, just to be sure of what he saw, then on impulse he tried to open his right window. To his amazement the window descended, as intended.



Glancing in the side mirror, then his rearview mirror, Karl turned on the ignition and disengaged the clutch. He drove slowly at first, picking up speed so that he used the open motorway to his satisfaction.



Karl was running late, he knew and was surprised to note that that according to his watch, no time had passed at all. He glanced at his watch again and saw the second hand was turning. ‘So it’s working,’ he mused, as he changed gear and further increasing his speed: “Perhaps I’ll see The Weakest Link after all,” he muttered.

He did quite like her final wink to camera, just before the shows final credits rolled.



Briefly, Karl idly wondered whether his wife would be staying in.



“She seems to have time for everyone else nowadays, but now me…” he considered sadly, steering his car toward the slip road that would take him to the roundabout and the main road leading homeward.



It had been a long journey, after a long day and Karl was worn out and irritable.

“A bath and a whiskey are required,” he decided, “But, not necessarily in that order.”



Then a short while later, having parked the car Karl opened the front gate and walked up the front path; nay, his front-path, the one that he’d laid, which now sorely needed weeding. He approached the house, looking left and right.



The Beech-hedge, normally six foot high, was now nearer none and needed to be sorely shorn: ‘And what’s that?’ He mused, noting that the long brown drapes that hung inside the bay window were not there. Karl looked to the sky, mostly grey with some blue and, some fast-moving dark grey clouds.



‘Hardly drying weather…’ He mused, wondering why his wife might choose today, to take them down to wash.



“That’s a good question,” he opined, searching for his bunch of keys, a frown upon on his face. “I know… I knew… I put them there…” Then amongst the collected detritus in his outer left-hand pocket, he found them: “… somewhere.”



And, a smile touching his lips, Karl inserted the house key into the doors lock, which opened a little, but no more.



The something that held the door ajar moved somewhat, as Karl pulled the door toward himself. So he grasped the smooth edge, pushed then pulled the door toward himself sharply twice and finally swung it back and, this time the impedance shifted and Karl was able to enter.



He pushed the door further in and then kicked at the pile of letters that had blocked his entrance. The hall was dark, but he could out the grandfather clock, a present from the In-Law’s: it had stopped.



At the same time, Marianne stared into the long gilt-edged hall mirror, wondering yet again what she’d done to distance herself from her husband Karl.



She glanced at the grandfather clock to her right, “Already three hours late…” she mused, a frown betraying her concern.



Marianne picked up her keys, slipped on her coat then picked up her keys, shivering as Karl passed by, entering the lounge, in search of his much-needed whiskey. He was saddened to see the house in darkness, as it suggested his wife was out again and he sighed. Karl sighed twice more, as he flicked on the lightswitch and noticed the dust on the bottle of Glemorange, his favourite tipple.



‘It’s a puzzle,’ he mused, running a finger over the neck of the bottle, as his wife slammed the front door and made her way down the carefully weeded path, that she recalled Karl having laid, so many years ago.



She got into her car, still wondering where Karl had got to, as he poured himself the first of several drinks, he intended having.



And, as Karl sat back with his glass in hand he began to muse on the way of his day.



Much had gone wrong at work and then, there’s been that fool at the junction, who had shot passed him, causing him to brake hard and, as his papers had fallen to the floor something had thumped hard inside the boot.



“The case!” He exclaimed and downing his whiskey all-in-one.



Karl rose from the sofa and dashed through the hall and out the front door. He made his way to the boot, which he unlocked and held open with his left hand, his eyes opening wide. Sure enough, there was stainless steel suitcase that Margaret had thrust into his arms, as he’d left his office.



He had opened the door, to leave his office and had made to pass where Margaret sat.

Her blonde beehive was tousled and her blue-eyes had showed grey and puffy.



“I’m up to my eyes in it,” she had explained, “and, this has to go to R & D. Will you drop it in for me?”



Margaret was efficient and attractive, in a Snow-Queen sort of way; and he’d told his secretary, “Sure.”



Deep in reverie, Karl continued to stare at the case, aware that there was a humming emanating from the inside, which he’d not noticed earlier, while he’d carried it and the papers, for his presentation. And, that hadn’t gone well.



Karl’s talk should have lasted ten to fifteen minutes, but he’d garbled his words through nerves, thereby possibly ruining a contract for the company.



“That would have done my career prospects no good whatsoever,’ Karl mused, reaching into the boot with his free hand to pick up the case: it vibrated.



“I should have taken this to R & D… Goddamn!” he snarled, panicking.



Humming and vibrating as it did, the case was a curio.



“This needs more investigating,” he said aloud, nervously taking the case in his both arms and, ignoring the open boot, Karl made his way back into the house.



Then having set the case down carefully he poured himself a large glass of whiskey and knelt, to open the case. Inside was a black and silver machine, with flashing numbers, buttons and dials and, a small booklet.



Karl sat back on his haunches, in the quiet, still puzzled as to why he felt so alone.



He picked up the booklet, took a sip of drink and, then read: ‘The Perfect Panic Room – for those In Need.’ Intrigued, Karl continued reading.



‘Designed for those who truly need to avoid the world and its ills, this machine can produce a pocket universe tailored to the users mind and needs. Once employed, the pocket universe will keep the user safe from all external harm; until the user decides that they’re ready to re-enter “reality.” At that point the remote can be used, to return.’



Karl looked at the sides of the machine, then in the pockets inside the case, all to no avail. With his breathing rapid, he sat back, wondering ‘how on earth will I get out of this?’ as at that moment, the remote sat in the top drawer of Margaret’s desk…



The office was dark, the building empty and, Margaret was not expected back to her desk anymore, having taken time off, ‘because of stress.’