chapter 1: A good Vampire

She liked them though, and that was all that mattered wasn’t it? Assuming they were comfortable. Which they were. But Velma wasn’t one to draw attention to herself, and these jeans would certainly attract attention. “I don’t know,” she said eventually. “Can you check if there’s anything not so loud in my size?”

Muriel sighed. “Already did,” she admitted reluctantly, “they’ve got some khaki cargo pants in a 16. But if it’s jeans you want your only other option is wide-legged, faded black, size 18.” Velma looked relieved but before she could say anything, Muriel added, “Get the pink ones! They’re a perfect fit!”

“You don’t think they’re a bit tight?”

“No,” Muriel assured her, “perfect fit.”

Velma smiled. But they were just sooo pink. “Can you bring me the black ones?”

Muriel laughed. “You’re such a coward!” she teased as she headed back to the shop floor.

*

With only 6 minutes of their break left, Velma and Muriel hurried back to work through the indoor market. Muriel had sneakily eaten her sandwiches behind the returns rail, but Velma hadn’t had a chance to eat and there wasn’t time now.

When they got back to the department store for their evening shift, Muriel headed straight to the bakery – there was always a floury mess for her to clean up after the bakers went home. Velma’s area was upstairs, cleaning the cafe and the toilets behind it. She was a diligent worker and took pride in doing a good job, but she hadn’t eaten for almost 36 hours and it was difficult to distract herself from her growling stomach.

“Want some help with that?” Tom startled her when he tried to grab the vacuum cleaner she was about to carry up the stairs.

“No thanks,” she told him, turning slightly so that it was out of his reach, “I’ve got it.”

“Don’t be silly,” he offered her the broom he was carrying, “you take this and I’ll carry the hoover. It’s heavy.”

Velma tried to hide her irritation, telling herself he meant well, he was just old-fashioned. “I’m stronger than I look you know,” she told him with a smile as he took the hoover from her and put the broom in her hand.

He smirked and nodded, “course you are, love,” he said, “but it’s not a crime to take it easy you know.”

She watched him take the stairs two at a time, hesitating before following to put some distance between them. As she began her ascent she saw him stop at the top to talk to Kevin from menswear. He lifted the hoover a fraction higher and tilted his head towards her. She gritted her teeth when she heard the words ‘helping the lady out’. Then she couldn’t help herself. She moved, almost in an instant, to the top of the stairs, retrieved the hoover from Tom’s grasp, threw him a pointed look and was out of sight before he knew what had happened. Kevin, who hadn’t been paying attention anyway, took advantage of the interruption by making a quick exit, and the bewildered Tom collapsed onto a nearby stool in the shoe department.

*

When she clocked out four hours later, Velma headed straight for the nearest pub. She was absolutely famished and wouldn’t be able to think about anything else until she’d done something about it.

Luckily the place was packed so she grabbed a seat at the only vacant table, by the toilets, and began to people-watch.

Despite the pub being quite close to her work, she was glad to see no familiar faces. She hadn’t gone there before because she didn’t want to run into anyone she knew. And usually she’d wear a wig, or a hood. Something to protect against recognition. Stay anonymous. But there hadn’t been time today. She was so hungry.

Inside the place was now standing room only, and not much of that. The noise reminded her of a school dinner hall with the added charm of a well-paid jukebox. Two women stumbled into her on their way to the toilets.

“Sorry,” they laughed as they righted themselves and tottered to the Ladies on heels too high.

Velma ignored them and looked at the plastic-covered menu on the table. The animal flesh and excretions choices were extensive – more than thirty tortured options. Disgusted but not surprised, she turned the menu over to look for vegan options. There were two.

“Is anyone sitting here?” a greasy man with a plate of greasy food and a sloshing pint of beer sat down clumsily opposite Velma. He picked up a chicken leg before pushing his plate towards her, offering to share.

She shook her head, “No thanks.”

“Not hungry?” he laughed drunkenly, spraying some of his mouthful back onto his plate. “Watching your figure?” He laughed again.

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked more closely at Velma. “Hey, don’t I know you?”

“I don’t think so.” She hoped not.

“I’m Dwayne. Does that ring a bell?” He raised his eyebrows with the question, leaning forward as if to get a closer look at her. “What’s your name?” She leaned back, narrowly avoiding the stinky burp that came next. He laughed and put on a posh voice, “Ooh, sorry m’lady, beg pardon but I …” then stopped talking suddenly, trying to focus his bleary eyes on something over her shoulder. “What the -?”

Velma was so hungry that she hadn’t noticed the mirror on the wall behind her. It was only a small one and it had a beer company logo painted large across it. But it was a mirror nonetheless and didn’t reflect her.

Velma smiled at the greasy man. “Ahh, you got me!” She leaned sideways as he tried to put his hand on her head, looking at the reflection of his hand with no head under it. “Yes, I am a vampire.” She admitted. “Don’t do that.”

At first he said nothing. Then he snorted. “Come on – this is some kind of trick. A trick mirror. Very clever – you almost had me then.” He took a swig of his pint, chuckled again, “good trick, you almost had me,” and put a rasher of bacon in his mouth.

Velma cringed at the thought of biting down on his greasy skin but was too hungry to be fussy. “It’s not a trick,” she told him. “I am a vampire. Have been for nearly forty years now.”

“Forty years? You don’t look a day over thirty nine love,” he giggled as he licked the bacon fat off his fingers. “Yeah right – you’re an evil undead blood-sucker!”

“Nope. Not evil. I don’t kill innocents.”

“Oh, right, you’re one o’ them good vampires are ya?” he glugged down the rest of his pint and concluded with a loud burp. “Tortured soul, gotta drink pigs’ blood to survive?”

Velma shook her head and sighed. “What did I just say?” she asked him testily. “I. Don’t. Kill. Innocents!”

The greasy man’s jaw dropped as Velma’s eyes filled with black and she pulled his hand across the table towards her. As the music blared and the drunken crowd enjoyed themselves, she sunk her teeth into the radial artery at his wrist and finally satisfied her ravenous hunger. Then, leaving his drained body slumped against the wall, she grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the bar, wiped her mouth clean as she left the pub unnoticed, and walked home.

****

Violet’s Vegan Comics – creating funny, exciting and sometimes action packed vegan fiction for all ages since 2012