The Vampire Cranks * April 3, 2008

Letter, Linda L. Zern (a character of non-fiction) to Mina Harker (a character of FICTION in Bram Stoker’s book, Dracula)—meant to be a satirical look at our cultural shift in literary tastes from vampires as, well, vampires, and vampires as, well . . . boyfriends.

My Dearest Mina,

    My most exuberant greetings and Victorian expressions of affection, and my every wish is that you might come to visit us in this our hour of fear—excepting that I would never wish you to fall victim to this strange obsession that has befallen our family.  No, Mina, it is better that you remain where you are at present and venture no nearer to our accursed family estate here in Saint Cloud.  Come no closer.  I must say it, and yet I would not.

    Now I would broach a subject that I would leave for another time if ever—but be warned, dearest Mina, I feel that I must speak of it, for the settling of your mind as to the difficulties here.  Vampires.  Gobs of them.  

    Vampires have become like squirrels in this dark place where we exist, and somewhere through the long days and longer nights they (the vampires) have become as well thought of as squirrels, which are, as we both know, simply rats with a good public relations firm.

    Once upon a time, vampires were the un-dead among us—social pariah, and I believe quite smelly, and inviting smelly vampires to tea was an excellent way to become an un-dead person yourself—forever.  You were also destined to be the color of chalk—also forever. 

    Now, it’s all vampire this and vampire that, and isn’t he the sweetest vampire ever?  I find myself wondering if the mythology about vampires being able to control minds—the weakest minds among us—to be true (i.e  the character of Renfield in Dracula) is not a myth.  Are they out there peering at us with their hypnotic eyes, putting us all into book reading trances?

    To think that it was my hand that opened this coffin of doom—my hand. I shudder, Mina, I shudder.  I saw the newest books dealing with these creatures of the night by Stephenie Myer (Twilight, New Moon, and Eclipse) as a harmless diversion for the young women of our family from the somewhat monotonous world of raising small children who cannot speak English yet.  It was to be a small diversion and nothing else. 

    Instead, this collection of vampire stories has taken possession of one and all.

    Heather, my oldest daughter and mother of two, it is my sad duty to report, has taken to reading without ceasing—her hair a wild rat’s nest of dishevelment and disorder.  She sits for days at a time in her nightclothes reading, reading, always reading. Little Conner was said to try to pull one of these accursed books from her nerveless hands—unsuccessfully, true, but he did try.  Heather, his mother, has stopped showering.  There is little hope.

    Sarah too, my daughter-in-law, has been reported to have abandoned sleep in order to feast upon the tales of these bloodless immortals.  She moves through the daylight hours in a mindless trance waiting for the evil darkness of another night to fall.

    And saddest of all is the case of Maren, our youngest daughter, who has become delusional to the point that she has indicated, quite publicly, that the two people she would most like to meet in this life are a vampire and a werewolf.   In this hope she will surely be disappointed because they are FICTIONAL characters, dearest Mina, FICTIONAL. Maren’s mind seems stretched out like a fragile string of fake pearls.  We watch her sink further and further into the abyss of obsession and play pretend.    

    “No!” I yell, while stringing garlic for necklaces.  “No!” I shriek while carving wooden stakes from fence posts.  My mind reels.  Vampires aren’t even as good as squirrels.  Squirrels are real.  Vampires are not real.  They are not squirrels.  They are fictional works of . . . well, fiction. They will not have my family for dinner and cause mayhem and vampire assorted chaos.  They will not, dear Mina; they will . . .

    . . . well, perhaps I will search out the vampires and their dreadful destruction tomorrow. Today, I must check Amazon to see if Ms. Myers’ next book is ready for purchase.  I believe I may have a coupon.

    So no more at present from your loving,

    Linda

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