Dear World! This is Eden, and we are in rather unusual times, aren’t we? All you humans are in quite a flap about your own mortality, if you’re old, and about the government-enforced death of your social life, if you’re young, and now our flaxen-haired fucktrumpet of a Prime Minister has sent the entire nation home to bed like naughty children. Which, of course, is precisely what you are – you humans never listen, do you, to advice? If you think you’re frustrated by the rule-flaunters who’ve robbed you of your final freedoms this week, I suggest you try being nearly 197 years old, with a brain packed full of wise advice and cautionary tales – gleaned from one’s own extended stupidity – and then having nobody listen to any of your priceless and hard-earned pearls of wisdom because A, they’re human, and stupid is what humans do best, and B, you died at 24 measly years old, and therefore, for all eternity everybody’s going to assume you’re an arrogant little numpty and ignore every bloody word you say! So, I understand the frustrations you must feel, at the particularly stupid members of your species who continue to flock about in herds of germs! Today all our phones went beep, plink, twinkle and plonk in perfect synchronicity, as the government suspiciously acquired our mobile numbers and told us in no uncertain terms to STAY THE FUCK AT HOME LEST YOU CATCH THE DEMON CHINESE LUNG-PLAGUE AND GARGLE TO DEATH ON YOUR OWN REVOLTING PHLEGM!!! …or, well, you know. Words to that effect. But the thing is…
…nobody cares about us, do they! Nobody’s thinking about the vampires, in all of this! Oh, I know your demon Chinese lung-plague is of no pressing concern to us, given I am immortal, and the death rate for you is low enough to leave me in little fear of my entire food source being wiped off the planet, but now, now that we’re all in lockdown, our entire country full of happy little meals-on-legs have been confined to their fucking houses for the next eternity, and nobody is toddling about the place all drunk and careless and edible! Being a vampire has transformed in the space of a single day from sinister decadent swooping with a lovely side order of shooting smack in the moonlight on top of our manor house, to a DEEPLY BLOODY INCONVENIENT and potentially never-ending existence that is far more STRESSFUL than any 196 year old should ever have to endure!! I mean, I mean, they foisted all this on us with barely any notice at all, didn’t they! 24 hours, they said, then we’ll have another think, but they gave us about twelve, and then that was that, the human beings, WHO I EAT, were all herded into their little boxes, and that was that – the world was empty! I didn’t have time to deal with the necessities of undead life! I didn’t have time to raid a hospital for blood – I’m not fucking omnipotent, I had to prioritise! I had to make sure I was well enough stocked with weed and heroin to not lose my mind completely in these uncertain times, and that was a matter of the utmost urgency! I was born a Victorian gentleman, and a Victorian gentleman I shall forever remain, so let me tell you, it is my god given right to rely heavily upon opium-based substances whenever I feel unwell, or troubled, or it is a day with a Y in it! I live with four other vampires – six, counting Frederick and Timmy, who fled from their villa in Italy when the shit got real, so to speak, but now our shit has also become markedly real, and much as we pondered escaping en masse to somewhere else, well…the whole bloody globe is in the same state! So, there you go – six other people have to tolerate my company throughout this entire debacle, and all of them are immortal and thus will never let me forget it if I go insane, so it was an absolute priority that I had a lot of drugs!
…but that meant, that other things, like…well, like blood, sort of slipped through the cracks. We were going to do it later – we’re immortal, we don’t need to hurry, not in any avenue of life, and now, it would seem, we’ve sort of forgotten how to hurry at all. So they bloody well announced a state of NATIONAL EMERGENCY while Rob was snorting coke and I was smoking weed and Clara was painting her toenails and Kate was chasing her demented little dog around the furniture, and Samuel and Frederick were playing some elaborate card game they made up centuries ago, and then Timmy turned up the TV and we all thought shit. Oh, shit!
Still, it’s like I said, isn’t it? Humans don’t take advice! Just because it had now become law to stay indoors away from hungry demons, I didn’t think that would actually stop them! When it got dark, we all did some more coke, and put on our boots, and whooshed out into the city, but…nothing. No one! The humans were actually doing what they’d been told! I’ve never seen anything like it! I mean, I’ve lived though two world wars, albeit largely from a distance (well, would you stick around to get bombed into oblivion, if you could just fly across the fucking Atlantic and get drunk with all the beautiful women left behind by the American soldiers? You can stick white feathers in my hair all you like, madam – I am a gentleman of leisure, and people of my standing do not spend their time slithering about in filthy trenches just because the human beings who are nothing more than food anyway are being bloody silly! I was already in my late eighties by that first war, I’ll have you know, and that means I was an old and dignified retiree, despite what my 24-year-old face might suggest, and a nice relaxing American holiday was precisely what the world owed me! I pay my taxes, don’t I? (Umm. Do I? I’m not entirely sure, you know, these things tend to fall by the wayside while you’re busy testing the bounds of opioid bliss, but nonetheless, nonethefuckingless, I have probably paid the occasional tax in my time, and that means I can dodge a ghastly war or two when I’m already very old and delicate, SO THERE, AND I SHALL HEAR NO MORE ABOUT IT!)) – two world wars I’ve seen, and of course the streets used to be deserted, but they were also blacked out, and it was a very different sort of thing. People still went about their business in the light – pubs were open, people were everywhere, desperate for company, and news, and reassurance…but last night, in Birmingham, it was as though we were in some bizarre game of hide and seek, or as though God had just gone *hufffff* and blown all the little people clean off the face of the Earth, because everything seemed quite normal, streetlights on, ATM machines glowing…but there was nobody about. Nobody at all. Nobody to eat! No sounds except the clicking of Clara’s heels echoing off the walls – it was excessively weird… And then some deeply tiresome policemen tried to arrest us or scold us or spank us, because there we were, all seven of us, with Rob’s silly hair and Clara’s blimp-like boobs and my mutilated leather jacket, and Kate wearing her beautifully insane new boots, and apparently we looked like we were up to something dreadful, like having fun, in a great big germ-ridden group like some public orgy of syphilitic whores rolling down the middle of the road in a great whirl of bollocks and tits and genital warts – what a terrible, terrible irresponsible scandal, to be seen walking about in a group in this new world of The Demon Chinese Lung Plague! We duly mindfucked said coppers, without eating them, because body cameras are unpredictable and frightening devices that are far more effective than a sodding crucifix when it comes to warding off the undead, and off they pissed, but regardless, it was pointless to stay. The shops were all closed, nobody to fucking eat, and apartment blocks have so much sodding CCTV these days (my god how I loathe and detest technology! I mean…not always, of course. I like the television very much, and I am rather partial to the internet, particularly in the realm of shopping for insane pieces of clothing and obscure pieces of music…but when technology stops me eating and swooping, I become INTENSELY PEEVED!) – it was an abysmal disaster all round, as far as our dining options went!
Following some increasingly heated discussion over a few more lines of coke snorted off the arse of the Birmingham Bull, we removed ourselves to the suburbs, where there’s no CCTV, and people live in nice big families like a smorgasbord of delicacies, or more accurately, a smorgasbord containing delicacies so youthful and potent I’m likely to murder them if I even start, and then the ropy stringy ageing leftovers that plod about caring for those obnoxious-yet-edible little people…
The suburbs were an even stranger experience than the city. You could hear a bloody pin drop, on the rare occasions we all shut up, and then we found ourselves creeping along whispering to each other. Can you imagine, a group of seven vampires, one of whom is almost certainly among the oldest and strongest on Earth, and another of whom whose insane green hair sits atop a psychopathic bastard who’d decapitate you for nothing more than entertainment, then kick your severed head all about the city, and a third of whom is me, and I’ve done even more ghastly things than the rest of them put together, even if I didn’t entirely mean to, but there we were, this herd of SINISTER REMORSELESS DEMONS, tiptoeing shiftily about suburbia at midnight like a gaggle of hapless twelve year olds, whispering awkwardly and feeling like we were doing a terrible crime when we hadn’t even knocked over a pot-plant, much less done any murdering yet!
But nonetheless, demons we were, demons with a lot of cocaine, and demons who have dealt with far more fiendish situations than a few empty streets and a bit of Chinese Lung Plague! So…we stalked…and we listened, peering into the minds of all those mortals in their little boxy houses…until finally we came upon a rather large, and comparatively attractive detached house, set back from the street by a curving drive with several shiny cars parked on it, and a lot of trees scattered about the place to block the noise if anybody started screaming… From within, we could discern from the mortal thoughts a decent dinner brewing – two parents, one uncle, and four children varying in age from four to fourteen; there was a happy meal for everybody, and if any of the children succumbed to a terrible fate, I daresay the parents wouldn’t even mind – who wants to be in lockdown with four children?! Come to think of it, who even needs four children! Parents usually have a second in the hope of landing a boy and a girl, or possibly because the first one is a terrible, terrible disappointment…but if you end up with three disappointments, Christ, surely the odds are against the fourth one turning out any better!
Up the drive we stalked, and then we flattened ourselves against the walls, except for Clara, who had been selected as our harmlessly female and effectively charming door-greeter…which is an amusing notion, considering the things our harmlessly female and charming Clara has done to and with enough bits of severed male anatomy to probably fill a swimming pool by now. I was actually starting to enjoy myself, squashed against the ivy-covered wall with Kate smothering her sniggers to my left, and Rob rubbing coke into his gums to my right – this was something new! A brand new dining experience, and you don’t get too many of those, after nearly two centuries on this tedious old planet!
So, Clara rang the bell, and from within we heard the usual Who could that be, at this hour? and Have you been ordering pizza? and It’s probably Amazon, and then the door opened in a waft of perfume and freshly baked cookies, and Clara didn’t even bother with a cover story – there were seven of us, and seven of them, and no need at all to use our demonic wits; Clara just mindfucked the woman, hissed “Go!” at us, and go we did – into the house, past a rather snooty looking woman hypnotised silent and draped in beige, and through a house that was also decorated in a startling array of beige, with a lot of pot-plants that looked so unnaturally healthy I wasn’t sure if they were fake or real – the place was like a bloody showhome. How ghastly, I thought – humans like to tidy their nests when they’re bored, don’t they, and these ones haven’t got a shoe out of place already! Maybe we should trash the entire house for their own mental health, during this beastly lockdown… But there was no time for that! In we swooped, towards our chosen victims! I wasn’t having the four year old, not a fucking chance, child-blood never ends well for me, and I am not spending this heinous lockdown pursued by the spectres of fresh guilt, nor the blade of Frederick’s antique sword that’s already tried to separate me from my head on more than one occasion, when similar accidents have befallen me. No…no baby blood for me: I went for the fourteen year old – a girl, blonde, happily bereft of her mother’s snooty features, staring at us all boggle-eyed – I was there before she could scream. I stared into those startled blue eyes, and mindfucking her weird little teenage brain into a state of silent stupor. The others were equally rapid – no screams to be heard. But I looked anyway, out of pure curiosity. Rob had the little one, no surprise there. That ghastly git would probably come up and breathe the scent of child blood all over me afterwards, just to be a ruinous bastard of immortal temptation, but I knew the little brat wouldn’t end up dead – Rob might be a psychopath, but he has better self control than I do…particularly with two-thousand-year-old Frederick lurking about, who might be all of five-foot-eight and gay as the Easter bunny, but his bad side is littered with the severed heads of vampires who’ve committed crimes he considered beyond the pale – pun wholly intended. Kate had made a beeline for the drunken uncle – doubtless she would’ve preferred a child, but as the newest of us all, her self control still has enough holes in it to not go around tasting children, if at all possible. So, Frederick and Timmy took the other two kids, Samuel settled for the father, and Clara returned with the mother in tow.
Then we ate them!
…but not to death – not quite. Not this time… Vampires get a lot of bad press, and while it’s not entirely unwarranted, we don’t need to kill, and in this tiresome era of forensics and fingerprints and all that nonsense, it’s considerably harder to wipe out whole families without having to take an extended vacation afterwards, and since there are only so many countries on Earth to slaughter in before there’s nowhere left to run, we prefer to restrict most of our murdering to special occasions. Birthdays, New Year’s Eve, that sort of thing. And when we do kill, we’re not sloppy about it – we would far rather do it in style! A vampire party is quite the thing to behold…though I suggest you never try, lest you find yourself decapitated atop a blood waterslide, your vital fluids gushing down the plastic sheeting as vampire after vampire clad in wipe-clean PVC, or completely naked, as the night wears on, comes leaping up the ladder to skid across the floor in a tidal wave of gore…and it’s my birthday next month, which is perking me up considerably, during this strange time: everybody’s staying at home…nobody’s seeing their neighbours…and that means it’ll be days, weeks even, before anyone even notices whoever we kidnap and devour…
Returning to the point, we ate our dinner, healed it with a drop of our own blood, and then Clara was off to the kitchen to find out what smelled a bit burned, rapidly returning with a plateful of chocolate chip cookies, most of which were only mildly charred, and there you go – we even got some freshly baked dessert, courtesy of our Stepford Wife (I mean, I’d never seen so much beige in all my life! It was like crawling inside a bowl of porridge! And the beige was spotless! How in hell do you raise four children without getting a speck of shit or vomit or baby food on the beige carpet? Do they just get a new one every three months?! And the pot-plants were gleaming like some obsessive psychopath had individually polished each leaf on a daily basis, and there were cookies in the oven, and my teenage victim was sitting next to a pile of nonsensical mathematics homework even though all the schools were closed, and I was just thinking, This is BIZARRE! If I hadn’t just tasted her, I’d think they were all robots! Dear Lord, the middle classes are a peculiar bunch, aren’t they?! Not as peculiar as the working classes, who speak a language unto themselves, and think very rude things INDEED about what a snooty tosspot I must be the minute I speak aloud, but the middle classes are very strange as well. Always seeking upward mobility, yet without realising that upward mobility will just make them into everything they despise, and destroy everything they’re proud of! I mean, slaving away at homework as though it matters, as though going to Oxbridge is an achievement? My father just sort of *bought* my way through education, like everybody else of my ilk! And they’re all so obsessed with manners and politeness, aren’t they, when people like ME don’t give a shit about any of that, because we never had to – nobody DARES tell us we’re rude and appalling, because we’ll just have them thrown in prison or sacked or murdered. So WE do not have BEIGE carpet, because we stomp all over the place with racehorse shit on our boots, and we care more about our dogs than our children, and really we’re all fairly awful, but for some reason everybody wants to be like us, because they only see us from a distance in our shiny vroomy cars, looking *expensive* – they haven’t got a clue what obnoxious deviant arseholes the aristocracy really are…but at least I don’t live in a BOWL OF PORRIDGE! Oh LORD this UNSPEAKABLE BEIGE is BEYOND NAUSEATING! )
But in spite of the beige, the cookies were really rather good – Samuel had begun leaning over the father’s shoulder, filling in the rest of his crossword-in-progress, and Rob had taken the games controller from one of the boys and was shooting people on the TV, and Timmy was sampling the spaghetti bolognese from somebody’s plate and declaring it “A work of art!”, and Frederick was investigating the pot-plants and wondering aloud how they got them to grow so well, and Kate had encountered a smug-looking Siamese cat to befriend, until I erupted to my feet and screamed,
“WE ARE DEMONS! WE ARE SINISTER FIENDS! WE ARE NOT SPENDING THE NIGHT IN SUBURBIA DOING CROSSWORDS AND GETTING GARDENING TIPS FROM OUR FUCKING VICTIMS! THIS IS NOT WHAT IS GOING TO HAPPEN TO US DURING LUNG PLAGUE SEASON!”
“Can we steal the cat, at least?” Kate asked. “That’s pretty demonic, isn’t it?”
“Deeply demonic,” said Rob, still blowing up pixels, “Given the dogs would rip it to shreds within five seconds…”
Kate sighed, and put down the cat.
“But the plants!” Frederick enthused, “Haven’t you seen the plants, Samuel? Aren’t they fantastic!”
“I want this recipe,” Timmy added, smearing his finger through the last drops of sauce on the nearest plate and sucking it. “I miss our favourite restaurants already, and this really is quite a passable impression…”
“Look in the kitchen,” said Frederick, “If you find the book, borrow it.”
“BORROW IT?!” I howled, “Fucking BORROW IT?! As in, you intend to give it back?”
“I was hoping to,” said Timmy, as he wandered off to find the kitchen. “I suppose I could buy them a new one though, to replace it, if that makes you happier…”
“NONE OF THIS MAKES ME HAPPY! WE ARE NOT SINKING INTO MIDDLE-CLASS DOMESTICITY WITH EVERY SODDING MEAL THIS YEAR! ROB! DO SOMETHING AWFUL! DO SOMETHING DEMONIC!”
Rob smirked, paused the game, then picked up his blank-faced four year old victim, plopped him down on the carpet, and proceeded to tap out a line of cocaine onto his forehead, before snorting it up into his nostril, and asking,
“Happy now? I’ve just done Class A drugs off the face of a small child…and actually, you’re right, the pot-plants are a bit too smug, aren’t they? I reckon I had enough whiskey tonight to pull this off…”
He got off the floor, strolled over to the nearest plant, and proceeded to piss up it, while Samuel muttered, “Oh that really is disgusting…”
“Admit it, Samuel,” said Rob, grinning over his shoulder, “You love it. Their plants look better than yours do. You’re eight centuries old, and the humans have outdone you in the gardening stakes, but now this one’s going to fucking reek and probably drop down dead within a week, and then we’ll be better than them at everything, just like we’re meant to be.”
“I found the book!” Timmy sang, reappearing with a hefty cookery book held aloft, and wearing an expression of great satisfaction. “Prepare, all ye unworthy souls, to dine upon Italian feasts for the duration of our stay!”
Clara snorted. “Haven’t you been watching the social media at all, Timmy? You can’t get food in the supermarkets anymore – you can’t even get into the supermarkets without queuing for an hour; it’s a blessing we don’t need the stuff!”
“Hmm…” said Timmy. “I suppose I’ll have to borrow some of that as well then…” Off he went, back to the kitchen.
“That is better,” I agreed. “Steal all their food and leave them to starve! They’ve got four children – maybe they’ll start eating them!”
“We could mindfuck them to eat them,” Rob pointed out, finally sounding enthusiastic about being demonic in this awful beige hell. “I bet these fuckers have a great big swanky barbeque set in the garden – can you imagine what it’d look like with this little shit—” he gestured at the kid on the floor, “rotating like a pig on a spit! Neighbours looking over the hedge, thinking fuck me, the apocalypse really is kicking off! Either that or wishing they had a kid as young and tasty to roast. Yeah…I like this idea. Bring me mummy dearest, Clara – I want to turn her into a cannibal…”
“Absolutely not!” Samuel exclaimed, abandoning his crossword and whooshing to intercept Rob’s evil scheme. “We are doing nothing that will risk us being on the run for the next year! The world is in a mess, and we are in the privileged position of owning enough land to not be remotely affected by a lockdown, and enough rooms to stay out of each other’s way whenever grudges break out, which is approximately every six minutes, with you lot! As such, we are not beginning a plague of cannibalism that could see us living in tents in some freezing Russian forest all year, and that is the final word on this matter!”
“But what about my birthday?” I demanded. “I’m still getting murders for my birthday, aren’t I?!”
“Of course there’ll be murders,” said Samuel, sounding scandalised by the mere suggestion, “I have been hand selecting our victims for quite some time, and since they’ll all be trapped at home, the harvesting will be easier than ever before. Also, I have advised all guests to bring their own beverages, given the hospital blood bag situation may become…complex. Your birthday is perfectly in hand, and shaping up to be the goriest mess our household has ever hosted. This party will go down in history; every vampire we know must be precisely as baffled and bored by all this as we are; your party is likely to be the highlight of the demonic calendar. Does that ease your mind, regarding this matter?”
“Good,” I said, with great satisfaction. Birthdays still make me nervous… My name on invites… I know it’s been centuries, but every time I see an invite with my name on it, I remember the days when I was still mortal, and my reputation was in tatters – I was that terrible drunken syphilis-riddled disaster whose fiancée would rather die in a noose than marry me… It took so long, when Samuel found me, and turned me, before our invites could include my name as well, without the knowledge that nobody would be seen dead there. If the Demon Chinese Lung Plague made me the reigning and deeply sinister vampiric socialite of the year, then perhaps dining in suburbia surrounded by beige was not so terrible as first it seemed… “Good,” I repeated, beaming…until I had a horrible thought:
“What are we doing about drugs?! We’ve got enough for us, but I am not sharing my stash with everyone we know! We haven’t even got any party drugs anyway! I daresay even if we fly out to meet the dealers, how can they be getting hold of anything with this…this codwallop going on across the entire globe?! We can’t have a party without drugs! This is a disaster, this is an unparalleled fucking—”
“Eden,” Kate interrupted, flitting across the room and taking my hand, “This is the year 2020, and hanging around in gloomy streets waiting for a dodgy-looking bloke with bags of pills stuffed down his boxers is obsolete. I’ve been learning about the dark web. And it is incredible. It’s like a combination of Amazon, and how I imagine the apothecary shops were when you were young. Once you’re in, you can get anything – people even leave reviews, it’s almost funny how upstanding and normal the whole thing feels! Your party’s sorted – I placed a fair few orders last night; ecstasy, coke, speed…acid and shrooms, variety of 2c- compounds, then a fair few trip stoppers in case shit gets heavy, and some heroin for the end of the night – it’s meant to be the strongest stuff outside New Jersey. I didn’t bother telling you about it, since I knew you’d only lose your shit if I started trying to explain Bitcoin wallets and PGP encryption and all that, but trust me – I am about to revolutionise your life, give you a killer party, and keep us all sane – and high – even if this lockdown keeps up for months.” She beamed at me, then suggested, “This is the point at which you tell me I’m a fucking genius, and that being the ‘squiggly little foetus’ of the family is sometimes a good thing.”
I laughed, and kissed her, as beautiful visions of online emporiums filled with every drug under the sun span deliciously through my brain…until we broke apart, and the visions were obliterated by a nauseating sea of beige. I wondered what they even called all these shades of nothingy-blah that were pasted across these sodding walls – how could you ever come up with artistic names for beige? Porridge Smear, perhaps. Bland Splodge. Effusive Spaff. The Hummus Went Splat…
Rob had, apparently, just finished pissing up a second pot-plant, zipping up his fly as he turned around and said,
“All out of ammo. Can we get the fuck out of here now, if I’m not allowed to make them eat each other?”
“I do believe so,” said Samuel, as he stood at the table, making a final flourish on the newspaper. “The crossword has been defeated!”
“And I have the cookery book, and all the requisite ingredients!” said Timmy proudly, lifting a hefty Waitrose bag filled with stolen loot.
“Time to depart!” said Frederick, “Give them all sixty seconds, and we shall be gone!”
We returned to our victims, where they continued to sit, slump and lie, mindfucking them for a second time. You will wake up in precisely one minute, I informed the girl I had just eaten, With no recollection of us, or our visit. Life goes on as normal. If anything seems strange, you will not mention it to anybody…
And then we were gone – whoosh, zip, poof, the door slamming behind us and the silence of this eerie, human-less night falling over us like a mildly disquieting blanket.
We shot directly into the heavens, soaring through midnight skies clear as a bell, a million stars sparkling in every direction as we drifted languidly towards home. Clara was commenting that the lack of planes and pollution was said to be the cause of the beautiful weather and crystal clear skies of late. That made me happy: I may be a sinister fiend, an undead demon, but I am also rather partial to a bit of sunbathing with a Bloody Fucking Mary at my side (the human cocktail, improved with a good old splash of Type A, and heavy on the Tabasco…mmmmmmmmmm – Bloody Fucking Mary…) And if all the obnoxious little people were going to be locked indoors, then perhaps we could even go daytime flying! Frederick and Timmy had, several years ago, crafted themselves demented sky blue tunics for the purpose of daytime flying – they look like lunatics setting off for the Last bloody Supper, but they really are near invisible in the sky…and there are few things in the world more joyous than cartwheeling through a bottomless azure sky, with the sun warm on your skin, and the world below vivid green and splattered with tiny little roaming sheep, and the necessity to move fast as flames lest you’re seen. Perhaps we could go whizzing and spinning and somersaulting all the way to the Scottish Highlands, to divebomb into lochs, and shoot dope on top of wild, heathery mountains…
It was a happy thought! Perhaps this year of the Demon Chinese Lung Plague won’t be too terrible after all…except that we still have to eat. And that is going to mean the perverse experience of mingling with weird human families on a nightly basis, unless Samuel manages to rob a hospital or three – and that is profoundly irksome!
So…on we go then, you and I – on and on into the ghastly unknown. I warn you, strange little human of this endless internet: if you happen to live in a house with three or more happy meals in it, you too may find yourselves the unwitting prey of a frustrated demon whose favourite restaurant-city has just shut down. As such, if you suddenly pop out of a daydream to find your spaghetti has vanished, or your sudoku is mysteriously filled in, or perhaps the book that was in your hands has gone completely, and can’t be found anywhere in the house…and a foul aroma is now emanating from the pot-plant of which you are the most proud…then it is entirely possible that you have just become the latest household to be visited upon by us…
I strongly suggest you watch your fellow house-dwellers for signs of cannibalistic urges – now the idea’s in Rob’s head, it’s bound to be enacted eventually, so hide the barbeque, and best of luck to you. Also, don’t blame your housemates for stealing all the Oreos – that was probably me. I am rather partial to an Oreo…
…WHICH DOES NOT MAKE ME AN OUNCE LESS DEMONIC!!!
Yours, nibbling a borrowed Oreo, with a profoundly sinister aura of BISCUITY MENACE,
Eden, Overlord of Evil…and soon to be host of the most fantastically bloody party the vampiric world has ever seen! Be there, fellow demons, or weep piteously into your victim’s neck for the next five centuries, *smugly menacing winkyface* 😉