ADDITIONAL READER-SUBMITTED HALLOWEEN STORIES
'Showgirls: Behind the Scenes’
By Nicole Tatro, 17, Green Valley High School, Henderson
I was so hungry, and I never realized how hungry I really was until I could smell them. I put on my sequin- and rhinestone-covered outfit that was customary of showgirls. I looked in the mirror, and through the inhuman beauty and perfection, I saw a monster. My eyes were dark with thirst, and my teeth looked sharper and shinier than usual. It was that attraction meant to bring the prey to me, and the weapons to feed off them with.
“Dawn, are you going to spend the night gazing at yourself in the mirror or are you ready to go?” asked Elena. She was right. The stage director had knocked on the door to announce that we had five minutes until the show started, and I hadn’t even noticed, lost in my own reflection. I donned my large feather headdress.
“I’m so thirsty. Do you want to go feeding after this?” I asked Elena.
Elena, as well as all the other showgirls, had the same “condition” as I. A disease, some might call it. I called it being alive, being free, being vampire.
“You should’ve eaten before you came. It’s going to be hard for you to concentrate with all those humans out there, dangling defenselessly in front of your nose,” she replied, churning delicious images in my head.
“I think I’ll be OK.” And I hoped it was true.
“Just be careful,” she said. I usually had good control over myself, and I thought I’d be able to handle my hunger until after the show.
We walked onto the stage and took our places on set. Oh no, I thought, I can hear their pulses. But I held myself steady as the curtain rolled back and the numerous lights bathed the stage. The music started and our choreographed routine began. We danced and twirled around the stage in perfect sequence, our flawless bodies sparkling in our glittering, bikinilike outfits. But my mind was far from the dance; it was more focused on controlling my instincts. I wanted to rip. I wanted to tear. I wanted to kill.
I was far hungrier than I ever realized. My throat burned horribly with thirst; I could feel it in my veins. All my effort was focused on keeping myself composed and in sync with the music, rather than to leap off the stage and sink my hunter’s teeth into some innocent patron’s throat.
But it hurt. And the other girls could feel that something was not right. I caught Elena’s eye as she continued to dance and they were wide in fear. She knew what was coming. At the next twirl, I lost control, and leapt off the brightly lit stage into the darkness of the audience, found a neck, and bit as hard as I could. I fed until I could hold no more blood, and I didn’t even notice the other audience members running away in fear, running away from my victim’s killer.
'Sorrows of a Vampire’
By Paul Youman, 16, Silverado High School, Las Vegas
Vampires aren’t cool. I know not why so many of you giggly teenage schoolgirls relish the thought of having a sweetheart vampire boy toy, but let me tell you this: Blood becomes quite bland after a while, no matter how much ketchup you put on it.
Succumbing to the thirst of blood is very similar to how a smoker will bite his nails in mental agony, craving just a single hit of cancer. And after all the useless nicotine patches fail to work, after the toxin comes and invades every nook and cranny of you, all that is left is the stench of guilt.
I never asked for this curse. I never told Mommy I wanted to be a ferocious vampire (though when I was 6, I did dress up as one for Halloween). So tell me: Why must I trade my pathetic soul, and commit murder, all to survive? And, after every life lost to my greed, after every scream cut off by my sharp, lethal nails, I make the same promise: To never hunt again.
Though, now, I feel the familiar yearning calling for me. In one snap decision, all my promises perish in vain. I will hunt once again.
Towering hundreds of feet over the energetic city of Las Vegas, I analyze my situation. I am currently on top of the Stratosphere, surrounded by ecstatic teenagers. Many of them seem ready to lose their dinner as they are about to ride the roller coaster. The smell of fear practically radiates off them and my hunger can wait no longer. I make my move.
Quick as a cockroach, I begin tasting neck after neck, slurping every ounce of blood. I am deaf to the screams, too far into my trance to care or pity. The taste is as luscious as chocolate-covered strawberries. The feel of their blood flowing through my veins creates an ecstasy so great, I shut off all other senses and concentrate only on the feeling.
After a minute, the sound of silence penetrates my ears. I snap open my eyes to find corpses scattered everywhere, their bloodless bodies making them seem to be made of paper. With my newfound vigor, I toss all the limp bodies onto the roller coaster. Then, after checking for any remains, I snap the cables holding the ride onto its track, and toss the entire thing out onto the unsuspecting city.
A minute flies by, and the amazing feeling is all but gone. I stomp on the ground with all my force, holding back raging tears. Frustration consumes me, until all that remains is a sense of helplessness ... and deep inside, I can already hear the faint calling of blood ...
'Road Crew Vampire Diaries’
By Mike Malburg, 54, Las Vegas
Eight years ago today, my vampire buddies and I arrived here from Transylvania. That place was horribly boring, so we said, “Vegas, Baby.” This city is so vibrant and so full of life. (Well, not so full of life after we begin sinking our teeth into it. Ha ha.)
My buds and I have great jobs — we’re road construction workers — night shift. These Las Vegans sure complain about many of the roadwork sites, grumbling that nobody is even there working. Oh, boo hoo. Relax people. When we’re not on-site, it’s because we’re out roaming through nearby neighborhoods, feasting on the local fare. We eventually show up back at the site and do some work.
A typical night for us is a little working ... and a lot of lurking.
Tonight I was thirsty for skateboarders and joggers. They hit the spot. Their mortal blood was pure nocturnal nectar.
Someone brought in jelly doughnuts tonight. I love watching someone bite into a jelly doughnut — the red jelly oozing out of it. Staring at that, my breathing got heavy, my skin got cold and my fangs ached to puncture someone’s neck.
With my bloodlust piqued, what a perfect time that the barrels and barricades had traffic backed up. I found someone in a convertible — they are easy prey to bite — a simple swoop and suck. When several vehicles are stopped, it’s like a banquet for us. A blood buffet. The bodies were really piling up tonight. Good thing we have shovels and backhoes to dispose of them.
We freaked out when we arrived on site tonight. The day shift guys sectioned off an area, and they used wooden stakes. Wooden stakes!!!
We quickly got rid of those!
I had a good night ... except for one incident. On our 14th and final “coffee break,” I went looking for a late-night snack. There it was — someone walking their dog. The dog began growling at me, sensing that I was drenched in evil. I aborted my late-night craving because of the dog, and also because it was getting daylight. I needed to take refuge from the sun.
I crawled down under a manhole cover to ride out the day.
All I can do now is rest and wait — wait for the holes in the manhole cover to go dark. In the meantime, the cockroaches and rats down here will keep me company.
I’m wondering where our next road project will be — Summerlin, Spring Valley, North Las Vegas, Green Valley. Wherever it is, fresh blood awaits.
We love Las Vegas, and with road construction set to last here forever, we will be here every bite of the way!
'Vampires in Vegas’
By Alba Arango, 40, Las Vegas
“Police believe the shooting is most likely gang-related. In other news ...”
Gang-related. I smirked. I guess we’re kind of like a gang. We hang out together. We protect each other. Sure. I guess you could call us a gang.
“Hey, Lizzie,” Cristina said as she plopped down on the sofa next to me. “Anything good on the news?”
“Just another gang shooting.”
She laughed. “Whose turn was it tonight? Sophie’s?”
“Yeah.”
Cristina picked up the remote and flipped to the Disney Channel. “Think the police will ever figure out that, out of the 300 or so gang shootings each year, only about 20 are actually done by gang members?”
“I hope not,” I said, stealing the remote and putting the news back on, “or else we’d have to move again.”
“You’d think after almost 30 years they’d start catching on. Hey, maybe we should vary the routine. You know, shoot them one night, throw them off a cliff the next. As long as they bleed.”
I frowned. Whenever Cristina started thinking creatively, it meant she was getting restless. When she gets restless, she gets careless.
“I don’t know about that,” I said, trying to sound logical. “With the amount of growth here in Vegas in the last 20 years, I think gang violence is expected. If the police see a drop in the number of shootings, they may get suspicious.”
Cristina thought about that for a moment. “That’s true,” she said, stretching on the sofa. “And I definitely don’t wanna have to leave Vegas. This is the greatest place ever.”
I had to agree with that. We’d moved to Vegas because of the explosive population growth, but never did the five of us dream that this was the perfect place for vampires. The city that never sleeps.
We each worked graveyard shifts. Sophie and Becca were blackjack dealers, Jane and I were bartenders, and Cristina was a stripper. Of course, every few years we had to change jobs and hair colors; being immortal in a world full of mortals does have its disadvantages. But overall, Vegas was transient enough that no one seemed to notice us at all.
“I’m off to work,” she said, jumping up and doing a somersault in the air. “You?”
I shook my head. “Day off.”
She smiled, her eyes twinkling. “Don’t get bored.” She laughed and disappeared out the front door.
I smiled to myself. By “don’t get bored,” she actually meant, “don’t kill anyone for fun.” I haven’t done that in over 80 years. She should give me some credit.
The back door opened, and Sophie walked in carrying several Wal-Mart bags.
“After-dinner shopping?” I asked as she placed the bags on the never-used dining room table.
“I needed to buy a couple things.” She sat on the sofa. “Anything good on the news?”
“Another gang shooting.”
She sighed dramatically. “What’s this world coming to? People should really stop walking alone at night.”
“Perish forbid.”
We both laughed and finished watching the news.
'Cauchermar’
By Carlee Takizawa, 16, Silverado High School, Las Vegas
The crowd exploded in an uproar of applause. The many performers of Cirque du Soleil bowed as the curtain slowly fell and the cheers died away.
Backstage, the performers busily stripped at the excess makeup and costumes, that covered so heavily. Their pale skin and blood-red eyes penetrated through as sighs of relief washed across the room.
“Tonight is the night, my friends,” exclaimed Ronaldo as he made his way to the front of the room. “Tonight we recruit new blood to join us.”
“At last,” exclaimed Genevieve, who sat slumped in a chair. “I’ve been in need of new blood.”
“Where do we feast tonight?” shouted one of the performers. The whole room quickly broke out with talk of possible locations, until the clever Ronaldo explained that the feast was to be held at Fremont Street.
“We will attack at 11 p.m. while the Fremont Street Experience is occupying the crowd’s one-track minds,” explained Ronaldo.
The room filled with sinister laughs as the performers began to chatter and assemble among themselves for the meal to come. Ronaldo and Genevieve sauntered out into the warm night, while the performers flooded out of the hotel and into the night, their remarkable pale skin oozing with excitement in the flashing lights.
“Sin City — what a perfect place for a perfect feast,” noted Ronaldo as they strutted down the Strip.
Genevieve grinned, flashing her deadly teeth as they hailed a cab. They quickly came to a halt in front of Fremont where the street filled with drunken, provocatively dressed monsters and ghouls. Ronaldo and Genevieve slithered their way through the crowd, eyeing out all members that hungrily waited for the show to begin.
At exactly 11 p.m., the lights dimmed and all activity ceased as heads turned toward the sky in anticipation. As soon as the music blared throughout the street and the show drifted across the screen, the performers greedily helped themselves to their meals. Ronaldo knew that at this time, all living souls wandering Fremont Street would leave their necks vulnerable as they strained to watch the whole show.
One by one, the innocent audience fell as the performers devoured their necks, draining out their precious blood. No one screamed, no one ran, no one knew anything until the penetration of sharp teeth, but by then it was too late. At 11:06 p.m., the lights once again illuminated the empty street. Not a living soul wandered about. Only the sound of the running slot machines echoed through the deserted street.
The next day the front-page headline of the Las Vegas Review-Journal read:
Hundreds Go Missing On Fremont
Right below it, another headline read:
Brand New Show Coming Soon
“Cauchemar”
Cirque du Soleil
“Where the vulnerable is hungered for”
(Note: In French, cauchemar means “nightmare.”)
'Be Sure To Tip’
By Mike O’Neal, Henderson
“I get so tired of people not tipping. I mean, I follow them to their hotels and take it in my own special way, but that’s not the point.” Valet Louie drew three cards.
“Even the little guy deserves respect,” said Ramon to a round of cheers. “They don’t have to take the free pass when I’m dishing them out on the sidewalk, but instead of ignoring me, they could at least say no thank you.”
“Makes you want to bite ’em that much harder, am I right?”
“I’m out!” Vicky said, getting up from the table and going to the fridge. “Guess I’ll be the bartender when I’m off, too.”
She tossed the others a packet of AB positive and they sank their teeth into the plastic.
“Sprung for the good stuff,” Mike said, giving her a scarlet-stained smile. “AB’s hard to come by these days. Hardly can find a tourist with the type anymore.”
Samantha folded her cards and politely went back to the fridge. “Only O negative for me please. I’m on a diet.”
“Excuse me, Ms. Waitress ... I mean stripper,” Vicky coughed under her breath. “You working at the club tonight, Mike?”
“Either bar-backing or out front holding the line. I better be promoted to doorman. Someone’s gonna turn up missing if I don’t.”
“You want to deal with all those rich goons?” Ramon asked.
“Tips better than anything else. And there I got some power to turn them down if they’re rude. I don’t bite just anybody.”
“Full house,” Louie laughed while the others tossed their hands. “Pay up.”
Each of them snipped their wrists with a razor and held it over the shot glass till it dripped full. With a wink to everyone he downed it in one.
“Refreshing!”
“Getting to be that time,” Samantha yawned, peeking out the basement window. The last rays of dusk were fading from the sky. “Let’s go make an unliving.”
Everyone stood and dusted themselves off. Getting their wallets out of their coffins, they paraded up the stairs, out of their boarded-up house and onto the unlit street to wait for the bus.
Within minutes a strange bus — the only of its kind in Vegas — stopped for them all. The windows were tinted so black no spot of sun could possibly peek through. It was a double-decker and already so full the company had to stand and hold tight as it faded into shadow and barreled toward the Strip.
The vampires nodded to their fellow kinsmen, all ready for a night of invisibility their powers could only hope to achieve. Janitors and dealers, vagrants and bathroom attendants, servants and slaves — so many of the forgotten Sin City had taken into its embrace. The lifeblood that kept the town moving.
The bus came to a stop on the Strip.
Louie patted Mike on the back. “Want to catch a drink later?”
“Sure. Let’s meet for a pint.”
Leaving the bus, the vampires filtered every which way, nameless faces in the crowd.
'Genesis’
By Michael Manford McGreer, 64, Mesquite
She sat alone on a rock. The calico hills of Red Rock Canyon still glowed from the setting sun. Her face was oblong with high cheekbones. Black-rimmed glasses sat stately on a slightly arched nose. Earpieces disappeared under long black hair thrust back into a neat bun.
She wore a coal black wool blazer and a skirt which hugged her hips and flowed along the curvature of her crossed legs. It ended just below her knees, giving him ample opportunity to admire her uncovered calves, which tapered into black, open-toed spike shoes. Her nails, on her hands and feet, were painted crimson red to match the color of her fully painted lips. She looked, however, a little wary, a little haunted. Her skin, although smooth, was unusually pale. She was, he guessed, about 30.
His dog growled. She looked at him, as her tongue slowly moistened her underlip.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Dogs don’t warm to me,” she replied.
“Would you join me? I would like to share some thoughts. Tie the dog over there,” she offered, pointing to a fence rail.
“Why not?” he said impulsively.
The dog, although tied, continued to growl and bare his teeth, and kept his eyes fixed on the woman.
Her perfume was earthy and smelled of ozone-enriched rain mixed with the aroma of earth, grasses and thirsty Nevada desert plants.
“Your ideas?” he asked.
“I have been thinking about death,” she offered.
“Death. How different,” he answered.
“Death,” she began, “is a term we use too loosely. We speak of dead people, dead things, dead animals, dead plants and even dead hopes.”
“I suppose,” he replied.
“You know it’s a biological accident, don’t you?”
“No,” he responded. He had never thought of death in that way.
“It’s all about mutation. If animals don’t mutate, they remain in a utopian state. They preserve their identity. Without separate identities there is no conflict. Lacking mortality, there is no fear. Peace reigns. Neither competition nor terror exists. Pain and sorrow ceases to exist. Neither cruelty nor injustice nor envy inflicts itself on the human condition.”
She paused, and looked directly into his eyes. “Blood,” she said calmly, “is the avatar, the seal of an everlasting and mutant-free life.”
He sank deeply into a blissful state of existence as she sucked blood from a vein on his neck. The howls of wolves, mixed with that of a mournful dog’s wailing, announced the moment of his rebirth.
'Meat Market’
By Kerry Sparks, 30, Las Vegas
The ladies were getting ready for a night of good ol’ fashioned country fun at Stoney’s nightclub in fabulous Las Vegas. The three 20-something blondes crowded the bathroom mirror.
“What do you think of this lipstick?” Trina asked.
“Very Goth,” said Heather, the 5-foot-11 vixen of the bunch.
“I think it’s too dark. You don’t want to scare anyone do you?” asked Lauren.
The ladies cackled.
“All right then. I’ll go with this boring peach shade,” said Trina.
“Perfectly dull,” agreed Heather, who chose bold red lipstick for the evening.
The ladies, giggling like mad scientists, ran out of their apartment to meet their limo driver. It was Trina’s birthday, and the night was sure to be full of fun and surprises. The young women were college roommates attending UNLV and always had a good time no matter where they went.
Stoney’s was jam-packed on Thursday, Ladies Night. Drinks were only a dollar, and the ladies took full advantage of this. The college roommates line danced, rode the bull and checked out the cowboys.
“I like the tall lonely stranger in the corner over there. I’m thinking about asking him to dance,” said Heather.
“Don’t think. Just do it!” encouraged Trina.
“I think I will. Come with me to the ladies room first!” Heather said, excitedly.
“You look fine,” said Lauren.
“I need to fix my teeth,” whispered Heather.
“Oh,” said Trina.
The ladies followed Heather into the bathroom. Trina and Lauren guarded the restroom door. The poor women, who so badly needed to use the bathroom after all of their dollar drinks, were all turned away.
“Bathroom is closed for cleaning duties,” Trina simply said.
Heather flashed her sharp pointy vampire teeth in the mirror. She took out her mini portable drill from her handbag and proceeded to grind down her sharp incisors. The teeth would regain their sharpness later in the night. The girls would have to hurry and make their selections.
“OK, so the tall lonely cowboy is mine. Who are you two going for?” Heather asked.
It was like ordering a combo meal at Taco Bell. It was late at night. The vampires were hungry and Stoney’s was the perfect meat market.
“I like the one on the bull,” said Trina.
“I like the bartender,” Lauren said.
“We don’t have time for the bartender. It’ll be daylight by the time he gets out. Pick somebody else,” ordered Heather.
“The security dude?” suggested Lauren.
“Ugh! You’re hopeless! You can have some of mine. I don’t mind sharing. OK, then, it’s settled. Everyone know what to do?” Heather asked.
The vampires nodded. The imposter cleaning ladies reopened the restroom and made their way over to the bar.
“What’ll it be ladies?” the bartender asked.
“Bloody Mary,” Heather said, wickedly.
Trina and Heather grinned in delight. It was sure to be a delicious night.
'The Vamp of Las Vegas’
By Don Becker, 68, Las Vegas
Las Vegas, Nevada, a city of lights,
of neon and gambling and dazzling sights;
but poor old Robert, an honest confession,
homeless and broke, caught up in recession.
As Robert was down to his very last buck,
a happy casino provided some luck;
but it wasn’t the slots that were kind to old Bob,
the casino provided a lucrative job.
As Halloween grew near, old Bob found a hire,
to play the role of a vicious vampire.
It’s all in good fun, some fake teeth and blo
od;
old Bob in black cape, he felt like a stud.
And then one night as he let out his moan,
A young lady walked by, so sad and alone.
It touched old Bob’s heart and he turned and he said,
“Don’t I scare you my dear? I’m really undead!”
She looked up and smiled, her eyes touched with tears,
“Although you are good, you’re the least of my fears.
You see witches and goblins on Halloween eve
are only illusions and meant to deceive.
The real fear in life, a fear without end,
is to die all alone, without comfort or friend.”
When Bob’s work was over, after playing his part,
he sought out the girl who had so touched his heart.
She was eating alone, her mood still seemed blue;
Bob quietly asked, “May I share something with you?”
She nodded and smiled and Bob told her his name,
and he told her he felt they were so much the same.
“We’re both looking for someone we just cannot find,
in this city of light we are wandering blind.
I play a vampire, ageless and old,
the Prince of the Dark, immortal and bold;
but it hides my true feeling, in despair I am mired,
in darkness I live but I’m weary and tired.”
The girl felt compassion, she reached out her hand.
“You must fight your depression, you must take a stand.
Do not succumb to self-pity,” she said with a smile;
and Bob saw she had wisdom, and beauty, and style.
“Who are you?” he asked and she answered her way,
“I sing in a chorus at Mandalay Bay.
My name is Dolorous and I’m single you see;
for I’m plain and I’m lonely and no one wants me.
“I wander the Strip amid laughter and sound,
but in my own dark little world, no laughter I’ve found.”
Bob jumped up abruptly, exclaiming with glee,
“We’re soul mates together ... and together we’ll be!”
What followed thereafter, a whirlwind of fun;
a courtship, a romance — as bright as the sun.
Love banished fear, but could not prevent —
the taxi that struck her, left her broken and bent.
Life flowed from her wounds, mixed with rain on the street,
Bob covered her body in utter defeat.
He bent down to kiss her, amidst anguish and fright;
but instead of a kiss, a life-saving bite!
For Bob was a vampire, for real and forever,
and with Dolorous as bride, they flew off together!
'The Life’
By Sean Daily, 38, Las Vegas
He was Midwest pale, wearing a polo shirt emblazoned with a corporate logo — probably a conventioneer out of Las Vegas, come over the hump to Pahrump — and timid. He still had his wedding ring on and he kept twisting it around his finger as he sat in the parlor.
Tatiana sighed and turned away from him, leaned on the bar and idly traced circles in the puddles on the scratched varnish. The bar resembled something from a VFW hall, with vinyl stools and a stale smell of tobacco smoke. But then, the Borgo Pass wasn’t the Chicken Ranch. It catered to a very specific clientele.
Najeeba was at the bar with her, staring at him through the bead curtain. She was new here — a refugee from Afghanistan, where the Taliban hunted vampires with a zeal matching that of the Christian Inquisition — and still had a virginal innocence in her eyes. But he wouldn’t pick her. Too exotic. He was as white bread as they came, and even his kink was white bread. He’d want something that was a whiter shade of pale. He’d want a former Romanian noblewoman who’d fled from Ceausescu and his peculiar obsession with vampires. He’d want Tatiana.
At least he’s not a Goth, Tatiana thought, hitching up her black corset.
The red lights above the bar started blinking, and the PA crackled, “Ladies, line up in the parlor.”
It was still hot outside as Tatiana led him down the moonlit gravel paths of the Borgo Pass. She put as much bump into her step as she could. Having an undead body that never tires has its advantages ... and its drawbacks.
They stopped at a double-wide. Tatiana opened the thin aluminum door, gave him a come-hither look and went inside. The room had a clinical white linoleum floor, a bed with a rubber sheet and, hanging above the bed, a first aid kit. The floor was freshly mopped and smelled of antiseptic.
She sat down on the bed, patted the sheet next to her. “C’mere, honey,” she said. “I won’t bite.” He jumped; she smiled. She never could resist that. “So, what do you have in mind tonight?”
“I ... I’m not really sure,” he said, still playing with his ring. “I’ve never done this before ...” His eyes fell. “I love my wife, really, but she can’t ... I love my wife ...”
“Then what the hell are you doing here?” Tatiana wanted to say. What she did say was, “Well, come on down here, then. Let’s start with the basics. Five hundred dollars for an hour, money upfront.”
Money changed hands. He asked, “Should I get, you know, undressed?”
“You should. It’ll get a little messy.” When they were ready, she raised her arms and said, “Come on down here to mama.” She wrapped her arms around him and bared his neck.
“Wait! Is this going to hurt?”
“A little,” she said, her voice garbled a bit by her growing fangs.
She bit his neck, and he moaned, softly.
'Vamp-I-Revenge’
By Lori Isaacs, 52, Las Vegas
Metro found the first victim on Dec. 2, 1951. He was found lying face up across the hood of his Buick in the parking lot behind Binion’s. This wasn’t too unusual, except for the fact that there were no prints, no sign of a struggle, a huge smile on the victim’s face and the obvious lack of blood — external and internal.
This was the first of a series of cold case murders with a similar MO that were spaced exactly 10 years apart. Unfortunately, with such a lengthy span between events, the connection was never realized. Finally, in 2001, a Metro cadet was doing research for a criminal justice thesis and began to connect the dots. In an effort to impress his superiors, he decided to solve the case on his own.
His plan was to stake out the darkest corner of the lot on Dec. 2, 2001. Surely, he could see the perpetrator approach his victim from this clandestine location. The night air was brisk, but nothing like the Ohio arctic blasts of his youth — compared to that, this was nothing. But, all of a sudden, the temperature inside his vehicle seemed to drop 30 degrees and he could see his breath — and the breath of another. He looked into the rearview mirror and saw nothing, but upon turning around, he saw Professor Block — his criminal justice teacher.
He was so startled that he didn’t even think of asking how or why she was there. Instead, his overwhelming urge was to kiss her. All through the year, he had been attracted to her voluptuous body, white skin and full ruby lips, but he dare not approach a faculty member. But now, it was obvious that she desired him also and his fantasy was about to come true. He climbed between the bucket seats and joined her in the back.
She kissed him deeply as if reaching down into his soul. His ego inflated like a balloon. “Babe, if I had known you were hot for me, we could have gotten it on sooner. You know, I don’t even know your first name — we need to get beyond Professor Block.”
“Hot for you? In your dreams, frat boy,” she retorted.
Surprised, he pulled back, “Then what the heck are you doing here?”
“Once I read your first draft thesis, I knew that you had to be The One. My secret must be protected; my sisters must be avenged.”
As she said this, she reared up like a demon, her fangs bared as she buried them deeply into his neck. He was helpless to resist, even enjoying the sensation of his lifeblood oozing down her throat. As he succumbed, she easily placed his body on the car hood. For 50 years, she had kept her promise to make men pay with their lives. Rejuvenated for another 10 years, Professor Block wept for all of her departed brothel sisters from Block 16 and vowed to avenge them forevermore.
Beware 12/2/11.
'It’s All True’
By Pat Dingle, 62, Las Vegas
This is a true story. I know because I was there and still have the evidence to this day. I’ve never told this publicly before but now I must. It’s about to happen again, this time in Las Vegas, and people must know to protect themselves tonight. I’ll try to explain. Difficult as it is, I must try.
It occurred in North Las Vegas on Oct. 31 1973. I was the senior homicide detective on duty that night when I received a radio dispatch to return to the station 10-18 (hurry). Upon arrival, I observed two patrolmen with a handcuffed prisoner waiting outside the detective bureau. They looked unnerved, scared, if that was possible for two street cops in those days. Their prisoner was a tall, thin-faced male wearing a long black leather coat, black T-shirt, jeans, boots, all covered in blood and not his own. They picked him up on the dark streets behind Jerry’s Nugget. I directed the officers to put him in interrogation Room 3, cuff him to the table and wait outside the door. I’ll get my small tape recorder and be right there and solve this mystery.
When I entered the small, windowless interrogation room I was struck by the pungent odor. It smelled like a room holding a thousand rats. That’s about all I can remember. I can’t explain why. I know I was only in that room for a few minutes and stepped out in the hallway, locking the door behind me, to ask the two guarding officers something. I re-entered the room. It was empty. He was gone, vanished. All I have today is the vision of the prisoner burned in my memory and the tape recording of that night. Only his voice is on the tape. I don’t know how or why. I can’t explain it, nobody can. All I can do is play the tape and hear his strange chanting. You all must know his warning. It had to be a warning, what else could it be, what does it mean? You tell me.
“What strange things of myth and blight
that live and wander in the night
little creatures, evil red eyes aglow
oozing damp skin, coming from below
dancing and screaming, pouring forth hot drool
frothing blood they drink from the pool
of human life. What poor soul
will they drag to the depths of their hole
and with gone passion aflame, devour.
Stirred to a frenzy they turn
on one another, arms and bowels,
an orgy of blood to burn.
Hundreds of demons the size of a cat
move through the night
on wings of a vampire bat. Into
the village they steal their way
a night of horror until the coming day.
A newborn child, warm, asleep in a crib
slashing and tearing, blood as a bib
insane shrieking while gorging on limb
what terrible sights god has seen
on this devils night we call Halloween.
Please Las Vegas, beware. I saw him again tonight. He’s back. I saw him in the mall; he was following someone. Our eyes met in recognition and he smiled, knowing nothing can stop him this night, his night. Protect yourselves and those you love.
He’s back.
'The Kiss’
By Terry Capron, 47, Las Vegas
Jason and I flopped on our bed at the Treasure Island, anticipation pumping through us. Neither of us had been to Las Vegas so we decided to make it our honeymoon destination. I looked at Jason, wondering how I got so lucky to find and marry my soul mate. I sensed he was thinking the same thing as we looked into each other’s eyes.
I jumped up, trying to decide what I would wear that evening. Jason’s best friend, Shane, gave us tickets to the hottest new show in Vegas, “The Kiss.” Shane and his girlfriend had seen the show and told us that it was life-changing. I wasn’t sure if anything would be as life-changing as my new “wife” status, but I was excited.
Jason and I walked out of the room, hand in hand. As we approached the theater line, I stopped quickly and looked at Jason. “What’s up Jess, the show is about to start?”
I paused and looked at him, not sure why I had stopped. He pulled me slightly and we moved with the crowd, our tickets ready.
There was a buzz in the theater. There was a lot of hype about the show, but I was not sure what to expect, as Shane and the press had kept the show’s foundation a secret.
The lights dimmed and fog began to fill the theater. The orchestra music was alluring as figures in long dark capes slowly danced and twirled from different areas on the stage. I looked up and noticed that there were figures suspended upside down from trapezes, their capes magically suspending against gravity. Their eyes and mouths were shut, both onstage and above.
I held Jason’s hand tighter, not sure why I was tense. The whole theater had a sensuous allure, and I sensed that Jason was enjoying the show. I loosened my grip and took a sip of my wine. The dancers were mesmerizing, the music hypnotic, and the movement from the trapeze artists was astonishing. The dancers began to move into the audience and the trapeze artists dropped slowly from above. The beat of the music began to intensify as the dancers moved closer and circled the theater in perfect unison. Then, simultaneously, they opened their eyes and their mouths, exposing their dark intense eyes and white shiny fangs.
One of the dancers approached Jason and me and pulled us together with an intensity and strength that I had never experienced. I looked at the dancer as he leaned in to kiss me and knew that this was a life-changing moment.
I had been seduced by the music and dance. I exposed my neck, knowing what he wanted. I looked at Jason as he released my hand, his neck the prey of one of the trapeze artists. We looked at each other intensely. I was thinking that this was the best show I had ever seen.
Jason and I would be soul mates forever.
'Vampyre Vegas’
By Paul Arnold, 22, Henderson
Las Vegas, the glam and glitz, the bright lights burning deep into the night, the way the night changes the world that is Las Vegas. But behind the casinos, in alleys and dimly lit numbered streets, they wait for the right lonely person to walk behind the bus stops and along the dark spots on Boulder Highway. The breath of cold air that you feel before the darkness ...
Vampires weren’t always that way in Las Vegas. Now, I wouldn’t call Vegas the birthplace of vampires, but let’s just say that Bugsy Siegel thought very highly of them and, between Bugsy and the vampires, they helped make Vegas what it is today. They ran all the night shifts, and people couldn’t steal from them or even think about robbing them. They knew they weren’t human; it was an unspoken thing around the city.
Still, it’s there, in the casinos, movie theaters, parks, the fear from the people as they get closer to you, with their pale skin and sleek black long hair, looking over your shoulder as you frantically try to focus on your cards or your children. We all seem to put our faith and safety into the deep blue-eyed security guard who likes to stand guard on the casino’s rooftop and make sure all stays quiet and calm. He’s been doing this same job for generations, as well as a select few others. They say they’ll never stop watching over us, which is comforting to know, because no one else will.
'Halloween in Vegas’
By James Cortez, 47, Henderson
The invitation came at the perfect time. My streak of bad luck continued when I overslept again. Ever since my wife, Becky, had changed her schedule, I have been late to work. As I walked into the casino and entered my office, the secretary told me that I was needed in Mr. Williams’ office as soon as I got in.
“You have been late for two weeks. I can’t have that going on my team. You are fired.”
“Mr. Williams, I am sorry. It won’t happen again,” I pleaded.
“See Judy for your last check. Goodbye.”
I needed to call Becky and tell her the news but I needed some “liquid courage.” A nice thing about working in a casino, there are a lot of bars open in the morning and places to cash a check.
I sat at the bar talking to a guy about the events of that morning. He simply said, “If you want to get even, you can get even.” He handed me an envelope. I stuck the envelope in my pocket. He got up to leave and as he left, he said, “You can get even if you come.” He limped out.
When I got home, I noticed the picture we took on our last vacation to Laughlin was missing. I opened her closet and her clothes were gone. I realized that she left me.
I went to the kitchen. I put a bottle of whiskey on the table. I poured a drink and pulled out the envelope. It was an invitation. I greedily opened the card, and it said, “You’re Invited to a Halloween Party at the Showboat Hotel on Boulder Highway. Costumes are mandatory.” The invitation was for tonight.
“Wasn’t the Showboat gone?” I said to myself. As I sat there, I felt the anger rising. “I am going to go. Maybe I will meet a person to help me get even.”
I thought, “I will just put a pair of teeth and a suit. I will be a vampire.”
I arrived at the Showboat as the sun set, and the neighborhood casino was lit like I remembered. I was raised on the east side of Las Vegas, and the Showboat was where I got my first busboy job. As I walked in, I saw Elvis, Sammy Davis Jr. and Liberace. It seemed that all the greats were there. The man onstage announced, “At the stroke of midnight, we will all pull our masks!”
I got close to a gorgeous, tall showgirl that wore a pink-feathered outfit. She seemed to like me and chased off other girls from talking to me.
The announcer got onto the stage and began the countdown.
“Three ...” I remembered being fired.
“Two ...” I remembered my wife leaving me.
“One ...” I thought of revenge.
The showgirl leaned over to kiss me, and I turned my lips to meet hers. I screamed as I saw the gleaming fangs reaching for my neck. �
