Please Won't You Be My Neighbor©

Vampire Stories

Written by American Author Sky Taylor

Neighbors. Drake Jones suddenly regretted moving to the suburbs. It wasn’t a good place for vampires to live, and he was paying dearly for that mistake.

He lived in a middle-class area, the street littered with SUV’s that were used to collect goods from the market rather than blaze the blistering sands of the nearby beach, or the hills beyond. Useless gas-guzzlers. The monthly upkeep in payments, insurance and repairs probably superseded their owner’s monthly house payment.

Humans – an odd breed.

Drake wasn’t the most well liked man on the block, though he tried so hard to eschew kindness and neighborly generosity.

Why, last Halloween he was the only one on the block that gave out the official candy that was wrapped in orange and black.

Timmy across the street has been the cruelest, saying, "Gee, thanks a lot, creep!"

Perhaps he would return to issuing copper pennies this year, Drake decided in silence. Money; it was the one thing that seemed to please all people.

He’d also tried very hard to beautify the neighborhood, planting a stunning gothic garden in his front lawn.  

The only thing that got him was a ticket from the city and an order to remove the garden’s contents immediately!  

That situation brought tears to his eyes as he uprooted the giant cacti, the patch of poison ivy, and the tiny man-eating plant that hemmed the sidewalk in front of his abode.  

The kids were certain to miss the beauty, for they used to stop often and admire the blooms on the cacti on their way to school each morning during daylight savings time. That was the only time that Drake could watch them, for the sun wasn’t quite up during this special time of year.

He’d even done his best to deter crime and burglaries by installing blinking black lights on his front lawn.  

But Ms. Nestful, Timmy’s mother who lived across the street, complained that all the blinking was prohibiting her baby from sleeping.  

Drake missed the pretty black lights. He used to sit in his white plastic chair under the moonlight and marvel at how they changed the appearance of things. Ka sa ra, sa rah.

But Mr. Smith, who lived next door, was the crankiest person on the block!  

It all started about a month ago when Drake obtained a white wolf he’d befriended on the edge of a forest, about fifty miles from the inner city... 

Duchess. What a total delight! She was a sweet breath of fresh air, such wonderful company for those long and languorous lonely nights.  

Drake’s entire world had changed since he’d taken the lady into his home.

But Mr. Smith didn’t like Duchess. And ‘didn’t like’ wasn’t a strong enough word. The man totally despised her. What a foul human!

On midnight during two altercations, he had almost pounded the front door down, complaining that Duchess was keeping him away with her loud howling.

Drake found the howls to be of a soothing nature, not harsh and not at all too loud. If anyone was loud, it was that Mr. Smith person banging on his front door! 

But tonight was the worst confrontation to date.  

Mr. Smith had informed Drake that a lawsuit would be filed come morning. Why? It appeared that Duchess was driving his boxer, Morty, insane.

Well, if the truth be known, Morty was already on the coocoo side, had been since birth. It wasn't Duchess’ fault that the idiot mutt was turning the white fence that separated the properties, yellow.

It wasn’t Duchess’ fault that Morty would require a leg operation due to a strained tendon from extended hiking of the leg.

Drake had been keeping a keen eye on Morty since he’d first moved here, three years ago. Morty tended to switch from one habit to the next.  

The first year Drake moved in, the dog spent most of the night digging foxholes in the Smith’s backyard, some of which would accommodate a troop of war fighting  humans!

That second year, the dog had developed a passion for licking. Half of the paint was missing from the Smith’s back screen door due to Morty’s efforts. Perhaps the paint had been laced with lead, thereby adding to the dog’s phobias.

Last year, he’d spent each night, all night, barking at the moon – even when there was no moon.

Morty's troubles were Morty's fault - not Duchess.

Drake knelt to deliver an affectionate pet to Duchess’ beautiful white head.  

"What a pretty dog you are," he told her, and she bowed her head and looked queenly, as if she had understand his kind remark.

"Jones! Out here!"

Duchess rolled her large eyes into her head, Drake rising and walking to the back door to exit into the yard.  

The moon was full and bright, hanging low overhead. He could clearly make out Smith in the short distance, confronting him over the five-foot white fence that now bore a wide yellow streak. Thank you, Morty.

"It’s three A.M.," Drake felt inclined to point out. "Why aren’t you in bed?"

This was getting ridiculous. Until now, the nights were preciously sweet after midnight, when Smith generally hit the sack.

"I could ask you the same!" Smith bit out, his voice cruel and rude.

"I’ve told you before that I work nights - at home," Drake reminded, noting that Morty was jumping in the background, leaping up like he was trying to catch some imaginary Frisbee. Nut dog.

"Nonetheless, what’s the matter this time?" 

Smith drew his arms straight down in front of himself, his hands doubled into fists.  

"My fence is leaning, that’s what! You’re idiot of a dog must have jumped onto it and knocked it down."

"Nonsense," Drake eased out slowly, completely dismissing Smith’s attack. Then,  "She’s been inside all evening. Or, do you need a sworn statement?"

Morty was barking violently now, probably disturbed over his master’s lost control. The dog was jumping even higher.

"That’s not funny, Jones!" Smith yelled back, his mouth a sour clarinet. "You’re going to pay for this fence, as well as for all my pain and suffering. Thanks to you and your rotten dog, I’ve haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep in months!"

"Months?" Drake queried, growing tired of Smith’s antics. "Duchess hasn’t been here for months."  

He paused, shifting his weight to his other leg, then continued, "By the way, this fence belonged to the previous property owner of this home. When I bought him out, the fence became my property as well."

"Well we’ll just see about that!"

Smith went to turn, Drake deciding to give Morty a little help by a little transferring of power.

Morty was virtually levitating over Smith’s outraged, shocked face, then as Drake released the spell, the dog bounced into the fence, taking it down as he fell.

Everything was locked in total silence, save the two mosquitoes buzzing around Smith’s head. Drake was hopeful that they carried the West Nile Virus and would take a sting at his nasty neighbor, and his little dog too.

Smith wiped his head with a large hand, then shook his head.

"Jones, looks like Duchess isn’t the goof. I-I….would you…"

"Smith, apology unnecessary – as long as you consider the matter dropped?" Drake offered, deciding that he liked seeing Smith groveling.

"You’ve got it," Smith assured.

"By the way, Smith," Drake continued, deciding to completely clear the air. "You might want to try enrolling Morty in some behavioral classes."

"Right. Will do," Smith assured, calling Morty out of his daze where he lay hassling on the ground, the tumbled fence beside him. He rose quickly and ran inside the house with Smith.

Things settled into sweet harmony as the days sifted into weeks, and the weeks into months.

Smith had told Drake that he’d invested in a few sets of earplugs to ensure unbroken sleep.

As for Drake, he spent his nights in the peaceful company of Duchess and Morty who howled the night away in peaceful unction.

The canine behavioral school had done a bang-up job, teaching Morty how to howl a perfect alto.

 

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