Disneyland (1)

1

Everyone's attempt to seek help had failed spectacularly. Lord Dracula (Justin didn't care whether he was the real Dracula or just a vampiric nutcase who called himself that, they were screwed either way) had turned them into his vassals and they couldn't disobey him.

They had never had a chance to harm him, and now they couldn't even ask for help.

So...

"Guys, what the hell do we do?"

That was the million-dollar question. The others were as terrified and confused, searching for an answer to that question as much as he was, but Justin still posed it as if they were going to stop the nonsense, tell him everything would be alright, and provide him with a plan. A hope to cling to with all his might.

Doing so, with the luck he had, he would end up drowning.

Metaphorically.

Or maybe literally, too.

"Let's appreciate that we haven't felt like drinking anyone's blood yet. Yet," said Damien.

"I'm serious," he protested weakly.

It was a very serious matter, yes. But what the hell had he expected? His question was ridiculous, worthy of mockery.

"I am too, but this is madness." He laughed, on the verge of hysteria. Or maybe he had crossed that threshold a long time ago, only he was too tired for his hysteria to be very energetic, it was more like the kind of hysteria that locks you inside yourself.

"Maybe if we get out of town fast, he won't bother chasing us," said Dorian.

It wasn’t what you’d call a plan, but Justin supposed it wasn’t a bad observation. Assuming their feet wouldn’t magically stop at the edge of the city because they had to wait for their lord and master and always pay homage, maybe they could escape. Which wouldn't last long, if Dracula made an effort there was no doubt he could find and catch them.

But would he make an effort? Would he bother with that, when he could simply turn another half dozen people, growing his army? Well, it wasn’t quite a half dozen, but rounding up, damn it!

"Only if we leave Joachim behind," said Mark.

Another good observation, although the person in question didn’t receive it with enthusiasm. Precisely because it was the truth.

"Hey!"

However, he didn’t stop making pizzas. Lots and lots of pizzas. By now his hands should have felt like they had been whipped and his fingers like they were about to fall off, but he didn’t stop for his own sake.

In a way, Justin envied him, and wished he had become a pizza maker. For starters, it was very likely that Dracula wouldn't have caught him by chance to transform him if he were a pizza maker on the other side of town. Secondly, maybe the poor bastard being Dracula's first victim in the modern world would have targeted another poor bastard pizza maker, not him. It could happen.

And thirdly, but not least, Joachim knew that, well, that he was important to Dracula, at least until he got bored of pizzas. He wouldn’t send him to land or kill people, he would leave him right where he was. Making pizzas.

He had thought of a fourth thing.

That at least Joachim had something to focus on to avoid thinking. What the hell did thinking serve him for? He just realized more and more how screwed he was, with no resources, no way out.

"I’m sorry dude, but it's true. He’s not going to run out of his pizzas," Mark felt the need to state the obvious. Of course not, they had all seen him. And that's why Joachim was angry, because it was an extremely inconvenient truth he could do nothing to refute.

He couldn’t face the truth.

Justin sensed that this talk would only result in going around in circles, literally and metaphorically, as Damien was now demonstrating, refusing to feel and tracing circles next to the window while biting his nails, as if that might lead to a great idea that would clear the pure blackness that had been painted into his future, without him asking for it or deserving it.

The only relief was that Dracula had not returned yet, and that wasn’t much of a relief.

Because Dracula would return sooner or later.

Because Justin had a bit of a heart and couldn’t help but think about the atrocities he might be committing on other people right now. If it was Dracula, he was a much stronger Dracula than the character from the novel and countless movies. Not the kind that would impress guests in the middle of the night by passing through a spider web without breaking it, as if he wasn’t there, but by splitting them in half.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Then a phone rang.

His phone, and everyone jumped as if Dracula had suddenly appeared in the middle of the room, demanding pizza and foot massages.

"Who the hell is it?"

"Unknown number."

They had more serious matters to worry about, but for some reason, he picked up the call. Maybe because he envied Joachim's distraction and even some idiot trying to scam him on the phone would serve him well.

Maybe because he sensed it in some supernatural way, without proof, nothing but instinct.

"Hello, dude," said the Prince of Darkness.

"When did you get a phone? 'Hello, dude'?"

"About a minute ago. Isn’t that how you say it? Whatever."

Not to mention when the hell had he learned to use a phone... That was the least of it, of course, but he was still curious. He was adapting quite well to the modern world for someone who was practically a caveman, scratching his hair confusedly and wondering what those little people were doing inside a box.

"Do you want something from us, dark lord?" He came up with that spontaneously just in case the show of respect would let him live to see the next week.

Or live as a human, more or less.

He didn’t want to start drinking anyone’s blood, of course. Although he also didn’t have the willpower necessary to say this is it and take the point of no return.

That is, suicide.

A stronger person than him would have already committed suicide to avoid turning into a blood-thirsty monster, a traitor to his race, but Justin was no hero.

He just wanted to live.

"No, no, do whatever you want. I'm going to..."

It was slightly relieving, but he wasn’t sure what he had heard. Maybe he had suffered an auditory hallucination due to the high level of stress since he couldn’t figure out what the hell he was doing in that place. Or how he knew it existed, in the first place.

"I'm going to Disneyland."

2

"Why?" Justin asked him.

He didn't even add a "sir" or "please your satanic majesty" (he had nothing to do with that angel with pretensions who had thrown a tantrum after fighting with his father centuries ago and still hadn’t gotten over it, but for some reason too many humans had called him that).

"I'm not used to giving explanations to anyone, but well, why not? Here you go: because I saw it somewhere, read about it, and just felt like it. That’s all."

And what else was needed?

"Yeah... I see. Enjoy it."

"Yes, they better."

Boredom was the only "poison" effective against a being who was basically immortal, that is, as long as humans continued being as they were, and how could that change?

In ancient times, he had had a family of vampire hunters on his tail. Their surname started with a B, or maybe an S, in any case, he always started to sweat when one of those idiots gave a cheesy speech about the Power of Love.

Unknowingly, they were getting too close to the crux of the matter.

But, to his relief, they were too stupid to reach the truth. And an answer without the means or possibility to carry it out meant nothing, anyway.

3

The journey on that contraption called airplane had not been very pleasant. He had had to brainwash half a dozen people just to be able to get on and things didn't get much better after that. The only thing he could praise was that it had been mercifully brief, although that was only true because he had fallen asleep shortly after ending the connection with Justin and had woken up watching the imbeciles walking out, joining said imbeciles.

The damn plane hadn't even taken him directly to Disneyland, only to a city in another country that was as clean as literally all others before curious humans had invented plumbing.

In short, a total disappointment.

The less said about it, the better, so as far as he was concerned (and what else mattered?) he was done.

An hour or so later he finally got to see Disneyland.

"What kind of king lives in this castle?"

One not very concerned about their security, that’s... Well, sure. As pretty as it looked, it also seemed that a couple of cannon shots would bring it all down and even a strong wind would take care of clearing the debris without much difficulty.

It didn't even have a proper wall, so those cannon shots would have no problem reaching the target, unless the cannon was being operated by someone with no arms or legs and he supposed that most of the denture to rule out that they could pull the string with their teeth if they put a lot of effort into it.

Gosh, what a tortuous metaphor. I'm not cut out for this.

Anyway, nobody's perfect. He hoped his first impression would improve if he could say that he hadn't formed his first impression in some way, and he could because he made the rules.

As soon as he entered, he found a man making a fuss. And it was a man, regardless of what the use of lipstick might suggest. Dracula had had sex with other men, but only painted his lips with the red of the blood of his enemies.

Anyway, with or without lipstick, he was still a nuisance and naturally he wasn't the only one who thought so and was glaring at him. Dracula was the only one to approach to fix it, though.

"Where is Mickey? Without Mickey, this shit isn't Disney!" he yelled, clutching his head as if it were the end of the world.

"Dude, he's right there," said Dracula, pointing to the mouse in question, who was busy trying unsuccessfully to prove he knew how to dance.

"Ah."

He could slit his throat and pull out his guts through the hole. In fact, he should do it. But the reason for the commotion was so insignificant that it had taken away his desire to do so. He would feel stupid bothering to kill a guy like that.

Besides, once his blood and guts splattered everywhere, he doubted very much that he would be allowed to continue his visit in peace. So Dracula decided to move on.

Thinking that humans had been smarter when he enslaved and whipped them.

Well, not him personally.

When his slaves whipped his other slaves, and taught them discipline and priorities.

It was definitive: his first impression of Disneyland was bad.

They better hope it improves.

Disneyland (1): FIN