My Favorite Fangs: The Story of the Von Trapp Family Vampires (6 page)

“I can tell you exactly why she sent me instead of a Zombie. She wanted me
gone
. She
exiled
me.” Maria sniffled, then a single tear of blood rolled down her cheek. “She exiled me to a beautiful mansion in a lovely part of the country. Mother Zombie is
awful
.”

“Right. Now back to the brats.”

“Brats?”

“A term of affection.”

“Ah. Brats. What’s wrong with them?”

“There isn’t a thing wrong with my children!”
he roared.
“They’re innocent, and warm, and caring, and they mean nobody any harm, and they had nothing to do with the fire and subsequent robbery at the
Bank Vontobel Osterreich!
They were nowhere near downtown that evening!
They were with me!
The entire day!
They never left my sight!
And anybody who tells you differently is full of
scheisse!
”
He cleared his throat, polished off his drink, flicked a dried chunk of vomit from his sleeve, then said, “What I meant to say was, there’s nothing wrong with the children, only the Governesses.”

Nonplussed, Maria said, “If you say so.”

“I do say so, Morticia…”

“Maria, sir.”

“Right. Maria. The fact is, the other Governesses were weak. Those brats need somebody with physical strength, because if they’re not ruled with an iron fist, this house can’t be properly run. Mother Zombie said you’re strong.”

In the blink of an eye, Maria was on the other side of the room. She ripped one of the three wet bars from the floor, lifted it over her head, then tossed it into the air. As it crashed to the floor, she said, “I indeed possess physical strength, sir.”

The Captain rubbed his temples, opened the door, and yelled,
“Alfred!”

“Another beverage on the way, sir!”

“You read my mind!” To Maria, he said, “Every morning you’ll aid the children with their schooling, lead them in marching lessons, and give them an hour of etiquette lessons, because those brats need to learn how to mind their P’s and Q’s. And you’ll work them, and work them
hard
. I won’t permit them to dream away their summer holidays, nor will I permit them to rob another bank…”

“I thought you said they were nowhere near the bank, sir.”

“Of course they were nowhere near the bank!”
he snapped. Regaining his composure, he said, “Bedtime is to be strictly observed, no exceptions. They’ll fight you on that, Morgana…”

“Maria, sir.”

“Right. Maria. They’ll fight you hard about bedtime. But you tuck those brats into bed on schedule, or else there will be
Hölle
to pay. And do you know what
Hölle
to pay means?”

“Better than anybody, sir. One other thing: Are they allowed to, well, um, let’s see, how should I phrase this,
have fun
?”

“Have fun?
Fun
?
!
Fraulein, you don’t want my children to have fun. Last time they had fun, they caused 50,000 shillings worth of damage to the guesthouse. I shudder to think about it.” And then, as if to prove his point, he shuddered. “You’re in command. Do with them what you will.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Saluting him, she said, “Yes, Captain!”

“Very good, Monogram.” He left the ballroom, and gestured to Maria that she should follow; both neatly avoided the yet-to-have-fully-dried lake of sick. Once in the hallway, Captain von Trapp pulled a whistle from his pocket and said, “Here we go.”

Vampires are sensitive to shrill, high-pitched tones, so when Captain von Trapp blew his whistle, a glop of blood dripped from Maria’s left ear and fell onto the white tile floor with an audible splat. The Captain stared at the gob and said, “You repulse me, Fraulein.”

“Thank you, sir. I repulse you because I am who I am, and I have confidence in me.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘I have confidence in
myself
’?”

“Listen—for some reason, Hammerstein’s word is law in this story, even if his word is grammatically incorrect. The man seems to have some strange hold over…”

Before she could finish the thought, von Trapp tooted “Shave and a Haircut” on his whistle. A second later, Maria heard unison footsteps from above that sounded somehow creepy. As the footsteps became louder and louder, Maria grew more and more excited.
This has to be the brood,
she thought.
These are the brats
.

Thirty seconds later, there they were, in all their glory, standing in a row—tallest to shortest, left to right—glaring at their new Governess: The von Trapp kids.

Maria’s first thought:
The Captain has issues with the way
I
dress? Really?
She couldn’t be blamed for being taken aback with the children’s identical blue sailor suits; the best that could be said about those pantywaist outfits was that they matched.

Maria’s second thought:
No wonder the Captain showed no interest in bedding me. The man is too potent for his own good
.

The Captain again blew that infernal whistle, which Maria promptly slapped from his hand. It flew high into the air and broke several light bulbs on the largest of the large chandeliers, before falling onto the floor and shattering into sixteen-going-on-seventeen pieces. The tallest boy locked his eyes onto Maria’s chest and whispered,
“Nice.”

As she watched a lump grow right below the boy’s waistline, she smiled a secret smile and thought,
Ah, that must be Friedrich
. Maria took an involuntary step toward the boy, but stopped herself when the Captain roared,
“Ten hut!”

He marched slowly up and down the line, glaring the entire way, stopping only to straighten the chubbiest boy’s collar. “The way you wear your suit, Kurt,” the Captain said, “simply disgusts me.”

Friedrich said, “Me, too.”

Von Trapp turned on his heel and roared, “Shut it, Gretl!”

“I’m not Gretl, Father,” the boy said.

The Captain wiped a bit of sweat from his brow, squinted at his oldest son, and said, “I know that, son. I … I … I wanted to see if you were paying attention.”

As the brats rolled their eyes, the boy pointed at his father’s stained shirt. “What’s that mess on your chest?”

The Captain pawed at the now dry vomit. “Never you mind.” He cuffed Friedrich on the ear. “Now straighten up, boy.”

Staring right at Friedrich’s crotch, Maria mumbled, “He looks pretty straight to me.”

One of the short sailor-suit-clad girls stepped out of line, wandered over to the tall, pretty girl who stood on the far left, and sneezed onto her stomach. The tall girl gave her little sister a shove, but the shorter girl neatly avoided falling—Maria guessed that they had played this game before—then gave her sister a wet, wet raspberry, so wet that the smaller von Trapp spent sixteen-going-on-seventeen seconds wiping the spittle from her face with her sleeve. After she returned to her proper place in line, the Captain glared at his offspring and asked, “Are you brats very much finished?”

In unison, they said, “Yes, Father.”

“Thank you.” He then lifted his hand to his mouth and blew into … nothing. As the chubby von Trapp boy snorted, the Captain asked, “Which one of you took my whistle?”

Friedrich said, “If you’ll recall, not more than a minute ago, your attractive friend over here knocked it from your hand.” Then, under his breath, he added, “Have another drink, why don’t you?”

“I know that, boy. I … I … I wanted to see if you were paying attention.” (At that, even Maria rolled her eyes.) “Now then, this is your new Governess, Magdalene.”

“Maria, sir.”

“Right. Maria. Now introduce yourselves!”

The tallest girl—who Maria realized upon closer inspection was one of the prettiest mortals she had ever seen—stepped forward and said, “Liesl! I hate you, Governess!”

And then, Friedrich. “You know who I am. And unlike my sister, I love you, Governess. A
lot
.”

Then came a cute girl with braids: “Louisa! You resemble a troll, Governess!”

Next, a chubby boy: “Kurt! You’re fat, Governess!”

Kurt was followed by the girl who had sneezed on Liesl: “Brigitta! You reek like cattle, Governess!”

And then came another girl: “Marta! You reek like cattle, Governess!”

Brigitta stomped her foot. “I just said that. You always steal my things.”

Finally, a five-ish-year-old girl who Maria thought looked good enough to eat: “Gretl! I don’t have enough vulgar words in my vocabulary to insult you in the manner to which you deserve to be insulted, Governess!”

The Captain nodded approvingly. “Wonderful, children. You have represented the von Trapp name well.” He then asked Maria, “You remember all that?”

“You mean do I remember that your offspring told me that they hate me, they love me, I look like a troll, I’m fat, I smell like cattle, and I’m awful beyond words? Yes, Captain, that’s the kind of thing that sticks in your head.”

The Captain chuckled. “Oh, no, I meant do you remember their names?”

“Of course I do. How could I forget! Such lovely names they are!
Kurt
. Rolls right off the tongue.
Gretl
. Evokes spring flowers. And
Brigitta
. Brr … Gee …
Tuh
. All those hard consonants are so very, very attractive.” She paused, then added, “I’m not sure about Marta—that presents a problem we’ll address later in the chapter—but otherwise, we’re talking some serious perfection.”

Von Trapp beamed proudly. “Why thank you. They were all my choices, Maria…”

“Sir, you got my name right!”

The Captain burped. “Did I ever have it wrong?” Before the Vampire could answer, he said, “Where’s that whistle of mine?”

Staring at the blop of blood on the floor, Maria asked, “Is the whistle really necessary?”

“In my regime, the children answer only to a whistle.”

With blinding speed, Maria picked up all sixteen-going-on-seventeen pieces of the broken whistle and said, “Well, sir, it’s now my regime, and they’ll answer to those mellifluous Germanic names of theirs.”

The Captain shook his head. “The whistle.”

Maria said, “The Germanic names.”

“Whistle!”

“Germanic names!”

“Whistle!”

“Germanic names!”

“WHISTLE, WHISTLE, WHISTLE!”

“GERMANIC NAMES, GERMANIC NAMES, GERMANIC NAMES!”

“ALFRED! A DRINK!
NOW!
”

From off in the Batcave … er, from off in the distance, the butler called, “Right away, sir!”

Von Trapp took a deep breath, then told Maria, “Were you this much of a pain in the hindquarters at the Abbey, Fraulein?”

Remembering the joys of flying through the Alps, and disemboweling townspeople on the way back home, she said, “You don’t know the half of it, sir.”

“Nor do I
want
to know the half of it.” He turned to go. “Have fun with the brats.”

After the Captain was out of earshot, Maria—aware she had to gain control of these brats right away—snarled, “Alright, children, there’s a new sheriff in town, and her name is Maria.”

Louisa asked, “What’s a sheriff, Governess?”

“Crack a dictionary, blondie. Now here is the deal: My word is law. When I say frog, you jump. If I tell you to eat mud, you’ll ask for seconds. Is that clear?”

The brats belted her with a barrage of
schiesses
and
ficks
.

Maria said, “I’ll choose to ignore that. Now there are a whole lot of you von Trapps, so to keep things straight for our readers, let’s hear those mellifluous Germanic names again.”

The tallest girl stepped forward and said, “I’m Liesl. I’m sixteen-years-old, and I believe all Governesses are scum.”

“Of course you do. Next!”

Friedrich stepped forward. “You know who I am, beautiful.”

Maria sauntered over to the boy, stood a few millimeters in front of him, gave him the tiniest glimpse of fang, and said, “I certainly do.”

He gulped, then said, “I’m fourteen. And I’m throbbing.”

She whispered in his ear, “I am sure you are,” then gave his neck the gentlest of nibbles.

At that, Friedrich shivered, quietly moaned, then stumbled back into the line.

Maria gave a sexy chuckle, then cleared her throat and said, “Next.”

Louisa took a step forward and said, “I’m Brigitta.”

Maria—who already remembered each of the children’s names—lifted Louisa by her right braid, twirled her three times in the air, then gently placed her back on the ground. “Would you like to try that again, blondie?”

Barely fazed, Louisa said, “I’m Louisa.”

“And how old are you?”

“Five million,” Louisa said, then stomped back into the line.

Without being asked, Brigitta stepped forward and said, “She isn’t five million, Governess. She’s thirteen. I’m ten.”

Liesl said, “Oh, do shut it, you goody-goody twat.”

“Who are you calling a twat, twat?”

“I’m calling you a twat, you little…”

The chubby boy interrupted, “My turn, my turn! I’m Kurt! I’m eleven! I’m incorrigible!”

Maria asked, “Do you even know what the word incorrigible means?”

Liesl said, “It means he’s a twat.”

Sighing, Maria pointed at the second-to-last girl in line. “You. Speak.”

“I’m Marta, and I’m going to be seven next week, and for my present, I’d like a squirrel.”

“A living squirrel or a dead squirrel?” Maria asked.

“Dead would be fine, Governess.”

Maria beamed, then knelt down and gave the little girl a hug. “Oh, Marta, I love you most of all!” She rubbed her chin for a moment, then said, “But there’s one problem: The names
Marta
and
Maria
look practically the same in print, and there are so many of you brats that things are confusing enough without having two names that are only one letter apart. So to eliminate any necessary uncertainty, can we change your name to, oh, say Barta? Or Tarta? Or Charta?”

Friedrich said, “How about Farta?”

As her beam grew even more beamy Maria said, “Farta! Perfection.”