I just returned from Ft. Lauderdale. I went there for several reasons—a different environment, a little relaxation, a lot of work. And yes, I'll admit it, I'm pretty sure I went looking for a cathartic epiphany.

What I found was a liquor store. 

It was one of those mom and pop places, tucked between a T-shirt shop and a Pizza joint. Not exactly the kind of place I would normally frequent, but it was a block from my hotel, and the desk clerk told me they carried a good brand of Merlot.

Inside, I met a jovial clerk who greeted everyone as they entered and wished them a "good evening" as they left.  Turns out, he was an ex-priest, moonlighting to make a few extra dollars because his day job was slow. He told me he was a painter, applying his brush to houses, not canvas.

He asked if he could help me find something. At first, my thoughts went to the metaphysical—perhaps a little insight on the meaning of life, or at least confirmation that the Mayans have this 2012 thing all wrong.  I figured it was only natural that a man who had spent most of his life imbibing a single brand of sacramental wine would know more about the abstract than the finer points of the grape.

As I looked through the wine rack, he asked me what I did for a living. I told him and offered him a bookmark. 

"Got any Vampires in it?"

I explained "The Kure" was a paranormal romance, and although the genre certainly included books about vampires, it wasn’t a prerequisite to make the cut.

"I'm not so sure," he said.  "Seems like every new book I see these kids reading has a vampire in it.  They're getting to be so commonplace, I wonder if authors aren't just sticking a few in because of their popularity. You know, make the doorman at the hotel a vampire, or the cab driver.  Have them suck a minor character dry and then move on with the rest of the story."

I never argue with opinion, especially when it comes from an ex-priest turned liquor clerk.  But I had to ask.  "Have you ever written a book?"

"I did an alternative take on Saul of Tarsus, before his conversion. I tried to show his softer, more human side. But I couldn’t find a publisher."

"Did it have any vampire characters?" (I couldn’t resist.)

He smiled. "I think if I started writing again, I’d do a murder mystery. They seem to sell well. And I'd make vampires a regular part of the population.  They'd be a minority, but just as present and accounted for as any other race, creed or color.  That way, they'd have to take some responsibility. Get a job. Pay taxes. Join the PTA. Take turns at being a Blockwatch monitor.

"And you think that would help sell your book?"  I asked.

"Maybe, but only at first.  In the long run, it would be the beginning of the end.  Making vampires a commonly accepted element in society would eventually reduce their importance, make them part of the background.  Over time, we’d lose our fascination with pale skin, and bloodsucking, and sleeping in coffins.  Boredom would run its natural course and soon, we’d be done with the vampire craze."

"I suppose."  I paid for my bottle of Merlot and started to leave.

"Yep, he said, first we take out the vampires, then we go after the zombies."

Back in my room, after two glasses of wine, I began to think about the consequences of allowing vampires—or zombies—to become respected members of society, letting them tap into social security, the welfare system, and run the night shift at Walmart.  Maybe that wouldn't be so bad. 

Maybe the ex-priest was right. Then, as our fascination with the undead waned in proportion to their commonality, their ability to seduce us with unexplainable consistency would become a predictable monotony, eventually relegating them to a forgotten curiosity, like lava lamps and pet rocks.

Until next time,

Jaye