“They're like vampires, that's what my dad always told me when I was a little kid. But he didn't know, even when they killed him. They are vampires. You’re brilliant, Joey.”

Joey van Helsing finished his bagel. A glob of cream cheese clung to his lip as he noshed on the ball of dough pocketed in his cheek. I wanted to make a joke about how it looked like he was giving a blowjob, but he didn’t like that kind of humor.

Joey swallowed hard, and I laughed.

Clearing his throat, he said, “It's not even an original name. Striga-telli. Striga means vampire.”

“Yeah, but when's the mob ever been original? How many of these guys saw Goodfellas and made it their personality?”

He snickered.

Me and Joey—whose last name isn’t van Helsing, it’s Whelan—came up with this plan after his brilliant revelation. We’d break into their catacombs or whatever, stab the boss through the heart, cut off his head, and the rest would follow suit. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. My dad used to say that too.

As soon as the sun came up, I grabbed a couple strings of garlic my mom had lying around. We bought two nine-inch tent stakes from the Home Center for a couple of bucks. We ‘borrowed’ some holy water from St. Patrick’s, and headed to the Strigatelli complex up Park Avenue on 66th.

“Wait, what if none of this stuff works?” I stopped, realizing the childishness of the whole thing. Something about being at this spot, with a stake in my pants and carrying the other shit for killing vampires in a plastic shopping bag, brought me back to reality. “Joey, vampires aren’t real. Look, since coming back from your semester at SUNY Geneseo, you’ve had a real hard-on for getting back at Romeo. I know there was something that drew his bullying to you like a magnet. And hand to God, other than being poor, no offense, I have no idea what the vendetta could be. But you won’t talk about what happened upstate, and I felt bad for you. I understand wanting revenge, but maybe this is too much?”

Joey’s nose crinkled. “You should just trust me. They’re vampires, and we’re going to stop them.” He grabbed a napkin from the small coffee cart we passed by and wiped away the blob of cream cheese. His soft features hardened, and his dark green eyes locked onto me. “But let’s drop the garlic, it reeks.”

I nodded. You never know about anyone in this city. Not even those closest to you. I was too young when my dad died to know whether he was on the up-and-up or not. I was five, when his little grocery shop burned down, with him in it.

We tossed the garlic into the coffee cart’s trash can and kept walking.

We arrived at the intersection across from the Strigatelli’s place around nine. Joey anxiously tapped his foot while we waited for the green light to cross 66th.

“Just think about all the crap Romeo’s done to you, too,” Joey said, straightening out the tent stake shoved in the front pocket of his jeans. I wanted to ask if he was that happy to be seeing Romeo, but it wouldn’t have gone over well. My stake was tucked into the back of my pants like real thugs did it.

I’d never mentioned how Romeo hadn’t bothered me in school. Joey moved here just before graduation with his mom. They moved in with his uncle, and she helped run his uncle Mike’s pub—The Burning Moon. Then again, I’d been invisible to just about everyone through my entire life.

The light changed to green, and the crosswalk sign showed us the little white man. We started across the street. Joey was locked onto the Strigatelli house, not noticing the big, black car that bolted to a stop, inches from flattening us. He didn’t even flinch as I jumped forward to get out of the way, in case the car didn’t stop.

The house was a blood-red castle. Tall, thin windows. Perfect for keeping out the light. It was almost too obvious. The only thing more blatant was how stupid our plan was. We were just going to walk up to the front door and ring the bell?

The car’s engine howled, sounding pre-modern and hungry. The thing had to be from the 1950s, at least. Sharp chrome fangs protruded from the front grille. The steel body was lusciously virile, and I wanted to reach out to touch it. The windows were an opaque black, except for a slash on the driver’s side windshield. I recognized the hunk of meatloaf at the wheel as he locked eyes with me. Before I could alert Joey, the pneumatic whine of the rear passenger window rolled down. Someone called out. The pinched voice was unmistakable.

“What’re you fuckboys doing in this neighborhood?” Romeo Strigatelli in the flesh. All that was visible was the shine of his sunglasses, his drab green cheeks, and his shiny black lips. His smile beamed across his sickening face. “Your mama got a job cleaning toilets around here, Joey? I heard she enjoys giving rim jobs.” His sharp canines underlined the vampire thing now that I was looking for it. He laughed and looked at me for a moment before turning back to his prey.

Joey started a, “F-fu—” but shied away. He rarely swore and has almost never been able to get a word out around Romeo. Joey’s dad died when he was a baby, and being another fatherless Irish kid in New York made him my friend. Besides, his mother is quite the MILF, making her immune from sex jokes. I wasn’t going to let that stand, even if it was funny. Plus, now he was speaking my language.

“That’s not very nice, Romeo,” I said, holding back a snicker. “Especially since I hear your mother can’t feel anything in her ass smaller than an eggplant, and that’s why you still live at home.” I broke out with an “oh,” and tapped Joey on the chest, but he only momentarily looked at me before locking back onto Romeo. So serious.

The stake tucked into the back of my pants seemed to vibrate, reminding me it was there. It dawned on me, all jokes aside, the moment was becoming dangerous. Could we go through with killing Romeo Strigatelli now that he was right in front of us? If he was a vampire, couldn’t he overpower two regular guys?

“Are you saying I fuck my mama? That’s my mother, and you’re inferring I fuck her in the ass?” Romeo cocked his head, and I realized the True Romance dig had backfired.

You see, my family’s feelings regarding Italians (and Sicilians, particularly) were similar to those as expressed by Dennis Hopper’s character in True Romance—the Scots-Irish loved Dennis Hopper. I didn’t go in for the explicit racism and shit, but a joke is a joke, and I completely forgot that eggplant can also refer to a dick.

“So, where are you going, anyway?” I asked, trying to simply move on.

The arch of Romeo’s thick, perfect eyebrows relayed that he was pissed. Even through the shades, I’d never felt anyone’s gaze fixed on me so intently. I’m sure that no matter how stupid it was, the idea of being laughed at by Joey Whelan, and a Gaffney, was surely enough to get him out of the car. We were looking for a fight, right? I’d walked us right into one. Joey stood there, fists clenched and jaw tight. Romeo turned to someone inside the car. Wait, had I just insulted his mother to her face, or possibly even his dad? That was when the smell hit me. Like vine-ripened strawberries or a fresh, uncooked steak. It made my stomach flutter.

“So, you wanna go for a ride or what?” Romeo asked. His eyebrows and smile softened into a charming demeanor with movie star allure. His asking us to get in the car was like a lobster asking to be put in a pot with the heat on.

“W-Where you g-going?” Joey spat out. I was concerned about who else could be in that void. Romeo had three brothers. Hell, he could’ve had the 88th Battalion in there for all I knew.

“There’s a new food truck me and Bozo want to check out, ain’t that right, Bozo?”

A heavily accented baritone sounded from inside the car, “Yes, Mister Romeo.” Bonzo was the family’s driver. He’s what the vampire lore calls a “familiar.” I guess you can’t fault the guy. Everyone’s gotta eat.

“What kind of food?” I asked.

“It’s crudo. You know what that means? I bet they don’t serve that down at the food bank, do they, Joey?”

“It means raw,” and it struck me how he was unwittingly hinting that getting in the car meant we’d be his prosciutto. I turned to my partner in crime, and asked “Joey?”

His hackles raised, Joey, who hadn’t even blinked his eyes, nodded. This was for real now. I was terrified, but also excited. I had a score of my own to settle. Terrified, nonetheless.

“Let’s go.”

The door popped open, and Romeo slid over, keeping every part of his body in the dark. I got in first. I sat in a rear-facing seat. Joey slid in, onto the same bench as Romeo. The door closed on its own. That putridly sweet smell became overpowering.

“Bozo, let’s go,” Romeo called out. An opaque panel between the driver and us blocked any light from the front, and I couldn’t see anything outside. After my eyes adjusted, a barely there amber light, like a warm summer moon, diffused the darkness. Romeo’s glasses reflected hotspots of light, like little white unblinking irises. Then his teeth were shining back at me again. “Like I asked before, what’re you guys doing in my neighborhood?”

Joey’s eyes were wet, quivering, and full of fear. He was losing his nerve. The stake in my jeans pressing into my ass cheek warned me to not forget about it. Romeo’s smile grew as I shifted, quickly grabbing the hard piece of plastic. It was like he knew. This was such a mistake. Joey winced and turned, ducking away into the corner of the seat. Shit.

“Actually, we were coming to see you,” I said, gripping the stake at my side, feigning bravery in the absence of Joey who had wanted to do this whole thing. “We got something for you.”

Romeo’s lips widened. A part of me would have given anything for him to sink his teeth into my neck.

“Oh yeah? What’re you going to give me?” He was salivating. I had no idea what Joey was doing in the corner. Romeo’s hands shifted to his lap. He licked his lips, and then, like a beacon in a storm, his cock was in his hand, calling me forward.

A fog overcame me. He took off his shades, revealing eyes like distant stars.

“You know, my brother, Dante, says your old man sucked him off right before killing him. Must’ve gave terrible head. Maybe you can do better.”

In that moment, clarity struck me, he thinks we’re here to blow him... What the fuck? Despite the amber light, my vision turned red. Joey whimpered in his corner. This was all so fucked up, it wouldn’t surprise me if he was beating off.

I lunged. The stake drilled right into Romeo’s chest. Nylon stake pierced his silk shirt, and the tender flesh underneath, like popping a water balloon with a needle.

I wanted to brag about giving him nine inches, but was interrupted by the eruption of blood blasting all over my face, my chest, and beyond. Romeo sucked in a breath as I tasted his bitter lifeblood. My eyes stung, and I choked from inhaling the forceful cascade.

The car swerved, with Bonzo calling from the front, “Everything okay, Mister Romeo?”

Romeo’s eyes widened. His breath, heavy and cold, streamed out with splatters of black gore. We both looked down at the cheap-ass stake protruding from his chest. The intervals of blood pulsing through his wound saturated my leg between his thighs. He reached up to touch the stake and jerked his hands away like it was burning. I was so close to him, we could have kissed.

“You stabbed me,” Romeo gurgled over bloody regurgitation. His smile and the gleam in his eyes were gone. “Bozo, get me home.” His features morphed from those of a full-grown man to a child. “Why the fuck did you stab me, Gaffney?”

I fell back on the leather bench seat. A slick sheen of blood ebbed across the surface from the moving car and the dim light. I looked from Joey’s shivering back to Romeo. His spell had worn off. I’d regained my faculties. I wiped at my face, but everything was so drenched with Romeo’s effluence, it didn’t do anything. I wiped my hands back into my hair and sighed.

“I stabbed you because you’re a fucking vampire. Your whole family are bloodsuckers, and we’re here to kill you all. For what you did to Joey. For my dad.” I jumped for the stake, wrapping my hands around the piece of plastic and pulled. Despite having lost so much blood, Romeo fought me off as the stake resisted removal like it was stuck in the mud. “Joey, are you going to help me here or what?” The stake worked itself free with a pop, and a ribbon of thick mucousy blood followed, stringing apart like melty cheese on a pizza. Repulsed, I tripped over Romeo’s feet, splashing onto the open floor between the facing seats.

“Mister Romeo, you okay back there?” Bonzo called back again. The divider must have shielded him from Strigatelli’s splash zone. Maybe he thought we were back here fucking.

“Bozo, I said, take me home!” Romeo’s hands and chest flickered through the barely there light, shimmering across the sopping wet angles of his body. “Why would you think I was a vampire?”

“That’s what my dad always said.” Why hadn’t he attacked me yet? I called out again, “Joey?”

“Your dad was a fucking idiot and a little bitch. I’m glad we torched his place.”

Somehow, the comment brought everything to a standstill. All the splashing blood froze around me. I was glued to the floor of that giant car, unable to get a footing because it was all so slippery. I truly wanted to kill Romeo, and his whole family, but understood that no matter what, we’d all be dead soon.

A rustle from Joey’s corner brought the world back into motion. Finally. First came the sound of shredding leather, which was overtaken by a guttural burbling, like the sound a Harley makes.

“Joey?”

“I’m fucking dying, Bozo! Get me home, now.”

The rumble grew, inhuman and unnatural.

“Joey!”

“Mister Romeo?”

“Shut up about Joey! Bonzo...”

A black hole manifested next to Romeo. With the growling came an overwhelming stench, worse than the rottenest old produce, worse than the dankest bucket full of dogshit, worse than the sulfurous fires of Hell. My body prepared for the encroaching sickness with an instant flood of saliva covering my tongue and teeth.

The thing where Joey had been flipped around, filling most of the back seat. Its jaws opened, revealing teeth as long as my fingers. Its wrinkled tongue licked at its chops between every raging snarl. I caught the glow of its evil green eyes, and it was like the light in the car increased tenfold.

“Joey!” I screamed. “You’re a werewolf?”

The monster clamped straight down on Romeo’s face. Strigatelli let out a shrill cry muffled through the growling fury, as my friend shook the vampire like a dog playing tug-o-war.

Bonzo asked if Romeo was okay again, but the rending and slashing as Joey tore Romeo to bits finally caused the driver to lurch the car to a stop. I crashed into the rear-facing bench as the sea of blood threw me forward. Thunderous claps of gunshots reverberated through the enclosed space, deafening me. Muzzle flashes revealed the transformed Joey in his full horror. A matted ravel of fur. His appendages and torso, stretched and deformed, rippling with animal brutality. After the first series of shots, and Romeo having gone silent, Joey turned toward me and the driver.

Seeing Romeo, brought back the idea of a lobster. The way the innards spill out when the tail’s pulled off. Romeo was missing an eyeball, and Joey had torn open Romeo’s torso. Pierced organs and unnamable muscles dangled, seeping blood and viscera. Impossibly, there seemed to be more Romeo outside his body at that point than could have ever been inside.

Having reloaded, Bonzo started firing again, screaming, “You’re a demon, demone!” He kept blasting until... CLICK. CLICK. CLICK.

Lathered hot drool slobbered onto my face as Joey stepped over me. He mounted the rear-facing seat and wrenched Bonzo’s head off with a single hand. It brought back the memory of Joey’s uncle Mike popping the cork on the bottle of champagne at our graduation party. Only the spray of foamy gore immediately struck the ceiling of the car and rained down on all of us. The driver’s lower jaw fell between my legs. I screamed in terror.

Joey lapped at the stream of blood like a dog at a garden hose. A growl emanated from Joey’s guts as he satisfied that yearning for more.

Unable to stand it any longer, my body reconstituted every meal I’d ever eaten and spewed it out through every orifice on my face. The sting and violence made me wonder if I hadn’t turned into a monster myself.

Falling back after my torrential evacuation, my body flopped into the miasma on the car’s floor. The foulness clouded all other senses, from rot and death to bile, stomach acid, and I’m pretty sure Joey pissed on the back seat at some point. Unable to move, the abject solution met the back of my earlobes. Like the ocean in a seashell, I heard the tortured screams of all who’d died at the hands of the Strigatellis. Through the dastardly suckling on the marrow of Bonzo’s neck, I picked up the sound of Romeo groaning. He was still alive.

In the dark, and the vapor of every disgusting juice coalescing within, I couldn’t tell where Romeo ended, and the horror began.

“Help me,” he whispered, gasping for air.

I moved toward the door. Popping the latch and causing Joey to grunt, but he remained content, yanking and ripping at one of Bonzo’s scapulas. I scooched down and nudged the door open, letting in a spear of warm sunlight betraying the existence of something beyond this depravity. In the light, I got a better glimpse of this charnel house. Skeins of flesh, shards of bone, globules of fat and hair, and I don’t know what else, decoupaged every surface. Crimson infused with a shit-rainbow of other foul colors waterfalling through the open doorframe. I fought the desire to flee, as more retching tickled the back of my throat, and I reached for what I could of Romeo.

Pulling Romeo’s arm out of the murder mobile, a howl reverberated, like a siren, from the car, through the neighborhood, and the city. Romeo was ripped from my grasp, back into the dark. Deep guttural cries ensued along with the gnashing of teeth, high-pitched screams of torment and peril beyond suffering, until there was a final gasp and then nothing.

Greased in blood, vomit, gore, and I was ninety-six percent sure I’d crapped myself. I was happy to be on solid ground. Lightheaded, the sun seemed wrong. Too bright. Too warm. It was something that couldn’t exist in the world I’d found myself in.

An inhuman intonation emanated from inside the car. Garbled, but recognizable as my name.

I was frozen in place as a bare, human foot stepped out of the car. It was followed by a body and a head with the face of Joey. He looked like a newborn baby except for the threadbare remnants of his clothes. I’d never noticed how thin he was before, yet that little Irish kid had just ripped someone’s head off with one hand.

“Sorry about that, I thought I’d be able to control it better,” Joey looked up and then pointed. I hesitantly followed what he was trying to show me, finding the glow in the light blue sky of a faint full moon. “People think it’s the moon that changes us, but it’s the dark that does it. The moon, especially when it’s full, turns us back into our human form. That’s why we howl at it, why we hate it. Somehow, the car’s lights were like moonlight. I couldn’t change quick enough.”

We simply stared at each other for a few minutes, standing like goons on 69th Street. The fang-like towers of Midtown East lingered behind us.

“Romeo wasn’t actually a vampire,” I said.

Joey shook his head, looking at the blossoming puddle of Strigatelli remains forming under the dripping car door.

“Do you think vampires are even real?” my friend, Joey Whelan, a werewolf, asked.

I was about to laugh, until Joey coughed up Romeo’s eyeball, spitting it onto the street like a giant wad of gum. Despite not feeling like I could contain anything else within me, my vomit proved me wrong.

Wiping my mouth with what had to have been the last unsullied inch of skin on my body, I realized there was laughter coming from inside the vehicle. Three gusts of wind whirled around Joey and me, with more laughter floating along the air.

The roof of the car groaned as it was ripped apart. Standing in the tangle of metal, leather, and other unsavory elements was Romeo Strigatelli. His clothes were in shreds. His body, splattered with all manner of foulness, was folding itself back together like the wounds moved in reverse. My eyes bulged at the only thing on his body I could safely see that had remained uncut—his exposed cock. Hard as a rock.

“You should have blown me and let me go on with my day, Gaffney,” Romeo said. His sick smile, bright with jagged serrated teeth, shone through blackened flesh and pinprick red eyes. “Now, we’re going to fuck you up. But you,” he pointed at Joey. “Now, it makes sense why I’ve hated your guts since you came to town. You must’ve just gone through your first change, though. That’s why I couldn’t tell before. Too immature.”

His dick hypnotically throbbed as he spoke, and I was mesmerized until I was brought back to reality by someone grabbing me from behind. My arms were instantly immobilized, and strong fingers wrenched my head back by the hair.

“I can’t believe you let them get the drop on you, Romeo.” It was easy to tell Dante Strigatelli was the one holding me from his strongly accented voice. The eldest son, and the one who burned down my father’s shop. His touch sickened me, yet my revulsion turned to desire. His cold flesh, vice-gripped through my arms, his fingers tangled tightly in my hair, had me on the verge of coming.

“How was I supposed to know the little jerk-off was a werewolf? But Papa’s going to be real happy with the pet I’m bringing home.” Romeo was nearly healed as the outer layer of gore absorbed into his body. Streaks of purple-black blotching diffused through the parts of his body where I assumed energy was needed to modify itself. He was fully reconfigured into a well-endowed Adonis. My stomach churned at his beauty.

Romeo’s other two brothers, the twins, Romulus and Remus, had Joey by the arms. Joey’s screams reached an alto pitch as the twins pulled in opposing directions.

“You’ll kill him. How can he be your pet if he’s dead?” I screamed. My hair, taut in Dante’s fingers, strained at the roots of my scalp. He ripped my head back, pain shot down my spine. He brought his dark face down to meet mine. His foul, shark teeth, and black-streaked visage were grotesque, yet heavenly.

“That pup isn’t the pet,” Dante’s breath was like a lullaby. Closing my eyes, I welcomed the idea of returning to death. The respite was broken with ghastly pops as Joey’s cries filled the air, turning to sobs before going silent. Dante’s constriction relaxed, inviting me to witness my friend’s torment. The arterial spray from Joey’s shoulders spurted in arhythmic cascades like the fountain in Columbus Circle.

I locked onto the vacant stare of my friend. Anger pushed up from my soul, but there was no more fear. No more threats of being sick. The Strigatellis killed my dad and were killing my friend. But I now understood my truth. That truth was never quite being settled on my place in the spectrum of sexuality, and although I was very fucked up in that moment, I realized I was gay. At least bi. And I was rock hard.

“Plus, I know the secret to making dogs heel. Keep them out of the dark,” Romeo said, realizing his penis was out for everyone to see. He cupped his large, sinewy hand over his privates, mostly failing to keep it hidden. He kicked the catatonic Joey to the ground. Blood from the gaping shoulders seeped out, creating an image of mini-angel wings. Stepping over Joey, Romeo approached Dante and me. “But no, he’s not the pet. That jerk-off just made one of our own a werewolf. Get Bozo out of the car, Remus.” The twin with slicked back hair in a ponytail flicked Joey’s right arm to the ground like a half-smoked cigarette and tore into the vehicle’s driver’s side. I turned back toward Romeo, his gleam in the sun, not like diamonds, but eternally youthful.

There was a soggy thud as Bonzo’s body was tossed to the ground with little care. “The kid didn’t just bite him. He pulled Bonzo’s head off,” Remus’ voice was like honey. Both he and his twin were beautiful, even half-drenched in Joey’s blood. “He’s capital-D dead.”

Romeo’s rippling muscles flexed, and I don’t know where he got them from, but he put his shades back on. “Really?” Looking between the decapitated driver and the armless Joey, he said, “Well, shit...”

“What about this one?” Dante asked, lifting me off the ground by my hair. A part of me wanted to call out, Yes, daddy! “Put them both in the dark, have the wolf bite this guy. We still come out on top.”

“You’re a real genius, Dante. You know that?” Romeo said, lightly tapping his elder brother on the cheek. “Let’s take them home. Ditch the car and Bozo in the river. I’ll grab the arms.” Romeo kneeled next to me, and my heartbeat thundered like his never would. “Maybe after this is over, we can get back to that other business.” He brushed his fingers over my bulging jeans.

Anyway, that’s how I became a werewolf deeply entwined in the local crime family, despite it being against everything my father would have stood for. We all gotta find our own way through life. Besides, there’ll eventually come a time when I can get my vengeance on these fucks. Until then, all I can say is that Romeo’s cannoli is amazing.

About the Author:
John R. Muth is a writer and cartoonist who is fascinated by the world and the things that make us all tick. He takes in the viewpoints of others and tries to rectify it with what he’s seen. John has lived and traveled many places otherwise to be noted. He’s been published in The Air and Nothingness Press anthology, Our Dust Earth, Hyphenpunk Magazine, Sometimes Hilarious Horror, and a number of literary journals. He also has a story soon to be published on the Creepy Podcast. Find out more at johnrmuth.com.