DIY History | Transcribe | Hevelin Fanzines | Fanfare, v. 1, issue 3, August 1940

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Fanfare, v. 1, issue 3, August 1940

Page 5

RED BLOOD
    ________
 by Richard Kraft

     Vincent the vampire whipped out a Kleenex, wiped his lips, and exhaled a sigh of satisfaction. He had dined well that night. That fat woman had parted with quarts of blood! Why - he could have had a full meal and left her alive!
     He sat down on the softest looking tombstone in the cemetery, where he had gone to dine in order to avoid the curious crowds that sometimes gathered when he wanted to enjoy a meal - and regarded the remains of his repast. Too bad! She had put up a good fight, too! Then he noticed something tightly clenched in the corpse's hand.
     It was a magazine. He pried it loose from the stiffened fingers and lookedat the cover. Hmmmm! SUPERNATURAL STORIES! His eyebrows rose as he noticed the luscious damsel who wore nothing but a look of terror, as she cringed from the advances of a leering Oriental. "Probably serves her right," he thought, "It's crazy nudists like her who are putting the poor laundrymen out of business."
     He opened the magazine to the contents page. Ick! What kind of reading matter was this? Some of the more lurid titles caught his eye; WHIT THROATS FOR THE VAMPIRE FIEND, by Worthington Geef......BRIDES FOR THE BOW-LEGGED BAT-MAN, by Euripedes Bloop......FEMALES FOR THE FEROCIOUS FOOFOO, by Ferdinand Fump. By the left upper fang of Dracula, he must look into this! He started to read curiously.
     When he had finished the first story, he put the magazine down and gagged a little. Phew! He had never read anything so rank since the diary of the mad princess of Nastia in 1762. Imagine! Some handsome mortal had overcome a vampire, without so much as a mirror or a stake, and had sustained no injuries in the process!
     He swallowed, and incredulously read the last paragraph over again.
      "My darling," said Frank, "You must forget now. The monster is dead,and we - we have each other. He drew her quivering, naked body to him - for strangely enough, the vampire had ripped off all her clothes! -- and kissed her inviting rose petal lips again and again.....:
     "Grrrrr! What an outrage!" growled the vampire to himself, "How long has this sort of libel been going on? It wasn't bad enough to have a vampire vanquished in physical combat, but they to describe one of his kind doing such an ungentlemanly thing as tearing off a lady's clothes...! "That was the last straw! He would definitely have to do something about it! His hand shook so with the fury of his emotion, that he rattled the lid of his coffin when he climbed back in at sunrise. Something he hadn't done in years....
     He was up bright and early the next evening at sunset. He tripped merrily from the graveyard and wended his way to a little typewriter and stationery store a few blocks away.
     The proprietor was just ready to close up. "What can I do for you?" he asked, rubbing his pudgy hands.
     "Not bad," thought Vincent, giving the man's portly figure the once-over, and replied, "Stick out your neck."
     "Huh? ...Ow!" said the prop, and promptly died of pernicious anemia, artificially aquired.
     Vincent stuffed the body in a closet, picked out the best typewriter in the place, several reams of paper, other sundry authors supplies, and stalked out whistling, "She Had to Go and Lose It at the Astor."

Saving...

RED BLOOD ________ by Richard Kraft Vincent the vampire whipped out a Kleenex, wiped his lips, and exhaled a sigh of satisfaction. He had dined well that night. That fat woman had parted with quarts of blood! Why - he could have had a full meal and left her alive! He sat down on the softest looking tombstone in the cemetery, where he had gone to dine in order to avoid the curious crowds that sometimes gathered when he wanted to enjoy a meal - and regarded the remains of his repast. Too bad! She had put up a good fight, too! Then he noticed something tightly clenched in the corpse's hand. It was a magazine. He pried it loose from the stiffened fingers and lookedat the cover. Hmmmm! SUPERNATURAL STORIES! His eyebrows rose as he noticed the luscious damsel who wore nothing but a look of terror, as she cringed from the advances of a leering Oriental. "Probably serves her right," he thought, "It's crazy nudists like her who are putting the poor laundrymen out of business." He opened the magazine to the contents page. Ick! What kind of reading matter was this? Some of the more lurid titles caught his eye; WHIT THROATS FOR THE VAMPIRE FIEND, by Worthington Geef......BRIDES FOR THE BOW-LEGGED BAT-MAN, by Euripedes Bloop......FEMALES FOR THE FEROCIOUS FOOFOO, by Ferdinand Fump. By the left upper fang of Dracula, he must look into this! He started to read curiously. When he had finished the first story, he put the magazine down and gagged a little. Phew! He had never read anything so rank since the diary of the mad princess of Nastia in 1762. Imagine! Some handsome mortal had overcome a vampire, without so much as a mirror or a stake, and had sustained no injuries in the process! He swallowed, and incredulously read the last paragraph over again. "My darling," said Frank, "You must forget now. The monster is dead,and we - we have each other. He drew her quivering, naked body to him - for strangely enough, the vampire had ripped off all her clothes! -- and kissed her inviting rose petal lips again and again.....: "Grrrrr! What an outrage!" growled the vampire to himself, "How long has this sort of libel been going on? It wasn't bad enough to have a vampire vanquished in physical combat, but they to describe one of his kind doing such an ungentlemanly thing as tearing off a lady's clothes...! "That was the last straw! He would definitely have to do something about it! His hand shook so with the fury of his emotion, that he rattled the lid of his coffin when he climbed back in at sunrise. Something he hadn't done in years.... He was up bright and early the next evening at sunset. He tripped merrily from the graveyard and wended his way to a little typewriter and stationery store a few blocks away. The proprietor was just ready to close up. "What can I do for you?" he asked, rubbing his pudgy hands. "Not bad," thought Vincent, giving the man's portly figure the once-over, and replied, "Stick out your neck." "Huh? ...Ow!" said the prop, and promptly died of pernicious anemia, artificially aquired. Vincent stuffed the body in a closet, picked out the best typewriter in the place, several reams of paper, other sundry authors supplies, and stalked out whistling, "She Had to Go and Lose It at the Astor."