Dadcula
Dad is a vampire. Not just any vampire: Count Dracula. The classic Dracula he read in the original text. The one by Bram Stoker. He got his ears pointed, fake fangs, and he stayed indoors to get his skin a milky pale tone. Staying indoors can help only for so long, so he learned makeup products to make himself as pale as possible.
I remember the days when I come home from first grade and I heard his loud voice stretch the a’s and the ah ah ahs. My exposure to the “proper” English gentlemen diction. With a tin of Transylvania to spice up his act. I remember how I approached the outside his “vampiric study” and listened to him say his line from outside. I’d press my ear to the door catch his flimsy speech.
Mother knew this was Dad pretending. She could stop his act, but why would she? It brought a number of guests to our house every month. Mother enjoyed the company, especially since we don’t have any guests come over.
When guests came over, he put on the bravado being the true Dracula. He’s insisted if guests came over it must be evening. Around seven to or eight o’clock in the pm. Then he had the guests come over, treat them with utmost hospitality and have them sip red wine (the unpopular cranberry juice for the kids).
Aside from his incredible skills as a host, I was never certain why they came. It wasn’t like Dad’s act was anything impressive. Whenever he’d blurt out ah ah ah, she would usher me into another room and Dad would continue his act. She would then shake her head and say “That is the behavior we don’t need our daughter catching.” When Dad asked her later her thoughts, she would tell him he did well. Looking back, I never knew what if she found his act hilarious or if she disapproved it all together.
For the most part, our neighbors played along with the act. The men asked Dracula questions about his lifestyle or how he was doing in general. The women pretended to be charmed by the short vampire (that is until they noticed my mother standing at the doorway, pitchfork at hand). Then they settled for asking questions or going over me. They still do although I am nineteen years old. Dad enjoyed how I get attention and dubbed me “Dracula’s daughter”. I found it flattering. Dad was Dracula, so it made sense for me to have this name.
All was well in the world, my own vampire world. Until one day I got home from a hard day at high school. I was a sophomore then. A lot of high schoolers care about their image. I did not care until I got home one day and heard that same accent Dad imitated for years. I told Dad to knock it off. Dad turned to me in surprise. His voice came through, sounding it was striking a balance between the accent and his normal voice “My dear, are you ill?”
“No,” I grouched. “Stop this talk. You’re embarrassing.” I stomped up the stairs over to my room, making sure he heard. Every. Single. Footstep.
My dad was quiet that evening. When Mother asked him a question, he replied, “Yes., yes of course.” Regardless of what Mother asked. I wish Mother knew something was amiss.
After our serving of mashed potatoes, carrots and lemon chicken, Mother took me aside. “Honey, something is up with your father. Do you know what it is?”
I huffed. “I told him he was embarrassing me with.”
“What was he doing that was embarrassing you so badly?”
At the moment, my mind still raged at the things the kids said at school. The things they told me over and over again about my dad being a freak raged at the things the kids said at school.
The things they told me over and over again about my dad being a lunatic. “Meant for the nuthouse. Meant to stay away from humans.” I huffed, refusing the words’ power to confirm. “I don’t know.”
That didn’t work on my mother. She placed one hand on staring at my exhausted eyes. “Sweetie, did you have a bad day at school?”
“No,” I huffed. I knew by then the hurtful words flooded my mind, a demonic chant with t intent of breaking my mind. “Mom, leave me alone. I don’t wanna talk.” I rushed past her, straight to my room.
There I threw myself on my bed and cried. All the anger. All the memories. And all this time, I questioned myself. I never had a problem with Dad’s alter ego. Why is this bothering me? After a while, I heard a creak of a door. And here he was. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry for my behavior.”
Sighing I said, “No no, Dad. Don’t be sorry about anything. I just-I overreacted. The kids were talking about you.”
“Were they?” Dad asked.
“Yeah. They said how weird you were and how you are nuts.”
Dad chuckled after a long moment. “Of course, I’m not. No one can replicate his act as well as I can.” I stared up at him. “Dad, you aren’t talking like a vampire.”
He cleared his throat. “On the contrary, I am a gentleman of my word. I shall seize this act at once.” He grinned. Still baring his vampiric teeth. “In fact, I shall cease being the Count altogether.”
What? Dad noticed the surprise off my face. “Come, darling, you can’t expect a person to dedicate all his life to a single monster. I can focus my passion on pretending to be another monster-” he pulled out green spandex with scales drawn in black marker. “The Lochness Monster.”
I laughed. “How can you be Lochness?”
Brightened, he stated “By swimming around-” he got up from the edge of my bed and pretended to swim around them.
After a moment of watching him with his arm motion, I asked. “And what would you say?”
He stopped. The smile fell. “Say? I wouldn’t say anything. Considering how people don’t enjoy my impersonation.”
“No Dad,” Seeing him frown for the first time in ages. I had to do something. So, I thought of a solution and thought it up quick. “How about you try being a bunch of different monsters? Lochness for a library, Anubis when a boy breaks my heart and Igor for when I need help with math?”
Dad hunched over. “Yes, master Igor will learn math.”
I chuckled. “But you can be Dracula, the monster I grew up with.”
Dad gave me a hug. I felt a pierce of fangs strike my neck. I jumped. “Ow Da-Dracula!”
“I am now Dadcula!” He announced proudly, with a whish of his cape and he is gone with an Ah ah ah. I facepalmed. What dedication he has to pull off a bad joke.
