Fic: The Nosferatu Effect

[calliopes_pen]

Title: The Nosferatu Effect
Author: calliopes_pen
Rating: PG
Pairing: None
Fandom: My Best Friend Is A Vampire
Word Count: 3206
Author’s Notes: This fanfic was written for apocalypsos/Trollprincess, for yuletide. The following is the prompt: “It's over twenty years since the events of the film. Has Jeremy finally gotten around to reading that book? Has he become a better vampire? And what happens when he runs into the Professor after all this time?” A huge thanks go out to seandc, persiflage_1, and liliaeth for beta reading. The title is a reference to both the shadow effect the two played with, as well as how vampire hunters have just seen too many movies featuring evil vampires.
Summary: Twenty-five years after the events of the movie, the Professor and Jeremy have a peaceful reunion in the cemetery where the former was turned, to share a few bottles of blood and catch up on things.



A moonlit night, in a fog enshrouded cemetery. This time, no friends nearly staked, no adrenaline pumping police chases. Just the peaceful calm of the night, as Professor Leopold McCarthy and Jeremy Capello leaned against a tree and reminisced in the place the former’s vampire life had begun. Throwing back a six-pack of delicious Pig’s Blood as they caught up.

Jeremy’s parents still listened to the same police band in their old age—of course, these days, it was just in case he or another undead friend happened to get mixed up in a car chase. That was just a one shot deal, he had explained. It was sheer luck he hadn’t been arrested. What his parents would do if an actual jailbreak were required, he never wanted to find out.

But even twenty-five years later, even if he was a sunlight-walking vampire, they wanted their vampiric boy to be safe and sound and unstaked.

Darla Blake had moved on with her life, gone to just being a great friend, and used her musical talents to get a chair in a major orchestra, in a state far removed from Texas. They had drifted apart over time, but still kept in touch via e-mail. If things ever went south for her, he would be there as fast as wolf legs could carry.

Ralph was still Ralph, apart from getting a strangely surreal high paying part-time job at a farm that knew about vampires, and was owned by at least two older vampires. One of whom was Modoc under an alias. Other than tossing out some feed for the animals, not much required of him. So he could be free to come and go as he pleased the rest of the time. He occasionally provided Jeremy with blood straight from the source.

While odd, it was a welcome respite from keeping it in his fridge, something that proved just how deep their friendship was. Ralph could just as easily have left town completely after everything that had happened, but had surprised him by staying.

His mother had taken to bringing him the occasional raw piece of steak on a nice dinner plate, along with raw prime rib. She had even offered to start some sort of mothers for vampires association—which, while thoughtful, wasn’t exactly conducive with keeping either a low profile, or vampire hunters away. She was trying to understand, and Jeremy loved her for it.

Twenty-five years of looking like a teenager…the only real downside to date was having to break in three separate butchers who hadn’t really known of the arrangement for Pig’s Blood that the first one took in his stride. Until Jeremy had finally taken to bringing a mirror to show his nonexistent reflection to that third guy, the butcher had temporarily thought he was a serial killer. Of all things! Just because he drank blood, that didn’t make him a sicko.

Modoc was right all those years ago, he mused as he surveyed the graveyard, taking in its peace. Vanquishing an enemy by turning him into an ally was the best solution, if it could be accomplished. In the case of Professor Leopold McCarthy, it had worked like a dream. Glancing over to the man beside him, Jeremy thought he caught a strange look cross his face. Finally breaking their companionable silence, he asked, “What’s wrong?”

The Professor’s lips curled in a strange mix of disgust and self-reprobation. Tinged with amusement, he replied, “I have a vampire hunter tracking my movements. Ironic. I thought I spotted his car speeding down the interstate just now. Not to worry, you’re perfectly safe.” It was too foggy tonight for anyone to have good aim with a crossbow anyway.

The disgusted look faded, changing to one of amusement. “At our last meeting, I convinced him I needed a coffin filled with soil before I could settle for the night. And that to cross the ocean, it would be placed in the heels of my best shoes.” He owed a debt of gratitude to Chelsea Quinn Yarbro for that one. It paid to read up on all the stories, to see what humans would be expecting from moment to moment. To turn the tables on them.

As Jeremy finished a swig of Pig’s Blood’s latest experimental blend—just a slight tinge of cinnamon this time, to quench a sweet fang that would never die—he grinned. “Just be thankful nobody’s asked you to twinkle.”

They shared a look of annoyance, and the Professor chuckled. “Heaven forbid. The ones that feel like watching me at this particular moment just fancy observing me through binoculars from outside my living room window. Google Earth and GPS follow my every move as well, but I don’t think they’re technologically savvy enough to consider that. They are more in the style of Van Helsing, with their crosses and their holy water.” A pause, then, “He sends his regards, by the way.”

After that last night in the cemetery, after the man had had his mind changed about vampires, Modoc had mentioned that the vampire hunter made famous by Bram Stoker was real and one of their number. A bit on the crazy side at times, but good at heart. A showman who loved to fool people, and stake vampires…that is, until he grew to be friends with Modoc, and asked to be bitten for curiosity’s sake.

Jeremy nodded. “How’s Modoc?” It was the anniversary of their vampirism, not Modoc’s. The elusive man would join them if he felt like it, and he wasn’t being an advisor to some other vampire that was new to the game.

The Professor raised an eyebrow, giving him a fond smile as he passed him some regular Pig’s Blood. “Asking if you finished Vampirism: A Practical Guide To An Alternative Lifestyle. He thought twenty-five years might see you almost done.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes at that. He almost felt guilty, and knew he really should finish it before he turned 50, and not sit it down and forget again. “Tell him…mostly. I can turn into a wolf, do most of the mind tricks and create illusions, but nada on the mesmerism.” If only Darla, Ralph, and an assortment of others wouldn’t lead him on to mess with him, and make him think he’d succeeded in putting them under his spell. “Levitation, yes. Mind control, it’s iffy.” He was choosing to make footnotes in his old copy, until someone found the time to update it. That dusty, leather-bound tome was in desperate need of an update. Jeremy couldn’t remember if it was Modoc or the Professor that had promised to do so—and then the undead had taken pop culture by storm, and the three had stared in stupefied awe, as it fell by the wayside.

The idea that someday there might be vampire groupies made them nervous.

“And tell Modoc that Mom says hi—to you, too,” he added. She liked him, even if it was hard to send birthday and Christmas presents to a vampire who wouldn’t stay put. So did Ralph, once he realized there wouldn’t be a few pints missing in the morning. His neck wasn’t up for nibbling, not by Modoc or any vampire in the area.

“Your effort is admirable,” he offered. The hint of chiding lurked just beneath the surface. “If it is of any help, I once succeeded in making Grimsdyke cluck like a chicken.” While it provoked a friendly laugh, they both knew how easy such a feat was.

“Oh, that reminds me. Taking a page from chapter 40, I convinced Ralph my shadow was alive one night!” He had seated himself on Ralph’s windowsill, upside down, and begun his nocturnal puppet show. “It only took a small suggestion. A few minutes later, Ralph actually believed my shadow was reaching for him, and trying to steal his shoes. It was three nights before he spotted me. I didn’t know what to say after that. I decided that there are only so many times a shadow can reach threateningly for you before you start to doubt your sanity. And our friendship. So I stopped.” It was that, and that Darla had slapped him when he told her. He had the good grace to look ashamed of testing his powers out like that, without having warned Ralph ahead of time.

Jeremy assumed a lecture would have been forthcoming from Modoc about screwing with minds if he had been standing beside him. But the Professor seemed entertained, far more than angered. Had he done something similar?

“I believe the Nosferatu Shadow Effect is something all newly made vampires must go through,” the Professor admitted with a chuckle. “I did the same to Grimsdyke…but then, I stopped when he became convinced the ghosts of ants he had stomped as a child were haunting him.” He shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll never understand that one.”

Jeremy shook his head. He felt it was more Peter Pan, than Nosferatu—up until the ant shadows. Yeah, that was taking a turn into creepy levels.

“Did…Grimsdyke ever act like your Renfield?” That would mean he had bitten him, according to the book. And he couldn’t believe he had read that chapter so many times. The whole idea of a Renfield was in the index under zoophagous, making him wonder how many had dared try it. Jeremy realized he didn’t know what had ever happened to the little guy after he had—through luck, or mesmerism on Modoc’s part—been released from police custody after about four hours.

“No,” the Professor grimaced. “While he followed me from place to place for a time, so far as I am aware, he never feasted on insects. I refused to bite him. He was Grimsdyke! We couldn’t be so fortunate as with me if I turned him, now could we? I couldn’t take that chance.”

Jeremy agreed, no matter how he phrased it. Even if he considered Grimsdyke mostly harmless. He wondered if the Professor was one of the few to just flip around and go something to the effect of ‘whee, I’m a vampire—I like you now,’ and run away to cavort with the children of the night. He’d have to ask Modoc. He should have asked twenty-five years ago, but Modoc was a little busy. And he was busy explaining things to his parents for the next few days. “I offered to bite Ralph, once, a few years after you met us,” he suddenly confessed. “The offer was on the table. So he could keep up with the single ladies he had to. He was tempted, but he didn’t want a hickey from me.” Leave it to Ralph to pick that for a reason.

Now that startled a delighted laugh from the other man, and he casually suggested, “I say if he ever changes his mind, we look up Nora. I have her current address.”

An inclined head signaled his agreement. They both missed her—or maybe they could find the nice lady vampire Ralph was flirting with twenty-five years ago. That would be a treat. While Ralph could be hopelessly shallow at times, he was still a great friend.

Accepting of the vampire, not as squeamish as he once was. Not unless Jeremy tried to put fresh meat in a blender in front of him. All bets were off, then.

He stared off into the distance for a moment, noting that sunrise was still at least an hour away.

“Professor?”

The older looking vampire turned back to the younger man. “Yes, Jeremy?”

“Come back on Thanksgiving,” he invited. It was almost a plea. It never felt right to leave him out of things, after all this time. He liked the guy. Hell, his parents liked the guy now that he was a vampire and not chasing him all over town in a van. “Ralph’s taking the day off, and bringing a full grown turkey—and a pig for each of us. Plus an extra one for Modoc, if we happen to find him.” If they couldn’t locate him in time, it was his loss. The question of how much it had cost, or if it was on the house, would never be asked.

The Professor tilted his head back in anticipatory pleasure. “Ah, yes, Ralph. I am ever so glad I didn’t stake him. Did he ever receive my lengthy letter of apology?” Grimsdyke, were he still alive, would have slipped the two of them an overdose of garlic with his feast, before playing a eulogy on the nearest organ, for the proper musical accompaniment to a slaying. Still fearful of that which he did not understand. Or just mixing up his legends and films, thinking the garlic would turn him into a pile of ash.

Jeremy nodded. On the first anniversary of nearly being staked by mistake, Ralph had received it. “Yeah, it was actually hanging on his wall, last I checked. Framed. I couldn’t believe you wrote fifteen pages of heartfelt, eloquent apology, front and back, but there was the proof.” He was thinking it was lucky that the Professor hadn’t delivered it, wrapped on the quiver of a crossbow bolt, for old time’s sake. He had only drawn a picture of one on the flap. Jeremy frowned, waiting hopefully. “What should I tell Ralph? You up for a feast to end all feasts?”

His eyes widened at that, briefly taken aback. “Framed. Oh dear. Tell him…that I look forward to it, and I shall promise not to make a mess of his home.” It didn’t need explaining that the remains would just be carted off to the butcher, no questions asked. There was no need to fear vampire pigs—except in the strange and legendary case of one particular scientist, who had performed such an act. There were only vague murmurings from older vampires around to have witnessed it. Only a footnote or twenty in the book Jeremy had yet to finish. Not enough to provide a clue, just enough to trigger massive waves of curiosity.

“Oh, Ralph knows,” Jeremy laughed. “He’s got a tarp ready, though. Just in case. He said he doesn’t want CSI poking their noses in after we accidentally got blood on the walls, and arrested him for the slaughter of livestock. Or murder.” Blood on the walls would look bad.

“Just think,” the Professor reflected as he looked up at the full moon. “I once hypothesized to Grimsdyke that there would be vampire Armageddon by the year 2000.” These days, while there was an upswing in vampire popularity in the media, it wasn’t like there were actual vampires shoulder to shoulder, clogging the cemeteries of the world. As one of them, they both knew that was not their way.

He pulled a champagne glass out of his cooler, and passed it to Jeremy. He saw the younger man’s confused look, and smiled. “We were down to the last regular Pig’s Blood you brought,” he explained.

“This is for the anniversary of our rebirth—I thought something more expensive was called for. And,” he continued as he reached into what appeared to be a grocery bag, “so I brought this.” As he spoke, he yanked the cork out and began to fill each flute. “Chateau La Swine 1988. B Negative to give it a more full-bodied flavor, with a modicum of A positive blended in,” he observed with obvious appreciation, passing Jeremy his glass. “It was kept from coagulating for twenty-five years, never allowed to cool down, until it was in the perfect condition for us to serve. I thought it was appropriate.”

Neither of them knew just how that process worked, and the shared look said they didn’t want to be the ones to ask.

The two hummed in appreciation, falling silent again for a moment. “It’s great, some of the best blood I’ve ever had. Thank you for sharing it with me, Professor,” Jeremy complimented.

The Professor shook his head between sips. “Jeremy, ‘the Professor’ was an affectation—a title I bestowed upon myself to strike fear in my foes and appear…threatening. It was more of a nickname that Grimsdyke ran with,” he confided. He was not an actual Professor of Vampire History, no matter how much he had deluded himself at the time. “Call me by my name, Modoc has always done so.”

“Right, then, Leo it is,” Jeremy joked. He was teasing him the way one would an older brother, and favorite uncle.

The Professor winced. Maybe that nickname was better, after all. “Leopold, Jeremy. Leopold,” he pleaded. An air of long-suffering joviality still bled through, however. “You make me sound like a movie star, or that character from the Ninja Turtle cartoon when you shorten it.” It felt like something he had asked him to do a hundred times, when in reality it may have been merely the fifth time.

Jeremy shrugged an apology to him—albeit with a look that said he thought it funny—and the name situation was forgotten again. Once the two finished their drinks, each goblet was carefully placed into a sack, to be retrieved soon enough. They didn’t want to lose these items, and make it appear as though a crime had happened…Jeremy was keeping the bottle. He could come back for it in a few hours, and keep the fog heavy until noon to obscure his comings and goings.

Reaching into his coat pocket, the Professor—Leopold—handed the other man a card. “If you ever visit London, that is the name of the most magnificent butcher in town. He’s one of us. Has a certain style, never serves his blood beyond the point it would go bad. He will never cheat you. He keeps his prices low, and has some of the finest vintages you can imagine.” No need to explain. It was a gesture from one friend to another.

Jeremy nodded his thanks, and they quickly clasped each other’s shoulders. A quick, almost fatherly hug followed. Well, they only saw each other once every few years. What could they expect? Theirs was a strange relationship.

Leopold paused, before he turned to leave. “What say we meet at this exact location, same time, in 2018? It will be our thirtieth anniversary as vampires, then. Surely we can wrangle the old man for some sort of festivity to commemorate the occasion.”

“It’s a deal,” Jeremy grinned. “We’ll make sure Modoc has the longest night of fun he’s ever had.” In October of that year, Modoc would be turning 295. It would just be a couple months early for a birthday bash, but catching him early was better than letting him vanish again.

“Farewell, then, my young-looking old friend. I’ll see you in five years—and don’t forget to finish reading your handbook, Jeremy,” he chided with a smirk.

Moments later, the two were fully transformed into wolves, bounding away down the hills and into the night, avoiding the newly dug graves. The casual passerby would believe they were just two large dogs passing through the night.

The moon would be going down soon, and it was time to return to their established homes, and their unique lives.