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When Leopold II ascended to the throne as Archduke of Austria in 1790, We, The Hamiltones, found ourselves out of favor with the court in Vienna. His Majesty disliked our style of music, the lobcock, and we experienced an informal blacklist from all concert halls in the capital. But, our luck turned with the arrival of a peculiar letter in a jet-black envelope, sealed with red wax: a humble invitation to play in the realm of Count György Bánffy. We were obliged, financially speaking, to make the trip to Transylvania to play the mysterious Dracula Invitational, 1791.
The journey was long, of course, as all journeys of 300 leagues, but when we arrived, we were greeted by the gorgeous Bran Castle. Its owner had invited us personally. Surely we had found a place where we could make music for someone who would appreciate us. Though it was early evening, the steward of the castle who greeted us told us that the master of the house was yet sleeping.
“Sleeping? At seven bells?” John asked, unknowingly.
“Then wake him, gentlemen. Ready your light orchestra and call to him. Let your instruments sing of rising in the moonshine. The guest will be here shortly.”
His instructions were clear. As we set up, a cloud of callers began to shuffle in. This was starting to seem like no ordinary soiree. Though they were all dressed immaculately, the faces, the nails, the skin and the eyes shook us to the bone. And each time the steward greeted a guest, we saw, for a split second in between words, what appeared to be fangs in each mouth. The group began to assemble around a heavy wooden table. A cadre most fantastically dressed among them took seats at the table and the rest of the dark figures stood in a circle, facing in.
“We call this gathering of the Night Court to order,” and the crowd let out a fiendish hiss.
Chris turned to our trio and whispered, “Oh no, we’ve made a terrible mistake,” and we all instantly knew it was true.
“Run?” I asked my comrades, though I was beginning to be so petrified that I’m not sure if I could have done so even if they agreed.
John reassured us. “It’s a gig. They want us here. Let’s play it. Act natural; play the gig; leave.” I nodded in terrified agreement, trying not to let my fear impact the others. I didn’t want them to see it, lest our terror become recursive.
“Is this… what I think it is?” Chris continued. “It can’t be, can it? Are these…” and his voice became even more whispered, “… draculas?”
“I’ve never had the pleasure of encountering such a ghoul in Vienna, but they do seem to match the descriptions I’ve heard.” John retorted.
“So what do we know about draculas? What are their weaknesses?” Chris was now thinking clearly– trying to solve our problem.
“Sunlight!” I quietly exclaimed, a little too proud of myself. The boys stared blankly back. “Sunlight, right?” I repeated, less confidently.
“Well, that doesn’t really help us now, does it, Nick,” Chris said, motioning at the dark night sky through one of Bran Castles beautifully arched windows.
“But…” John began, “Garlic, yes? Garlic and crosses. Do we have either?”
As we discussed solutions to our seemingly inescapable fate, the wicked Night Court began its proceedings. “Ladies and gentlemen. Friends. Draculas. Once a year, our great leader invites us into his home to caucus on the state of our order, and to enjoy the company of our own kind for a night. Surely, the Count will be down from his chambers soon. For you see, midnight approaches,” he declared while motioning to the ticking grandfather clock in one corner of the room. “Until then, our host has asked his chefs to prepare a meal for his humble retinue. At midnight, we shall feast. Chefs, bring out the feast!”
A group of young peasants paraded into the room, chained and stripped to the waist. They awaited their fate as the draculas began to count down in unison.
“Midnight approaches. 10. 9. 8. 7. 6. 5. 4. 3. 2. 1!”
End of Side A
“Oh God!” I scream as the devil’s own children flung themselves onto the poor Bulgar serfs. The lead dracula made direct eye contact with me. His eye gleamed red, redder than the blood that was beginning to be horribly splattered around the room. Surely, there was a whole lotta suckin’ goin’ on. He pointed directly at me and shrieked, gleefully.
“Play, musicians! Play and make merry!”
Who were we to refuse such an order. We began our song as the ghouls continued their bloody danse macabre. I couldn’t say whether it was our music, the cackles of the draculas, or the screams of dying peasants that woke him, but just then, we saw that the master of the house was surely awake. It could be no other. Even though he was a ghoul, he was majestic– magnificent beyond all the others. He was dressed in a glorious red velvet cape, trimmed with exotic fur, draped over a hussar’s jacket, intricately embroidered with golden piping and thread. The loose cape billowed and waved as he descended the staircase. The room paused, for even the draculas we mesmerized by his magnificence. “It is I, you lovers of blood, you princes of the night, you fanged warlords. It is I, your leader, Count Hemoglobin the Magnificent!”
With their leader descended from his lair, the minions of draculas could finally begin reporting of their year. The Night Court spoke to him at length of that year’s successes and failures, and their plans to have 13 more moons of inconspicuously blood-filled debauchery. They spoke until Count Hemoglobin yawned, displaying his enormous fangs. “I grow weary of business. It’s good to check in, but for one night a year, please, let’s just drink and be devilishly merry together. Musicians, play me a tune. It’s time for us to dance.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” another ghoul retorted. “These musicians are actually hear to play? I thought they were simply dessert.”
Hemoglobin responded, “Well, let’s see how good they are, first, no?”
We knew exactly what he meant. Our lives were on the line and we had but one melody to prove that we would be of more use as musicians than simply living cups of blood. John signaled to us to start and away we went. Some of the draculas began to dance, but a small group clustered around Hemoglobin and I could almost make out what words their lips were forming.
“You know, they are really quite good.”
“But they do look delicious, don’t they? Maybe just a little peck from each?”
“Certainly we should keep them around for the rest of the night. What dracula doesn’t enjoy a little music?”
“Yes, what if we don’t eat the musicians?”
But our rondo soon finished and the room turned to Hemoglobin. We stood, ready for our judgement. Were we to play another tune, or would this be the end for the Hamiltones?
Hemoglobin stroked his chin in thought. Perhaps our fate was not yet sealed. “No,” he said, coyly, “let’s eat the musicians.”
A chorus of cheers rang out among the draculas as the descended upon us. The last thing I saw before the black curtain of capes descended over me was the flash of terror in Chris’s eyes just as a bite sent a steam of blood cascading from his neck. His eyes seemed to cry out, pitifully, for me to lend him any help, but I was already damned to the same fate. I felt something sharp just before everything went black.
I can’t say how much time passed, but my eyes opened, blirily, blinking in confusion. Where was I? Had I been dreaming? This was surely not my beautiful house. But then I heard it: the sound of Hemoglobin. He was once more at the head of the table, ruling over his Night Court. “Ah,” he said, “they rouse.” He had noticed my head raise. He spoke across the room now and directly to me. “And how do you feel, young squire. Tell me.”
I felt my neck. There was no wound. For some reason, I was unafraid now. I responded, “A little cold, I think. Cold, and maybe a bit confused. Didn’t you…”
He stopped me, “Oh, we did. Why don’t you tongue your front teeth.” And there they were, two inch long fangs in the front of my mouth. He continued, “There’s no reason why we couldn’t have our cake and eat it, too. We didn’t quite bleed you fully dry. So, when you young draculas are ready, why don’t you play us another so we can really start our soiree.”
As we stood to pick up our instruments, we realized that nothing would ever be the same. We had joined the evil night court, and we gave them our first number as members of their undead brotherhood… And we were all draculas.