My Favorite Fangs: The Story of the Von Trapp Family Vampires (15 page)

“Bingo.”

“A daughter of Lillith.”

“Third cousin once removed, actually.”

“A seducer of men.”

“You bet.”

“An invader of dreams.”

“Sure am.”

“A thief of hearts.”

“For sure.”

“A follower of Sappho?”

“You wish.”

“A collector of semen.”

“And what a collection I have! As a matter of fact, Georg’s is at the top of the pile.”

“What are your intentions?” Maria asked.

“The same as yours, I bet: To marry Georg von Trapp and gain control of his fortune.” She paused. “I might also kill those brats. That would do the world a lot of good.” She paused again. “But not before I teach Friedrich a thing or two about Succubussing. That boy is one tender, juicy piece of meat.”

Maria nodded. “I can’t disagree with you there, Succubus. A bit young, but still.”

“That’s your opinion, Vampire. I mean, so what if he’s only fourteen? If he’s old enough to abuse it, he’s old enough to use it. Am I right, or am I right?”

“I see your point, but I don’t roll that way,” Maria said. “But back to the business at hand. I have no interest in marrying the Captain. I have no interest in his fortune. At the Abbey, I did without; for that matter, I’ve
always
done without, and I’m fine. All I need to do is feed and perpetuate my kind, so I can’t let you murder the kids. And in order that the children remain safe, I won’t let you marry the Captain!”

“Try and stop me, Vampire.” The Baroness then spit another gob of fire at Maria, and this time, Maria was unable to avoid it. As the Governess dropped and rolled, the Baroness-thing transformed back into the regular old Baroness and said, “Good luck, Vampire. May the best creature win.”

PART TWO

CHAPTER 5

I
N AUSTRIA, PUPPET
shows are despised, and with good reason.

According to experts on the history of Austrian puppetry—of which there are hundreds, if not thousands—1831 was the first recorded instance of a puppet show gone awry. The performance took place in a rickety barn in Klagenfurt. The puppet master, a native Klagenfurtian named Florian Franzika, had put together a marionette show that, had it come off as planned, might well have been spectacular. He created eight marionettes, one matching each of the animals in his barn: Two Haflinger horses, three milking cows, a chicken, a rooster, and an underfed Alsatian. The idea was to have the living creatures interact with their puppet counterparts, but it fell apart two minutes into the performance, when the dog—who, it turned out, was rabid—attacked both Franzika and the dog puppet, at which point the puppeteer dropped one of the horse marionettes on one of the horses. The spooked horse then went on a bucking spree that killed six audience members, and injured eleven others. Franzika avoided injury, but was murdered in his sleep the following week by one of the widowers.

And then there was the Great Innsbruck Japanese Rod Puppet Fire of 1876, when fifteen of the delicate figures went up in flames, eventually burning down an entire city block, leaving sixty-one dead, and over ten times that many homeless. And then there was the controversial turn-of-the-century ventriloquist convention in Lustenau that ended in a bloody riot. (The less said about the 1905 Linz Muppet fiasco, the better.) Taking all that into account, it was understandable that the majority of native Austrians considered puppetry to be a cursed art … if they considered it to be an art at all.

But Brigitta didn’t believe in the curses, so, after several hours of nagging, pestering, and harassment, she convinced her siblings to join her in organizing a puppet performance that would win over the Baroness. But remember, dear reader, we’re talking about the von Trapp children, and there’s no way these brats could do a normal puppet show. No, their performance had to be …

“… memorable,” Friedrich said, while the brats sat in a circle on the lawn in the backyard.

“Disturbing,” Louisa said.

“Sensual,” Liesl said.

“How on Earth can you make puppets sensual?” asked Farta, who, now that she was infused with Vampire blood, was discovering her own sensuality every hour, on the hour.

“You can make
anything
sensual,” Liesl said. She pointed to the tree. “Like that.” Then she pointed to a red-breasted robin. “Or that.” Then she pointed to her lady-parts. “Or, naturally, that.”

Kurt said, “I know you can make
food
sensual.”

Friedrich said, “I know
you
can make food
anything
.”

Kurt picked Friedrich up by the back of his neck and flung him into the middle of the lake.

Brigitta called, “Stop it, both of you!” She held up her index finger. “You know what? Let’s ask Maria.”

“Ask Maria what?” the Governess said as she wandered into the yard.

Louisa pointed at Brigitta and said, “This one wants to put on a puppet show for Father and the Baroness.” The she pointed at Liesl. “And this one wants it to be sensual.”

“Of course she does,” Maria said. “As well she should.”

“So,” Louisa asked, “might you have any ideas?”

Scratching her chin, Maria said, “You say this is for the Baroness?”

Brigitta said, “And Father. The Baroness
and
Father.”

“Right,” Maria said, “for the Baroness.” She clapped her hands. “Children, I have a remarkable idea, an idea that will turn this puppet show into one for the ages! A show that people will be talking about for years! A show that will become one of my favorite things, and one of your favorite things, too!”

Friedrich, who was dripping wet from his forced swim, wandered over and said, “Please, Governess, enough with the favorite things
scheisse
. Nobody likes your favorite things,
nobody
. If I trip on one more of your brown paper packages, I’ll go insane.”

Maria gave him a dismissive wave, then said, “How do you brats feel about goats?”

“Do you mean riding them?” Farta asked.

“Or sacrificing them?” Friedrich asked.

“Or eating them?” Kurt asked.

“No,” Maria said, “I mean puppetizing them.”

“Now
that,
” Liesl said, “sounds interesting.”

Maria leaned forward. “Here is what we’re going to do.” After she whispered her instructions to the brats, she said, “Meet me in the ballroom in two hours and thirty-eight minutes. And make sure you tell the grown-ups to join us.”

Fast forward two hours and thirty-eight minutes. The now-completely vomit-free ballroom was as bright as the surface of the sun, and nearly as hot. On the far end of the room stood a newly constructed stage—ten meters high and seven meters wide, with a red curtain shielding the backstage area, and a platform for the novice puppeteers—in front of which sat two chairs. The Captain and the Baroness strolled across the floor, arm in arm, broad smiles plastered onto their faces, his sincere, hers not so much. After they sat down on the seats, the Captain draped his arm over Elsa’s shoulders and said, “This is lovely, my dear, simply lovely.”

The Baroness sighed. “Sure, Georg. Swell.” She then traced a fingernail up his thigh. “But you know what would be lovelier?”

Von Trapp took a sip of his Sipsmith’s. “What?”

Whispering into his ear, she said, “Your seed. Your seed is one of the loveliest things I’ve ever seen. Or tasted.”

With heroic restraint, he gently took her hand from his leg. “Not now, dear. Maybe later. Now is the time for the children.”

She turned away and grumbled, “The children. Ever since I got here, it’s all about the
ficken
children.”

“I’m sorry, I missed that, Elsa. What did you say?”

“Nothing,” the Baroness said. “Nothing at all.”

Max appeared, then tapped the Captain on the shoulder and asked, “No chair for me, eh?”

The Captain looked around. “I suppose not.” He pointed to the ground. “On the floor with you, Max.”

Max blinked. “But … but … but I’m an
impresario
! Impresarios are never relegated to the floor.”

Shrugging, the Captain said, “The Governess and the brats set this all up.
Kvetch
to them.”

The Baroness checked her watch and asked, “When do you think this shindig will start?”

From behind the stage, Maria called, “Right now!” She stepped into view and said, “Thank you for your kind applause.”

The Baroness said, “We’re not applauding.”

“Oh, Baroness, I love you most of all!” The two women-creatures glared at one another for a moment, then Maria continued: “Today, Captain von Trapp, and Max Detweiler, and Baroness … Baroness … Fader?”

Through gritted teeth, she hissed, “Schrader.”

“Raider?”

Through gritted teeth, she yelled,
“Schrader!”

“Seder?”

Through gritted teeth, she roared, “SCHRADER!”

“Right. Schrader. The von Trapp family players are proud to present to you an original play entitled ‘The Lonely Goatherd.’”

The Captain applauded heartily, Max applauded half-heartedly, and the Baroness applauded no-heartedly, which is to say she clapped twice.

A lederhosen-clad shepherd was lowered from the top of the stage. He clumsily danced across the floor and crashed into the curtain. After a cry of
Scheisse!
the puppeteer regained control of his doll—or
her
doll; it could have been any one of the brats manipulating that thing—and the show improved exponentially. The shepherd did a
dessus,
a
pas de basque,
three
sissones,
and a speedy series of
épaulements,
before capping it off with a
fouetté jeté
. He sat down, folded his legs, and said, “I am but a lonely goatherd, unskilled except for my ability to yodel. My yodels are lusty and clear, and can be heard in remote towns throughout the land.”

Max elbowed the Captain in his leg. When the Captain leaned down, Max said, “Those brats are pretty good. That thing looks real.”

The Baroness said, “
Too
real, if you ask me.”

The shepherd looked to the sky and continued: “A goat, my Lord, my kingdom for a goat!”

From behind the stage, a voice that was likely meant to be the voice of God, but missed Godliness due to its lack of boominess, commanded, “Yodel for me, my son! Yodel and ye shall receive a goat from yon!”

“As you wish,” the shepherd said, then he cleared his throat and yodeled, “Lady oh the lady oh the lay hee hooooooooooo!”

At that, the Baroness froze solid, so frozen that ice crystals formed on her eyelashes … although since her lashes were Aryan blonde and her eyes were as blue/gray as a lake in the wintertime, one might have believed the entire upper region of her face was frozen to start with. The Captain and Max were so absorbed in the show that they didn’t notice she had stopped moving … and breathing.

A goat was then lowered onto the stage, bleating the entire way down. The Captain told Max, “Goodness, that beast reeks like feces. They even made certain it smelled like a proper barn animal. Those kids—their attention to detail was remarkable.”

Max said, “It’s remarkable, but I have one major quibble: The puppet strings are quite visible to the naked eye.”

The Captain squinted at the goat. “Sure enough. Those
are
some thick wires. Looks like they nailed them right on in there. There’s one in the left ear, and one in the right, and one in the tail, and one on each of the hooves.”

Pointing at the shepherd, Max said, “There are less on that fellow. Just one in each cheek, one on each hand, and one on each foot. But they’re manipulating him remarkably well.”

“They certainly are.” He paused, then added, “The show looks great, but I must admit, I can’t say the same about this narrative. The plot isn’t moving along.”

Max said, “No, it most certainly isn’t. Not to mention there’s a significant lack of character development, and they clearly are not adhering to the three-act structure. This will all need to be addressed before we begin the tour. We might have to consider a script doctor.”

“What tour?” the Captain asked. “And what’s a script doctor?”

“Never you mind. Pipe down and let me do my job.”

Before the Captain could tell Max off, a backdrop plunked down from the top of the stage, covering the red curtain; it was a crudely painted castle.

Max winced. “Terrible set design. Something else we need to work on.”

The next puppet came from above; it was a handsome young Aryan man whose outfit could only be described as majestic. The puppeteer from above leaned the prince against the painted castle—making certain he didn’t fall—then said, “Who am I, you might ask? Well, I’m a prince on the bridge of a castle moat heard.”

Max asked the Captain, “How can you be on the bridge of a castle moat heard? For that matter, what’s a castle moat heard?”

The Captain shrugged, “Whenever I ask one of the children a question like that, they always tell me the same thing:
Ask Hammerstein
.”

“Who’s this Hammerstein?”

“No clue.” He took a brief glance at the Baroness, then said, “Look at her, Max. She loves the show so much that she can’t tear her eyes away from the stage.” He shook his head and gave his friend a small, wistful smile. “Ah, those kids of mine, making certain my paramour is happy. It’s moments like this that make all the trouble worthwhile.”

“You know what would make it worthwhile?” Max asked. “Taking this act on the road. And a script doctor.”

Two bearded male puppets with backpacks hopped to center stage from the wings. One of them said, “We’re men on a road with a load to tote.” And then they walked off.

Max said, “This is getting ridiculous. I can forgive a few plot holes here and there, but when multiple characters come in, deliver a line, then leave and are never heard from again, well, that’s a problem.”

“That’s enough, Detweiler,” the Captain said, then cuffed him on the back of his head.

After the bearded ones were clear of the stage, another backdrop whooshed down, this one, a crudely drawn beer hall. The two bearded men, now holding pints of lager, returned and plunked down at a table. (“See,” the Captain told Max, “they came back. Now settle down.”) Four bassoon players appeared behind the bearded men and tore into an odd arrangement of Franz Danzi’s “Bassoon Concerto No. 2 in F-Major.” (Several notes in, Max nodded in recognition. “Ah, Danzi,” he said, “drinking music for the insane.”) The men polished off their beers, at which point the Captain polished off his gin. (“Using spirits to get into the spirit,” he told Max.)