The Cape

Brent Long stood in front of the dank little shop on Dillard Street. "This must be the place," he mumbled under his breath as he pushed the door open, thinking it would be nice to be out of the October wind and rain..

He was saddened to find the inside of the shop was just as cold, damp and dark as the city street outside. Adding to the feeling, the shop was accentuated by strange shapes of unrecognizable objects cluttering the shop that cast even stranger shadows from the light that came in through the shop window from the street lamp on the corner. If anything, the shop was creepy and felt like death. Maybe this was the perfect place to find the right Halloween costume.

"Hello. Is anyone here?" Brent called out. There was no answer. He called out again.

From the back of the shop a small man emerged, all dressed in black with an old fashioned "Dickey" collar on a white, starched shirt and narrow black cravat. Everything about the man looked as though it had seen better days.

"Hello. Are you Mr. Travan?" Brent asked.

"The very one. How may I help you?" came the reply in a deep voice very much unsuited to the stature of the man.

"I am, Brent Long. I believe my friend, Roger Stone, called you about..."

"Oh, yes," Travan cut in, wringing his hands. "I spoke with him this morning. I believe I have just the thing for you." He led Brent toward the rear of the shop. "You are quite sure you want the vampire costume?" he said over his shoulder.

"Why, yes. Why wouldn't I?" Brent said, somewhat confused.

Travan stopped at a doorway that led into what appeared to be storeroom. "Good. Good. Then wait here. I will be just a moment," he said with a wry grin and a short bow, hands still wringing.

Brent leaned against a glass case and thought to himself, "What the hell? It's just a costume for the Halloween party at Roger's home. So what's the deal? It was odd that he absolutely insisted I come her to rent it."

Momentarily, Travan returned carrying a large, flat box that appeared to be not unlike a gift box from Macy's, large enough to hold a gown or winter coat.

"Yes. Here it is. Just the thing, as I told, Roger."

Brent looked at the box. "Shouldn't I try it on to see if it fits or something?"

"Oh, definitely not. Totally unnecessary. It will fit you perfectly," Travan assured him as he continued wringing his hands as if to wash himself of some chronic filth.

Brent took the box from Travan's hands. "Well, I think I should, you know." Brent began to open the box.

"No. Not in my shop. It is..." Travan paused a moment. "Let's say it's against the rules and completely unnecessary," he said with a slight bow as he backed away a step or two. His hands seemed to wash even faster and more diligently.

"Well then, I'll try it on when I get home then. If it doesn't fit, I'll bring it back."

"That's...um...not really advisable, Mr. Long. Believe me. The costume will form itself to you. You see, it is specially made. My costumes are made by an old woman in my employ. She has been sewing these for what seems like centuries. Trust, Mr. Long. It will fit perfectly as if made especially for you."

Brent shrugged. "Whatever you say, Mr. Travan. And how much is this?" he said, holding out his American Express Card.

"Oh, no. This has already been taken care of," Travan said, again with a small bow and what could only be described as an evil, lecherous smile.

Outside on the street, Brent felt very odd at the experience in Travan's shop. "How could such a dank and lifeless place exist in the city," he wondered. "And that little cockroach of a man, he gave me the creeps. Continuously wringing his hands and groveling. What an evil looking and acting person he was. I'll have to give Roger a piece of my mind at the party tomorrow night."

Roger did not arrive home until well after ten. He thought of trying the costume but thought better of it. "Maybe, in the morning," he told himself, making his way to the bedroom with a yawn. "How odd, he thought. So early and I'm feeling dead tired. But then, after that shop and Travan person..."

The following morning the alarm did not sound at 6:30 as usual. It began its frantic buzzing at 7:40. Brent opened one bleary eye and stared at the clock face for a moment. Then the time sunk in. "Holy shit! I'm going to be late."

Brent literally jumped out of bed and ran to the bathroom. In record time he had shaved, dressed and, hair still dripping, was out the front door headed for his car. The time was 7:58.

A light, October rain was falling which only helped to snarl traffic on I-5. Brent arrived at his office at 8:32. Fortunately, the "old man" was not in the office, but at an early morning conference. Brent sat at his desk and guiltily tried to look as if he had been there working for an hour or more.

At 10:14 his desk phone rang. It was Roger.

"Hey. Did you get to Travan's shop? Creepy old fuck, isn't he?"

"Yes. I found the shop and I have the costume. Thanks for sending me to that rat hole. How did you ever find that place, anyway?"

"Travan is a very old friend, Brent," Roger said. His smile was almost audible through the phone line. "Oh, and I have a date for you. Someone, I just know you will love."

"Nope. Don't need a date. You know I haven't dated since Margaret and I split up."

"Oh, buddy boy. You will need a date tonight. Trust me. This is going to be the first night of the rest of your...um...life."

"Oh, sweet Jesus," Brent exclaimed, slamming the handset back in its cradle. Then it occurred to him. "Trust me. Trust me. Trust me." The exact same words that old, disgusting cockroach used last night. "Trust me." Brent shook his head. "It means nothing, he thought and went back to work.

By 4:30 it was already getting dark outside. Brent had finished cleaning up the last of his work and was putting on his coat when the desk phone rang. "Oh, shit," he thought as he picked up the receiver.

"Brent Long."

"Are you Roger's friend?" asked a female voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes. Who's this?"

"Hi. My name is Victoria. Roger told me to call you. I'm your escort for the Halloween party."

For a moment Brent said nothing. The voice did sound rather interesting. It was soft, yet it had a deep huskiness about it that seemed overtly sexual. For some reason Brent could not understand, Victoria's voice seemed to raise a feeling of warmth inside him - maybe a wanting. He could not be sure.

"Well, that's nice, Victoria. I'm happy to hear from you."

"Nice to talk to you for a bit before the party too, Brent. Don't worry about picking me up. I'll see you at the party."

"Oh. I see. Good. Then I'll see you at the Roger's." Brent hung up the phone and picked up his briefcase. Oddly, that feeling of warmth still lingered inside him. He shook his head and walked out of the office.

On the way home he stopped at Quizznos for a subway sandwich. And later at home in the shower, he could not help but notice a tingling in his crotch when he remembered Victoria's voice on the phone.

Looking down at his somewhat inflated penis, he laughed, "Well, old friend. Tonight you just might get lucky."

Still dripping, Brent went into the bedroom. There on the bed was the box that awful little man, Travan, had given him. He opened it. Inside was a note.

"Do not wear the cape. Bring it with you to the party and put it on there."

Brent shook his head again. "Why not wear it? Wrinkles, maybe?" he thought to himself.

Under the note was a very fine, silk, formal tuxedo jacket and pants. He pulled on the pants. How odd. They fit perfectly, just like Travan told him they would. Next he put on the stiffly starched shirt and bow tie. Again they were perfect, as if made especially for him. The jacket, as well, seemed tailor-made for him. He went to the mirror in the bathroom and looked at himself.

"Wow," he thought. "I look the perfect vampire." Even his jet black hair seemed to have dried and smoothed itself down flat against his scalp. He thought he appeared the perfectly trimmed Bela Lagosi.

Brent checked his watch. His time was short. He threw the cape over his arm and went to the garage. He placed the cape on the passenger seat and started the car, backed out of the driveway and headed across town to Southeast Portland and Roger's party. All the while Victoria's voice seemed to echo inside his head.

Roger lived in the Lauralhurst neighborhood on the other side of town. The houses there were very old, built sometime in the '20s - some even earlier. But the homes were kept immaculate. The lawns and gardens were beautifully kept. Brent pulled into the circular driveway and parked. There were several other cars there already. He strode up to the massive front door and raised his hand to knock.

The door opened and Roger stood there as if waiting for him. "Come in, my friend." Then turning away in a loud voice, Roger said, "He's here. Our guest of honor." There came the sound of voices and laugher from deep inside.

Roger took Brent's arm and ushered him inside. "So, you spoke to Victoria this afternoon?"

"Yes. She called my office. She seemed quite nice. And what's this guest of honor crap?"

Roger turned his head to face Brent. "Nice? Yes. Well, you will see for yourself. And good. You brought the cape." Roger ignored Brent's last question entirely.

"Well. Yes. It's part of the costume. But why not wear it. Shall I put it on?"

Roger's face was suddenly hard. "No, Brent. Not yet." Brent could feel Roger's fingers tighten around his forearm. Then easing his grip, Roger said, "Welcome to our little club. The wearing of the cape is a...shall I say, ceremony. You will see in a few minutes."

Brent and Roger walked down a long hallway then entered a large room. The other guests were there waiting. As Brent entered the room, the others began to applaud.

"Friends, may I introduce, Mr. Brent Long."

The guests raised their glasses in welcome. Voices congratulated Brent and everyone seemed rather merry. Someone placed a crystal flute of champagne in Brent's hand.

While Brent watched, Roger raised his hand. The room became very quiet. With a wave, a fire burst forth in the great stone fireplace alone one wall and the lights dimmed.

"Now friends, the time has come."

As Brent looked around the room, All the men seemed to be wearing the same costume - black tuxedo, stiff white shirt. The whole nine yards. The one thing that was different was they wore their capes. "A great gathering of wannabe Dracula's," he thought. "How very funny." All the women were dressed in complimentary costumes of black flowing, wispy gowns, open at the neck line which plunged nearly to their navels. Each of the men and each of the women seemed to be in their prime and all were handsome and lovely.

One woman, her straight black hair down below her shoulders, stepped forward. "Victoria. We spoke on the phone," she said, holding out her hand.

Brent took the offered hand. "Charmed," he said. Brent just stared at her. Her face was absolutely lovely. When he said 'charmed,' he truly meant it more than he was ready to admit. In fact, he was more than charmed. If he had not known better he would have thought "smitten" would have been a better description. Victoria moved to his side holding his hand lightly.

The gathered guests began to chant, "Cape. Cape Cape."

Roger held up his hand. "Yes. It is time." Turning to Brent he smiled.

Victoria reached over and took Brent's cape by the collar and let the folded garment fall open to the floor. Then moving behind him, she placed it over his shoulders and fastened the tie at his throat.

The guests began to applaud and talk among themselves, their voices, low and whispered,

Brent looked around confused. "Okay. I'm wearing the cape. So what?" he thought. He turned his head toward Victoria. She face was upturned toward his.

Something happened. Without knowing, he bent down and kissed her on the lips. "God. What am I doing?" he wondered. To his surprise, Victoria's arms moved around his neck. She pressed her body to him. The two melted together for what seemed like an eternity.

When they finally parted, the other guests were laughing and applauding. Brent thought he should feel embarrassed, but to his surprise, he only felt a strange hunger for Victoria. Sweet Victoria. Something about her was pulling him in, making him want her. It was more than just want her. It was a raging hunger that dominated his very being.

Victoria took his arm and gently guided him back to the hallway. By then Brent was unaware of his surroundings. All he could see, think about was Victoria. He could still taste her on his lips. He could still feel her body pressed against his.

The couple came to a great curving stairway. Victoria lead him up, slowly, step by step, always holding his arm. Brent was acutely aware of everything around him as if seen from a dream world. Life had taken on the quality of a movie watch in a darkened theater. Intellectually he knew he was the actor in the leading role, but seemed to see everything from a point of view outside of himself. He watched the couple climb the stairs. He watched as they stopped at a landing and kissed frantically. He felt her as the actor's hands first caressed her breasts then crushed him with wanting.

In Brent's perception, the scene seemed to change. The couple were in a room dominated by a large, old canopy bed. Brent held Victoria in his arms. His lips pressed to hers while their tongues played a game of exploration. His hands grasped for her breasts. He could feel her hard nipples pressed against his palms and her thigh pressed between his legs rubbing against his swelling cock.

Next the feeling of hands pushing him backwards onto the big, old bed. The ancient bed seemed to engulf him as he sunk into the old goose down mattress. For just a moment Brent thought he could smell something old, musty. But then it was gone and his mind was engulfed in Victoria's body next to him.

"Love me, Brent Long. Love me forever," Brent heard Victoria whispering in his ear.

Brent's hand went to the cape's tie at his throat. "No. Leave the cape alone, my love," Victoria said out loud with earnest. "You will ruin everything."

Brent stared into Victoria's face. Clearly there was urgency in her eyes. Those eyes. As Brent stared to became lost in those eyes. He had a sense of drowning in the deep dark pools of those eyes. He was aware of nothing else. Nothing mattered to him but those eyes. He did not even realize that except for the cape he was lying there nude with Victoria.

Then there was the sensation of a deep burning in his genitals. A feeling of hardness and throbbing. He opened his eyes to see Victoria, nude as he was, positioning herself over him. His eyes centered on her perfect breasts as her hand grasped his penis and guided it inside her.

A sudden coldness froze Brent. A coldness so intense he could not move. A coldness that could only be described as death. He could see Victoria's face is a hellish grin as she bounced up and down in the throes of sex. All the while she repeated over and over almost in a shriek, "Love me Brent. Love me tonight. Love me forever."

Finally came that moment when Victoria's entire body stiffened as her orgasm overtook her. Her mouth opened in a banshee scream as her vagina clamped hard around Brent's member, once, twice three times. Brent lost count.

Victoria stopped and looked down into Brent's face. "Now, my love. Now is the time." Victoria bent down still impaled on Brent's manhood. Her lips caressed Brent's neck. Her mouth opened and her fangs plunged deep into the artery in his neck.

Brent was frozen, motionless as Victoria sucked the life out of him. His mind was filled with both the love he felt for this woman and his own immanent, cold death. He knew he was bound to her forever now. His life was hers for the taking.

Just as Victoria raised her head, blood dripping from the corners of her mouth. Brent's own orgasm loosed a gush of his seed deep into her. Again and again he gushed. This was his last remembrance of the evening.

Much later, Brent awoke to find himself alone with Victoria in the same ancient bed. Even though the drapes were drawn he could tell it was morning and the sunlight was trying to stream in around the blocked windows.

"Oh, God. What time is it. I'll be late for work," he told himself.

Victoria stirred and reached out an arm to encircle his shoulders. "No, my love. From now on you will only work at night," she smiled.

Brent eased back down on the old bed and thought to himself, "Yes. I will work tonight."

Even then, Brent could feel the pangs of hunger beginning to grow within him. From now on he knew his work would be different. He knew that together Brent and Victoria will go hunting to satisfy this new hunger after the sun went down tonight and every night from now on.